Thankful

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They're gentle.

They care.

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

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

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

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.

How MTL Became My True Love (Part II)

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

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

*mushy sigh*

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

*ahem*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So there's the story.

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

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

Happy Anniversary, my love.

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!

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?

thanksgiving rain

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

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

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

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

and yet
and yet

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

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

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

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

They don't play nicely.

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

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

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

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

But oh, Dear Readers, how tired I am!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I carry your heart"

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

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

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

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

--e. e. cummings

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

Sometimes Eventually Happens

How do you and MTL deal with real life so easily? she asked, and I sat there thinking how on earth to respond to that. It was a bit of a shocker, really. I don't view myself as someone who "deals" all that well, truth be told, considering the more or less daily soap opera playing out in my head for three decades. Days of My Life: now with more child actors.

But I think I know from whence her question came. She and her best friend, both former students, had called me up late at night in fear and anguish, and MTL and I had gathered them up, plunged into their drama, and been the safe haven they could not find elsewhere. She also knows a good bit about my own drama played out over the last two years. And because of their own sufferings, I had talked with them about what happened when I was five.

I suppose MTL and I have dealt with "real life" and its sorrows better than many. It's the "easily" part that struck me, because it has not been that, not for either of us. What seemed so easy to her?

It isn't really our own strength, I told her. We both have faith in God, not to take all the hardships away or make everything go right, but to give us the strength we need to deal with what comes. We've both had to lean on him pretty heavily at times. That's what makes it look easier than it is.

I've been reminded these last two weeks just how much I do need to rely on that strength and grace, because life has been messy and draining and complicated. Those friends' drama, with its unhappy and maddening and ongoing outcome. Learning the ins and outs of a blended family and providing for and monitoring and parenting five children (plus the occasional friend staying over, which makes us a full-blown Brady Bunch even without the kitten). Attempting to deal with an angst-ridden fourteen-year-old girl who does not want to go to a new school in a new district with new people on top of starting high school.

It's bringing back some awful memories, that last one. I'm remembering too well the anger and depression of being fourteen, coming back to Michigan for a one year furlough, going into my sophomore year with people I either did not know or who might remember me vaguely from fifth grade as that weird girl from Africa. And who wants to make friends with someone who doesn't have a clue about anything that is Important like the popular clothes and music and movies and TV shows, and will be leaving at the end of the year anyway?

I get it. All too well. Add all that drama to the natural angst of being female and fourteen...

It's been interesting around here.

So last weekend when The Dark One invited me and MTL to go with her to her church (she wanted us there! with her! in a public place!) we went. We were rather delighted with the service. And the pastor, who is an energetic young man with four kids and dreadlocks. We'll be going back.

Before his sermon, Pastor Devine (pronounced "Devin") talked about the need to hand over all our burdens and worries to God so that we could come freely before Him, and he asked us to bow our heads and then raise a hand if we were in a situation where we needed that strength and grace. My right hand shot up. I felt MTL's hand cover my other, and we held each other tight as we prayed. There's grace right there, I thought, this man standing beside me.

This week has been a testing of that prayer. Each day has gotten busier and crazier as I have performed the tasks of chauffeur, launderer, cook, maid, mother, stepmother, and teacher. Yesterday was the peak. I hadn't actually written out a list of everything I needed to accomplish (which might have helped my focus, really), but if I had, it would have covered at least two pages.

At one point I caught myself getting strident as I urged the children to get their chores done and rooms cleaned before I had to take the four oldest (MTL's three + The Dark One's BFF, who has adopted us as her parents and calls us Mommy and Daddy) the 50-minute drive out to their mother's place. One of the many, many things I've learned from this new family experience is that when I start getting strident, things get worse. The kids get sulky, resentment builds, and I end up feeling guilty and mean.

So I took a break. I went upstairs and closed myself away in the sanctuary of our bedroom, and I picked up the book I had grabbed at random off my bedside table the day before. It was a God-step, because in the pages of Anne Lamott's Grace (Eventually) I found the words I needed to bring me back to center, accompanied by the wry humor that appeals to me about her work. I even underlined some lines, the ones that spoke to me and reminded me that (1) we're all in this together and we're all a mess, (2) I'm not in charge, (3) yes, parenting is hard, but that's normal, and (4) God loves me and sometimes that's not a warm and fuzzy thing.

