Hays, party of 4, your table is ready.

Lazymeesh

2011-07-11T22:18:00.002-04:00

I am about five feet tall. Maybe five one. (My license says five one, but the DMV didn't actually measure me. I just decided I was that tall and told them so.) I think I maxed out around the time I was fourteen or fifteen. It has its advantages and disadvantages, as all heights do, I am guessing. It works for me, which is convenient, as there is little I could do about it.

My weight, on the other hand, is a funny little thing that seems to have spiraled out of control. I weighed 115-125 in late adolescence, adding a few pounds Freshman year, shedding a few the next, pretty much squatty but very toned until I became pregnant. Nursed each kid forever, and had no problem shedding baby weight (don't hate) either time. Maintained the 120ish until my sweet Momma got really ill and did a 6-week stint in the stepdown unit of the ICU, with me living in the hospital room with her. Then the weight started creeping up on me, as I lived on hospital food (actually many quite good choices at New Hanover Medical Center, if you are ever hospitalized in Wilmington), takeout, and stress. Thought I was huge when I reached 135 (which, by the way, is also what the DMV thinks I weigh). Managed to maintain that, though, through moving to a new state and all that entailed.

Then, life got a little crazier. Momma and Daddy both died 11 months apart. I had a hysterectomy. My thyroid got wacky. I started teaching again and entered graduate school. None of these things served my waistline well. When I hit 145, I realized I hadn't weighed that much full term with either pregnancy. I did Shrinkdown through the school and the Y, and was developing some pretty good habits, but life took over and I got lazy. My blood pressure got wacky. I kept on eating whatever I felt like eating and sitting more than ever. At 164 I realized I was only a pound away from being fifty pounds heavier than I was 10 years ago. They say five pounds a year can sneak up on you. They are right.

My bestest buddy and roomie of all time (Nicole) is scary fit these days. She and I used to share clothes like we shared giggles and secrets, but my stressors have made me rounder and rounder, while hers have made her leaner and leaner. She had four children within three years, and her party-of-6 has led a healthier, more active lifestyle than my party-of-4, with far less TV, insanely fewer Happy Meals, and many more athletic endeavors. She's a physical therapist (my personal one, thankyouverymuch) and I've always depended on her to help me stay motivated and well, to power through injury, to tell me when I need to get off my butt.

And so I am doing that. A high school classmate of ours developed a neighborhood Lazyman Triathlon last year in Virginia, and Nicole is coordinating one in her Maryland neighborhood this year. She told me about it months ago, and I made her promise me she would hold me to participating at-large (punny, punny). Godblessher, she did. Basically, participants have one month to complete the distances of an Ironman Triathlon. For the month of July I need to accumulate 112 miles of cycling (or spinning on a stationary), 26.2 miles of running (or walking), and 2.4 miles of swimming (or moving in the water). I could have signed up for the Half Lazyman (y'all are smart enough to figure out what that would be), but I figured if I was going to do this, I had better do it full on. (Mind you, I did NOT see any sense in going for the DOUBLE Lazyman!)

Lemme tell you friends, it sounds easier than it is. I need to average 6.55 miles/week of walking, 0.6 miles/week of swimming, and 28 mi/wk of spinning. For those of you leading active lifestyles already, that might not sound like much, but boy howdy, I am spent just trying to get it all in without pushing myself to the point of injury. I was short of my target this week (which was actually 10 days), but when I think about it, I'm okay with it. I have felt myself pushing a little harder, going a little farther, trying to do one more length of the pool because I have a goal and a deadline. These are ordinarily things I don't handle well. I ignore deadlines until they are upon me, and I try not to quantify life. But I am working little by little to improve this one aspect of my life, and it feels fantastic.

Saturday afternoon, my whole family went to the Y and worked out in the Wellness Center for an hour. Tonight, the boys and I went for another hour. I have been walking around the neighborhood. I have been to the pool with my girl and made myself swim (not my favorite thing to do) while she played and encouraged me. This is all good stuff. We might reach the point where we all feel ready to go hiking, which my love and I used to love doing together. I might even learn to enjoy cycling, which my love has wanted me to like for years. More than anything, I know I will not be lugging 165 pounds down the blue hall to my classroom every day next year and trying to lift it off the floor every morning. This is good.

Anyway, that's what I am up to. My endurance on the stationary has already increased dramatically, mostly because I can READ while I do that, but partly because my heart and quads are learning to cooperate with me. I even came home after spinning ten tonight and walked another 3/4 mile with the yellow dog. Tomorrow I'll see if I can squeeze in both a long walk and some extra lengths in the pool. I can do this!

I'll keep you posted.

18 years later

2011-06-18T10:18:00.007-04:00

So, as the anniversary of my marriage to my beloved approaches, I am getting all sentimental. I've been scanning photos and uploading them to facebook, promising myself that I'll find time this summer to scan the negatives and preserve them digitally. It's funny how pictures can put you in a time and place in a surreal way, isn't it? Before I started scanning them in, I was thinking of posting here a secretish tale of all the things I hated about my wedding. Believe me. There were many. Nasty emotions were present, control issues abounded, and if I had it all to do again with today's eyes, the whole thing would be a world different. But as I scanned and read the thousands of words each photo carried, I remembered all the wonderful things, the happy emotions, the love that held it all together and made it happen. So what you'll read here is a blend of all that, a few pictures of the reality I have created for myself of that day.

We'll start here. The man in the stole is my beloved priest, mentor, friend, grandfather figure, Frank Mason Ross+. He and I spent countless services together at the altar, where I came to learn how to sense his needs before he would verbalize them, and he would gently guide me through caring for God's people. He and his lovely wife, Evelyn, meant more to my family than many a relative, and every Hart wept and giggled at his funeral some years later. He had retired before my wedding, and a new rector had come to lead our parish. I did not like the new guy, and I did not really want to. I wanted my Frank+ to marry us. I wanted MY priest to lay his hands on my beloved and me, to offer God's blessing on our new life together. But the new guy insisted that he be a part, and I questioned his motivation from the beginning. (These many years later, I still do.) Nonetheless, Bob was the one who led our "premarital counseling" (which was actually just a wedding plan - shame on him for not guiding us through important and tough questions!). Bob was the one who insisted during the rehearsal that God was okay with just the bride and groom receiving the communion. Let me just say, Hays-then-Hart showed her royal bridal ass and was plenty ready to run away that night and do it all differently. Nonetheless, my Frank+ made it all better. My friend Maxine+ gently persuaded and firmly insisted. I let the three of them hash it out theologically. Know what's funny? I don't really remember the resolution. I couldn't tell you if we all shared in the bread and cup or not. I just don't remember. All I remember is that I felt let down, disappointed, betrayed by the politics surrounding my faith. But the next day, when my Frank+ asked my love and me to say our vows to each other, when he held my hand before my husband put the ring on it, when he cried all the way through it, I just wanted to jump up in my white dress (which felt like an acolyte's vestment, come to think of it) and sneak into the parish hall and get him some water to help him clear his voice. I kind of wish I had. But I didn't want my Jimmy, who didn't fully understand my relationship with this old man, to think I was running. I didn't care what the hundred other folks crammed into the church thought, but I for sure didn't want my beloved to feel any more uncomfortable than a groom already does. When I think of my wedding, I think of Frank+, and I miss him terribly.

My face pretty much sums up everything I was feeling, I think! My sweet Momma. Oh, how I miss her, too. She tried so hard to be enthusiastic about the whole wedding mess despite her health, her uncertainty about my marrying at not-quite-22, her worries and concerns about pleasing me on a budget (which I later found she had blown completely). I look at the pictures of her dressing me and dressing my niece the flower girl, and I remember how tender she was in her gruffness, how her touch made all things better, and how she cared for me always in all ways. We were playful and silly and positive despite the stress and foolishness of it all. And my Nicole, in the red dress, was and remains my dearest friend of all time. With such a small church, I kept my bridesmaids to just my sisters, and Jimmy had his dad and brother on his side. But my Nik was there to do all the things a Matron of Honor would, and she did. She reminded me to eat and fetched me food. She ran to the drugstore for tampons and hairspray and all the things a bestie grabs from the honeymoon-needs list. She made me nap. She jumped right in and helped to dress me, she checked on the menfolk to make sure all was well there, and she surely did a thousand other things I have no idea about today, because that is what friends do. All these years later, after being pregnant together and raising kids and battling depression and all that life has thrown our way, we know that when we are old and need wiping, that the other will be there.

I don't know if I ever saw this picture before yesterday. I love it.

We had an official photographer, who was sort of adequate, but who didn't require that I buy an album and whose package price included the negatives. That's what I wanted. I never did a formal bridal portrait - too pricey - and spent way too much time during the reception being photographed. I hardly remember the reception. I remember that the community building was not air conditioned and we all spent a lot of time outside in the ocean breezes coming through the inlet, and I really didn't feel all that social anyway. Most of the people there were my family's and Jim's family's guests - not mine, really. I needed space, and I don't regret taking it. Nonetheless, we had also asked my niece's daddy, Stu, to take candids, too. He captured this moment of Hart life perfectly. We weren't all there, but with six or seven, it's hard to all be in the same place at the same time. We were together, and not necessarily concerned about what the rest of the world was up to. We always welcomed happiness in spite of tension. We pooted and giggled. I like to think that in the midst of the nonsense of the celebration that one of us farted and the rest of us were amused by it. That, or someone said something smartypants and triggered the silliness. Whatever it was, I love the look on my parents' faces, the goofy grins we all share in this shot.

And finally, at least for this post...

All my life I lived with this river. The mouth of the Cape Fear - I've actually been called that on more than one occasion - "The Water." When you live in a place like Southport, you take The Water for granted sometimes. You assume it is everywhere. Believe me, I have lived many places, and it isn't. This will always be a place that heals me, reminds me, softens me. I could sit and stare at this water forever. Our family often did, even if not always together. My Daddy spent countless hours sitting on the swings and benches with old-timers who remembered when Southport really was a quaint fishing village. My Momma and I would take my Beth (and eventually my Babies) to The Water to feed the gulls, watch the tides, enjoy the majesty. I would go-go-car-ride with my Maggie dog to find a few minutes to breathe in the salt-tinged air, just to breathe. We look to The Water for what has been, for what will be. When I look at myself in this picture, I think about how long I've been away from that place and how I can never really leave it. I sense a wistfulness, a tightness in the chest that says, "Goodbye, childhood; hello, marriage." And that is what my wedding really was. It was a time to remember how much I need my family, but that I was ready to make my own. It was a time to let the people in my life celebrate, to love me, to serve my groom and me, to serve each other.

I've said before that weddings are about everyone BUT the bride, and I still think that. The bride has already let go by the time the wedding comes around, at least as much as any of us really lets go, but the people around her need the ceremony to allow the letting-go to happen. The mother of the bride needs to have that moment of getting her baby girl ready one last time. The father of the bride needs to formally say, "This is mine. Treasure her," even if those aren't the words he says. The siblings need to have someone to mock once more, to share the attention with before she goes away. The family of the groom needs to let the bride's family dynamic be what it is, and to welcome her into their own. The groom needs to see how much fuss she is worth, to remember her face as she approaches their life together. Everyone needs to look at how the Bride and Groom show their love for each other and to each other, and remember that weddings are about love, about marriage, about commitment. They aren't about the flowers, or the dresses, or the arguing priests. They aren't about perfect pictures or glamorous cakes. They certainly aren't about getting drunk and partying all night, although that sometimes happens. Weddings are about transition from living apart to living as one. Ours was that. It might not have been perfect, and I would do some things differently if I had known better or if I planned it today, but I do know it was about love. I look at these pictures, and I don't see the sadness or hurt feelings, or stress. I don't see the flowers, or the ribbons, or the venue. I see love. And 18 years later, it's still there.

Happy anniversary to my best friend, my boyfriend, my true love, the father of my babies, the keeper of my tears, the holder of my hand, the pusher of my buttons, the bigger piece of me, my Jimmy, my honey, my husband. Wanna get married?

Random Summer Reading Thoughts

2011-06-09T10:14:00.005-04:00

Took the kids to Barnes and Noble yesterday afternoon to make some "Summer Reading" purchases. They have their lists from the schools they'll be starting in the fall (Godhelpme, middle and high) and want to get the required reading out of the way to free up thinking space for their REAL summer reading.

Austin's heading into English II Honors (whatever that means) and has to annotate his readings. He is at that point where I have spent much time - the place where you think it is offensive, at best, to write in a book. And I'll admit, although I have no problems marking up my professional reading, especially printed copies of articles, I still don't like to capture my thinking in my novels. Maybe that comes from having borrowed so many, or maybe it's some other hang-up about letting the feelings and thoughts enter and exit without needing or wanting to capture them. Don't know... Either way, Austin picked one from the required list and one sequel to a book he'd read earlier this year, and will pick the third sometime after making his way through these two.

Kori's list was actually at the house, so we pulled it up in the i(diot)Phone. She's such a fiction girl, so the SC Junior Book Award Nominees list was plenty for her to make her choices. Conveniently, the good folks at the BN had a table set up with stacks of them. She asked for the one that was missing that she most wanted (Anything but Typical) and sent the workerguy scurrying into the back for it. We picked up a few others and I slipped over to the table for the Children's Book Award Nominees, which was the designated list most of my friends from this year would be using to guide their choices. I snatched up four or five for my classroom and for the beginnings of my own summer list.

See, for the past three years, I have only read a very few novels, what with all the reading of M.Ed. things, and my Summer Reading will be stacks and stacks of books from my classroom library. Sure, there are plenty of grown-up books that I might enjoy here and there, but I need, need, NEED to know more books for helping matchmake them with my fifth grade friends. I have to find more books that compel me to keep reading so I can help my friends meet a book that will push them beyond the required chapter or pages or minutes. I need to find out which ones from the required list will be good ones for me to suggest when I run into my friends in the grocery store and harass them lovingly about what they've been reading. I need to read, and so very often, the truest books are the ones not written for adults.

So, I've read two so far this summer break, and I am remembering how hard it is to try to read a book through a kid's eyes. It's hard to remember that kids don't always read a book cover-to-cover in one or two blocks of reading time. They might hit a chapter or two, then wait a day, then read some more, then wait, so they might not notice that the author seems to be rushing through the story - they've had hours or days to exist with the parts they've read, so when they pick it up, they're ready to move forward. It's hard to remember that my younger friends might get stuck on a part that doesn't make sense, maybe because of some word choice the author made, or because they don't understand a reference, or because the stupid publishers keep splitting the words up in arbitrary places... I don't have that problem as much when I am reading their books, so it's hard to remember how much thinking that can take. It's so hard, in fact, that I found myself wondering why I would even try to be a kid-reader. Duh! In order to make the most of a book, I need to read it through my eyes. Of course! I find myself thinking critically about the complexity of the novels, of how I want the author to develop the characters more, or how I wish they wouldn't leave out such big blocks of time, or blah blah blah, and that makes me realize that some kids will be doing the same thing, even if some are not. I need to be aware of what I am thinking when I am reading and not always second guessing what a kid might be thinking. They want to know what I think of a book when I recommend one to them, not what I think they will think. They want to know what a book made me feel, not what emotions I think it might evoke in them. They want to know what my relationship was with the author. They want to know why I think they would like it, which means that I know THEM, not just the book. THAT is what I need to remember as I read this stack I've started.

Once I got that straight in my head, I opened myself to a realization: what I am learning about myself as a reader is that I bring my relationships with others to every book I read, and that is what makes books great. All that text-to-text and text-to-self and text-to-world connecting and the labeling thereof is one thing (and Austin has to label the connections he makes in his annotations - UGH) but I think we might be ignoring or missing out on one important connection we make when we read: Text-to-others. (And yes, I am making this up as I go, so please, friends, tell me if I stole this from someone else in my subconscious readerbrain.)

Take the book I just finished this morning: Heart of a Shepherd by Rosanne Parry. I found that I wasn't so much imagining how I would feel if I were the main character (Brother) or how he was feeling or thinking. Instead, I realized I was thinking of friends I have who might read this and what they might be feeling as they read it. I thought of a young Catholic friend I taught this year who would understand all the references to the Mass and to serving as an acolyte, and how that would draw him closer to Brother. I thought of my grownup friend from California and how I had never heard of Basque before I met her and how she would connect to those references. I imagined the life my pre-school nephew might lead, being the son of a Lt.Colonel, knowing that his dad might have led some neighbors into battle and sent them home in pieces, and how that might make him feel if he read this when he was older. I couldn't think about how I connected to this text without thinking about how others might. I had all of those people with me in my bed this morning as I read the final chapter and wept and wept. If I had allowed myself to read this book analytically, or critically, or from a how-would-I-teach-this-book lens, I would not have. Because I invited my relationships into the book, I could feel the story, know the characters, and imagine the life Brother was leading.

I guess what I am thinking here is that I need to help my readers find books that connect to them, to their experiences, to their schema, but maybe I need to spend some extra time helping them build relationships with each other so they can take each other home with them over the summer and over their lives. If they know about more than just themselves, if they know their friends and their friends' stories, if they can imagine that theirs is not the only point-of-reference, then they can grow in their own understanding of books by taking those friends' lives into account when they are reading.

So, as I start my next book this evening, know that one or more of you, dear readers, might be curled up beside me as I invite you in for my experience with the new text. Looking greatly forward to seeing who shows up in my head!

I'd rather be naked

2011-05-28T16:26:00.003-04:00

Before you get excited about the title, know that this is still a PG-rated place. No nudity here, unless you let it pop into your mind, and I strongly suggest you don't.

My family is at the neighborhood pool. I am not. There are several reasons for this, which I suppose you could call excuses, but I'll share them with you.

One: It is hot out there. It is not in here. I love the outdoors, but I have perspired enough in the past 24 hours to last a decade. Fifth grade celebration (which is not a graduation, but by golly it felt like one after two hours in the seriously under-cooled theater) and the extended recess yesterday afternoon had me fanning myself so much yesterday I should have sore triceps today. (I love that as I was pushing the last little bits of paper before it started that my little people knew instinctively that I could not fan myself with the laminated Uncle Sam poster while gluing a script to construction paper, and three of them leaped into action, creating my own personal fan system. God bless them for knowing their old woman teacher.) All of that to say, I am paying for this air conditioning and I do not mind one bit being in it.

