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.

Personally, I Picture My Conscience In Stiletto Heels. The Better To Stab Me With.

I KNOW. Second post on the same day. I make no sense.

But here's the thing: I am sitting here on my prep hour, which comes at the end of the day, which means I get very very very little actually done because I'm pooped, people, pooped.

[Tangent: I now frequently sit at the dinner table with four males--one supposedly an adult, one preteen, one kindergartener, and one preschooler. I am Queen of my domain, people, and thusly have had to ban (1) farting and (2) poop jokes and (3) I'm serious, DramaBoy, NO POOP JOKES at the dinner table. Am I crazy for having so much damn fun?]

Where was I? Oh yes. Pooped on my prep. Anyhow, I decided to read back through that last post and suddenly had an attack of conscience. Yes, that one particular teacher is annoying and frustrating and infuriating on a regular basis. HOWEVER. Once she gets all the griping out of her system, she really does want to do well. Which is, I think, part of her problem: she's terrified that she won't, and the situation is a challenging one, and she is dealing with all sorts of new things, and she's resorting to her default coping mechanisms.

I joked, sort of, about playing Compare Our Lives with her. I said I'd trump her. Then said that didn't really mean I "win."

But really, in my head...that's not true. I DO think I "win." And that's a bunch of bullshit too.

She doesn't know all the details of my life and how much I deal with every day.

I don't know all the details of hers, either. Just because she appears one way doesn't mean that's the truth--or at least, all of it. I should know. I spent years portraying one image while hiding the truth.

So I'm being just as bitchy and nasty (and behind her back, no less) as she seems capable of being.

So here's my next challenge: stop listening to the words she says and listen instead to what she means. Stop assuming I know the woman and resigning myself to "getting through the year with her" and start actually getting to know her a bit.

Maybe she'll turn out to be just as annoying as I've always thought she is.

And maybe I'll find out I'm about as wrong as I can be. I have a niggling feeling that this may very well be the case.

Don't you hate it when your conscience starts whispering? Or, when that doesn't work too well, pricking you vigorously so you'll sit up and pay attention?

Yeah. Me too.

A Year Older and Wiser and All That Crap

It's back. Last year around this time the same thing happened. Post after post in my blog reader centered around the same topic: BlogHer Conference.

Last year, I was pretty much consumed with jealousy because there I was, fully steeped in all things bloggy, even tweeting away all day, and I WASN'T GOING. I even wrote a post about it. And then swore that in 2010 I'd find a way to go.

Here it is: Summer 2010, and BlogHer 2010 is about to begin, and guess what?

I'm not going.

And I couldn't care less.

No really. This isn't sour grapes talking. I truly have no desire to go to BlogHer this year.

You see, something has shifted over the last year. Last summer blogging and tweeting had center stage, pretty much top priority. I was trying to work out how to increase my readership, I was attending occasional blogger meetups and tweetups, I paid to have my blog redesigned (SO not regretting doing that, by the way--totally worth the money, which wasn't much), I was making plans that focused on my identity as a blogger.

That focus has shifted these days. I still enjoy blogging. It's an important way for me to lay out my thoughts and connect with peoples (that would be YOU!) and develop my voice. It just doesn't have center stage any longer.

I think the change is due to a crucial change in me. Last summer, despite tremendous growth and a good bit of healing, I was adrift. For years my identity as The Ex's significant other had been center stage. Suddenly that identity was threatened, then lost, and I needed to fill that void. Blogging was both safe and cathartic. So...I was a blogger. That identity was my life raft.

Now? Now I don't need a life raft. I've come to understand and know myself better. I'm happy in my own skin and no longer need to be defined according to someone else. Not that people have no significance in my life. Other relationships have flowered and taken more focus. I have friendships that are deeper than any I'd had in nearly two decades. I'm developing increasing confidence and peace as a mother. I found MTL.

So instead of heading to BlogHer, I'll be spending time with friends and family and kidlets and my beloved.

And I'll still show up here when inspiration strikes. Because I'm still awfully fond of you, peoples.

[Un]Erased

They are bittersweet, these days of sorting and purging and packing. Cleansing, to toss the bags and boxes of trash built up from years of forgetfulness and laziness. Ancient academic and financial papers that lost significance years ago. Broken bits of this and that forgotten in corners and closets. Outgrown clothes and toys and books and decorations.

Much of the undertaking is simple. I have lost much (though by no means all) of my need for Things. I feel less sentimentality about objects than I once did, no longer harbor an obsession with keeping anything and everything that might have importance. I prize relationships more highly than possessions these days, for nothing I owned made any difference when my life fell apart. People did.