Let me share, because she puts it all so much better than I can (well, outside my head, where this blog post was ever so much more eloquent this morning, let me tell you):

We're invited more deeply into this mystery on a daily basis, to be here as one-of; a mess like everyone else, and not in charge. That's why we hate it. (125)

Why was he [her son Sam] sabotaging himself like this...and for what? Well, this is what teenagers have to do, because otherwise they would never be able to leave home and go off to become their own people. Kids who are very close to their parents often become the worst shits, and they have to make the parents the villains so they can break free without having it hurt too much. Otherwise, the parents would have to throw rocks at them to get them out of the house. (190)

It turns out that all kids have this one tiny inbred glitch: they have their own sin, their own stains, their own will. Putting aside for a moment the divine truth of their natures, all of them are wrecked, just like the rest of us. That is the fly in the ointment... (193-194)

I had behaved badly? It all started up in me again, but this time it didn't take over, because something got there first. You want to know how big God's love is? The answer is: It's very big. It's bigger than you're comfortable with. (125)

Then I said the stupidest thing to God: I said, "I'll do anything you say." Now this always gets Jesus' attention. I could feel him look over, sideways, and steeple his fingers. And smile, that pleased-with-himself smile. "Good," I heard him say. "Now you're talking. So go home already, and deal with it." (192)

So I took a deep breath and tossed a mute Help! and I'm sorry! and Thank You! up to God, girded my mental loins, and headed back into the fray. But I made sure to talk to The Padawan and apologize for my tone and thank him for all the help he's been giving and the good job he's been doing with his chores and the little kids. And I took the time to talk to KlutzGirl about how I know it's hard to suddenly be the only girl with a bunch of boys so much of the time. And I made sure to give DramaBoy and The Widget some hugs and cuddles, however brief, in between dashing about Getting Things Done. And when I picked The Dark One up from her orientation that she hadn't wanted to attend and over which she had actually cried, I took her to 7-11 to buy a Monster, and I told her how proud I was of her for going and trying even when she really really really didn't want to.

That's grace, really, in those small yet not-so-small moments: the strength and patience to do what needs to be done without losing track of the hearts and minds and souls of those God has placed in your life. It's stretching me, making me grow in ways I never dreamed, widening my capacity for love and patience. If you had given me the same sort of day with the same sort of To-Do list just a couple of months ago, I would have broken down. Instead, the day ended in smiles and laughter and connectedness.

It all has its rewards. Last night when MTL held me close and told me how much he loves me and how much he appreciates everything I do, I told him that I finally am starting to understand what some of my friends have been saying: these friends with big families and crazy lives who say that they find joy in the insanity, that they have a sense of fulfillment in parenting such large broods.

I feel the challenge, yes, but I'm also feeling the blessing.

Today they're all gone, all of these children small and large, off to their other homes and other parents. There's a part of me that relishes the silence and sanity and prospect of uninterrupted hours spent with MTL. And there is, against all logic, a large part of me that misses them and their noise and squabbling and laughter and craziness.

It's not easy, this life. But it's full of unexpected grace and joy.

--------------------------------------------------
All quotes taken from Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith, by Anne Lamott.

home

i wasn't looking for you
didn't know
for sure
that someone like you was even there
i hoped
dreamed
without even understanding what
might be possible

this collection of pieces that make up
you
yourself
ingredients combined to create
this man
whose being calls to mine with echoes
of self and not-self
complementing and contrasting

like the puzzle pieces
in that song
shaped by our lives
and the hand of God

you asked where i have been
and i made you laugh with my reply
but here's the reality behind the words:

God knew what He was doing
keeping us apart til now
i wasn't ready to meet you before
too broken
too lost
my edges were too rough
they would have snagged and caught against yours
rather than sliding smoothly into place
snugged tight
firm
like completion
like peace
like coming home

7 Quick Takes, Awards, and Blog Flogging (Oh My!)

If you've been reading here for a while, or if you are one of the few people who bother to peruse my sidebars, you know that I have a little award I give out at times for blog posts that strike me as particularly marvelous.