Two: Swimsuits are bad, bad, bad news for women who do not have perfect bodies. Guys, I promise, not one of us is judging your middle-aged white bellies or your hairy backs or your scrawny bird chests. We are too busy worrying about who can tell how much skin we have that our swimsuits won't contain, or how European we look despite our best hair-removal efforts, or the number of jiggles-per-step our thighs now make. Really. It is almost hard to have fun knowing that you feel like a marine mammal pretending to be human. It is especially hard when you haven't always had a waistline bigger than your hips or bust. Combined. I tried to put on a suit to go join my family. I couldn't get my biggest one-piece on, and the tankini that fits actually makes me look bigger than I do naked. This can not be the phenomenon the manufacturer expected for me.

Three: I like being here by myself. I like napping. I like (well, don't get annoyed by) doing laundry and tidying up when I am home alone. I can clip my hair out of my face and take off my more uncomfortable garments when I am at home on a Saturday afternoon and love knowing that I do not have to go anywhere all day. Heck, I can soak in the tub and pretend it's a pool - and not have to worry about how I look (see "Two" above).

So, I guess I am saying it is summer and I would rather be naked. Is that so wrong?

Are all readers created equal?

2011-04-03T17:15:00.003-04:00

Some of you who frequent this space might not know that I am in my capstone course for an M.Ed in Language and Literacy from USC. (Okay, most of you who frequent this space are in that same program. But I like to pretend I have other readers.) It is not a thesis program (hence, the M.Ed. and not the M.A., I am guessing) but we have a culminating academic paper due in, um, 11 days, which is to be a synthesis of our understanding about one of the tenets of literacy instruction we've explored and embraced over these 33 hours/ 3 years. Am I the only one who thinks this is actually a thesis program? Hey, we've been doing academic vocabulary in our district - see that "thesis" root in "synthesis" up there? Yeah. I am to express belief and support it with evidence from the Body of Works we've studied...

Anyway, I digress. (Not shocking.) And I am on this site writing some random ponderings instead of in Word writing the bloody paper. (Also, not shocking.) But not really...

See, I just finished rereading a couple of articles we read at the beginning of our program, way back in the summer of 2008, right at the peak of my mourning and during a time when I still wasn't certain if I would be teaching the coming fall. Both were about Louise Rosenblatt: one was her thoughts on reading occurring in the transaction between reader and text, and on the efferent and aesthetic stances of readers. The other, on her theory in practice at my pal Emily Grace's AMAZING elementary school. As I read these articles with my older and (perhaps) wiser eyes, I experienced something new (as Louise would have predicted). Actually, I think I experienced some of the same old things, just with a different perspective grounded in having experienced more living and teaching and mothering.

Here's what I read today: School too often interferes with growing readers by trying to grow them too quickly, at someone else's arbitrarily inflicted pace and under someone else's definition of "growth."

Now, some of you are trying to figure out how I got there, I am guessing. (Some of you might not have any idea what I am talking about, but read on, and I promise some of it might make sense.) This week, my precious babies (those both borne and assigned unto me) took MAP (Measures of Academic Progress) Reading. They sat at their little computer screens and answered all kinds of "comprehension" questions about passages, roots of words, literary elements, and such. Some of them did astoundingly better on this administration of MAP than they had in the fall. A good many of them flatlined within the range they had scored in the fall. My own personal fifth grader kicked its assonance, both in raw score and in fall-spring difference, especially unusual given that she didn't have much room to grow! With all this MAP on the mind and with my existential ponderings of my core beliefs which I call "pre-writing," I came to wonder what in the world is going on in our classrooms and lives that makes one kid's MAP Reading transaction produce results so very different than another's.

It occurs to me that MAP (and, indeed, PASS, SAT, and all other standardized testing) measures not "academic progress" but "dominance of efferent stance in experiencing this text." It also occurs to me that the brilliant things my students have said all year long about the texts we've shared and the ones they've read with friends can not be reflected by this test. Now, I don't teach Kori (thanks be to God) but I do teach lots and lots of little people who have been in her classes since first grade. She has sat alongside these chronological peers for the same "lessons" in reading and writing, math, science, and social studies. She has heard the same lectures, done the same activities and projects, eaten the same lunch, played the same PE games... In short, she has lived with these people school day in and school day out. But she looks infinitely "smarter" when it comes to the numbers she can get the test to produce.

And yes, y'all, that girl is smart. But I can't say that she thinks any more deeply than the people I teach. She is clever and witty, but no more so than many of my babies. She is quick to incorporate new concepts into her current understandings of the world, but I teach lots of kids who are that way. I am definitely not involved in her homework - never have been - and I don't even read to her anymore. (Sad!) Our family is as dysfunctional as the next. (OK, maybe not, but we do argue and keep a messy house and watch a lot of tv...) HOW DID SHE LEARN TO PLAY THE TESTING GAME?

The only answer I have is that reading is a part of her - a big part - and she has always been a reader, not just of texts, but of everything around her. She studies her environment, connects to it, makes everything make sense. But don't these other kids? Didn't their mommies take them to the hands-on museums and the Little Gym and all the other hyper-mom nonsense I've done? Most of them did. Some of them have provided experiences I never even thought of or cared to! But something in her multitude of experiences made language, made literacy make sense to her in a way that it doesn't yet to so many other kids. She can distinguish "paradox" from "oxymoron" and "hyperbole" because she constructed ideas of these concepts, then someone named them for her, and then she managed to remember the name long enough to recognize it on the test. Maybe her aesthetic stance toward life has enabled her to code-switch and recognize when an efferent stance is needed, and her aesthetic reading foundation has made the efferent possible...

It is hard for me to distinguish which of my beliefs about reading and learning were always part of me, which ones were confirmed by my participation in this program, and which ones I have only recently come to hold true. I do know this: learning is harder for some kids than others, particularly "academic" learning. Maybe it isn't even harder as much as it takes longer to take root. But our system fails those kids by making them jump right into demonstrating their understanding before they are ready to even realize that they DO understand. We fail them by spending too much of their life hours doing mundane and damaging tasks rather than helping them see what a life as a reader and learner has to offer. We spend precious hours teaching them how to use each other's expertise to further their writing and how it feels to record your thoughts and share them with the world, and then we have to spend countless more hours helping them learn how to respond to a prompt all by themselves without assistance of any resource other than a dictionary and a thesaurus. It's crap. Pure. Crap. And I don't know how much longer I can endure it.

So, to bring it back to my title - are all readers created equal? YES. Yes, they are, in that each is equipped with the capacity to acquire language and to use it to make sense of the world around them. Each is born to be loved and to experience life fully. Each comes to school looking for someone to help them further their understanding of the world. And we systematically blow it for so many of our kids by doing ridiculous things in the name of Education.

I don't need a test to show me which kids are readers and which are not. They all are. I see it in them every day, and I intend full well to help them see it, too.

Spring is in the air - and my bronchi

2011-03-27T16:22:00.003-04:00

Blucko. I have an official case of the crud. My official self-diagnosis is a bronchitis/sinusitis combo, brought on by the public mating of all God's vegetation over the course of the past two weeks.

And so, I self-medicate. A little of this, a lot of that, hoping to find the right combination that will knock the edge off of my cough-till-I-pee-a-little crud-expelling. (Have I mentioned my affinity for the hyphen?) Today's drugs of choice include Robitussin DM and ibuprofen in addition to the daily cetirizine (Zyrtec) and Flonase (rather, its generic, manufactured by - no kidding - Hi-Tech Pharmacal).

I'm about to bite the bullet and try the much-lauded neti pot. I am a girl who greatly (overly?) appreciates the beauty of pus, that amazing combination of white blood cells, bacteria, and proteins that magically rids our bodies of many rank and raunchy invaders. I openly admit the pleasure I find in bursting big boils, popping pimples, draining abcesses and cysts... So you'd think I'd look forward to the potentially disgusting booger-ridden crud that will pour from my nostril if I find the courage to squirt saline up the other.

Here's the problem with THAT: I have always been mortified of drowning. (Thanks, momma.) I grew up at the coast, and I love the water, and I do know how to swim, but I am still a little anxious about putting myself in any situation in which I might find myself inhaling water. Know what I am saying? Why would I ever squirt volumes of water up my nose? Seems counter-intuitive to the whole breathing concept.

But I might be reaching my limit. Might give it a try.

Or I might just go see the doctor tomorrow and see what other pharmaceutical magic she has up her sleeve for me.

Squirrel Euthanasia

2010-08-25T21:43:00.003-04:00

This story has so much potential for full development and pondering, but here are the nitty gritty details.

Casey Jones managed to catch a squirrel today, which is something our beloved Estherjen (RIP) never managed, but much attempted to do.

I was alerted to this accomplishment by the Boy, who was somewhere between mortified and delighted to report that the yellow retrieverhound was playing chew-toy with said rodent. Apparently there was thrashing about of the then-LIVE squeaky toy. And there was, apparently, squeaking.

Now it's one thing to find a mouse the cat killed, and likely toyed with for a while before it died, but this was timed right in the throes of the action sequence.

Anyway, I rushed to the aid of the rodent, sending the most-proud canine strutting joyfully into the house. As I arrived on the scene, I saw the 3D, HD version of one of those cartoons where a critter splats up against a hard surface. (Picture Skrat in Ice Age as he hits a glacier.) Arms splayed, one of them inverted in a completely unnatural direction. Back half moist with Caseyslobber, stiff. Frantic breathing, but total stillness otherwise. Beady eye glistening and wide open. Oh. My.

Honestly, my first thought was to call a wildlife rehabilitator. I am not even kidding. But then I came to my senses and realized that this poor guy was beyond rehab, or at least a prudent use of fiscal resources required to rehabilitate a dime-a-dozen creature stupid or slow or sick enough to be caught by my not-so-bright-herself mutt.

I knew it needed mercy. Husband wasn't due home for hours. I just wanted to hold it, which, boys and girls, despite everything I know about rabies and diseases and such, I did. Kori brought me an old rag; I wrapped it up and it allowed me to hold its busted little body gently, without protest. I thought about all of the life-on-the-prairie sorts of books I've read (what would Caddie Woodlawn have done?), and figured its little head needed a swift blow to ensure immediate ending to this suffering. (I did run through my mental rolodex of NRA members I knew...)

But, friends, I couldn't muster the guts. Maybe I could have, but my dear friend's beloved was willing to assist, so I didn't have to be this poor little fella's grim reaper. I almost thought I could have suffocated it, held its little nose and mouth shut, but it might have started to struggle (not okay!), and in light of recent SC news, well, you understand...

So, my neighbor is my hero today. My kids got another life lesson. And, here's the bonus, I learned a little about myself. I am only merciful-ish, and I am pretty sure I don't want to be a farmer.

RIP, little guy. And for cryin' out loud, little guy's friends, get the hint: Rat-dog lives in my yard! Go somewhere else!

Summer Plans

2010-04-29T20:28:00.002-04:00

This cracks me up.

The Hayspartyof4 should be receiving our passports any day now. We needed to get them because the Senior Hayses are taking us on a cruise to the Bahamas (yeah, we're grateful, but...). Now, we 4 had already planned to go to Sandusky, OH to go to Cedar Point and ride a bunch of roller coasters and such, but since we will have passports, we have added Canada's Wonderland in Toronto to our itinerary. Fun.

Well, it seems that Rush is on tour this summer, too, and we thought it would be entirely too cool if they were playing in Toronto at all in July, and, of course, as fate would have it, they are. So, we are now planning our Cedar Fair Parks tour around the tickets we have now purchased for the July 17 Rush show in the YYZ. Too much. (No, we will not be attending the RUSHCON in town that week...)

Anyway, just wanted to mention that, as it makes me smile to imagine the memories we will be making with our little family this summer, both on a boat with their grandparents and in the Honda with just the four of us. I can't wait.

Anyone know of any crazy roadside attractions on our route from SC to Toronto to Ohio and back?

I love:

2010-04-06T21:58:00.009-04:00

I have so little to say here, it seems. But in the spirit of trying to post occasionally, I'll just post this because I can.

I love:

I'm baaaaaack!

2009-11-29T00:08:00.003-05:00

Really, people, I know I haven't written in a long time, but no fewer than three of you have given me grief within the past two weeks about my leave of absence from the blogosphere. So, with nothing more to say, I sit here before the keyboard with a dozen or so writing assignments remaining to do for my grad course before Thursday, and for you, dear ones, I will find some little tidbit to keep me legit enough for you to pop by for the occasional reading visit. Okay?

Better still, I'll throw some possible topics out there and let you readers choose which you'd like me to pursue first. Oh, but wait, that requires that you actually comment, which might put a little pressure on those of you who prefer to be voyeurs. Regardless, you can have fun with the stories you imagine based on my list. How's that?

1. Estate Closing and other fun facts of life and death
2. Kori's Elf and the whole Christmas Thang
3. Gettin my baby fix
4. The pros and cons of having faily living nearby
5. The pros and cons of having family live far away
6. Belief systems, religion, and my acknowledgment of my struggles and delights within them
7. Cleaning house, literally and figuratively
8. On writing, and not-so-much
9. Procrastination tips for the organizationally constricted
10. It just seems like there ought to be ten

How's that for an invitation to return? Let me know which number(s) you'd like for me to explore so you can get deeper in my warped head.

Mercy

2009-08-20T05:49:00.002-04:00

I just awoke from a decent night's sleep, considering that today is the first day of school and I have the first day jitters, which I am sooooooo glad to still get after all these many years! Anyway, what awoke me was my dream...

I have always had the most obnoxiously vivid and real dreams: recurring ones, nightmares, freaky morphing from one thing to the next kinds of dreams that I am sure the psychologists would enjoy hyperanalyzing. This is not always a good thing. I honestly can't tell sometimes if something that happened in my dreams happened or not, as they start to grow their own little synapses and mess with my memory... This is not a good sign of things to come, I imagine! And it might be because I watch entirely too much TV, but frequently, one night's dream picks right up where I had left off in the morning, like the next episode in the series. Annoying, almost.

Anyway, after a series of unfortunate events in my dream last night, I awoke this morning because of the way my dream ended...

Imiagine me standing in the middle of the road surrounded by people going about their daily lives. I am standing with my arms in the air and my face to the sky, just like Andy Dufresne in Shawshank Redemption, who had just crawled through the river of poo to escape prison and was feeling the rains pour down over him. And I am singing - well, more like bellowing - a song that I think I must have picked up from my momma's gospel eight-tracks back in the day...

God have mercy, mercy on me.
God have mercy, mercy on me.
God have mercy, mercy on me.
The Lord have mercy on me.

Now when I say bellowing, I mean that exhausted crying kind of singing you might hear someone doing and wonder if they are actually an injured cat. This was all accompanied, of course, by me doing some ugly crying (see previous post) so the words had to have been almost unintelligible to my ephemeral companions. If you run into me, ask me to demonstrate. I promise, it wasn't pretty.

So, you know me, I am trying to make sense of this, as it was enough to send me to the computer on this, the first day of school, rather than sneaking in another half hour of rest or a cup of decent joe.

I need me some mercy and I need to give it out, too.

There's some old school prayer that repeats the line "God have mercy on me, a sinner." Mercy is more than forgiveness, it's more than graciousness. There's a sense of compassion, of justice, of wholeness-of-the-Body involved. Now, I am not all into "sin" as a concept that I find troubling. (Another post altogether, I suppose) but I do know that most of us do wrong to each other without truly meaning to cause harm. Okay, I know I do... I won't speak for the rest of you. But I think I need to remember this MERCY thing more often, particularly as the new school year begins.

God have mercy on me as I do my best, which is often not good enough, with my children, my student-children, their parents, my colleagues, my siblings, my proverbial neighbors.

God have mercy on me as I hurt the people I love, the people I don't-really-LIKE, and the people I don't even know.

God have mercy on me as I grow out of my less-wonderful self into the self I hope to be.

God have mercy on me as I learn to show mercy on all the aforementioned parties.

Ahh. Now I feel better equipped to start the year!

Cancer conundrum

2009-07-01T19:38:00.003-04:00

I do not want skin cancer. I'm not sure I can think of anyone who actually would want ANY cancer, for that matter, but I am particularly not interested in having skin cancer. It's sneaky. It leaves scars when they cut it out. Favorite TV personalities get killed off their shows with metastatic versions of it. Ick.

But I don't want to be soooooo pasty white that I LOOK like I have cancer. Honestly, I feel like I look ill if the middle of summer arrives and my skin is so pale and semi-transparent that you can see the roots of my leg hairs on my most clean-shaven days.

I figure I have melanin for a reason; why not put it to good use? Yeah, yeah, the doctors all say that no tan is a healthy tan, but I think they're just jealous because they are locked up in the hospital all day and can't sit on the boats we help them buy.

I also do NOT want a sunburn. So I slap on the SPF 70 and hope enough of it wears off to let just a teensy few of the sun's harmful rays stimulate my freckle-production that is the closest I'll ever come to being tan. Sunburn hurts. Tan does not.

This seems awfully petty, now that I read over it. Maybe more than a little vain. I should protect my skin. But hey, I should also lay off the Firefly, ice cream, cheese, and other yummies while taking up a regular and reasonably intense exercise routine.

So, I'm going to keep working on trying to find the balance which gives me an identifiable shade of brown without turning me into a lobster or setting me up for chemo later on. Wish me luck.

Ugly Crying

2009-06-27T22:53:00.002-04:00

I've always been a weepy sensitive chick, which I am sure some of you will find not at all surprising and others will find beyond shocking, but I am easily moved by both the awesome beauty and heartwrenching ugliness of this world of ours. I can remember being a young teenager and crying as one of the little girls in our church played her violin. No trip to volunteer at the Special Olympics was complete without a good boohoo. Little House on the Prairie episodes, Kodak commercials, whatever. I'm a weeper. Heck, one of the ever-so-many reasons I avoid church of late is that I can't make it through a service without a good weep caused by my haint of a momma. (Yes, "haint." That old woman haunts me.)

So imagine the Hays Party of 4 watching "Marley and Me" this weekend. I have avoided this movie with all of my being because I had heard about its tearjerking ending and just didn't feel like playing. I for SURE wasn't about to go see it at the movie theater where I might not be able to make it out of the theater unassisted.