The difficult part of this task, the bitterness on my tongue, lies with the memories. Too many of them, as I page through photos and scrapbooks and memorabilia: the detritus of a life lived as someone else, with someone else. What is linked to my children I kept, divided, parceled out according to affiliation. Certain other pieces, less shadowed, met the same treatment.

Much I discarded.

They are too bitter, those memories of loss and failure.

He thinks I hate him. I don't. But neither can I cling to a past that is laced eternally with gall and acid.

Besides, the memories will never be erased. They are an indelible part of me, nearly half the chapters that make up my life.

And now? Now it is time to turn the page.

Today

Today, it's all too much, all at once. The ups and downs of this and that, the rollercoaster ride of expectations meeting reality. There's the death of the old, the next stage in joy with the new, bumps appearing in the road that once was broken and now is healing and yet and yet

life does not run smooth

I was foolish to think it might. There's that odd optimism raising its head at the wrong moment, bashing against the edge of reality. However better I am for being where I am now

life does not run smooth

and the road will bring new obstacles, new cracks, new heartaches to face.

Today I sit and stare at the great mounds of papers that must be graded, for time has run out. I have no interest. My mind has already skipped over the next week into this summer: bags to fill with trash and donations, boxes to line with books and toys and clothing and the necessities that will carry over into the next stage, places to go with friends and children and my beloved, hard days of work and long nights of play. The clock is ticking, and so much must be done. I mix anticipation with apprehension for what is to come for

life does not run smooth

and though I know I have strength I lacked before, love I lacked before, health I lacked before, still the anxiety of all the unknown wells in my throat.

Of some things I am certain:

faith

love

hope

and knowledge that there is nothing I cannot surmount because of them. I have been to the depths and back. I have known the dark of deepest night, wept my tears of pain and loss and heartbreak, faced the dragons of my despair and lost the battles.

But I won the war.

My chains are crumbling. My armor is stripped away. I have walked the broken road, followed dead-end paths, traversed the bridges built by God and family and friends to reach again the stretches and signposts that led me here.

And the rewards, the blessings: they overflow. New life, new hope, new faith, new love.

life does not run smooth

for life is imperfect, the road broken in a world that is broken. I have learned that the paths that appear easy are those that hide the greatest pitfalls. Anything worth having requires that a price be paid, a sacrifice be made.

Today I am overwhelmed and the tears run close to the surface. But I do not despair. Strength lies beneath, and Today will pass, and Tomorrow holds such brightness that I must catch my breath with the beauty that lies ahead.

Courage

I wrote this almost three weeks ago as part of a writing challenge posted somewhere--where exactly, I've forgotten. And then I couldn't post it, for some reason. I'm taking a page out of DraftQueen's files and posting it as is, in draft form. Just because sometimes Courage is hitting the Publish button.

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

You're the strongest person I know, he said. If there's anyone who can get through it, you can.

I don't feel it, you know. Strong. Brave. Courageous. There are so many minutes hours days weeks when facing the next step drains me of energy. Another day of being mother teacher friend counselor mediator lawyer defendant plaintiff and everything else that I must be in the course of a day.

It's what most of us do, after all. Face a day filled with joy and pain, hardship and ease, love and hate. Pick up those heavy feet, take the next step, move forward instead of back.

And it's not as if I do it alone. Where would I be without my friends, my family, my therapists (of varying sorts), my coworkers, my beloveds, my God? I may be stronger than I once was, but I'm not an idiot. I don't walk alone.

How is that strength?

How is that courage?

I'm learning that courage lies in the everyday. Courage is not the sole property of those who face down tanks, race into burning buildings, climb sheer cliffs, perform the feats of daring-do that make the headlines and leave us gasping in awe.

Courage resides in the woman who chooses to walk away from the abusive spouse and start life over anew. Courage resides in the man who takes full custody of his children in the face of society's expectations so they will have a stable and loving household. Courage resides in the student who tells her friends to leave the oddball kid alone. Courage resides in the boy who was beaten down by family and poverty and illness and rejection, and still chooses to make something of himself come what may. Courage resides in the couple who takes the risk of welcoming a troubled child into their home. Courage resides in the teacher who chooses to reach out to students rather than stand back and say That's not part of my job.

And yes, courage resides in the woman who chose to face her dragons and face her truths and say This is who I am. I am imperfect. I am flawed. I am fallen. And I am strong. I am beautiful. I am worthy of love.