Truth be told, there are some bloggers who, if I didn't have some self-control, would get an award for pretty much every post they ever write. Top of the list would be Julia at Julia {here be hippogriffs} because OMG that woman can write. Another would be Mike at Cry It Out because ditto (only he's a man, obviously: stay with me, peoples). Perhaps I should just give them overall blog awards. I'll think about that.

However, there are certain posts that will hit me as being superlative, and so I'll give out my Top Marks award. I should note that I have by no means awarded every deserving post, partly because my sidebar would get really really really long (like it isn't already) and partly because sometimes it just slips my mind. I know. I suck.

I have handed out a few lately, and then never actually acknowledged doing so in a post, although the recipients did get notified and their blogs and winning posts are up on the sidebar as winners. Then this week I was given two awards for my own blog, and adding it all up, I realized I have seven awards about which to write.

And it's Friday.

So here is a special Awards edition of 7 Quick Takes AND Flog Yo Blog Friday. Let's all give ourselves a hand!!!

--1--

My first Top Marks Award goes to a personal essay by Mike Adamick at Cry It Out. Mike does a brilliant job of recording events in his life as a stay-at-home father to Emmaline in the beautiful city of San Francisco. In "Something So Good," he relates and comments on his conflicting experience being a Good Samaritan one day, and along the way reminds us that good deeds are rarely as purely good and pure as we would like to think.

--2--

My second award goes to a personal essay by Beck at Frog And Toad Are Still Friends. Her brilliant May 3rd post "The End of Love" is not what it may sound like from the title. She writes with her usual eloquence tempered with humor about the finish line of lasting love, the kind that endures the years and trials and hardships to hold strong even when one's body becomes weak. Her last line puts into words what I hold in my own heart: "It is the end of love, this finish line, that I want, decades and decades more, worn and perfected, a water-smooth rock, something final and lasting in whatever forever there is."

--3--

The third award was given the very next day to a former schoolmate of mine with whom I reconnected through Facebook. Josh is now a pastor in California, and his blog The Outpost-It contains his musings on life and faith. His post "Gone Jogging ~ 5/4/10" evoked memories of Africa for me and brilliantly connects the physical experience of jogging with "getting going" in life.

--4--

Next up is a humorous poem by Monica at And I'll Raise You 5. As the mother of five kids, Monica is far too familiar with the ongoing battle to climb Mount Washmore. I couldn't have been more delighted to read her parody of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's famous "Sonnet 43" in the form of her June 1st post "Sonnet to my F***ing Laundry"--especially since I was just about to teach Victorian poetry (including that very poem) to my juniors! Monica's poem inspired an assignment for my students: they are to write a parody of their own for that sonnet by Monday. THEY ARE SO HAPPY. Thank you, Monica!

--5--

And just this morning, right in time to make it onto this post, Betty Herbert at The 52 Seductions wrote a post called "Monogamy: A Manifesto" about why monogamy is right for her and her husband--a thoughtful, eloquent post that speaks to the deliberate, daily, hourly choice of monogamy; not because of biology or religious ideology, but because it is THEIR choice. She put into words what I have felt and why this is also my choice.

--6--

I mentioned that I myself received some awards this week. The first came from Monica at And I'll Raise You 5, who was a little put out that I managed to get my award to her (though not mentioned in a post here) before she had a chance to give me one for a post she particularly loved. She came through, however, and so I now have received this:

for my "If I Were..." post. Monica wrote beautifully about award-giving in her post "Award Love". Thank you, Monica!!!

--7--

Finally, this morning I discovered that the lovely Wanderlust also gave me an award. This is one that will no doubt make my poor grandmother shake her head yet again over the profanity-laced awards that I keep getting (*ahem*) but such is life. Besides, it's MEDUSA and that just rocks. In fact, I'm pretty sure I've been connected with that particular mythological creature before...Why yes! I have.

Go figure.

So be warned, peoples! I've been given the

Thank you, Wanderlust!!! You're my kind of blogger.