Now y'all know I love my Casey. And I still ache, years after their deaths, for my firstborn, Esther, and my bulldog, Abby. So I knew pretty quickly into the film that this was going to get ugly. I was doing fine, enjoying the humor and all that stuff, until a scene early in the film where Jennifer Anniston was comforted by her pooch. All too real. I was transported to a rotten spring day in 1996 when my dear muttbaby was exactly who I needed to overcome a little woe-is-me grief. I started crying and laughed at my fool self and said to my Jimmy, "Oh, this is going to get ugly."

All through the movie, Austin, who had already seen it, kept checking on me to see whether I was moved by the same parts that bothered him. At some point, Kori and Austin were both snuggled face first into Caseydog on the couch. I found myself reaching for her every now and then. WE all progressed from touched to weeping to sobbing uncontrollably. By the end, Kori, also a weeper, was an ugly mess, just like her momma. We're talking snot-bubble producing, upper-body trembling, can't even talk, laughing oddly at yourself kind of ugly cry.

And boy, did it feel good. I don't think I've had that kind of totally cathartic, completely cleansing, make your gut hurt kind of cry in a long while. Not even with the events of the past few years. I needed it, I think. Puts everything in perspective. Reminds you how good life is. Makes you see the people you love and remember to hold them gently and enjoy them fully.

Great movie. Cry and all. If you've never known the genuine love of a good dog, you won't get it, I don't think. But if you have, you'll give thanks for their companionship, their unfailing love, their model for humanity. Go rent it. Grab a hankie. Watch it with someone you love, the furrier the better.

Playing with the background

2009-06-15T22:26:00.001-04:00

Man, I want to learn to edit html so I can create my very own blog template. Meanwhile, I'm toying with some ready-made ones. Of course, my widgets are all gone, so I'll be forced (ouch!) to tinker with those another day.

And truly, I should be reading right now.

Anyway, enjoy all the ridiculous changes I throw out here over the next little while.

Killing trees

2009-06-09T17:10:00.002-04:00

New printer cartridge - $20
Pack of Office grade printer paper - $5
Saving trees by printing double sided - priceless.

Here's the problem with Blackboard, the online resource for college classes these days: Instead of students buying a good old Kinko's/Copytron coursepack like we did back in the day, some poor graduate assistant sap has to scan and upload a gazillion documents for students to access. Sounds pretty earth-friendly, eco-happy, tree-loving, yes?

Turns out you have to print most of this junk anyway to be able to use it in the class, mark it up with margin notes and highlighters (yes, I am so old school like that), or access it later in life with ease.

During the school year, I usually laser-print it all double-sided at school (don't tell the district, eh?) but with summer here, I figured I'd be responsible and do it at home.

Mind you, I've now invested $30 for this session's printing extravaganza, plus the $3 for a binder to put all this in. My trusty HP deskjet only has a manual double-sided feature (alas). So, here I sit, clicking and printing and turning pages and clicking and printing and so on until I grow too weary of this tedium or finish, whichever comes first. but I'm saving trees. Sort of. Right?

No TV

2009-05-17T22:08:00.003-04:00

About an hour and a half ago, our entirely-too-large flat screen TV went black. Husband has been messing with it since then, and has determined that we have a power issue with it. It will reset and work for a few seconds, then go black again. DVR is fine...it's the TV.

Dangit! I missed the Housewives and will have to watch them online tomorrow, I reckon, if the TV hasn't been been off long enough by then to be all better.

And it sure seems quiet in here.

Because TV is a family value around here, paying the bills and all, we tend to think nothing of having it on all the time. Heck, in Arkansas, we had more TV's than we had people in our house. We only have three now - one in the living room, one in the playroom, and one in our bedroom (yeah, whatever, all you perfect people out there). We LIKE our shows - is that so wrong?

What is wrong, I guess, is that it is on all the time (hence the power issue?) whether we are really watching something in particular or not. I'm already anticipating summer and all the Nicke-fricke-lodeon to which my poor brain will be exposed, not to mention those of my little people. Maybe this will be a good opportunity for us to examine those values and consider NOT repairing or replacing the TV immediately.

Or maybe we'll all just spend more time in our rooms.

Either way, the dryer is beeping (still not used to that, but that's another post altogether) and I should go hang some clothes on my way to bed.

Then I think I might just have to see what's on before I go to sleep, eh?

If you were wondering, you can't type anything but titles and comments on an iPhone.

2009-05-13T22:00:00.003-04:00

Today's expense analysis

2009-04-22T23:13:00.003-04:00

New A/C unit: $1870

Trip to Doctor: $15 copay

Brunch at Arby's because the news from the doctor wasn't enough to deter me from ordering the LARGE: $7.46

Quick trip to Target: + $37 (return), -$70 (gifts for friend and administrative professionals)

Unsweetened Tea in school cafeteria: $1.25 (yeah, I know...)

Unpaid ETV pledge: $120

Time used poorly: 5 hours (so far)

Not having made any progress on my paper or on studying for the Praxis? Typical.

Mood: Surprisingly not worried about finances, paper, praxis, or work.

Now that's priceless.

How I am

2009-04-21T22:10:00.004-04:00

People always want to know how everyone is. Truth is, that whole "how are you?" thing is just a social norm...most folks who ask it don't really want to know.

But if you are really wondering how I am, I don't even know how to answer that.

For starters, I just went back to my April 20, 2008 (which was written so late at night that it posted as April 21) blog post to see what I had said about my daddy on the day of his death. Then I remembered having pondered his health and mortality earlier that month or so, and I backed up to my March posts. I was punched and blessed with a picture of my daddy taken at my Beth's graduation. I've been moping around here like a kicked puppy for a few days and when I saw that shot of him, I finally had the good cry I've been needing.

At 7:30 tomorrow morning the nice man from the heating and air company will be here to analyze our potentially dead compressor. Whatever needs fixing will not be cheap, and A/C is not optional here!

Then I go to the doctor at 9:30 to find out that I am about 35 pounds overweight, have high cholesterol, a little hypothyroid, elevating blood pressure, and to discuss how well (or not so much) I've been dealing with my chronic mild depression. Most people would never suspect that I can be a total Eeyore inside, despite my chronic optimism and playfulness. Thing is, most people mistake playfulness and hopefulness for happiness, which is not always the case. The first two are intentional mindsets, the last a little harder to come by.

At 11:30 I report to my job for the rest of the day. I love my kids, and I love working with them and watching them become improved people, but I do not always love my colleagues and I generally loathe the hoops through which we must make our children and ourselves jump. I am seriously in a funk about potential (inevitable) funding shortfalls which might cut my position altogether next year. I do not like the competitive and bitter me that this anxiety has brought to the surface. I am having to work REALLY hard to keep a smile on my face when I know that my performance as a teacher and my passion for teaching and learning mean nothing when it comes down to who will have a job next year and who will not. Then, that darn optimism sneaks in, and I know that all will be well and right for me and mine, no matter what. Then I feel like an ass for being so whiny. And so on...

I have a ton of work to do for a graduate project due Friday at 5PM, then PRAXIS for Social Studies (URG) on Saturday. Not feeling like working on either of those things, but really need to so as not to exacerbate the job-uncertainty situation. Both seem meaningless if I am not to be working next year, but something seems right and proactive about giving these tasks a valid and valiant effort, sooooo...

Husband is really feeling stressed on his job for the first time in a long time. His department is down a few heads and he isn't sure he'll get to replace the most recent departure. Couple that with two furloughs for everyone in his department, plus a pay reduction to boot, and he's crabby and anxious about work. He is working so hard and I am not really treating him nicely enough (I'm really busy with my aforementioned self-deprecation). Maybe we are looking at some big changes for us all. What the heck...we've gone a whole year without any real challenges, so maybe we're due.

Ooooh, and property taxes are due on the cars. Glad I opened THAT bill today.

The sewer people left us a nasty message today, as did the power company. We always have enough money for these things, just not always the proper motivation to get them paid in a timely fashion. GOT to get back in that mode of sitting down and updating the quicken and paying the bills... One more task for my morning "off" tomorrow to prevent those seemingly important utilities from being disconnected!

But, I have a crazy sweet dog, a beautiful family, and like I said, I love the kids I work with. My good neighbor-buddy has twins coming for me to bounce this summer and there will soon be a time to relax. (Won't there?) I have it much better than many, and I truly do recognize how fortunate I am, but I need to whine sometimes and I can't think of a better outlet than this blog!

Crikey. It's getting late and I have to hit the ground running tomorrow. Maybe the doctor will have some answers in little brown bottles for this pissy attitude I am feeling of late. Or maybe just this little venting will help. Either way, it's bedtime.

Good night.

It's been a long time...

2009-04-19T13:31:00.003-04:00

Just feeling compelled to post a little something since I haven't in FOREVER. Much randomness promised.

Tomorrow is the first anniversary of my daddy's death. (See post from last year about yahrzeits.) I miss him. It's so weird how my mourning for him was so delayed because of my angst about mama. I allow myself a few hours of self-pity every now and then, but I have so many blessings that it is hard to wallow.

I REALLY hope I have a job next year. I love what I do! Yes, it's tiring. Yes, it's demanding. But, it is so satisfying. AND, I feel like a freaking rock star every time I walk down the hall. You gotta love that! BUT, if the budget is so shot that they eliminate all of us who don't yet have continuing contracts, I think I really might look into some environmental education possibilities. I'd love to own/operate a Lake Murray Ecotours sort of thing...

Big project due this week for my graduate class (essentially, I have to create a vision of my classroom and plan for teaching reading next year...), PLUS I am taking PRAXIS II for Social Studies on Saturday. I continue to be amazed at how little history I actually know - and secretly, how little I truly give a rip about - so I am hoping the gods of odds will be on my side and that the answer to most everything will indeed be C.

I am about to shower and head to town with the kids. I love that we call it "going to town" when really we are not that far out in the country. Heck, they're building a new WalMart three miles away. But, I like the idea that we go to town with intentionality. I remember going to Wilmington as a kid - every time seemed like a great adventure with promises of Whoppers from KMart and either Burger King or McDonald's on the way home, depending on whether momma wanted to pay taxes to Brunswick or New Hanover County. That's probably a whole blog entry in itself...

I LOVE my new washer and dryer. LOVE them. I have moved beyond watching the laundry as it tumbles about in the machines, but I have nothing but joy about having those two energy-efficient and durable goods!

I can't wait to spend time in my house with my kids this summer. As much as I love my job, I do live playing house, as well, and I look forward to seeing what I get around to doing around here as the summer days come upon us. I also am looking forward to some time at the beach. I miss the sea. Our former next-door neighbors are moving to Knoxville, and I anticipate we will try to get the kids together in the mountains for some camping, too. Sweeeeeet.

Time to go grocery shopping. I love seeing just how much I can get for the smallest amount of money. I still don't really like planning dinner, but I do enjoy the thrill of using doubled coupons
in conjunction with half off sales to get cheap stuff.

And so, I am off. Not so entertaining, dear ones, but oddly refreshing to have entered a little something in this "space."

In like a lion...

2009-03-01T10:20:00.003-05:00

As my husband has been singing all morning... It's gonna snow-ho-ho right here in Dixie! All will be white overnight, it will be cold!

That nod to Rankin and Bass aside, I love that we are starting March with a few (predicted) inches of snow! While there is much to do and little time to do it at school over the next few weeks, I could really use a snow day.

Although my kids have had a "real" snow before, I am pretty sure their memories are only vague. I am hopeful that we'll get at least 4 or 5 inches so that they can see the majestic beauty of a snow-covered world. It's supposed to start this evening and snow through the night, so tomorrow morning they SHOULD be able to experience that marvelous "ahhhhhhh" of waking to a blanket of white. There's something holy about it - almost like watching the ocean at night - nature's best stuff is healing and exciting and soothing, all at once.

I need to get the laundry caught up so that I can keep up with the wetness of kids-and-dog-in-the-snow. We really don't have appropriate snow gear, but neither did I as a kid. It's a great opportunity to learn to make do! I remember a March snow long ago on the east coast that kept us out of school for days. We had over a foot! Because we lived two blocks from the hospital, momma took in some fellow nurses who'd need to be able to get to work easily (the road crews were nonexistent) so we had extra playmates in our already playful neighborhood. There was a couple from Maine or some other seriously north state who lived a block behind us. I think he was an anesthesiologist, she a nurse. Anyway, they played with us to build a dozen or so snowmen - our "hitchhiker" made the local paper - and we were so amused to watch them cross-country ski to work (this was before Nordic Track, of course - none of us had ever SEEN cross-country skis!). Anyway, my point started out about clothes. We went through so many outfits - soaking ourselves to the core, running in to change, then repeating. Our parents, all medical professionals, insisted we stay dryish to prevent frostbite. Mercy.

Obviously I remember that, if only vaguely, as a valued childhood memory. I want to help my little people create some images like that in their worlds. I want my students to have something to WRITE about after the stinking PASS writing exam. I want a day at home to enjoy my house, my family, myself.

Let it snow!

February - even the name is just wrong...

2009-02-01T18:30:00.002-05:00

It's February. Yippee. (note the lack of an exclamation point, indicating my best impersonation of Austin's most sarcastic tone.)

I never liked February. It's got an odd little name, too few days, and the dumbest of holidays. I mean, really, unless you grew up in Punxsatawney, why would you care about Groundhog Day? And Valentine's Day? Puhleez. The ultimate greeting-card company-created holiday. And Presidents' Day? Really? I'm not unpatriotic, but for crying out loud... How many useless "holidays" can one month have? Sheesh. At least you get a day off for the latter.

Then, my sophomore year in high school, my opinion of February got even uglier. My momma sustained a life-changing head injury and my favorite first cousin died - all within ten days. I was particularly morbid about the anniversaries of those events for longer than seemed appropriate.

February is dark and short and cold. Unless, of course, it's a leap year, in which you have to agonize through one more day of February.

AND there's sweeps. Now, I love new episodes of my stories, but my husband works in TV, so the "Feb book" is another aggravation in our lives - as if May, July, and November weren't enough times a year for the networks to see who is watching what.

But, I think this February has some exciting prospects. Austin has his Jeopardy! audition at the end of the month, so we'll be going on a mini-vacation to Atlanta for a weekend. That's good stuff. Girl Scout cookies arrive in February - there's nothing like some Lemonades or Thin Mints to perk a girl up and pork a girl out.

Anyway, I apologize if my attitude is less than cheerful. I've been fighting a one-way psychological battle with February for so long now that I can't help but grumble "I hate this stupid month," even when I really don't care that much about it. I guess one could say I have a case of the Februaries. I'd be glad to mope around a little longer today and watch TV and eat unhealthy foods.

BUT, I think I'll do one of the things that I love doing - homework. I love reading my graduate course books and reflecting on them. Really, I do! Then I'll write about what a super job I think I did during my evaluation last week. Then I'll get ready to show off again - I suspect the boss will come tomorrow to take a gander at the reasonably good stuff going on my classroom. These are good things.

Anyway, I just wanted to grumble a little and talk myself into getting started - warming up my brain, as I'll be sitting in front of this laptop for the next little while. Sorry I didn't have anything more entertaining to add!

I WANT MY FREAKIN PAPER!

2009-01-25T08:52:00.003-05:00

The nice people at The State do not seem to understand that they have thrown my entire day off balance. I got up. I started a load of laundry, which is more than I usually do. I let the dog out, fed the cat. It's newspaper time.

BUT NO PAPER. ARGH! So, now I've had to call my friend to complain ('cause that helped), fire up the computer to find the non-delivery phone number, call the nice people because the non-delivery form on the website didn't find my account info, and talk to a very nice man who was sincerely apologetic and helpful, thereby negating the previously justified cussing I had done about the printed news industry in general.

Good news: They're bringing me a paper. I guess it must have been in Arkansas that they stopped doing re-delivers (which, you'll note, is a misnomer as the paper was not delivered, and therefore could not be RE-delivered) and started crediting accounts. I had built myself all up for nothing.

Bad news: Now I've been distracted by facebook, this blog, and a hundred other things. My Sunday paper time is MY time - it's early, the light is dim, and there is no noise about except for the occasional stompity-stomp of not-so-little feet in the playroom. I touch every page - except sports (blagh) - sort my circulars according to interest level, saving the best (TARGET, of course) for last. I proceed to coupon time and the joy it brings to match coupons and store sales to maximize the benefit and minimize the cost (thegrocerygame.com). THEN and only then can I get on with my day.

So, I suppose I should be grateful for the muse brought on by the non-delivery, but I'm not. I'm just off kilter and edgy until my crack arrives.

Great. The washer just stopped. Now I feel compelled to start another load. Rats. Looks like I might accomplish something after all today.

Mom Jeans

2009-01-11T20:29:00.003-05:00

Alright, I know I am not a fashionista (I'm more of a "fashionleasta" as they called Michael Feldman on "What Do You Know" today...) but get this: (warning, I get a little judgy, which I'm sure you'll find not at all surprising.)

Today I went downtown to the University bookstore to get my books for this semester's class. It was SO evident that I was twice as old as most of the folks there - I only had four employees approach me in their red "I Can Help You" shirts (seriously, that's what the shirts said), each of whom appeared genuinely disappointed that I was able to figure out the system all by my old lonesome. As I returned down the street to my car, some little adolescent punk stoner sophomore hung his nappy long haired self out of his friend's passenger window, looked at me and said "Moooooooommmmm Jeeeeeaaaannnnnns!" Y'all know I am usually pretty quick with nice little zingers, but I was at a loss. All I could initially think was, "WHAT? These are not designer but they are by no means Mom Jeans!" So, I smirked and chuckled, said nothing, and went on about my business of getting to the car and heading to the grocery stores with my coupons! (How MOM!)

I know that ultimately the best response was no response, but I WISH I had been able to chase the little hookah-sucking Gamecock down to share with him a thing or two about my "Mom Jeans" and how I totally rock them.

First, I'd ask if he had ever actually seen the SNL sketch to which he was referring. Clearly not, as despite any weight I now carry in my midsection, my low-rise flares hardly qualify them as Mom Jeans and the trunkload of junk I carry back there is many things, but not flat.