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.

new

This poem was originally written back on March 19th, but I didn't feel comfortable posting it here until now. Credit my love for e. e. cummings and the influence of a muscle relaxant (my back was BROKE, peoples) for the slightly unusual style.


i screamed openmouthed in terrorwise
link    ed to you despite sp ac e

strung like pearls on rope  made of
lies
i am
not wondering where you are
closeor                          far
i sang my sorrowsong already and look over
there
is the note against the sky
a bird poised like music on linesofcommunication between
you
and me

i am exempt from your pain

tattooed my denial of despair on skinsmoothsilk
flash my hope at every
one who glances at my feet

theyve trod many a broken path and been worn down to
cracked and bleeding remnants of memory

been there before
been there again
wandering in circleslikestuck

and c   u   t the ties finally broke the chains
though bound by life we made
and now the screams have vanished and I sing
new
love like sweetness on the tongue after bitterhate
i am newtoo
and will not coat my heart in nacre to hide the wrong
with  in

no
i shine like diamonds

I Has a Bucket

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

Apparently the thing to do these days is to have a Bucket List. You know, the things you want to do/accomplish before you kick the bucket. Shuffle off the mortal coil. Run down the curtain. Sleep with the fishes. Pay Charon's fare. Buy the farm. Check out. Dance the last dance. Give up the ghost. DIE.

(You want some other euphemisms? Check out this list. Boy, we'll do just about anything not to say the actual word, won't we?)

I haven't thought about my Bucket List much. I mean, I've said there are things I want to do "someday," but my comment about riding a motorcycle a while back? That's the first time I can remember specifically thinking about doing something before I /whisper/ die.

It's just not the way I generally think. But I'm getting older, yo, and what with my bones creaking and popping and my body acting in general as though it's a goodish bit older than I actually am, I've started thinking about the kinds of things I'd like to do before Death gets in the way. Or even, really, General Physical Infirmity, because that may come sooner than I'd like. Let's be realistic, peoples.

And it turns out a slew of my students already have Bucket Lists, which makes me wonder if it's just the influence of media or if by some miracle more of them have a concept of mortality than generally is the case. Mind you, some of the items on their lists might make mortality more of a reality than a concept, but it's a step.

Anywho, I figured I might as well do my own Bucket List. So here you go--the list of things I'd like to do before I push up daisies*:

1. Ride a real motorcycle. Possibly even drive it. Because I'm a Total Badass like that.
2. Visit Australia and New Zealand. Lauren, I still have an open invitation to crash with you, right?
3. Tour the ancient monuments and places from mythology in Greece. I've only been obsessed since I was seven.
4. Publish some of my writing. And no, blogging doesn't count. Any agents out there?
5. Learn how to do some real ballroom dancing. This may need to be sooner rather than later, as I have a feeling artificial joints, walkers, and/or wheelchairs might make things difficult.
6. Win a teaching award. Because I'm modest like that, yo.
7. .....

Ack. This is where my mind goes blank. I mean, there are things I'd LIKE to do. Travel around Europe more. Visit all fifty states. Learn how to make a chocolate souffle. But they're not the sorts of things that make me feel like my life will have been incomplete if I die before they're accomplished, you know?

Does this mean I'm insufficiently ambitious? Does this mean I'm a loser?

Does this mean my bucket is undersized?!?

Cuz I hear that sometimes size DOES matter.

---------

What about you? What's on YOUR bucket list?

---------------------------------------------
*Except I've decided to be cremated instead** and have my ashes scattered because the idea of my preserved remains sticking around in a lead-lined box is just creepy, people, and I don't feel like going through the rigamarole of arranging for a burial au naturel, a la pine box. Plus apparently the level of preservatives present in our food is rendering postmortem preservation pretty much unnecessary these days, and that's even more icky. Just sayin'.

**And yes, I totally get the irony of my not having a Bucket List but knowing what I want done with my body after death. I also know which hymns*** and scripture verses**** I want read at my memorial. I said I'm a planner, people!!!

***"It Is Well With My Soul" and "Amazing Grace". And no, I don't care if that's totally predictable and cliche. They're still my favorites and the lyrics mean a lot to me. So there.

****Psalm 23 (King James Version) and Psalm 51 (New Living Translation). What I said.

In Which I Am Both Cheap and Shiny. Kind of Like Your Uncle Bob's Suit. You Know, the One He's Worn For Years? Yeah. It Just Means I'm Worth Keeping Around, Right? Right?!?!

MTL: It's like I won the lottery with you, except I didn't have to enter.

TM: Well, you did kind of spend thirty dollars for a ticket.*

MTL: True. Best thirty bucks I ever spent. Now that I think about it, the ticket was kind of expensive when the prize is so cheap.

--Silence--

MTL: Um. That didn't come out right.

TM: Would you like to clarify that one for me?