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

For more fabulous blogs (and perhaps even some awards), go check out the other blogs linked on Flog Yo Blog Friday at MummyTime. It's FUN!

The Good, The Bad, and The Whiny

Yo.

I'm back. Amazingly enough, I'm back in one piece and of sane mind--well, as much as I usually am, which I suppose is up for some discussion. I'm sure there are quite a few people who would have a few opinions to express on the matter. Shut up. It's not your blog.

Heh.

So how did the Great Camping Adventure go? Well, as Boy Crazy said in her post about her weekend, I'm a fan of selective memory. Therefore, I am choosing to remember

• multiple small children running about bare foot playing tag while MTL and I cooked breakfast/lunch/dinner
• The Widget sitting contentedly on the beach, just out of reach of the water, piling sand on his legs/torso/curly head
• DramaBoy finally getting brave enough to wade out in the water up to his waist
• both DramaBoy and The Widget eating their hotdogs across the top (corn-on-the-cob style) rather than from one end
• roasting marshmallows over the fire
• The Widget wanting a marshmallow properly toasted, taking it in his hands, then handing it back with an "ick" face, complaining that It's squishy! It's too squishy! despite assurances that its squishiness was, in fact, a desirable characteristic
• The Widget marching about in board shorts and a hoodie, face adorably framed by the hood
• DramaBoy climbing everything in sight like the monkey he is
• sitting by a fire sipping cold drinks while laughing over MTL's family's stories (his sister et famille and his parents were there as well, which raised the adult-child ratio to a marvelous and anxiety-reducing level)
• eating a delicious if very messy Choco-Raspberry Burrito grilled over the fire (though we'll use foil on the grill next time and add more cinnamon)
• toasting on the hot sand while the kidlets splashed about in the lovely clear lake
• getting into a water fight with MTL and his kids (mine stayed safely out of range on the beach)
• moments of pure, unadulterated happiness

And I simply am choosing NOT to remember

• the whining
• trying (with limited success) to remove sand from scalps and every possible crevice of small dirty children
• protests over eating the food we brought versus the (apparently superior) food brought by MTL's sister and parents
• the whining
• biting flies and mosquitos
• trying to get three small exhausted children to STAY IN BED and GO TO SLEEP when (horror of horrors) the sun was still up and other people got to stay awake
• the whining
• dealing with fighting and complaints and various difficult requests from two kidlets in the back seat while driving for hours and hours without anyone in the passenger seat to help
• the sheer exhaustion (shared by MTL) that resulted from tending camp, cooking food, bathing children, ferrying children to the potty, being woken in the too-early hours of the morning by small kidlets, driving for hours, and generally Being In Charge While On Vacation

and did I mention

• the whining?

That second list? Didn't happen.

It couldn't have, because MTL and I have agreed that camping is something we want to do frequently. We're even going to prep some permanent camping bins and make some lists (yay! lists!) to make sure we don't forget certain key items. Like, oh, a can opener. Or dish soap.

Thank God MTL's parents were there in their fully-stocked RV.

I should note, however, that we plan to make a good number of those camping trips kid-free. Then we can spend hours reading and relaxing and doing things whenever we feel like it rather than on Kidlet Time.

Hopefully that means we can take the h out of whine.

And that, dearest readers, would be something to remember.

"my prayer": a mother's day poem

my precious child
you grow so swiftly
so soon beyond what i have known
racing through each day
a brilliant flame of pure and vivid life

i stand
and watch
and since i cannot halt these fleeting moments
i bow my head
and pray

i pray for you strength
of spirit as well as body

i pray for you mercy
for self as well as others

i pray for you friendship
of soul as well as play

i pray for you success
in mind as well as pocket

i pray for you wisdom
in small as well as great

i pray for you joy
in hardship as well as ease

i pray for you faith
in God as well as humanity

i pray for you love
in friends, in family, in future beloved

i pray for you
all the blessings of this life
and eternity in the next

and that you should always know
the depth
the breadth
of my love for you

Split/Second

On Friday, just after school let out, one of my tenth graders tried to do a backflip in the hallway. He was not successful. His neck was broken in two places. By a true miracle, the bones that should have broken and cut off his airway were flicked back into place when his head bounced.