Then I'd share with him the glories of being a mom and how fine a compliment it was for him to recognize my status as such. I'm fully twice his age. I pay my own tuition. I maintain a 4.0. I buy my own alcohol. I don't have to catch a ride to the Wendy's with my friend in his used car. People respect me. People depend on me. I am salaried and I have benefits. I do my own laundry in a machine that does not take quarters. I can sit at my house and watch any of a number of channels on one of my flat-screens and not have to worry about my roommate bringing home some skank or eating my food. Best of all, unlike my adolescent friend with the tremendous wit, I can "get some" whenever I want with no alcohol involved.

These jeans are evidence that I have been young once, and that I am as young as I feel, but I have overcome much of the self-righteous ignorance of that youth. I can be myself without worrying about what some hosehead thinks of my appearance. There is nothing more important to me than the people who gave me these hips and their needs.

Much like, I suspect, his own mom. I bet he turns to her for money, for comfort, for advice, for food, for laundry service. I imagine he's more than once lied to her, and I hope he's regretted it. I'm sure she loves him despite his low GPA, his "habit" (yeah, I'm assuming), his struggle to realize that he is not the center of the universe. I am certain that, while he probably THINKS he does, he has no idea what the words "sacrifice" and "love" mean - at least not yet. Unless his mom is dead, I am willing to bet that he fully takes her for granted.

My beloved, the best insulter I have ever known, suggested that I should have made a comment about his parts belonging to a boy, and despite the potential for imprisonment that could have brought on, I'm glad that didn't come to me. I hope, instead, that he might hear his mom's voice in his head as he goes to bed tonight, and that he realizes how much better he could have done if he wanted to impress his buddies by insulting a middle-aged woman. I'm sure they thought it was hysterical, and I hope their moms' voices creep into their deepest sleep, as well, if not tonight, but one of these years when they are married to a mom and some little twerp shows his immaturity on a Sunday afternoon with such a clever shot.

Now that I think of it, I should have said something...

"THANK YOU!!!"

(Here's the link to the SNL commercial parody - there are a ton of equally entertaining videos on Youtube, too!)

http://www.hulu.com/watch/10333/saturday-night-live-mom-jeans

25 Random Things

2008-12-14T08:12:00.004-05:00

My beloved tagged me in his facebook note to play this little game. Y'all know me - I'll have a hard time keeping it to just 25, as I am so painfully random and tend to share entirely too much about myself as it is. SO, I'll try to throw in a couple of zingers that you might not actually know.

In no particular order of entertainment level...

1. There are several movies that suck me in every time I come across them on TV: "A League of Their Own," "The Shawshank Redemption," "Forrest Gump," "When Harry Met Sally" are just a few. I don't know if it's because they are just timeless and so well-made, or if its pure sentiment, or if it's just my tendency to procrastinate and/or divert attention...

2. I am a dog person. I don't really understand how people can love little tiny dogs, though. Any dog that weighs short of 30 pounds is a waste of fur.

3. I killed a kitten accidentally when I was a little girl. I had it riding on my shoulder on my big wheel, it fell off my shoulder, and I ran right over it. Still haunts me, obviously.

4. My parents haunt me, too. Particularly at church. I can literally hear my momma's voice singing certain hymns and anthems. It's troubling, on one level, but remarkably comforting at the same time.

5. I can't type. Not the way you're supposed to, at least... I have my own system and can type pretty quickly, but I have to look at the keys. I never took typing. Home Row means nothing to me.

6. I never took Driver's Ed, either. I was too young to take it while I lived at home, then my nerd school didn't offer it, so I just waited until my sophomore year of college when I turned 18 and got a permit without it.

7. I skipped a grade. Took 7th and 8th in the same year.

8. I went to nerd school. Left home when I was barely 15, and don't regret it one bit. That's truly the best thing that ever happened to me as far as achieving independence goes...

9. I was a North Carolina Teaching Fellow - doesn't mean much, except that I got to go to school for free to learn to do what I always wanted to do. Not that you learn much about teaching in undergrad - most of it comes in the field and through personal inquiry.

10. I truly think you're either born equipped to be a teacher or not. Just like I could never play pro basketball, some people just don't need to be in the classroom.

11. I love my job. I love the kids, I love the school supplies, I love everything about it EXCEPT for grading the kids, dealing with morons, and arrogant parents.

12. My husband is the funniest person I know. He makes me laugh when I least feel like laughing and says so many things I wish I had come up with.

13. I am a serious procrastinator and perfectionist. I don't know if that's a chicken or egg situation.

14. The hardest thing I ever did was put my baby in daycare. I wish I never had. I totally wish for every mom who wants to be home with their babies that they could. I get that some folks are better moms for NOT being at-homers, but I am SO not one of them.

15. I love my little man more than life. I could snuggle with him and listen to him and play with him all the time if I didn't have any other responsibilities. I pray he knows that.

16. My little girl is the most amazing and annoying thing ever. She is so much like me - I like to think that I was just like her when I was little, except she's a little more unbridled. It's going to be a long hard adolescence.

17. I had a hysterectomy this summer (for my not-so-regular readers) and I wish I had done it years ago. Periods are seriously overrated - not that most folks rate them very high, anyway - and I wish evolution would pick up the pace and figure out that we don't need one every month from the time we're twelve in order to produce an offspring or two.

18. I like to touch every page of the Sunday paper, whether I read it or not. Sports section excluded - I could so give a rat's behind about sports as a rule. Yeah, I'll do a yippee dance when the Tar Heels win, but truly, I could go the rest of my life without ever watching a single sporting event and I'd be just fine.

19. I was in a car wreck 8 years ago and broke my right wrist, third carpal, and a metacarpal - and it still hurts pretty frequently. Never finished the occupational therapy because we moved and I am a lazy daisy.

20. I am a mountain person, but I am becoming a beach person. Having grown up at the beach, I never understood why people would take an entire week of their lives to go there for vacation. Now I get it.

21. When I was little my momma used to say that if the world was shaped like a hot dog, that I'd eat it. Now, she had no idea how vile that sounded... but it's almost true - I love hot dogs and once I ate six of them on a campout. no kidding. I must have weighed all of 50 pounds at the time. If you're wondering: ketchup, mustard, chili. Cheese, on occasion. NEVER relish. Now I really want to go to Fuddrucker's for lunch.

22. I am a language nerd. I have taken Spanish (I was almost fluent at one point), Italian (one semester to raise my GPA), Russian (2 semesters to boost my GPA - see a pattern?), Esperanto (just a week at nerd school with the BEST linguist I ever knew), and Hebrew (a couple of weeks just for fun). I'd love to have the chance to live abroad and become seriously fluent in any language! Okay, not French. French is weird. But any of the other Romance or Slavic languages would be awesome.

23. If I had the guts and if I hadn't already spent my whole life digging Jesus, I'd probably convert to Judaism. All the liturgy and tradition, a whole lot less of the bullcrap. I say that, but all organized religion has its share of bullcrap, but the grass looks significantly greener...

24. I cuss like a sailor. If any of my students come across this, they'll probably laugh and say, "I knew it!" I put on a good act, but I think there are two kinds of people - those who cuss and those who use words that aren't cuss words (darn, crap, etc.) because they WANT to cuss, but they are too much better than the rest of us to do it. I guess there are three kinds - those who don't even say the substitute words - but most people either cuss or wish they did.

25. I love to write and if I am willing to bet that one day I'll publish something. It might just be a Master's Thesis, but mark my word...

So there's my 25 Random Things. Play along, comment away, or just have a good laugh at my expense.

How could I forget Lolly?

2008-11-30T20:55:00.002-05:00

Don't know how I left this one off. Oops. Meet...

Lolly: When we got the first batch of fish, we bought this one to eat the poo and other debris that our messy little brood would generate. The kids named it Lolly, like a lollipop, since it is a little sucker. Now the line in the previous post about Pop being Lolly's counterpart makes sense, right? Anyway, the thing has doubled in size already. Mercy. Very cool catfish.

The rest of the fish

2008-11-22T12:49:00.006-05:00

Promised I'd share the second batch of fish with you, so here they are!

Chick: Yellow like a chicken, and a little shy, too. Chick has a cool black line along the top of his or her dorsal fin and has faint yellow and white vertical stripes. Really good-looking fish. Also the smallest in the tank, but seems to be sufficiently defensive.

Daphne: I think Kori made some connection between "Daphne"and "dolphin" - can't recall why - maybe the Fishy Business guy said this was a dolphin-spotted cichlid or something like that? I don't know...

Rocky: We couldn't bring ourselves to name this little orange guy "Clem" for Clemson, so we named him "Rocky" for "Rocky Top" - Tennessee, that is. No, he's not a fighter - he's actually one of the more passive fish in the tank.

Tiger: Cleverly named for the stripes, Tiger is almost as big as Sid and Morrison, and MY is he (or she) fast! I took a ton a shots of this one, and the best I could get was this - he was moving so fast that the camera thought it needed to focus on the algae.

Pop: And speaking of algae, this guy, Lolly's counterpart, had better get busy eating some of it! A little algae is desirable, but we bought this algae-eater sucker to keep the place clean for us. Within the first 24 hours, he had eaten all of the brown algae, but now that we have a new light, we are getting more green algae than he can keep up with. He likes to hide out on this giant fake branchy thing we have in the tank.

Okay, those are our fish for now. The guys at the store think we could probably safely introduce a few more eventually, but I have a hard enough time keeping track of them all as it is. Maybe one day we'll learn to identify their genders and buy some pairs to see if we can get them to breed - they are mouth brooders (cool!) - but for now, we'll just do our best to remember to do their partial water changes and such.

One of these days we'll videotape them eating - we all enjoy feeding time so much, but they are especially prone to overeating, so we are working really hard to make sure we don't kill them - and I'll be sure to post it here for your amusement.

Fishy Fishy

2008-11-20T01:00:00.017-05:00

Because I have nothing else to do, I spent countless precious minutes yesterday attempting to photograph the fishy residents here at 203. Then, I managed to find a few more minutes to waste and posted shots of each to the facebook profile. Seriously. I am such the queen of procrastination - AKA reverse prioritizing.

But, as some of you readers are too mature, too busy, too cool for facebook, I figure I'll post them here, as well.

And, if I may point out the obvious, if you find yourself reading this post (yes, I started it at 1:00 AM, but only AFTER I finished my paper for tomorrow's class), then you are also guilty of reverse prioritizing. :)

So, we have a 55 gallon tank of African cichlids of various yet-to-be-determined species. We like cichlids because they have great little aggressive personalities and generally vibrant colors that often rival marine fish. We started with the original six plus a catfish, then lost one (Oh, yeah, that one dude in questionable health did die a day or two after the post that said he was still kicking. Alas.), then added an algae eater and four more. So now there are nine cichlids and two waste management guys (good math, Meesh!) for us to enjoy. Allow me to introduce the first batch...

Morrison: This is our biggest fish - named after the dorm Jimmy and I met in back in the day because he is Carolina Blue (of course!). This fish is such a camera hog. Really. Kept following me around and showing off.

Sid: Cool fish - about as big as Morrison, and pretty aggressive, too. Getting prettier every week. Not sure if he's named after Sid Vicious or not, but I'll pretend he is.

Peach: This one loves to eat from our hands. Really - you hold a pinch of food pellets at the surface of the water, and Peach comes up and gets nibbling. We had a "Peach" in our last tank that we left with friends in Arkansas, but this one is named more for the Mario character, I think.

Poop: Yeah, Poop's the name, and it's also a traditional fish name for us. This one was fitting because for the first two days, the only thing we saw this one eat was, well...

Samus: Pretty little yellow fellow named after some character the kids know from TV or video games - don't ask me, I don't pay attention to the things they do! - I keep wanting to call him Seamus, but they correct me. Fast little booger, too.

I want to show you the rest of our fishy family but I seriously need to go to bed. So, I'll give this virtual tank time to cycle and I'll introduce the rest of the gang to you soon. Promise. It's way lower priority than all the other stuff I need to do, so you know I'll get to it immediately!

Giving Thanks

2008-11-16T19:51:00.003-05:00

Holy Lord, it's November already - and halfway through, at that!

I don't have anything brilliant to add today, but I am so in the mood for the holidays and feeling like giving thanks. Plus, I really want to get back in the practice of writing, whether there's an audience or not.

It's also helpful sometimes to count my many blessings - keeps me from swimming in my own pool of misery and woe-is-me. Also, list-making is easy writing, as a rule, and as taxed as my brain is feeling lately, I'll feel pleased with myself for a few bullets.

Actually, I could just write my acceptance speech for the Nobel or the Academy Award or even Mrs. America (right!)... nah. I'll stick with the list.

To Casey, my mutt, for the sweet head in my lap that helps me to always know that love is meant to be unconditional...

To Austin, my baby boy, for not being too cool to hold his momma's hand in public, even if only for a few minutes...

To Kori, my mini-me, for still wanting me to check on her every night...

To my beloved husband who really does want to learn to do the laundry the "right" (read: "my") way...

To the parents who send their babies to me every day for trusting me to care for their hearts and minds and to help them grow...

To the little people I teach for giving me purpose every day...

To my friends, old and new, for accepting me and my odd little ways and for chats that keep me laughing and crying and feeling like me...

To our nation for electing a man who, I pray, will be an instrument of peace...

... Thank you.

Still Alive

2008-09-26T20:15:00.002-04:00

As I know you have been wondering, all fish are still kicking almost a week later.

Also still alive, for the record, is the blogger herself. Nose still above water, praise the Lord. I keep thinking of Dory the blue fish in Finding Nemo - just keep swimming! I am intentionally doing NOTHING tomorrow but work around my house. It will feel so nice to have clean sheets, clean floors, cleared tables... We might even celebrate by reinstating family game night. Ahhhh.

And another random thought on the topic: One of the craziest songs we have downloaded for Rock Band is "Still Alive" - it's this bizarre little song you get to hear when you win some video game the kids play... It is so stuck in my head. Here are my favorite lines from it:

I'm not even angry. I'm being so sincere right now, even though you broke my
heart and killed me and tore me to pieces and threw every piece into a fire...
as they burned, it hurt because I was so happy for you...

If I knew how to find it online and post it here, I would. Just google "Portal still alive" and you'll find it.

So, I'm off to make my house a place I want to spend time. Just wanted to be habitual about writing (one of the habits I'll develop one day) and let you know that I'm Still Alive. I'm doing science and I'm still alive... I feel fantastic and I'm still alive... (sorry, more of the song there!)

Gerbil Funeral, Take Two

2008-09-22T20:45:00.005-04:00

So Saturday morning I actually went all the way upstairs - I try not to visit the land of small children if I can at all avoid it, but the cat's litter box was emanating some serious odor and it appeared to be my turn to clean it. While I was up there, I felt compelled to visit the gerbils and check their food and water levels, as said small children tend to "forget" to care for the rodents without reminding. Sure enough, the water was empty - bone dry - and sure enough, Harry Potter (who has survived two children, a cross-country move, the loss of a tankmate, the introduction of another tankmate, and a raucous den of Webelos playing doll house with him) was dead.

Now mind you, Harry was at least six years old, which is remarkable for a rodent being held captive by two small children. His buddy YG (AKA Yerbil Gerbil or Eric) had gone on to glory earlier this year (hence the new gerbil, Humphrey) and had been buried out back in a toilet paper tube beneath a cinderblock at the base of an oak tree. Harry, of course, was treated to a similar burial in the same location so that, as Austin put it, he could "be with his best friend for all eternity." Much sobbing, some lamentations, and a little dose of guilt later, we cleaned out the gerbilarium and gave Humphrey fresh food, water, and bedding.

I don't know about you folks, but when our family suffers tragic loss, we have to spend money. Jim's birthday is the 23rd, and he's been craving an aquarium since we moved here. Off we went on a comfort fix to all the local fish businesses. Ironically, we ended up at as place called Fishy Business (conveniently located behind Captain D's, if you need a little more irony) and next thing you know, despite debt and an unusually crowded and messy house, we were loading up a 55 gallon tank to ease our pain and greed. Dude, it was on an incredible sale and was priced lower than the 30gals we had been eyeballing all day, so don't judge.

We've started our own little Lake Malawi with a handful of African cichlids - one guy already looks a little weak and not-too-long-for-this-world, and today I found myself hoping he'd go ahead and die tonight if he's going to so that we can take him back... Anyway, it's a fun adventure in ecosystems and we are hoping the good chi from the tank outweighs the potentially gripe-inducing responsibility that accompanies it. I am mesmerized by these little colorful and aggressive guys and have already spent too much time just staring at them, but honestly, I already feel more relaxed.

Stay tuned for tales of fish funerals bound to come, and for pictures of the tank after we get it all prettiful.

RIP, Harry Potter.

Long-Range Plan

2008-09-14T21:45:00.003-04:00

Holy cannoli, have I been out of the blogging habit. And I can't say that I really have time to be doing this right now, either, but since when has that stopped me?

So I've been working on my Long-Range Plan for the Evaluation Procedures sent forth from the great state of South Carolina. Basically, I've had to write what I intend to teach all year and how and why - which seems like no big deal, but when you have 150 word limits here and there and your name is Meesh, these things get complicated. Add to that the desire to actually make it a useful document and an accurate reflection of my pedagogy rather than something I just do because I have to, and the whole thing has been more challenging than it should have been.

ANYWAY, I thought I'd throw out some of my Long-Range Plan for life in general for you to review. You know - goals and assessments and management for day-to-day living in my little world as I have created it.

LONG-RANGE PERSONAL GOALS:
~ Mellow out, but not in a slacker kind of way - more in a don't-yell-at-the-people-you-love kind of way.
~ Make better food choices more often.
~ Make time to exercise. (This is starting to sound like a freaking resolution list.)
~ Figure out who I am and embrace that.
~ Become more satisfied with having less - stop being such a greedy-butt consumer.
~ Become fluent in another language.
~ Prioritize.
~ Habitually make my home a place other people feel welcome and comfortable.
~ Travel.
~ Whine less, praise more, do good things.
~ Learn to play a musical instrument well.
~ Figure out my spirituality.

BUCKET LIST (I haven't even seen the movie, but I get the reference):
~ Go to Europe. Yeah, all of it.
~ See the Grand Canyon, Niagara Falls, Mount Rushmore, and all the other American icons.
~ Cross the country in an RV.
~ Get published - preferably a picture book.
~ Live on top of a mountain overlooking the ocean - not sure where this place is, but it is beautiful and my husband and our dogs are there on the porch taking it in together.
~ Know my children as adults.
~ Pay for a child (other than my own) to go to college.
~ Host a talk show - if only once.