MTL: What I meant was, you see, that you're so low-maintenance.

TM: Ah. Okay. I won't hit you then.

He's lucky he's so dang cute. And that I get him and knew it was just a brain-mouth disconnect. Besides, he's pretty much right. I am low-maintenance. I like it that way. For that matter, most men I know like it that way. In real women, at least.

My hair? I wash it in the mornings with Pantene. I towel-dry it vigorously. Then I run a brush through it and go. No blow dryer, no product, no hair irons.

My clothes? Yeah, I like to look good, but I tend to keep things pretty simple. Nothing too overwrought or complicated to grab and go.

My morning routine? I've been known to get showered, get dressed, get the boylets dressed, grab our stuff, and be out the door in twenty-five minutes. That's under pressure, granted, but still.

So yeah, I'm low-maintenance.

However, I'm very rarely seen out of the house without some makeup on.

It's nothing much, mind you. Powder, blusher, eyeliner, mascara. Perhaps a little eyeshadow. I can whip it on in a few minutes. But I wear it every day.

We all have our insecurities about our appearance. We all have our security blankets. Mine happens to sit around in a little pink bag. See, I'm as critical about myself as the next person. I scowl at my brownie muffin tops. I suck in my squishy belly. I peer at my complexion in the mirror, sighing over the scars and lines and certain other aspects that I'm not going to admit to in writing. Then I pull out my makeup bag and brush on a subtle veneer.

So when Jodie over at Mummy Mayhem challenged bloggers to post their naked faces on their blogs, sans makeup, sans primping, sans anything but woman au naturel, I was more than a little nervous. But her argument about how critical we women are about our bodies was a good one, and her challenge to bloggers to link up along with her has received a wonderful response. And then the amazing Wanderlust joined in with her own post, and when I whined in a comment about not having a good camera, she sent me a lovely and encouraging and totally guilt-trippy email more or less commanding me to Do It Anyway and so...

Here's the picture I just took of myself after my nightly ablutions, squeaky clean face and all (I swear it's fuzzy because of the crappy cell phone camera, not from any retouching):

And as proof that sometimes this happens without planning, this photo is from about three months ago on a day when I overslept my alarm, didn't even have time to shower (thus the hat for hair control purposes), and got nowhere near my little pink bag:

I've exposed a good bit of my heart and mind and soul on this blog. I suppose it only makes sense for me to expose my face as well.

Do you hide behind that sexy camera angle or PhotoShop magic or whatnot on your blog? Then head over and take the challenge too. I dare ya.

--------------------------------------------
*That's a story for another time. It probably sounds worse than it is.** But that could just be my gutter brain working.

**which isn't bad, trust me on that one. Get your own brain out of the gutter! Arby, I'm looking at you.

I Didn't Anticipate This When I Chose My Nom de Plume

7 Quick Takes Friday

--1--

Today did not start well. The boylets have gotten into the habit of staying up far too late regardless of when I put them to bed, and last night was no exception. I sleep downstairs on the couch, too far away to monitor all that happens up there after lights out, and I discovered this morning that The Widget had committed the No-No (NO NO NO!!!!) of playing with my makeup. An eyeshadow container displayed mini-finger-sized gouges, which also explained the interesting brown war-paint that decorated his sleeping face. I suppose I should be happy it was makeup and not, well, Other Brown Stuff.

So we began the day with whining and complaining and Consequences. I was all set for the day to be a Horrible, Terrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day.

Then I got my Good Morning text from MTL.

The Widget wore Big Boy Underwear to school today, because he has finally turned the corner with potty training.

The boylets stopped whining and gave me kisses instead.

The Color Guard Booster Parents coffee stand had cherry-flavored coffee this morning.

And I started counting my blessings.

--2--

One of my students who had Messed Up begged me for mercy over email the other day. He showed up with donuts and coffee for me this morning. My students seem to have figured out my weaknesses. They are:

• Bavarian Creme or Boston Creme donuts
• Brownies, especially thick gooey fudgy ones like another contrite student brought me yesterday which were the Best Brownies Ever. I had to scoop them into my mouth WITH A SPOON. And with every bite, I giggled. No, really. And then I took the rest to MTL and he nearly wept with every bite. That student gets an A+, he informed me. For everything. Especially if he makes them again.
• Godiva dark chocolate bars with raspberry filling
• Dark chocolate anything, really
• Especially paired with raspberry, for that matter
• Food, now that I think about it

--3--

My waistline is becoming an issue, what with all the Tribute and Mercy Offerings and the lack of exercise due to OMG MY BACK AND HIPS OMG.