He should have died.

As it is, he is lying in intensive care, scheduled for surgery today, with no feeling from the neck down. He cannot make sounds, but is awake, alert, and mouthing words. He was able to move a hand, although he could not feel himself doing so, or the sensation of his sister holding that hand.

On Saturday about fifty students showed up to visit him. When his sister told him they were there and asked if he would like to see them, he mouthed to her, Send in the ladies. 

I laughed when I heard that story. That is so him.

My class, the one he's in, cannot send cards or flowers or anything while he is in the ICU. So they scrawled messages of love on the white board, gathered in front of it, and posed for a cell phone picture which is being sent to his family. His sister holds the cell phone up for him to see all the messages and pictures pouring in, the love sent his and their way.

It only takes a split second. One decision made, one moment of youthful exuberance. We pray he will recover fully, but there's no way to know right now. In the meantime, we're left reeling in the wake, struggling to grasp what happened, thanking God for miracles, praying for the doctors who hold his body in their hands, praying to the Master Healer who holds his future in His hands.

Hey, How Are Ya?

I was offline yesterday. As in gone, nada, nothing, never logged in or on or anything. My darling laptop languished in the cold of my car (well hidden under my also-abandoned winter coat) from about 2:30 Monday afternoon until I hauled it out and into work this morning.

It sulked, actually, and wouldn't start up properly. I had to get quite stern with the stubborn thing.

Now, I frequently have a day or two on weekends when I don't log on. I'm often Out and About, and not as much happens online on weekends because other people are also Out and About. I rarely have weekdays in absentia, however, and so it was a bit of a shock to come back online today and discover dozens and dozens of emails lurking in my various accounts, not to mention all the Facebook notifications and unread blogs lying in wait. It took me over two hours to wade through everything.

When did the Internet become such a dominating presence in my life?!?!?!

Oh well.

The reason I was gone all day yesterday is that I Took The Day Off. Off work, offline, just Off. And considering how very Mondayish my Monday was, this was a Very Good Thing.

First, I had my MRI in the morning, the key reason for my taking a day off work. There was a bit of a snafu: some confused individual had not realized the doctor wanted both my lumbar and thoracic regions scanned, so had only obtained approval for the lumbar region from my insurance. Then that individual didn't go to work yesterday either, so the very nice people at the MRI place were unable to get the other approval through in time. I did get my lumbar scanned, but will have to go back another time for the thoracic.

Now, in case you hadn't picked up on this by now, I'm a little odd. My MRI experience was further proof. You see, I LIKED IT. I really did. They made me quite comfortable with a neck rest and pillow beneath my knees and squishy little ear plugs and a cloth over my eyes and I had taken half a Vicodin, and I lay there while the rhythmic thumps and booms soothed me into a doze. I was rather disappointed when my time was up and I had to return to the exterior world.

I kid you not.

Then I visited my chiropractor, who eased some knots out of my macrame muscles. I <3 my chiropractor.

My next stop was less pleasant, but I'm glad I did it. A former student of mine went missing back in early February, and his body was discovered on Sunday. It appears he had passed out, highly intoxicated, in an abandoned field and had died of exposure (it was bitterly cold that night). Yesterday was his visitation and funeral. I stopped in briefly and was able to see his younger brother, who was in class with me last year, and some other former students as well. This was my fifth student to die, the third who died of unnatural/unnecessary reasons. It's one of the most difficult aspects of my job. But attending...it gives me closure. I'm glad I went.

The rest of my day I spent in the company of dear friends, and it was a time of relaxation and renewal that I very much needed.

There was one other very important and significant event: yesterday I went to my regularly scheduled therapy session. At the end, she said I've come so far and am doing so well that she doesn't feel I need to attend regularly any longer, and we agreed that from now on I'll simply contact her and schedule appointments as needed.

I feel like I've graduated!!! I really have come so very far in the last sixteen months.

Today, I'm back into the fray. And though I'm tired and a little out of it because of pain meds, I'm doing well. It's good to be me.