Okay, I've wasted enough time and this is neither poignant nor amusing, so I'd better prep for bed. Maybe I'll add to this list soon. Maybe you'll be inspired to think of some of your own long-range plans. Maybe not.

More soon. Just remember "soon" is relative.

Lottery Ticket

2008-08-18T21:01:00.002-04:00

Friends, let me tell you, God is good.

On the first day of school for teachers, we had a meeting and the PTO did door prizes. Darned if I didn't win a little black-and-white TV with a built-in radio... 5 inch screen and will be totally useless come February unless I drop a bunch of cash on a converter box, but the point here is, of course, I AM A WINNER.

And then today, the entire district met at one of the high schools for a kickoff and they did door prizes, too. Guess who was holding one of the lucky tickets and won $100 kizzash from a local credit union! Yep, it bears repeating: I AM A WINNER.

So, I think I'll go buy a lottery ticket on the first day of classes. What do you think? Could the Powerball be mine all mine? It might just be...

Actually, if you'll allow me to pour melted cheez all over you, I have already won the lottery. I have a loving husband, two precious children, good friends, a decent home, food, water, and shelter. I was hired to do exactly the job I wanted at exactly the school I wanted and I have just spent the afternoon meeting what promises to be an unbelievable group of students I'll have the honor of teaching and learning from this year. Really, sisters and brothers, say it with me this time because you know it's true: I AM A WINNER.

But I still might go get a ticket.

Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow

2008-08-17T07:54:00.004-04:00

YESTERDAY...
I spent the day with my in-laws riding all over the Columbia metro looking for a house for them. Although I had a million other things to do to prep for school, not to mention around the house, it was great fun. I had forgotten how much fun it is to play realtor with clients who are comfortable, informed, and ready. I had no idea how much fun it would be with my relatives! Actually, Patty and I have played real estate together for years - we both have a thing for snooping around new construction and playing house - imagining our stuff in them, talking trash about the builders and designers and architects and their often ridiculous choices.

Anyway, I suppose the big news flash here is that my husband's folks are strongly considering a move here - so strongly that Nana didn't care that our house would not be even CLOSE to clean enough for Nana to visit this weekend! Pat would love to be on the water, but he doesn't want to spend that much, given that he'll be carrying two mortgages for a while (who knows how long their house in Charleston will take to sell! It's gorgeous, but HUGE and PRICEY and there's a Bush in the White House still...). Primarily, he wants to be in a courtyard home - nice brick wall in back, little tiny yard, no maintenance. He realizes that he can no longer do the work, he knows his time is limited and that Patty needs to be somewhere she can be happy and feel safe and that SHE won't have to maintain either. They both need one level, as he is always at risk of stroke and she is bound to have another back surgery one day. BUT, it has to have class and all the luxuries they have in their current home - granite and hardwoods and moulding, oh my!

Good day in fantasyland. And Hudson's Smokehouse for dinner. MMMMMMM.

TODAY...
We will likely meet with a builder this morning. I've been up since 6:30, even though we were up past midnight last night. I guess my body is prepping for school! Kori is going home with the Hayses for the next three days and I have to pack her stuff. Shouldn't take long since the child has lived out of her suitcase all summer! Once the Hayses leave, we'll be tackling laundry and cleaning and all those things I haven't been officially cleared to do by the doc yet, but my scabs are off the sutures and I figure anything goes at that point.

At some point today, I am probably going to do some reflecting on the meetings we had at school Thursday and Friday. I think that will help me to grow as a result of my experiences as a faculty member at OPES and as a person. Sorry, folks - as much as I think you would like to read about my mundane little teacher life, that blog is old-school - we call it a JOURNAL. Your people might have called it a diary. Whatever - it's a handwritten notebook because I am not sure how much I want to be open about those reflections... Anyway, if there's an occasional goodie, I'll share it. Okay?

TOMORROW...
We have meetings all morning and Pioneer Preview from 2-5 (that's a meet-the-teacher kind of thang). My classroom is tidy, if not yet ready, and I am completely ready to meet the kids and their parents, but I do not have any of the stuff ready yet that I want to share with them. I guess I should go back up to TODAY and add that - get Pioneer Preview Stuff Ready.

I cannot wait to have my kids again! My best teacher friend and I had a convo yesterday that went sort of like this...

Her: I'm heading over to the school. You coming?
Me: Urg. No, and I am soooo jealous. What does it mean that I would rather spend the entire Saturday at school in my room than riding around in the inlaws' Lexus looking at high-end houses?
Her: It means you are a better teacher than you are a realtor.

It was just what I needed to hear.

So, tomorrow, I need to spend time in my room at school, thinking, planning, greeting, and welcoming. I totally get off on all of that. It will be a goooood day.

Also tomorrow, I need to pay bills, call the benefits lady, make sure Austin is entertained, work on the playroom, enroll in online real estate license renewal courses (so I can get my referral fees from my realtorboss, can I get a hellyeah!), and plan meals for the week. Eating at home - a new and admirable goal at our house!

And tomorrow would have been Daddy's 75th birthday. I don't need to set aside time for this, but tomorrow I imagine he'll sneak up on me at some point and I'll let myself weep a little. My Pokey. My Poppa. My Daddy. Thank God I'll be so busy tomorrow!

More soon, dear readers and friends. It always catches me off guard when people tell me they are reading my blog... that's what is intriguing about this whole process - you have no idea who knows your dirt and who has shared it with whom. Forces me to choose my words, I guess! Enjoy.

NCSSM 20 year reunion blurb

2008-08-09T10:56:00.007-04:00

Most of you know that I went to a nerd school for my junior and senior years in high school (The North Carolina School of Science and Mathematics), and our 20-year reunion is fast approaching. Two of our alumni (who ultimately married each other) have taken on the project of compiling a reunion book. They sent us a template for our blurbs - we could write, draw, post photos, whatever. This is what I finally came up with. Thought you, my dear friends and readers, might want to take a peek. Enjoy.

So here’s what’s crazy to me when I think about this 20-year reunion thing. We’ve been away from NCSSM ten times as long as we were there – more, actually, if you calculate it in months instead of years. I’ve lived 54% of my life post-nerd-school. Other than my recent and pathetic addiction to facebook and the reconnects that has brought about, I’ve kept in frequent contact with fewer than half a dozen former unicorns. But when I think about my most life-changing experiences, my most satisfying life choices, and my collection of fond and entertaining memories, that minute or two that went by sandwiched between Club and Broad always makes the top ten list.

Now for lack of time, confidence, or whatever, I don’t even know where to begin to sum up my “grown-up” years. I mean, I was not even 17 when we graduated – just a baby. I felt so worldly compared to my South Brunswick peers but recognized that I was still remarkably naïve. Honestly, it’s still like that – I’ve lived a pleasantly sheltered life. I’ve experienced plenty for me and I imagine and pray that I will have plenty more time to do the rest. The hard times haven’t been impossible. The good times have been great. I’m ever grateful for all the just-kinda-there-and-going-through-the motions times.

I remember sitting in the parking lot at Kroger one day this year listening to some geekin’ show on NPR about writing six-word memoirs – some Hemingway legend, some magazine collected a bunch – I think it’s a book now. Anyway, I was intrigued, amused, inspired. So in that spirit, to tell you what my last 20 years have been like, I’ll share with you some of my own six-word memoirs. Most of them are really quotes that encompass one of my favorite stories or memories, and if you hunt me down, I’ll gladly tell you the whole thing.

Who’s that cute boy studying Russian?

Could spend every summer at camp.

Snow in the mountains – nothing better.

Can I leave her my socks?

Ohmygod, I am having a baby!

What I want? I want somefing!

Oops. Forgot to carry the one.

Arkansas had neither pestilence nor famine.

Television? Family value! Pays the bills!

Too few liberals in my neighborhood.

Stay-at-home moms rarely do.

Hysterectomy is a girl’s best friend.

Momma, Daddy, dog died. Crappy year.

Teacher again. Happy. God is good.

Success!

2008-08-02T18:37:00.002-04:00

Let the celebrating commence.

The elusive poo

2008-08-02T10:48:00.003-04:00

If you're reading this, you know I'm one who will talk about anything - at great lengths, usually - and I know you are prepared for a post such as this.

I have never wanted to poo so much in my life.

Now really, I alluded to the need for poo in my last post, but I'm talking 72 hours post-op and nothing but wind. Don't want to take anything for pain (which is really nothing more than discomfort at this point) because I don't want to plug up the pipes any more than they already are. Don't want to overdo it on the stool softeners because, well, I don't want to "over-doo." I am obsessing about this, because I happen to know that the old-school way for docs to know it was time to release a patient was when their bowels moved. If this had been even a decade ago, I'd still be in the hospital, spry as anything but awaiting a good poo. Granted, they would likely have given me a more powerful lube than the OTC colace I've been taking the minimum dose of...

And isn't it just weird how the state of our bowels so often reflects the state of our lives? Right now I am in a holding pattern - can't really put forth a lot of effort to do the things I want and need to get done because I am "resting" - but can't really rest because there is so much I need to get done. Then again, there are times that I am busy busy busy and my bowels are, too. Coincidence? I think not.

How I have three days of real food in me with no flushable evidence is beyond me - I do not get how those of you who are perpetually constipated do it. And you know what else strikes me as odd? You, my nearest and dearest friends and you, the acquaintances I've kept along the way, are still reading about my dookie. Or lack thereof. What has your life come to?

Poo and sex are the things proper Southern ladies would never consider talking about. Guess I'm not a proper Southern lady. I figure they are two of the things most often on our minds, so why not make them fair game for discussion? I know each of you will be checking back here periodically KNOWING that I will have a celebratory post when the elusive poo arrives, and you'll secretly be hoping I'll go into great detail in my description of it.

But I won't. I promise. Or will I?

Hey, at least I'm not talking about my grief and woes. Or am I?

Lamentation for a missing poo:
Oh, gently moving bowel, how I miss thee.
Your plops, your surprisingly pleasant dumping sensations...
I long for the time when I could take you for granted.
Return to me, great links of waste,
So that I may once again know the pleasure of your passing,
Knowing that you will return to me with occasional rankness and shocking swiftness,
But always with the satisfaction of having spent time with you.
Oh, poo.

Okay, that was too random. Maybe the meds haven't quite worn off. Maybe I am just a freak. Maybe both.

I'll keep you posted. :)

Uterus? I don't need no stinkin' uterus!

2008-08-01T09:12:00.004-04:00

Woohoo! It is day two post-op for me and I am currently NOT medicated at all, so I might as well get a few words out there before I need another Darvocet.

Okay, so I'm telling you, I needed this rest period. The great thing is, it isn't over yet! My body wants me to rest - my spirit needs it, and my abdomen demands it. Ahh, I look forward to napping more today.

The last thing I recall from Wednesday morning just before the surgery was the nice lady pushing vistaril or some other tasty drug in my iv and everything going all blurry. After that, I remember mumbling a little as they moved my bed upstairs (they warned me every time I'd feel a bump, going into or out of the elevator, and going into the room).

When I awoke a little more fully, I saw my beloved's face, mixed with concern and joy, there for me as always. I could have sworn I heard a voice saying "total vaginal hysterectomy" - which of course, is NOT what the doctor had ordered and which totally freaked me out, since I don't have the time to recover from such as that! I kept asking Jimmy, or least I thought I did, but he wouldn't answer me, which meant either a. it was true or b. I wasn't really asking it, but thinking it in my head. Turns out there had been a little mishap and Jimmy wanted the doctor to explain it to me. I was spilling blood from my iv site, so they had to check that out, but other than that, all went as planned. I am less one uterus, with cervix, tubes, and ovaries still intact. Sweet!

Now, if I could only go poo. Yeah, dear readers, I am anxiously awaiting my bowels moving. After Tuesday's enema experience, you'd think I could go for weeks without pooing again, but I know it is the one sure sign that everything is getting back to normal. I'll keep you posted, and I know you are anxious for word on that! :)

More soon. I might even try writing in my drug-induced state to see what I come up with - all the great artists do that, right? Maybe not, because by this time tomorrow, I'll probably just be taking ibuprofen. Super work, Dr. S!

Late July ponderings

2008-07-25T20:37:00.003-04:00

Is it almost August already? Crikey.

So, I have been much out of the blogging habit of late and need to stimulate my brain a little, so I'll share with you some random thoughts I've had of late and see if anything interesting comes of it. Don't bet on it, but you never know.

Heading to Myrtle Beach tomorrow for a prisoner exchange and making the most of it. My precious niece, Beth, is coming to visit and rather than driving to Southport and back, we're meeting her in Myrtle Beach, which is about halfway. Millie (her momma) and Hope Marie (my little niece) are bringing her there and meeting us at Hard Rock Park. The kids will have a great time, Jimmy and I will get to play some, and we'll save enough in gas money to pay for our tickets - well, not quite, but close! I am looking really forward to the whole hot, sweaty, waiting in line experience of it all. I am hoping Tina will come (my other sister) as it is her birthday tomorrow, and because I want the kids to have some time with her. She probably won't, but hey...

So Beth is coming because we haven't had any time together this summer and the last time we were together was for Pokey's funeral. She always counts on me to take her shopping for bras (sorry, Bink, but it's true) and school clothes. I count on her for some good hugs and entertainment. This time I'm counting on her for childcare - my hysterectomy is Wednesday, and she'll be taking care of Austin and me both during the day while Jimmy's at work. I told her I'd pay her whatever she makes as a barista - I could be out a bit more than planned, since she just got a raise. Anyway, we'll have the amusement park tomorrow, some house time Sunday, and we'll go to Charleston to deliver Kori to Nana's for a week or so and to hit the Tanger Outlets on Monday. I have school stuff and a doctor's appt. on Tuesday, then we'll chill Tuesday night.

Yeah, I said I was having a hysterectomy Wednesday, which most of you readers already know. It's really overdue, and I am looking forward to it in a sick way, as the recovery time will afford me a perfectly good opportunity and excuse for resting. I know the start of the school year will be tiring and we'll all be adjusting to new responsibilities and schedules, so it will be lovely to have to force myself to be still a while beforehand. Well, all that and no more periods from hell. These are good things.

And school starts in just a couple of weeks! I love that I have the enthusiasm of a new teacher, the experience of motherhood and previous teaching, and the comfort of a familiar setting. My room is pretty well organized for now - seriously empty compared to what it will look like by the end of the year and in years to come. I still have tons of planning to do and plenty of reading stored up for my recovery time, and I'd love to think of some clever decorations to include in my room, but I am trying to keep it simple for a while, as I know it will get busy beyond belief soon.

I have some awesome geekin' friends and coworkers, by the way, and I love talking shop with them - we're too busy thinking and planning and discussing that we don't have time or inclination to piss and moan and whine - not that we have much to whine about at our school, for that matter, but the atmosphere of this group of ladies I'm connecting with is one of mutual support and courage and optimism and idealism. Ahhhhh.

Sunday will probably be a day of attacking the playroom and garage - I'd love to have those areas in functional order before I am "down" and before school gets fired up. We have many new routines to establish - well, they're actually old habits we need to bring back that we've never really given much effort to doing since moving here for one reason or another. I love it when our house is tidyish and cleanish and when we don't feel pressured to work at getting it that way because we've done a little here and a little there.

Ok, much to do, as always. Just needed a little procrastination break, I guess, and to feel like I'm still a blogger. Take care, friends.

Bless the Beasts and the Children

2008-07-03T23:28:00.004-04:00

When I was a kid, our little tiny choir sang a Carpenters song with the same title. Went a little something like this (thank you internet!)

Bless the beasts and the children
For in this world they have no voice
They have no choice
Bless the beasts and the children
For the world can never be
The world they see

Light their way
When the darkness surrounds them
Give them love
Let it shine all around them

Bless the beasts and the children
Give them shelter from a storm
Keep them safe
Keep them warm

It's been playing in my head all evening. (I hate it when that happens!) I need to think through this to see if i can figure out why this song is stuck on repeat in my mental i-pod. Stick with me. It might end up making sense to us both at the same time.

So, my Casey dog is a blessing to me. Such a beautiful puppy, despite her continuing need to find miscellany in the yard and bring it to our back door and shred it to smithereens. She is still snuggle-icious and is proving to be a great companion for the boy, in particular. Her utter dependence on us for love and care is, well, satisfying. Maybe that's where the "bless the beasts" thought came from.

In other random news, I continue to be surrounded and dumbfounded by loss. My neighbors, whose last pregnancy ended in second trimester miscarriage, have just had to make a terribly difficult decision. She is again pregnant, this time much further along, and their second trimester ultrasound and screenings revealed chromosomal and physiological issues that had complicated the fetus's development. They were given very little hope that the pregnancy would come to term or that the certain-to-be-very-premature baby would ever have any chance of living for more than a few brief moments before being whisked to neuro- and gastrological surgeries, only to face almost certain lifelong (albeit brief) life support. They opted, after much prayer and consultation with their physicians, to terminate the pregnancy. This had to have been an immensely difficult decision for them, or any parents, to have faced, and I hurt deeply for both their loss and their sense of responsibility in it.

Before I even had a chance to fully comprehend this neighbor's plight, more bad news came. My dear friend and neighbor who is "barely pregnant" went for her 8 week ultrasound today, as she, too, is high risk for miscarriage, having had one earlier this year. She and her husband were giddy with excitement today, certain that they would leave the office having heard a heartbeat, having seen a "peanut," having a photo of their precious gift-to-be. Alas. (I know I use that word flippantly, but here I say it with all the angst and hurt I can possibly suppress on their behalf.) It appears she has experienced a "blighted ovum" (google it later, if you think you can stand it) in which a placenta develops, but there is no embryo. Her body just hasn't figured out yet that there is no baby in the sac. Eventually, the body will recognize this and expel the placenta, but it could be days or weeks, or God forbid, longer before the endometrium flushes. Per her doctor's advice and in accordance with her own best logic and emotion, she will be taking matters into her own hands and having a D&C tomorrow. Bless them.