My physical therapist said yesterday would be our last session until fall, when hopefully some of my OMG STRESS OMG will fade and he can focus more on my neck and upper back issues. In the meantime, I am carrying on with the alignment exercises and strengthening exercises and the strange things I do with a long white noodle and a small yellow ball. Don't ask.

I asked what kind of exercise I am allowed to do that would address my waistline and brownie muffin-tops. He said nothing weight-bearing or high-impact (so no Zumba, *sob*). Ideally, I should do twenty minutes on a stationary bicycle three times a week, achieving an aerobic heart rate level of 120-130 bpm.

This would be lovely, except I do not have a stationary bike and am a bit hesitant to fork over cash for membership at a fitness center, what with OMG NO MONEY OMG and only using one machine for an hour a week. I suppose I could exercise here at school, but that would involve finding space and time in the weight room, as well as puffing and swearing sweating away in front of students. Oy. Must think on this.

But at least I have options and my hips and back are so very much better and I cannot recommend my physical therapist highly enough because he is a miracle worker.

--4--

Not all students clog cheer up my heart with chocolate alone. Yesterday a young lady came in the room with her mother.  I had her two years ago as a sophomore, and she has visited me frequently since then. She came yesterday, however, to say Goodbye. For various personal reasons, she had decided to withdraw from school, get her GED instead, and pursue college after that. But she came to find me first.

I wanted to tell you, she said, that I'll miss you and you were the most influential teacher I've ever had.

Later one of the co-principals told me she had mentioned my name in her exit interview and said I was one of the only people who had made her academic experience a positive one.

I can't win every student's heart, and that's not the reason I'm here, but hearing these things from time to time is what makes this career worth all the stress and exasperation and downright pain.

--5-- 

My classroom has scattered memorabilia from current and former students all over the walls and boards. Bizarre cartoons, surrealistic sketches and paintings and drawings, amusing or stunning posters and projects, senior pictures, little notes of affection and/or snark. This morning a student whose schedule change required her to switch to a different English teacher at the semester break came to visit before her next class. She left behind a markered note on my board: Kaylee <3s you!

I like Ms. P, she said, but I miss your class so much. I wish I hadn't had to switch out!

She had nearly failed my class first semester. Oddly enough, quite frequently it's the students who fail or came very close to it who come back and say they miss me the most. I was always an academic high achiever: I cannot help but wonder why I connect so strongly with students who struggle in the classroom setting.

It certainly isn't because I coddle them. I'm more likely to give them a verbal kick in the ass for not living up to their potential. I believe in Tough Love. Success only matters if you earn it.

--6--

I've never considered myself a maternal sort of teacher. At least, not in the gentle, cuddly, sweet sort of way. Not that I'm a soulless sort. I'm fairly decent at adjusting my approach to individual students as appropriate, and I've had my share of sessions comforting a distraught student in the hall. Nevertheless, I'm more likely to kick them in the ass (metaphorically speaking) than not.

So I was caught off guard this year when a close-to-my-heart former student told me he sees me as his mom, certainly more so than his biological mother (let's just say they have a difficult relationship). And then when I had a good half-dozen or so current students tell me I sound like their mothers. And then I realized that a good number of the comments I leave on former (as in graduated) students' Facebook Walls have a rather mothering tone to them.

In a snarky, raised-eyebrow, slap-upside-the-head sort of way.

I mean, I'm barely old enough to be the biological mother to my (younger) current students, and even then I would have had to be a teen mother! Somehow, without meaning to, I've crossed some invisible border into Mom territory. Although definitely more on the Roseanne (but with WAY more class) (I hope) (please God) side of the mothering spectrum than the June Cleaver one.

I'm not sure what to think about that. I'm still figuring out how to be Mom to my biological kids without adding a few hundred more to the list.

--7--

Those kids and those relationships, however, are the real reason I do what I do. It's the main reason I've stayed in the high school arena rather than moving up to the college level, as was my original plan when I started this career. I would miss the kind of interaction I can have with high school students.

There are perks to maintaining those connections, too. Tonight I will attend a play at Wayne State University in which a former student is performing, and I'm going for free. She gave me a comp ticket out of gratitude for a small favor I did for her. MTL is going along, and we'll go out for coffee with my gorgeous, talented former student afterward. And who will be watching my kidlets while I do this, you ask? Yet another former student. One of the four or five former students who babysit for me. At a marvelously reduced rate, I should note, and occasionally with my offer of payment refused.

Because they love me.

I may never have a building named after me or a statue erected in my honor or be a household name. But when I look at my life and what I do and why I do it...

I have not wasted my time.

Today is a good day.