Love Lessons

I'm learning. It's slow, it's gradual, but it's becoming more and more real and natural as each day goes on. I'll never be June Cleaver, but it's possible, just possible, that I might become a Good Mommy.

Not just a Good Mother, you see. I am that. When it comes to taking care of the necessities, making sure my children are well fed and dressed, clean and healthy, cared for in the ways that make them strong and beautiful and brilliant, I can do that. I've been doing that for years.

I'm talking about the Good Mommy aspect: not trying to just keep out of the dark, not hoping that I'm doing just enough to get by as a parent. I mean enjoying my children. I mean having far more patience with their annoying and aggravating aspects, even finding humor in the crazy moments. I mean noticing, even while getting frustrated with my DramaBoy because he's fooling around instead of getting dressed when I've asked him to do so umpteen times, that he just executed a perfect somersault. And then praising him and encouraging him to show it off a few more times, even though it means a couple minutes' delay. I mean deciding to just laugh to myself about the endless stream of poop jokes coming from the backseat rather than getting irritated and grossed out. I mean taking the time to sit with my son and watch the game he's playing on his Leapster, encouraging and praising him, rather than dismissing his request with a list of No, honey, I have to...s.

I mean perhaps, just possibly, being willing to take the risk of loving my children completely.

And that is a lesson worth learning.

Surprised by Joy

On Sunday my assistant pastor preached on the topic of Joy, the Joy that comes from having one's roots firmly planted in the living soil of God--or, as discussed in John 15:1-11, being a branch that is firmly connected to the One True Vine. How often do we discuss Joy? she asked. We talk about love all the time, and that is right and good, but how often do we talk about Joy? And how often do we experience it?

You see, Joy is not mere happiness. Happiness is circumstantial; it ebbs and flows, comes and goes, as our situations change. Joy exists on a deeper level, sustained through difficult times as well as easy. Life's path does not have to run smoothly for us to experience Joy.

A month ago I wrote about catching a glimpse of Joy. Since then, I've caught it again. And again. Is life simple right now? Heck no. Is everything smooth and copacetic? Not a chance.

I mean, look at the facts. Still going through the process of divorce? Check. Kids getting sick and dripping snot all over the place? Check. Allergies rising up at the hint of spring? Check. Hips and back creating agonizing pain for over a month and a half, making me think that perhaps I need to get an MRI to see if something more sinister is going on in my lower torso? Check and dammit check.

And yet, there's an underlying sense of well-being; a solid belief that not only will I survive all this, I can and will rise above it all; a deepening sense of Joy. My students are starting to look at me sideways, checking for signs that perhaps I'm a changeling. I mean, I'm positively NICE.

Not to make it sound like I'm walking around like Polly-frickin'-anna, because that would just indicate a high level of mood-altering drugs, which are not actually in my system these days. I still get annoyed by argumentative, sulky, uncooperative preschoolers and teens (and isn't it remarkable how alike they can be?) I still lose my temper from time to time. I still get anxious over my future and what is coming my way. I still feel overwhelmed with all the Stuff That Must Be Done. I still get very frustrated with this ongoing pain and how much it is hampering my life.

But the darkness that used to sweep over me at times like this? Nowhere to be seen. The occasional shadow lurks but never overtakes.

C. S. Lewis wrote a book titled Surprised by Joy. This is what I am: surprised by Joy, by the grace extended to me, by the peace that underlies the turmoil. The uncertainty that strangled my thoughts is not solved, but neither do I find myself so breathless because of it. I find myself able to set aside doubts that tangled me before, accept the gifts freely offered me, receive love and friendship and give it in return.

And I am grateful.

TeacherMommy 2.0

This post today...it's important enough that I created a calendar reminder for it. And now I sit and stare at this screen wondering where to begin. I texted wrote a friend about it. He tried, he really did, but it's a tricky little conundrum.

TM: i restarted my blog a year ago today. i want to write a post about it, but i'm not sure what i want to write about.

J: How far you've come and grown over the past year.

TM: yes, but HOW
not sure how to approach it
it's one of those things that's sort of massive, so i don't know where to start

J: At the beginning.