I really struggle with finding the good news, here. I am such a silver-lining, make-it-okay, hold-on-to-what-you-can kind of gal, but this is a mess. I hurt because of the true love both of these families have allowed themselves to feel for these unborn babies, and for the horrible, medicinal endings they both have to endure. I know how real the loss feels, no matter how "developed" the fetus is, and that it is something you have the right to carry with you forever. Granted, I know that our bodies are miraculously aware of how to grow a baby, and when not to continue to grow one. I am certain that it is the right of each of these couples to decide to help nature out and help themselves in the process. I am absolutely grateful for the fact that I never was faced with the decision the first couple had to make and the "what-if-the-doctors-are-wrong" feeling both couples had to grapple with in their decision making. I believe that we only have as much drama and trauma in our lives as we perceive and certainly no more than we can handle, but damn. It just makes some stupid hamburgers and fireworks all the more ridiculous seeming when you know how much hurt people you adore are feeling.

So, I guess that brings me back to the song. We all know to protect the animals and the children, the weak and the downtrodden, because they can't do it for themselves. But do we know how to bless our friends and neighbors and families? Do we always recognize how and when they need shelter from the storm? Do we make every effort to keep them safe and warm? I know I don't. I like to think I do, but I can barely take care of my own some days.

I suppose I'll end this ramble with a prayer request for the peace of mind and spirit my neighbors (both sets) need. Pray that I may help light their way when the darkness surrounds them, as the song suggests. Pray that we may all give each other love and let it shine all around us.

Amen.

Waste, waste, waste

2008-06-28T13:13:00.005-04:00

One day a while back, Austin asked me what we could do to be more "green." We talked about the things we already do - recycle, compost, reusable grocery bags, and such - and we talked about the things we might do better - take the trip to the dump to recycle glass instead of throwing it away, be more aware of turning the lights off, and reduce our CO2 imprint by driving around less. Good start to a conversation we all need to continue.

The hard part of the conversation we have yet to have and very much need to is this: We are SOOOOO wasteful. Our family, our neighborhood, our society - all wasters of resources. This whacked me on the head yesterday when I took the kids to see Wall-E.

Truly, go see this movie. It is beautiful animation and a precious love story, but more than that, it is profoundly disturbing. Wall-E is a little robot who was created for the sole purpose of making bricks out of trash and stacking it neatly. There is very little dialogue in the beginning of the movie - a silence that forces and allows the viewer to think. A company named Buy-N-Large runs the world, and our nasty consumerism is presented in a humorous way that takes the edge off of the viewers discomfort, but does not eliminate the oh-my-word-we-are-so-wasteful feeling that lingers in your throat.

As disturbing as it is from an environmental perspective, it also is from a political viewpoint. Adults of conscience will not be able to walk away from this film without pangs of guilt about the urgent need for our government to crack down on the filth created by our consumerism. It opens your eyes to how techno-centric we have become, how obsessed with our stuff we are, how oblivious we are to the waste we participate in daily. Ugh.

But really, the movie is appropriate for children! I am not sure they sense the total discomfort adults do, but it is a great conversation starter about going green.

My revelation? I am a waster. I like to think I am one who is constantly looking for a way to reuse refuse, to conserve energy, to love our planet, but I am a LONG way from it. All of us who live in a nice little house in a nice little neighborhood and who have tv's and cell phones and gaming systems and cars and all those "necessities" - we are wasters. We have moved so far away from NEED and so far into WANT that we are largely unable to tell the difference. I NEED a cell phone. I NEED a book. I NEED 100 channels. I NEED a van. Heck, I don't need any of that stuff, but I am able to convince myself that I do.

I can't even keep my house clean because of all the stuff we have - stuff we REALLY feel like we MUST have for comfort or happiness or whatever excuse. I am typing on one of four computers in my house, and next year, we'll have five. Really - more computers than people. But we think we NEED them.

And the really sad thing? Relative to so many people, we have so little! We live in a world where we are unable and unwilling to see how much MORE we have than the majority of the world and we only see what we still DON'T HAVE. I'm ashamed.

So, I want to think that I might keep this concept of waste in the forefront - that I might consider waste with all I do. Whether it is the water I don't need to use, the temperature on the A/C, the fuel in my car, the food in my refrigerator, or the possessions I buy - I need to ask myself, "Is the amount of waste this product or activity generates worth it?" Sadly, I know that I will often continue to make bad choices because I am a selfish little thing, but I hope I can heighten my own awareness so that those bad choices will become progressively fewer.

I think I'll talk about this more another time, because I am feeling rotten about sitting here doing "nothing" when I could be up working on something that will make a positive difference in my children's world. Maybe I 'll start the conversation about our wastefulness and greed while encouraging them to eliminate some of the JUNK we have accumulated. To goodwill, of course - not to the trash! :)

RIP Estherjen

2008-06-08T15:05:00.006-04:00

Really, seriously, how much more loss can a girl experience before she reaches her limit?

Okay, I shouldn't have asked that, because that's like poking God or Karma or Fate or whatever and saying, "Bring it on!" So, allow me to rephrase that.

I am becoming too good at goodbye.

This morning, my beloved husband and I took our "firstborn" to the emergency veterinary clinic to say goodbye to her. Ugh. Another ouchy day for Meesh.

But I skipped to the end. Allow me to reminisce.

Jimmy and I started our marriage almost fifteen years ago. He was working nights and weekends at WLOS in Asheville. I was all alone in a one bedroom apartment most of the time that first summer, living on his schedule, looking for work, and being all-in-all giddy in love with him and with marriage and with the mountains. But I wanted a BABY, because I had just spent the year prior living on Memory Lane (literally) with my precious Bink, then 4 years old, and I wanted wanted wanted to be a MOMMA.

Needless to say, we as newlyweds with virtually no income and 22 whopping years of age under our belts did not have any business being parents. By the time September came around, we had decided that a puppy was in order.

SO, for Jimmy's birthday we went to the shelter and picked out our new love - a "cocker-terrier mix" from a litter that had just come to the shelter. I picked out one and he picked out one and I succumbed to his choice since it was going to be his birthday present. To hear Jimmy tell it to E-dog for lo these many years, "Momma didn't want you. She wanted that other puppy."

All that first night after we had picked her and before we could take her home (she had to get spayed before she could go with us), we lay awake thinking up the perfect name. And did we ever find it.

Estherjen. Our primary method of birth control, since she alleviated my desire to have babies.

We picked up our sweet Esther and fell so in love with her. The first weekend we had her, Jim's folks came up and we all went gallivanting about the mountains in their Blazer with Esther in the way back. Sunday morning, she started to vomit and have diarrhea, which ended up being all bloody - a "mother's" worst nightmare. Jimmy was working that evening and I was all alone with my new puppy and mortified.

So, off to the emergency clinic we went - Monday hadn't even come for us to call the vet and make our hey-this-is-Esther appointment. It was just horrible. They poked her and I.V.'ed her and said they were going to need to keep her overnight for observation since she was maybe, MAYBE 8 weeks old and only a few days post-op from her spay. I was devastated. I cried and cried and they soothed and soothed, but I had already grown so attached to this wee one. The classic memory from that experience? I didn't want to leave her and have her think we had taken her back somewhere awful and that we weren't coming back for her. I wanted her to know I loved her and to have my smell with her for comfort (like they do with babies, you know?). So I said, no, SOBBED to the nice people, who by now thought I was completely looney toons, "Can I leave her my socks?" (Jimmy does a great impersonation of this although HE wasn't there to hear it nor to feel how awful and helpless I felt.)

Needless to say, she was fine and dandy the next day and came home ever so grateful and ready to learn to poop outside or whatever it would take to keep her from that place.

She became an appendage to me - she kept me company every day after school until "Daddy" got home at midnight and every weekend, she and I would "go-go car-ride" around the greater Asheville metro to find our future home. We would sneak naps on the couch (where Jimmy said she wasn't allowed) and we would take dinner to Jimmy and eat on the porch at WLOS, overlooking the Smokies. She came with me to work on teacher workdays and went hiking and camping and everything else-ing with us. At holiday time, she joined us on trips to our parents' homes, just as if she were one of the grandchildren.

And today it ended much like it had begun. We knew during the night that it was time. The tumor in her rear thigh had grown so large (like three to four times the size of her other leg) that she finally became lame as a result of it. It didn't appear to hurt her, but she was uncomfortable and confused and struggling to stand - walking was not even possible. We could have opted to explore amputation, but we had long ago decided that would not be fair treatment for a dog of her age and superior nature. She'd lost so much weight lately and could barely hear anything, if at all. I honestly can't remember the last time I heard her bark or do anything vocal besides moan. Her vision was questionable, her periods of dementia more frequent... Yeah, it was time.

We held her in our bed all night - the incontinence miraculously stopped some months ago, probably due to the increase in the size of the tumor - and we talked to her and loved on her and cried over her. Little sleep, but much needed snuggling to last the rest of our lives without her.

She knew. Just like Abby knew. There was a sense of calm in her as we went into the clinic. Even before they gave her the IV and the sedative shot, she was still and peaceful and Oh-So-Brave. Like always, she could sense our feelings and knew that we were terribly saddened. But she did not work to give us comfort as she had on so many occasions. She let it be about her, for once, and accepted our love as if she, too, knew that she needed to store it up.

Oh.

This has become quite a long post.

I want to share with you all the stories of a good dog's life, the memories that are part of our history and will always be a part of our future. So, if you are done reading the lamentations over a dead dog, feel free to click off now. But if you love or have loved a dog, I think you'll read on.

Esther, the pup-pup, the E-dog - I remember...

...hiking and watching you fall in the creek and Hammer (daddy's friend you adored) stepping into the water up to his knee to grab you out, then freezing as we finished the hike and the fall air dried out his wet pants leg.

...doggy obedience class - you were so smart and you were so good at "down" although you never got the hang of much beyond that. Not bad for the only mutt among a bunch of schmancy purebreds...

...Grandma swearing she wouldn't feed you from the table and slipping you hush puppies and beef fat with NO discretion. She also trimmed your eyebrows when they got all bushy so she could see your precious eyes and face.

...the day we brought home Abby and you showed us what they meant in obedience class by "dominance." You were patient with her and herded her and did ALL the training for us. True, you pissed on the futon on purpose that once to let us know of your displeasure.

...the day we brought home Austin and the way you lovingly smelled him and claimed the place under his crib as your own. We had played "Where's Austin?" so much before he was born that you were glad to finally put a name with a face.

...the day we brought home Kori and you told us that was just darn enough children. Boy, were you right.

...the Christmas break you and Abby escaped (one of us had inadvertently left the fence open). Some stranger in the next neighborhood over called us and left a message that they had Abby, but no one knew where you were. I envisioned you dead on the side of US74, and my daddy and your daddy left Southport for a 7 hour trip home to find you. We got the call before they had gone too far that you were in the basement in your crate, pretty scared and clearly worried about your sister.

...throwing racquetballs for you to fetch until you decided it was time to just lie around and chew on them.

...your little stuffed lion that was the most difficult thing I ever threw away.

...when you ate the flea collar and vomited the buckle. That's when we realized you were actually part goat.

...when you got into the bathroom trash and we learned to keep the trash under the sink.

...so many chewed up diapers. Ugh. And yet, we still let you kiss us!

...when less-than-a-year-old Kori put her hand in your food bowl at precisely the moment you decided to eat - you warned her but good and you scared the crap out of her, me and yourself. I will never understand how dogs know just how much to squeeze with their teeth to teach a lesson but to not puncture the skin.

...you chasing those damned hissing ducks into the pond and me yelling at your daddy because he didn't LOOK willing to jump in and save you. You could hear us yelling at you, but they looked so tasty and you were closer than you ever got to any squirrel. You finally realized that you couldn't swim nearly as well as you thought and headed back to shore. Stupid mutt.

...the traffic ticket incidents - one for dad on the highway and one for me in Irmo. You got me out of mine, but the state trooper wasn't nearly as sympathetic to your hysterical barking in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere.

...the way you looked up at the overpasses as we drove under them in the pouring rain.

...your patient love and diligent protection for my babies and me.

...the way you felt the first time I held you.

...the way you felt the last time I held you.

...your love and gratitude and relative obedience.

Rest in peace, my sweet pup-pup. You will always be treasured. Kiss your Grandma and Pokey for me, and stay out of the trash.

Get in the box, pup-pup. Go night night.

SUMMER!

2008-06-06T18:39:00.003-04:00

Holy moly, it's summer time! The thermometer has been hitting 100 for several days now, so it definitely FEELS like summer, but I have yet to realize that school is really out.

Next week I am starting my master's program in Language and Literacy - WOOHOO! It'll take three years at $300 a month, but I'll end up with an honest-to-goodness degree at the end. SO many great things about it - here's a little list:

1. One of my best good geek friends is the facilitator. DOCTOR Deborah Ann MacPhee will be traveling from the far-off land of Aiken, SC once a week to lead our little group through each of the courses. She is brilliant and fun and a heck of a good instructor, PLUS she will be one of the better-known gurus of professional development in a few short years, so I am especially pleased to be in her tutelage.

2. We will be studying in a cohort model - same fifteen students for every course. Having done my undergraduate major courses in a cohort, as well 12 of my other graduate hours in a cohort model, I am MOST excited. Every course can build on the previous ones, you don't have to get to know the people every single time a new course starts, and the camaraderie formed is such a benefit as you go out in the world to do good works.

3. Classes will be primarily taught at OPES, where I ANTICIPATE working starting next year. Even if I end up working somewhere else, OP is the school closest to my house, so travel time will be limited. Hurray!

4. I am a freaking geekalicious nerd and I can't wait to fill up my brain with more theory, ponder the great thoughts, have excellent convos with peers, and put some of this new knowledge into practice. I am such a firm believer that teachers should ALWAYS be students so that we may fully realize and remember the demands we place on them and how it feels to be in a "little desk."

Needless to say, I am excited.

Other exciting summer plans include two (yes TWO) beach trips - one to the Gulf Shores in two weeks and one to Edisto in July. Feeling fat and unattractive, but getting over it and ready to change some habits so that I don't have to buy any more clothes than I already have. Both trips are weddings - the first is Jimmy's first cousin, Ashley, and the second is another of his first cousins, Matt. We think it's so funny to say that Jimmy's first cousins are getting married, but not to each other. Okay, so we're easily amused. The kids are in both, so there will be many pictures to enjoy.

Kori and Austin are going to an acting camp in July that will culminate in a little show. That will be hysterical. I love those two people (duh) and they always amaze me.

Kori will do her traditional stint at the DFHS cheerleading camp in July - always entertaining - and Austin and I will spend some quality time doing errands or playing Wii while she is away.

Here's some big summer news: Austin can stay at home alone for short periods of time, as long as one of our neighbors is home. Love that. Have to teach him to keep the phone nearby, though - he zones out upstairs and doesn't hear it. Alas.

OH! And I am getting that darn hysterectomy once and for all in July. Fabulous. VERY little recovery time for the kind I'm supposed to have. Love that!

Then there's momma and daddy's estate issues to wrap up, but now that Geno has his little Staph-in-the-heart issue, he won't be going to Korea (or Iraq or any other farflung reaches of the military planet) any time soon, so maybe we can all focus on that together.

So, while I hope to keep up the posting, I make no promises as to my frequency. Much cleaning and playing and reading and relaxing and planning to do... And I am going to scrapbook some, dammit!

Have a great summer!

I ask your prayers...

2008-05-25T18:46:00.004-04:00

I have a few folks on my mind, which I have always taken as a signal that I need to pray for them. Believing, as I do, that prayer is powerful for whatever reasons from whatever doctrine you subscribe to, I ask you to join me in praying for/thinking of/holding them near to heart. For the sake of anonymity, as I haven't asked these dear ones if I may spread their trials and tribulations about the world wide web, I'll just allude to their identities. Besides, there are probably lots of people out there with these same situations - might as well pray for all of them.

I ask your prayers for...

...my after-dinner-mint friend who wants desperately to have a baby in her womb. This girl is the most fabulous mother and I also yearn to live vicariously through her pregnancy. All the waiting and hoping is taking its toll on her emotions and heart and faith. Pray for her to become a pregnant lady with a remarkably healthy fetus - and soon!

...my biggest-geekest friend who defends her dissertation this week. She is confident and brilliant and lovely, but a little anxious, I believe. Pray for her stamina, wisdom, and loquaciousness. (I may not have a PhD, but I can make up words, too!)

...my gay friend who is struggling with a recent controversy in our school district regarding a Gay/Straight Alliance forming at one of the high schools. Pray that my friend may be the voice of reason in this ridiculous struggle our world has to accept everyone.

...my family. We are starting a long hard summer of settling our parents' estate. Many hard feelings and bitter words could arise. Pray for our unity, our love for each other, and our courage.

...my beloved. He has an opportunity to show how brilliant and talented and managerial he is over the next little while. Pray he feels confident and that his skills are both noticed and appreciated.

...my scrawny friend who needs to be healthy enough to eat the foods that will help her return to her healthiest weight and energy level. Pray that her children will not think of her as being sick, and that they will not need quite as much energy so that she may use that on herself.

...my lonely friend who so deserves to have someone love her the way she loves him. Pray that she will find a companion who shares her respect, love, and wishes for the future.

...my teacher friends who have so much to do in the next two weeks! Pray that the students they teach will appreciate all that has been done for them.

...me. I'll always take whatever prayers you'll throw my way.

I love you people.

On HOLD

2008-05-23T08:25:00.003-04:00

As I write this, I could be interrupted at any moment and have to pause - I'm on hold. There's a little piano ditty that sounds very Charles Schultz-y coming from the speakerphone in my friend Deb's office. I'm waiting for a nice boy (or girl) at ETS to pick up and tell me my Praxis scores which are available today for the low low price of 30 bucks.

I could wait until next week for my paper scores to arrive for free - but they won't be sent until Tuesday, meaning I won't have them in my grubby little hand until at least Wednesday or Thursday, maybe later. I just don't think I can wait until then.

Crikey. Here they are.

WOOHOO!

Okay, I passed. But let me finish my thoughts about being on hold.

I've been in a holding pattern about employment and life for some time now and I am ready for the metaphorical guy on the other end of the line to pick up the darn phone and answer my life questions! I've tried listening to the Muzak, doodling, and multitasking to pass the time, but I have reached my limit.