----------------------------------------

As a two-for-one, today is also Flog Yo Blog Friday over on MummyTime. Join in the awesome!

Backbone

There are times when silence clogs my throat and I cannot say what needs to be said. I am fixed by uncertainty, frozen by fear. What will be the reaction to my words? Will they be met by scorn, ridicule, disappointment?

Habit. Years of keeping my tongue still, swallowing my words, saying only what I think will be met with approval. Years of fearing to make my own decisions or suggestions or, God forbid, demands.

When I was a little girl, I was very opinionated. According to my parents, I was the very definition of the Strong Willed Child. My children come by their Attitudes honestly. Well, that and apparently God was listening when my mother cursed me lo, those many years ago.

Somewhere along the way that little girl crawled into a corner of my mind and my backbone went AWOL.

How pitiful is this: when someone asks me what I'd like for dinner or which restaurant I'd prefer or what activity I'd enjoy, I rarely respond with anything other than Oh, I don't know. It doesn't matter to me. I might indicate a few options I would NOT like, but I am far more comfortable with the decision being made for me. That way, you see, I won't chance ridicule or disagreement.

How sad is this: I went up north this last weekend to MTL's parents' place. Saturday morning MTL and I both woke early and, unable to sleep, took our coffee out on the back porch to enjoy the sunrise. The morning air was damp and chilly. When MTL rose to find the off switch for the glaring porch light, I suggested he bring out a sleeping bag to cover our legs. I had been thinking about this for five minutes and had to overcome enormous reluctance to make the suggestion. His response? A big smile and a comment about how smart I am. What I subconsciously expected? A scowl and a comment about it not being THAT cold, and if I was chilled, maybe I should go get the blanket myself. Which, I should mention, is not typical of MTL. That didn't matter. It was still my automatic apprehension.

I started thinking.

Put me in charge of a group of students and I have no problem being Queen and Goddess of the Classroom. Put me in a professional setting with my coworkers and my Voice is Heard.

Put me in a social setting with my peers and I falter. I follow rather than lead, give way rather than stand strong.

Don't get me wrong: if something is suggested with which I strongly disagree, I won't do it. I'm not mindless. But when it comes to anything that is smaller in scope, that doesn't involve moral or legal issues, I'd rather not rock the boat.

I'm better than I used to be. Saturday I overcame my illogical fear and suggested the blanket. And the blanket was fetched. Monday, when asked what I wanted for dinner, I responded, Taco salad. And taco salad we had.

I'm building my backbone. It helps that my dearest friends and loved ones have been responding with encouragement rather than disapproval. It helps that I've had to stand on my own for a year now, that I've had to learn to say

No. 

This is the line I will not cross. 

That won't work for me. 

This is what will work for me.

This is what I need.

This is what I want.

The healing continues. I just keep wondering what happened to the little girl who always had to Have It Her Way and why it's taken so long for her to show up again.

If Calgon Won't, I Will

For years and decades and ages and holy crap this stuff is ooooooold good old Calgon has been telling us to tell it to "take me away."

For about as long as I can remember, I've wondered what the heck Calgon IS. I never owned any Calgon products. In my mind, that brand name sounds medicinal in a vaguely hemorrhoidal old people sort of way. I wasn't sure what it was, and I really wasn't sure I wanted it to take me anywhere.

Recently I spotted an actual Calgon product in someone's bathroom. Lo and behold, it was very feminine, flowery scented body lotion. In a pink tube. Ah ha! I thought. If they make that sort of product, then the brand must be trying to take its consumers Away From Here, as in Reality and Daily Life.

Turns out I was right. Well, I assume. The tropical theme certain indicates that sort of thing. Though that wouldn't be very Away for people who live in, oh, say, Jamaica or coastal Florida or that sort of place. Perhaps they should be able to link to a site that shows mountains or scenic deserts or something? Whatever. Wherever you are, apparently Calgon takes you Away From There.

Why the heck didn't I google that word ages ago? (And why the heck did they pick such an ugly brand name? Or change it for these here Modern Times? Helloooooooo!)

Anywho, all this to say I could use some Calgon spa products right about now, because Daily Life, it is worth leaving for a while. Too much stress, too much student angst, too much political and economic strain. Too much, in general.

I'm not entirely sure a tube of body lotion will cut it, however. So I'm planning a Getaway. Oh yes. In a few weeks I am Getting Away for realsies, at least for a couple of days. The details aren't all in place yet, but it's being planned. No phones. No computers. No kids. No work. Nothing other than utter relaxation Elsewhere.

And I'm not going to tell you where I'm going, either. Even though I love you all. So there.

Now to get through the next two-and-a-half weeks....