TM: oh, that helps. i'm not sure where the beginning is....

And that is the problem. Where is the beginning?

Almost exactly fifteen months ago I wrote this. And then I vanished from the blog for three months. On Tuesday, March 12, 2009, I returned with this post. Just a short one. But there are words in there that speak a great deal about what had passed during that space of time.

Twelve months ago...the time seems both massive and fleeting in retrospect. One thirty-second of my life. So very much has happened during that time: the attempt, and failure, to save my marriage; the decision to file for divorce; slow renewal of faith; the discovery and development of new friendships; the rediscovery and deepening of old friendships; renewed interest in teaching; slow growth and change in my parenting; facing and grieving and healing from a very old wound; and so very much more.

Above all else: the discovery of Myself. I spent so many years hiding my true Self from not only other people, but from myself. I hid behind walls of my own making in the belief that if I let anyone behind them, much less tore them down, I would be wounded anew. I had no faith in the love and forgiveness of others; I had no faith in God's ability to heal; I had no faith in myself.

I have so far to go, still. Life is, after all, a journey, and if I were to believe that I had nothing more to learn, well then that would mean I was once more hiding from the truth. But when I look back over this year of pain and joy, wounding and healing, learning and growing, I realize that who I am now is Beautiful. And as I learn to love myself, I learn how to love others, how to open myself up to the possibilities that life and love have to offer, and how to give myself fully rather than always holding something back in reserve.

It's time to put all my chips on the table.

I'm All In.

Sister Mine

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 love you.

I May Have Missed THEM, but I Didn't Miss THAT

Ahh, kidlets. It had been just a little over a week since I saw mine, since they went down to Florida with their father for a week of kinda-sorta-warm vacation. It was a good week for me and them, in our mutually exclusive Weeks O' Fun, but I was starting to miss them. I went out bowling and to dinner on Saturday and tiny peoples were EVERYWHERE and I found  myself looking at them all awwwww and fighting the urge to squeeze them. At the bowling alley there was a birthday party (OMG the little people were everywhere and so dang cute and all the little pink coats on the little girls and pretty shoes and for a split second I ALMOST wanted another kid--i.e. small daughter to dress up--one day and then my brain kicked in and told me I'm an idiot) and a tiny boy who had to be maybe a year-and-a-half old wandered over and tried to pick up my bowling ball. Mind you, I'm a wimp, so I had a very lightweight ball, but there was no way he was going to manage it. So I got his mind off the ball and then realized he seemed a little lostish. Of course my mama self kicked in and I was all Where's your mommy, honey? and he was looking around with growing panic before a woman walked with the correlating Where's my baby? look on her face and they had a joyful reunion.

All together now: Awwwwww.

Where was I? Oh yes, MY babies. Except that when I saw them last night they weren't babies. Because apparently one week away = OMG THEY GREW UP. I swear they each sprouted an inch or two, and The Widget has made a sudden linguistic leap and is speaking in pretty dang complete sentences. As in Mama, we took pictures at Mickey Mouse's castle!!! I mean, when he left two Fridays ago, that would have been more like Mama! [DramaBoy] and me! Pictures Mickey Mouse! Castle! which I totally would have interpreted, but now he's adding in all these subjects and verbs and prepositions. He still has that totally adorable squeaky little voice of his that makes me all melty inside, but he's starting to sound like a little boy instead of a toddler. He is also stretching out and developing that little boy body. He's still all soft and cuddly, but there's hardly any chub left, and I miss my chubbers.

Le sigh.

I texted this to a friend and received back the very comforting reply, Don't blink or they'll be in college and I was all GAH! WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO TO ME?!

And then DramaBoy came in during the night and peed on the carpet next to my bed because he was still mostly asleep and obviously very confused and I started looking forward to the days when I would no longer be on potty duty.

Because, peoples, when they're all big boys and stuff, I am so not cleaning their bathrooms. In fact, I may have to figure out how to have a separate bathroom entirely. I still have nightmares remember what my male college friends' bathrooms looked like. *shudder*

You think they're too young to start learning how to scrub toilets?