So, now that I know - PASS - and that I have hope of my certificate being up and running in a couple of weeks, I am ready to move on. The Hold is almost over. I can almost get on with it.

Phew.

Random Proclamations and Ponderings

2008-05-20T16:38:00.005-04:00

For the record:

Cookies and cookie dough are two separate food groups at my house. Both are essential for life.

I never thought I wanted a cat. I love ours.

If we were all nudists, we wouldn't have nearly the laundry to do.

Weather continues to fascinate me. I like wind better than most anything.

I love the potential my back yard holds. I want to learn to unleash it.

My children are amazing, despite their rearing.

My minivan has 97000+ miles on it - accumulated over the course of almost 5 years - and I'll probably be driving it for another five years. How many miles do you think it will have on it then?

My DOG got mail from the obstetrics center at a local hospital today. I am not sure how she came to be on the high-risk pregnancy list, as she is almost 15 (yep, 105 human years) and has been spayed most of that.

I will never get tired of the hugs I get every day at school.

My husband deserves better treatment from his first wife. (yeah, that's me.)

Korianna is a scientist, an artist, an angel.

Austin Mason will always be "Mornin' Hays," and nothing feels better in the morning than him!

I watch WAY too much TV, but I don't think I want to quit.

I hold my pinkies out when typing - I wonder if it is too late for me to learn to use the home row keys and follow standard typing methods? I don't think I want to. Maybe if I were to become an actual writer...

More soon.

Yahrzeit

2008-05-14T19:45:00.002-04:00

I am just realizing that fully half of my posts are about my dead parents. I'm guessing a therapist would have a good time with that tidbit...

Anyway, Mother's Day has come and gone, and with it my momma's yahrzeit. (If I knew how to embed links, I would highlight that word!) My friend Bonnie Nichols introduced me to the term some time back when her dad's yahrzeit was on my birthday. Apparently, in the Jewish tradition, the anniversary of a parent's death is honored with prayers and candles and good old-fashioned mourning of the healing and cleansing variety. Great concept. It honors the loss of those living while honoring the life of the deceased.

So, I find it fitting that the first anniversary of my precious momma's death coincided with Mother's Day. It is still hard for me to think of Mother's Day as a day about ME and not my own momma, and now that it will always be marked around the time of remembering her death, I am not sure I ever will be able to let it be about me. I tried to make it about me by telling my husband, who had prepared THREE meals for me that day, that I wanted a present. It didn't feel greedy at the time because I really was trying to distract myself. In hindsight, it wasn't a very classy thing to do. Alas.

Well, my dearly beloved bought me a great pottery/herb pot (AKA the only thing they had at Food Lion that wasn't flowers...), but I bought myself a book yesterday that I had read earlier this year that is the PERFECT Mother's Day gift/slash/my-momma-died-and-I-still-hurt-all-over treat. It's called Someday and it was written by Alison McGhee and Peter H. Reynolds. You have to have this book if you are a mother or have a mother you love and miss dearly, whether she is living or not.

It's one of those I Love You Forever or The Giving Tree kind of books. It is so simply written, and SO perfectly captures the moments that define a mother's (and daughter's) coming-of-age. My favorite lines:

Someday your eyes will be filled with a joy so deep that they shine.

Someday you will hear something so sad that you will fold up with sorrow.

Someday I will stand on this porch and watch your arms waving to me until I no longer see you.

Someday, a long time from now, your own hair will glow silver in the sun. And when that day comes, love, you will remember me.

Except for the hair color I pay the nice lady to give me every six weeks, my hair is already glowing silver, and boy, do I remember my momma. The porch line makes my insides ache, as I remember how hard it was to leave her every time I went home for years, even when she wasn't actively dying-dying. Of course, it was especially hard when it really started to look like it could be our last visit. My momma would always stand in the driveway until our car was down the street and we couldn't see her any more. Something about that was such a comfort - and when she became confined to her bed, that goodbye wave was a huge loss. But, I suppose, it prepared me for the lack of good-bye waves I have now.

Man, I miss her.

So, here's a secret you learn the hard way: EVERY day is Mother's Day. Even the ones when you are yelling at your kids or pissed at your mother or annoyed with your mother-in-law - they are days that you won't have tomorrow, no matter how much you ball up in your bed and feel sorry for yourself.

I can't get my momma back, I realize that - but I can give Kori (and Austin) the kind of momma a kid deserves, a teenager needs, and an adult misses. Simple goal, right? So, to do that, I'd better close and go upstairs and love on them.

You know you're friends when...

2008-05-05T20:38:00.005-04:00

Okay, I've blogged about online friends, but I haven't had much to say about real live face-to-face friendships yet. Yeah, I know, that last one was about fambly, and I guess this one really elaborates on that, too. There's some proverb about difficult times and friendships - something about how that's when you can tell who your true friends are, but with fancy language or metaphors or something. Anyway, I can't quote it, but you know it's true - fair weather friends are fine, but foul weather friends are forever. (Ooh, that's a cute alliterative statement that says what I was thinking! But it still isn't the one I was trying to remember.)

So, daddy's death has proven to be one of those times when I have really been able to tell who my true friends are. My new favorite blogging method is the LIST, so I will share with you, Jeff Foxworthy style, how to know who your friends are.

You know you're friends when...
... you still don't have to catch each other up when you talk on the phone after not having talked for a while.
... you forward each other emails - but only the REALLY good ones - not every one that comes along with the subject "FW: Fw: Fw: Fw: really funny!"
... you think nothing of borrowing feminine hygiene products.
... you know each other's family member's names, or have at least heard enough stories about them to ask things like "Is that the sister that such-and-suched at so-and-so's wedding?"
... you feel like your friend's friends are your friends (transitive friends!).
... you don't have to pretend to be someone you aren't.
... farting is not only okay, but is encouraged.
... your children are interchangeable.
... you can ask "does this make my ass look big?" and expect a straight answer.
... you harbor information that could be used against your friend in court.
... you can tell how your friend really feels with just one look or by hearing something in their voice.
... mi casa es tu casa, and the refrigerator and pantry are fair game, too.
... you KNOW what's in your friend's refrigerator and pantry!
... your house can be as messy as it ever gets, and you really don't care if they see it.
... you get ONE room in your house clean, and you call them over to celebrate.
... you pass by their place of business and call them to say something totally inappropriate that will make them laugh audibly - and you hope their boss is in the room, because that just makes it better.
... you finish each other's stories.
... no topic is off limits.
... you not only feel comfortable peeing while talking on the phone, but you don't even bother running the water and pretending you're doing dishes - in fact you announce that you're peeing and you flush with abandon.
... you have either peed in front of them, held their hair while they vomited, or shared deodorant at some point.
... you read each other's blogs!

Family and Fambly

2008-04-29T22:44:00.002-04:00

A few random thoughts, as I am too weary to think coherently and use good transitions and all...

The St. Philip's Pastoral Care team provided lunch for our family prior to daddy's funeral yesterday. When they asked for a head count, I think they were expecting us to say something like 12, which would have been daddy's four children, our spouses, and our kids. Maybe even another half dozen to include daddy's sister and the folks who came up from Georgia... Instead, we told them something like 35, because it's hard to tell where to draw the line when you talk about family.

See, we have always had a big FAMILY - plenty of Harts and Hewetts out there - but we have also always had an even bigger FAMBLY - you know, the people who are not genetically yours but who belong at your Sunday dinner table and who live in your hearts in the same way (or a more favorable way) than lots of the people with whom you share blood. So when the time came to welcome the mourning family, we knew that included our FAMBLY, too.

My momma's uncles are just as much my daddy's brothers as his own brothers were. Our friends the Reiberts have known and loved us and been part of us for 30 years. Monty Ashby has been a better friend to my daddy than most people will ever have. These and so many who have gone before them are people who my family call fambly - the ones God chose for you but didn't put on your family tree so that you would be all the more grateful for having found them.

I think about "Aunt" Geneva and "Uncle" Tom Floyd and how much they were fambly to my momma and to us kids. So many St. Philippians raised us as part of that fambly. There were folks like the Hugheses and the Mills/Dions whose friendships were like fambly, even though they faded over time. But even family is like that - important for a season, then not as much...
but always part of your experience.

As I go through this adult-ish life, I find myself putting as much time and energy into fambly-building as into family relationships, but I think that's okay. I know that friendships wax and wane with proximity, purpose, and commitment, but I am fascinated by the prospect that each new friend could become fambly for my kids, my husband, and me. In another 30 years, I wonder which relationships I have today will have become permanent fambly for us all. After reconnecting with my cousin and his kids this weekend, I feel like they'll be part of a relationship we want to foster for a while - kids need cousins!! People whose phone numbers are in my cell phone or in my brain - those are fambly.

And most likely, if you're reading this, you're my fambly, too.

Anyone know which comedian(s) have done bits about fambly? I want ot say Jerry Clower did, back in the day... probably the redneck guy or the cable guy...

Anyway...

Gene Ashford Hart

2008-04-21T12:36:00.002-04:00

Great to be the "writer" in the family. Here's Pokey's obituary that I had the true pleasure of writing this morning. It was easy, in that I just used the same format as I had for momma's last year - thank you, Lord, for word processing!

Anyway, how do you capture a person's life, their "themness", in a few short paragraphs without sounding like a bragadocious cheeseball? It ain't easy. I think my siblings and I have done a decent job of balancing our love for him with the things that made him most proud while sounding sufficiently newspaper-like.

My Daddy:

Gene Ashford Hart of Southport, NC died Sunday, April 20 at his home. He
was born in Pitts, Georgia on August 18, 1933 to the late Jasper and Melissa
Hart, and was the sixth of their seven children.

Gene was a tank commander in the Georgia Army National Guard and later transferred to the U.S. Army, serving in their field hospital in Verdun, France in the early 60’s. There he received his phlebotomy training through the University of Maryland. After his tour and discharge as an NCO, he returned to Georgia where he began a career as a laboratory technician, culminating in over 30 years of working at
Southport’s Pfizer/ADM Citric Acid plant.

His community involvement over the years includes service to the Dosher Hospital Board of Trustees, the Brunswick County Democratic Party, the Jaycees, Cub Scouts, South Brunswick High School Boosters, the St. Philip’s Episcopal Church Men’s Club, and several terms on the church’s vestry as a member and Junior Warden. His time as a volunteer at Dosher Nursing Center and his presence at the waterfront swings
have been among his greatest pleasures.

He is preceded in death by his wife of 41 years, Marie Hewett Hart. He is survived by four children, Geno Hart of Schofield Barracks, HI, Millie Hart of Southport, Tina Rice of Southport, and MeShelle Hays of Irmo, SC; and Beth Strickland of Southport, his oldest grandchild, who is responsible for naming him “Pokey.” He is also
survived by four other grandchildren, Austin Hays, Korianna Hays, Hope Marie
Copeland, and Finnegan Hart.

Burial and Holy Eucharist will be celebrated at St. Philip’s Episcopal Church on Moore Street in Southport at 1:00 PM on Monday, April 28. Immediately following the service, the family will greet friends in the Chapel of the Cross at St. Philip’s, and a reception will continue in the parish hall.

In lieu of flowers, memorial contributions may be made to Dosher Nursing Center or Chapel of the Cross at St. Philip’s Episcopal Church.

Well, dammit.

2008-04-21T00:43:00.002-04:00

too tired to say much, too tired to edit or use the shift key.

my daddy died. just like that.

i was contemplating taking an extra lexapro this morning since i was crummy and unpleasant and not of good spirit yesterday, when millie called to tell me she found daddy dead.

dead.

my daddy died.

he's not alive, that is.

needless to say, i took that extra pill. thinking i'll do it again tomorrow.

much to say about how i think it all went down (involves his recurring dreams about momma), about how fabulous my niece is and how this must be for her, about how blessed i am to have the best job, the best friends, the best husband, the best children.

but i am tired, and i recall from momma's death that we must sleep when our bodies will allow it.

stay tuned. it could get comically ugly.

prayers for my daddy.

dammit.

The apples and the trees

2008-04-16T18:32:00.003-04:00

Reading over that last post before I begin, I'm inspired to write about my little apples and the trees whence they came.

KORIANNA is definitely MINE because...
...she is always right, and when she isn't, she will continue to try to convince you that she is.
...she loves critters - we saw a momma duck sitting on her ducklings this afternoon, and we both had to tear ourselves away.
...that girl has got her some drama, and she can move that booty with no shame.
...she can go from raging tomboy to flamboyant girlie-girl in a flash.
...she loves to be held.
...she is fully Kori, no matter the situation.

AUSTIN is MINE because...
...let's just say it: the boy knows an unbelievable amount of trivial information that is not necessary for survival, but stuck in his head nonetheless.
...he has such a soft spot for the downtrodden.
...he takes everything to heart, particularly his own shortcomings and failures.
...he lives in the zone between distracted and hyper-focused.
...he loves snuggle time.
...he is fully Austin, no matter the situation.

KORIANNA is JIMMY's because...
...she has never met an animal that she didn't want to take home.
...she's freaky creative.
...she sees the line, and jumps right across it.
...she snores and jerks in her sleep.
...she can put away some food.
...she loves ME! (HA!)

AUSTIN is JIMMY's because...
...he can sit in front of a video game all day and not come out the least but bored of it.
...his brain is always spinning about something.
...he loves him some rock and roll.
...he does not have any clue how to sort clothes.
...he is so freaking adorable and I want to kiss his precious face!

I'm glad every day that my beloved and I found each other, because these two people we have are such a gift to us! We are trying to remind ourselves that the things they do that most annoy us are often the things we do that we're least pleased about doing. The very traits that make us Meesh and Jimmy are generally the ones we are least equipped to deal with! Sometimes, though, when we see ourselves in them, we are so amused at these little mini-mes that we have to laugh. I love them! LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE them! Did I mention that I love them?

Off I go to try to raise these people to be fully themselves while recognizing they are, to their delight or chagrin, OURS!

Way with words?

2008-04-06T19:18:00.002-04:00

So, I'm cleaning out my Outlook inbox clutter (yes, I have over 5000 messages still in my inbox - which doesn't account for the thousands I've deleted over the two years it's been operating) and I came across a letter I sent out to my peeps around this time last year. Thought I'd post it for your review. Sometimes I am sooooo pleased with the words I've chosen that I can't believe I wrote them.

As you read it, bear in mind that I am reading a book right now about religious tolerance and how we can all be right without everyone else being wrong. It's by this rabbi with an amazing way with words that is feeding my spirit lately. Reading my word choices here makes me feel pretty good about my spiritual health, although my religious health currently has the sniffles.

Also, know that I went to church this morning for the third time since Christmas Eve. VERY unlike me to go so long away from public worship - and to have missed Easter was a first - but I feel her loss the strongest when I am there, and of course, it hit me again this morning. Usually it's a song that I hear her singing, but this morning it was the freaking flowers. I signed up months ago to provide the flowers for Mothers' Day (or is it Mother's Day? I think it belongs to ALL mothers, so...), knowing that this year it will coincide with Momma's yahrzeit (Jewish acknowledgement of the anniversary-of-death - thanks, Bonnie!). Well, I started thinking about what kind of flowers I would want the flower ladies to do, and the waterworks turned on, sure enough. Once I allow myself to weep, it is really hard to stop! I miss miss miss my momma, but I am so glad for her that she is not suffering. I hurt for her that she can no longer hug my boy or hold my Kori's hand. I hurt for me that I can't call her or crawl in bed with her when I visit. I hurt for Daddy that he is in the hospital for the first time in his life and doesn't have her there to sit with him. I hurt. BUT, I believe she lives eternally within me, within mine, and I choose to believe that that is enough to make up for any lack of religious passion I have had lately.

Despite the hurt, or perhaps because of it, I REMEMBER. I remember my beloved Momma with this replay of an old email that honors other traditions of faith pretty well, if I may say so myself. I particularly like my strategic capitalization of Right and Good and True and Love.

God be praised!

Hey, beloved people of faith-

I hate to take you all on our
continual roller coaster of parental health and illness, but strap on your seat
belts, because here we go again.

As you know, my momma is ticking
away the days at the nursing center at Southport’s hospital. The necrosis
in her leg causes her great pain and limits her mobility significantly.
Her osteoporosis has her down to about 4’9” from her original 5’4”. Her plethora
of other medical anomalies that she’s been dealing with lo these many years –
steroid dependence, sarcoidosis, cardiac disease, small vessel disease, and so
on and on… - keep her on more meds than most of us can ever imagine needing
(that is, the few she isn’t allergic to!).

So here’s what’s up
right now: She’s been rolled down the hall to the ER with a temp of 103 (unheard
of with the quantity of cortisone in her system). She has been near
catatonia this week because of treatment for an allergic reaction to a
beta-blocker (I think) and her usual level of anxiety from the pain she
endures. She is barely responsive and is struggling. My sister
reminded me that momma has always said that she’d rather die on her birthday
than any other day so that her kids only have to be upset once a year
(whatever!) – and she’ll be 67 tomorrow. We’re all a little anxious,
because those of you who know my bullheaded momma (the apple and the tree…) know
that she does what she sets out to do.

All of that said, I
need you all to talk with your Being/Almighty/Lord/Power about this for
me. She needs comfort, healing, strength, courage. Her existence is little
more than that, but she does not seem ready to die… most of the time.
There is so little that can be done for her to improve her quality of life –
total amputation of her leg from the hip MIGHT offer her a small chance to lead
a more full life with less pain, but her surgeons agree that she is not even
remotely a candidate for general anesthesia, even on her best days. (Remember
the episode a few years ago when they couldn’t get her off the ventilator?
Seems so long ago…) So, in a sick sense, I see every trip to the ER as a
chance for her to end her fight. Pray for her heart, her soul, her mind to
be clear enough to make her choice of how to be healed.

As for me,
I’m stable. I’m not rushing there unless she calls for me. I’ve got
my closure tucked away in a little box in my heart, and I can’t function in the
world of panic every time she has a downturn. I know that as long as this
roller coaster keeps moving, I won’t fall out (thank you Sir Isaac
Newton!). When the Momma ride finally stops, I’m sure there will be
another for me to ride!

Spread the word about old Marie.
Stick her on your prayer lists, light a candle for her, do whatever you do to
invoke the Being that gives us Love to hold her close. I am not asking you
to pray for her to survive or to get well soon or for her to pull through.
Just hold her name in your heart for me and pray for what is Right and Good and
True. She will feel your Love.