The Older They Get, the Tougher Planning These Things Gets. What Was I Thinking???

I've always been of the opinion that children's birthday parties should be fairly simple and low-key, especially when the children in question are quite young. I've heard about the incredible extravaganzas that some people put on for their tots, complete with petting zoos ("We come to you! Added bonus: excellent excuse to replace your whole lawn afterward!"), inflatable bouncy thingies, clowns (Ack! Really, who thinks kids LIKE those creepy things?), cakes from specialty shops...In other words, people will spend the equivalent of a small wedding budget on a birthday party for a child who may, at most, have some hazy images imprinted on his/her mind for a while.

Ridiculous.

In the past, all my kidlets' parties have been held at the house. There have been a few snacks, a cake, some balloons and festive party plates, a few inexpensive favors for the young guests. The guests themselves have been limited to family members and a few close friends who also have young children. Fun was had by all. In a very low-key, inexpensive way.

The Widget, however, is having a party this Saturday, and I'm doing things just a touch differently.

First, the party will not be at the house. I have two reasons for this: (1) I really don't feel like cleaning up the house that much and there isn't all that much room on the main floor, and (2) I'd rather have the party at a neutral location, especially because DramaBoy keeps getting confused when his father and I happen to be at the house simultaneously. He's still working through the idea of our separation being a permanent thing.

So I have rented (yes! rented!) a small gazebo at a marvelous little city park nearby, one that has a built-in farm/petting zoo for the delight of our guests as well as a very nice playground that's safely enclosed and has plenty of seating and shade for adults. In addition, the Parks Department is holding a little kite-making and -flying event that morning for kids of all ages. What perfect timing. It's supposed to be in the mid-fifties that day, but shouldn't rain. Let's keep our fingers crossed on that one!

The second big difference is that I actually invited The Widget's little classmates from his Early Learners class at daycare. I decided that since this is happening out of doors and I don't have space issues, I could manage it. Also, I kind of delayed putting this thing together, so a number of The Widget's little friends who are the children of my friends can't come. The more the merrier, right? And even though I know not all of them will be able to come, there should be enough little people running around to keep my boylet happy.

Now I just have to figure out what I'm going to serve them all for a light picnic lunch, how to decorate cupcakes to reflect a kinda-sorta dinosaur theme, and try not to break my limited budget while still decorating that gazebo so it's festive.

Suggestions, anyone?

And Now For Something Completely Different. Like Shoes.

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

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

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

This meant I had to go shoe shopping.

I know. The sacrifices one must make.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love, peace, and shoes to you all!

letting go

you strip away my armor
peace by peace
i find myself exposed in raw newness of skin
anticipated pain instead soothed
by understanding

you know me well
as though my mind is linked to yours
i should fear this
i do not do vulnerable well
but you smile
your eyes on mine
and
i cannot help but trust you

so i release the reins
loose the chains
and step forward into this new day

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.

Give Me Some Luuuuuv. Or Not. Whatever.

I used to pimp out my blog all the time. A post would go up and I'd be over on Twitter and Facebook, announcing to the world that Hey, a post is up and you should go read the awesomeness! It got a few people over here. Not many, though, and I would sigh and feel all hurt and go beg for people to leave comments because, well, um, I'm a comment whore. I crave the feedback.

(Ahem.)

In the last few months, however, I've been letting my posts speak for themselves. Twitter has not seen my tweets in...oh, I've lost track. My bloggy Facebook page has been utterly neglected. People simply have to fend for themselves in terms of finding my words of wacky weirdness wisdom.

I think this due in part to my increased sense of self-confidence and slowly growing "happiness in my own skin", as a good friend put it. I love having an audience for my writing and my thoughts, but it isn't quite as crucial to me as it was, oh, last summer.

I still like comments, though.

(Ahem, ahem!)

I am, however, feeling the need to get back into some more concentrated writing. Short stories, poetry, thoughtful essays. I have an essay brewing slowly about the power of words, as I mentioned yesterday. The question is: when the heck will I get it written down???

Life is busy. This is a good thing. I'm working hard (ACT/Michigan Merit Exam time is fast approaching--I just LOVE teaching to a test) and talking with friends and getting back into a more active social life. This weekend I'm heading off Massachusetts-wards to visit my friend DraftQueen (This could mean some serious craziness, yo), and I plan on hopping over to Boston to see my sister as well (Still need to talk to you about that, hon! I'm glad you're excited!!!). Next week is Midwinter Break, so I have the luxury of Time. February is slowly looking up. Of course, there wasn't too much further down it could have gotten, but still...

I still have my moments of sadness. This last year-plus has been extraordinarily hard on my heart. At the same time, when I look back at where I've been and how far I've come and where I'm heading...It's hard to be Dark when I see so much Light.

So who wants to leave me some love? Come on. You know you want to...

Dancing Queen

I told my good friend E about doing Zumba (and yes, it has been over a week since I've done that--your point? I've been busy! Or lazy. It depends.) and she almost immediately said You need to come salsa dancing with me! I've been waiting to find someone who would go with me! and told me about this bar near her that has free salsa lessons on Wednesday and Thursday nights. Free = Good, so I got my beloved brother to come up last night and watch my babies while I sailed off to swing my hips like a Hot Tamale.

Both E and I are those annoying sorts of people who like to be on time and even early for things, so after eating her yummy salmon (mmm! Omega-3 fatty acids FTW*!) we drove on down to the bar, only to discover that we were there 40 minutes before the upper floor/dance area was even open. So we sat and talked for a bit, then finally went upstairs only to discover that we were an HOUR early for the dancing to even start. Being women and good friends, we were just fine with sitting on a couch and talking nonstop until people finally started drifting in fifty minutes later. However, the actual start time was duly noted for future reference.

And then we danced.

Oh, it was fun! There was a wide mix of ages and ethnicities and sizes, and women only mildly outnumbered the men. Fortunately for us, Wednesday nights turned out to be solo nights where we learned the basic steps in a line-dancing sort of way, with the teacher taking us through progressively more complicated steps and combinations, calling them out on the mic. It turns out that my limited Zumba experiences did, in fact, help me out a bit, so I think I picked the moves up fairly well. I messed up from time to time, but the teacher never had to come correct me personally.

The lesson only lasted about 45 minutes, but E and I agreed that it was well worth it (what with being, you know, FREE) and that we would have to repeat the experience. So now we just need to figure out how to talk a couple of male people into coming along on a Thursday night so that we can learn partnering.

Anyone up for the job?

------------------------------------------------
*for the web-lingo impaired: FTW = "For The Win"

Some Styles Should Just Die a Quiet Death

O. M. G.

When I decided to declutter every custody weekend as my New Year resolution, I knew I'd probably come across some interesting finds. What I found the other night...Wow.

This weekend, since I was taken up with tending to snotty noses and cabin feverish kidlets, I decided to be ruthless with my hanging clothes, since that would be simple enough and wouldn't make much noise after bedtime. I grabbed a heavy duty garbage bag and waded in. Shirts that are baggy with much washing...gone. Skirts that haven't been worn in four years...pitched. Dresses that were given to me and never worn more than once or twice...bye bye.  And the contents of that hanging bag that is falling apart with age...HOLY CRAP.

Inside were two dresses that looked more like costumes than actual clothing items, at least to the contemporary eye. One was the equivalent of my prom dress, the dress I wore as a senior to the Junior-Senior Banquet back in 1995. Why have I kept it for nearly fifteen years, schlepping it across international waters and from abode to abode all this time? Pure sentimentality. Not for the night itself, which was rather forgettable (I didn't even have a date, though neither did a lot of other girls--there was a severe deficiency of males), but because I had chosen the fabrics and pattern as a sophomore while in the States, and my mother had made the dress for me for my senior year.

Somehow I can tell that the years 1993 and 1995 were involved:

In case you can't tell in this very poor-quality cell phone photo, it is made out of emerald green satin, the top part of which is solid sequins, with a large bow/fabric flower at the angled waist. And let's not forget the puffy sleeves.

WHAT WAS I THINKING???

Oh, that's right. It was the 90s. And I was a sophomore when I chose it, and the definition of "sophomore" is "wise fool"--i.e. someone who thinks she knows everything but doesn't.

And then there was this slinky black cocktail-style dress, also straight out of the late 80s/early 90s. I don't know if I ever wore it. I don't remember how I got it. But it stayed with me, just in case (of what, I have no idea):

The photo doesn't even come close to showing just how bad it really is. This one is also satin, though at least there are no sequins involved. There are, however, padded shoulders, a line of rhinestones adorning the (invisible in this photo) swath of extraneous fabric dangling from the waist, and (also invisible in this photo) lots and lots of ruching down the full-length sleeves and in the back. Leading down to the long almost-train of fabric ready to snag on one's heels at any time, of course.

Wow.

I'd be cringing in embarrassment if I didn't think I have a better handle on fashion nowadays. Though of course I'll probably be saying the same thing about what I wear now in another fifteen years.

The good thing? I still fit in them! And I got a good chuckle AND a blog post out of the discovery.

Who said cleaning can't be fun?