And so will I.

Pokey update

2008-04-01T18:11:00.002-04:00

Hey- FYI, Pokey had half of his kneecap removed yesterday - here's hoping this is his last surgery on that knee. He appears to be recovering well enough. If they can get his other new knee taken care of this summer, he'll be a hap hap happy chappy.

Daylight Savings Time

2008-03-09T20:35:00.004-04:00

Every year, my daddy (Pokey) is amazed by the time change. For days, sometimes weeks, he will say, "This time yesterday..." or "This time last Thursday..." or similar. So, ever since we've been dating, Jimmy has called Pokey on the day after we spring-forward or fall-back to say (in his best impersonation of Pokey's voice), "Pokey, this time yesterday..." They joke and tease and enjoy their special bond formed through hours of fishing and hateful phone calls.

One time, not too long ago, Jimmy didn't get around to making the call. You'd have thought we had forgotten Pokey's birthday, or Christmas, or some other equally important holiday. There was much teasing and harrassing from everyone. Needless to say, we won't ever forget again!

Which brings me to my next point: I know I've pondered losing Daddy before and what that will be like. My sister, in all her martyrdom, was complaining about him this weekend (more on that later) and left a voicemail that ended with "Anyone want a father to take care of?" The obnoxious thing is that I would love to have my daddy closer and would even sell my house and buy a new one for him to move in with us, or help him find some sort of gradually-assisted living nearby, or whatever, but he'll never leave Southport now.

And one of these days, the time will change, and we'll go to call him, and he won't be able to take our call. Like Momma, he'll be conveniently unavailable. Dead, that is. On perpetual daylight savings time.

And despite whatever my sister might think, it will be a loss.

He recently had his knee replaced and can't wait to get the other one done. Well, despite some anemia and nausea, his recovery is coming along rather nicely for a 74 year old smoker who has always seemed fully a decade older than his real age. Then late last week, it started giving him exceptional grief. Millie took him to the ER yesterday, and sure enough, his kneecap is broken in half, with part of it floating north of its proper location and the other slightly south. Doc says it can only be repaired with another surgery, which will be sometime this week, I would imagine. There's this little anxious voice in my head that reminds me that he might not make it. Besides the obvious inconvenient kink his untimely death would throw in our crazy life schedule, it would also throw a wrench in the very works of my being. I'll be an orphan. Weird.

I've spent so much of my life preparing for Momma's death, that I haven't ever given the same level of thought to Pokey's. I always imagined he'd just lie down after a Nascar race on TV for a Sunday afternoon nap and not wake up. I've never thought about his funeral or what it would really be like without him. And honestly, this close to another surgery, I don't think I want to!

So, y'all pray for my Pokey. I'll be sure to let you know when he's out of surgery and back on his feet. Meanwhile, there's as much laundry to be done here as this time yesterday...

Anything will help...

2008-03-03T21:29:00.010-05:00

Alright, let me preface this by saying that I am a big honkin' bleeding heart liberal for the most part and that I have huge soft spots for the mentally ill and the homeless and especially for those who are both, BUT...

We were on our way to Harbison (shopping HELL) on Saturday afternoon to spend money frivolously and at the end of the exit ramp, there sat a man in the standard "down on my luck" mode. He had taken a plastic "Hollywood Video Is Closing" sign, written his story on the reverse, and sat there with his beverage and backpack, hoping for help. His plea for assistance read:

"Raped by the government

Robed by the police

Wife ran off with a Negro

Lost my job to a Mexican.

Anything will help."

Surprisingly enough, I was able to surpress my urge to jump out with a Sharpie and correct "robed," possibly because he had remembered to capitalize Negro and Mexican, possibly because I was so f-ing enraged that he had the gall to sit on his sorry white butt and make such ridiculous and appalling comments while expecting a handout.

So now you're asking, "What about that makes him mentally ill?" Okay, so if the scary reasoning and audacity weren't your first clues, he really was showing some classic signs of disturbia - talking to apparently no one, jerking his head in an unusual "I hear things" kind of way, very amused with himself. That, and he STOLE a freaking sign (I guess it was somehow owed to him or maybe he was a real greenie reuse-recycle kind of guy). Not sure where he got the pen (I'd have used a bolder font, but that's just me being picky again). Not sure where he got the soda (some Lexington County Hero probably handed it to him with an "Amen, brother!"). Not sure where he was heading or if he was heading anywhere.

I think it was the "Anything will help" line that bothered me more than the pathetic racism and clever anti-government slurs. REALLY? ANYTHING will help? How about an education? How about some meds? How about you get up off that ass and walk over to the WalMart and ask them if you can maybe mop their floors third shift? Beloved husband's response was delicious: "You know that dogshit I just scooped before we left? I wonder if I had put that in a sack and handed it to him if that would help?"

Truthfully, I know why we got so worked up about it. There but by the grace of Pat and Patty goes Larry. It could have just as easily been him sitting there whining about how hard life has been for him and how he can't get a break and how much the world owes him. Although his life is much farther from the fringes than it has been in 15 years or so, he still walks a path not so far-removed from the one our exit ramp friend has trod. I find myself waffling between states of pride in his baby-step accomplishments, total fury at his stupid choices (primarily his failure to act on anything other than impulse), and even total he-ain't-my-brother-nor-my-problem apathy. This consumes a part of my energy, life, heart that I am not always excited about losing to his cause.

But, like I said, I am a softie. The man with the crappy attitude at the end of the exit ramp was somebody's child, maybe even somebody's brother or husband, surely once was somebody's friend. And Jesus told us to love him.

URG! That darn Jesus is such a show-off! Is it easy for Him to love everyone? It sure is NOT easy for a judgy girl like me. Not easy for one who has always done what she was supposed to and who still fears disappointing ANYONE. Not easy for any of us, I think. On the eve of what will SURELY bring the Democratic party to nominate either a woman or (I pray) a black man, I like to think that I am able to love everyone, but in the end, I struggle. I can't figure out how to love the guy with the sign who seems to have no one else. I can't figure out how to love Hillary. (I for SURE can't figure out how to love W.) There are people I work with daily that I have to remind myself to love. If love is all we need, then why is it sooooooo difficult to do?

So, I should go find the guy and edit his sign... It isn't that ANYTHING will help; LOVE will help. It's the knowing how to love that we need a manual for. Maybe all of us should spend less time being irritated by those in need and more time asking our Maker to teach us and help us to love.

(I really didn't know where I was going with this post, but I think I like where I got. I started just wanting to tell the shocking you-won't-believe-what-this-guy's-sign-said story and I ended up all theological. When I go to seminary one day (HA!) I'll be sure to use the line about Jesus being a show-off in an early sermon, just to see if they kick me out.)

Fever Phobia

2008-02-24T08:01:00.003-05:00

Kori has the highest fever in her whole little life and I am anxiously awaiting a return call from the nurse to help me determine whether I should take her to the emergency weekend clinic or not. She hit 103.8 during the night (YIKES!) and a full dose of ibuprofen and an hour later, it had only dropped to 103.2. 6 hours have passed since her last dose, so it's time to take more, but I hate to wake her up. She's had a headache the whole time, and that gets me wondering if it's a symptom or side effect/chicken-or-egg kind of thing. She was pretty much pitiful all afternoon yesterday. The fever got down to 100-and-change yesterday evening, and she played with a couple of dolls in my bed, but all in all, she is not at her full Koriness.

Times like these I miss having my personal nurse (AKA Momma) to help me treat symptoms and diagnose conditions. True, there were times momma told me to go to the doctor and the doctor told me to go home, and there were times momma told me to stay home and I went to the doctor anyway, but at least I had my momma to give me some I'm-so-sorry-your-baby-is-sick sympathy. You know?

Meanwhile, Kori is stirring. I better close and tend to her. Pitiful little thing. Even if the fever goes away today, she technically can't go to school tomorrow, so I need to start making arrangements. Barring unforeseen meningitis (funny how our mommy-brains jump straight to the worst case scenario), I probably won't be back on to update, but y'all keep my baby close to your hearts. Being sick just sucks.

It's a girl!

2008-01-09T19:33:00.001-05:00

Welcome to the family, Casey Hays! We are the proud new owners of a yellow labrador-basset hound mix, adopted at 12 weeks of age from a local no-kill shelter. Here she is being a supermodel on momma and daddy's bed. Funny thing is, our last major purchase was a new mattress just before Christmas, and thank goodness the sales guy threw in a waterproof mattress pad, as she has already tinkled on it. Fantastic.

Anyway, she is insanely mellow, adorable, and cooperative. She still has puppy breath, and loves snuggling more than anything. In fact, I'm typing on my tummy on the floor, and she walked over, climbed on my legs, propped her head on my butt, and went to sleep.

I am sooooooooooooooooooo happy to have this new little piece of entertainment and joy in our lives!

I LOVE MY JOB!

2007-12-07T15:22:00.000-05:00

WOW! It's hard to believe that I haven't posted in almost two months - but to my credit, things have been pretty hectic. Between volunteering for freaking EVERYTHING (yeah, I'm working on that) to working two part-time jobs, plus holidays and children and all that jazz, I'm a little behind on... well, everything.

SO, I promised you tales from the literacy lab and haven't written a thing since I started that job. I tell everyone I know as loudly and enthusiastically as possible that I LOVE MY JOB! There's an annoying little spring in my step and a genuine smile on my face from the minute I get to the parking lot to the minute I leave the building because my job is that freaking awesome. First of all, although I'd rather be working at school full-time, I am so blessed to have fantastic hours. I wish I had more face-to-face time with the kids, but I love getting PAID to do tasks that I'd volunteer to do! For the most part, there is an energy in the building that feeds my little extroverted heart and soothes my stressy spirit. The camaraderie in a school beats anything the corporate world has to offer. There are some amazing teachers and staff that I have the pleasure of surrounding myself with, and I LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE the kids. Even the annoying and challenging ones. Even the punky attention-seeking ones. Especially the little Hays ones. I mean it, people. I LOVE MY JOB.

One thing that grates all over me that I might have been guilty of once upon a time is the whole countdown mentality. Example: Walking down the hall, you pass some other school employee, greet with the cordial "How are you?" and the response is "Four days!" (as in four days until Thanksgiving or whatever break is impending...) Okay, so how is that an answer to the question? And how must you feel about your job if you are so ready to be out of there that you can't just reply "fine" or something like that? ARG!

So, when I work full-time next year and return to teaching the year after that (my plan at this point), I hope that I will not fall into the trap of dreading every day. I hope that I'll continue to be the one spreading the I-Love-My-Job cooties. I pray that I will love the children so much that their parents don't trouble me. I can't wait until Monday!

Back to School!

2007-10-19T16:48:00.001-04:00

This has been a spectacular week. Monday morning I interviewed for a part-time instructional assistant position at the kids’ school. Got offered the job Tuesday. Did all the paperwork Thursday. Got called this morning to sub for one of the fifth grade teachers. Had a fantastic day, in all. I start my new job Monday, so I only ended up subbing one day. Crazy.

So – here’s the thing about my day in fifth grade: SO MUCH FUN! The “big kids” don’t scare me at all, since I spent so much time in seventh grade. They have a little mouth on them (some of them, at least) and they don’t push the limits nearly as much as their older peers, but they will stop when you put the hammer down and make it known you mean business. I’ve always prided myself on my ability to mix that business with pleasure, and I believe we achieved that balance today. I think most of the kids would think I was a thumbs-up, given the opportunity to rate the sub. We didn’t accomplish nearly as much as the teacher left for us to do, but I think there was some actual learning going on and that she’ll be satisfied.

And here’s the thing about teachers: I appreciate that the folks who are there every day think they have to help the sub and tell the kids how to behave, but in fact, that only serves to undermine the sub. I had one entirely-too-generous-with-her-expertise teacher come in during the morning rush (I literally had just enough notice to get to school before it started) and tell the kids to settle down – while I am standing right there thinking to myself that they were actually more settled than they are when their regular teacher is there! Anyway, I hope I’ll remember that when I am back on the other side.

I continue to think the ladies (and gentlemen) who are there day in and day out are amazing. When I get back into the full-time teaching world again one day, I want to find a way to enjoy the children for who they are, to allow them to be themselves, and to keep everyone learning at the appropriate pace while leaving rejuvenated rather than drained every day.

Topics I need to touch on some day:
The Parents-Are-in-Charge Phenomenon
How Many Girls Does it Take to Clean a Guinea Pig Cage?
Talking in Class: Tool for Learning, Evidence of Thinking, and Not Necessarily Rude
Squelching the Children: How and Why it Happens Daily
What’s With All the Transition Time? A Story of Shuffling and Sharing Students
Don’t Get Me Started on Notes With No Context

Stay tuned for tales from the Literacy Lab. I am so excited!!!!

Definitely NOT for the taste of it...

2007-10-02T17:09:00.000-04:00

Urg. Those of you who’ve known me a while are pretty aware of my loath for artificial sweeteners. I hate them all. Nutrasweet, Sweet-n-Low, Splenda – all of ‘em. I almost envy people who say they can’t tell the difference between regular and diet drinks. I can not only tell the difference, but I can’t stand the icky chemical taste in my mouth that lingers for-freakin-ever. I avoid diet products like they are poison. Blaaaccchhhh!

But here I sit, drinking one of Jimmy’s diet cokes with lime, and I’m not dead yet. Can’t say I’m enjoying it, but it’s doing the trick. Ordinarily, if I want something calorie-free, I’ll just have some water, but my caffeine intake for the day is low and I have the headache that accompanies such an affliction (addiction?) – couple that with a trip to the doctor for a physical today, and regular coke is now out of the picture.

Yep – my EVERYTHING is off-kilter. Iron’s still low, weight’s still high, and now my cholesterol is officially elevated. Thyroid functions just outside the normal range. Vitamin D deficient. And don’t even get me started on my serotonin issues. (Wish they could measure THAT in a blood test. How about some of you geeks I adore get busy on that?) SO, I’ve gone from no meds to five pills a day in the span of two weeks. Fantastic. I’ve come of age and I’m experiencing finer living through pharmaceuticals.

AND, to make it all suck worse, I really need to make some lifestyle changes. Got to eat better and get some serious exercise so my arteries don’t get completely clogged and so my spirit will improve. Got to get outside for some good old fashioned sunshine to get the Vit. D up so that my scrawny frame doesn’t diminish any sooner than it has to. (I’ve seen how ugly osteoporosis can be, and I want nothing to do with it.) Mostly, got to accept that I need to be responsible if I don’t want my body to backfire on me. Bummer.

Meanwhile, me likey the food. Me likey it long time. I hate carrying around twenty-five extra pounds, but I also hate the thought of not eating a bag full of jerky when I want to. Alas. So here I go, on a quest to slowly change my eating habits to those of a fiber-loading, sugar-avoiding, carbo-fearing old fart. Right. I can’t imagine ever being there, but I’d rather make changes now than wait for the doctor to tell me I have an expiration date due to some tragic illness guaranteed to befall me.

So, wish me well and join me in the effort to be healthy and fit. I’m not ever going to be a total purist, and I am not one to deprive myself of anything, but I do intend to make better choices more often. Yay, me!

(By the way, I’m almost done with this here diet coke, and I’d still rather have water than this crap.)

Pokey's One-Way Ticket to Hell

2007-09-09T21:05:00.001-04:00

I’ve had my daddy here for 24 hours or so now, which has been a joy. He hasn’t been to my house since we lived in Winston-Salem because of work and dogs and aversion to air travel and then momma. He’s going to visit his surviving sisters in southwest Georgia for the week, and since I went to Southport for Hope Marie’s birthday party yesterday, I brought him back here for a quick visit with us before his trip.

Tonight at 1:05 AM he boards the bus in Columbia proper for a 12 hour journey to Albany, where Aunt Evie and Uncle Beal will pick him up and take him back to Dawson. He’s the youngest of the remaining four (at 74, that speaks to our family’s longevity) and feels compelled to go see Aunt Annie Mae in the nursing home and Aunt Marie at her home since they can no longer travel. They’ll take a quick trip to Pitts (seriously, that’s where he grew up – Pitts, GA) one day to reminisce, he’ll swap stories with some nephews and cousins and all, and then he’ll be anxious and ready to return home.

His knees give him a lot of trouble, his cigarette habit is as bad as ever, and as much as he enjoys dwelling on the past, he grows quickly weary of being away from home, so his return trip next weekend won’t come soon enough for him. Most of them are pretty narrow-minded, to the extent that daddy looks like a real liberal when among them, and he’ll get pretty sick of all that, too. But, he knows he wants to see them all, and he wants to visit the graveyards there, because he realizes he might never get back.

Then again, he might. But it’s strange to imagine that time in our lives when we are doing everything for the last time. I’m sure this is the first of many lasts for him, and I hope he has years to complete them all, because I’ve grown accustomed to having him around! I hope he’ll grow weary of doing his consulting work sometime soon and come see us more frequently or for longer periods. Meanwhile, we all are entertained by the fact that he’s bought a one-way bus ticket to the back door of Hell and how much that would have amused my momma!

I sure do love my Pokey and I know he loves his Squirt-diddy-bo. Safe travel for him! Godspeed!

Online "Friends"

2007-09-04T10:20:00.001-04:00

Now that I have completely reverted to adolescence and have both myspace and facebook accounts, I am faced with the concept of friendship.

My philosophy is best summed up like this: No one has 896 friends. No one. Even if your account says you do. See, I subscribe to the school of thought that "friends" are people you actually KNOW.

But my new challenge is this: I certainly have known 896 people over the course of my days. More, even. But can I call them all "friend" and do I want to add them all to my friends list? Just because someone requests your "friendship," do you have to give it? Mrs. Manners probably doesn't have a facebook account, so I can't consult with her snooty butt. God wants us all to get along and be friendly, but I think the "-ly" on that is an out on maintaining relationships with people you hardly know.

So here's how I'm dealing with this: The people on my "friends" lists are people I actually know or have known and that I am willing to develop or renew friendships with. Just like in real life, I'll put more time and effort into maintaining some than others. It's maybe more like a "friends and acquaintances" list, now isn't it? I'll continue to reject the friendships of total strangers, and I'm sure I'll be faced with a friend request that I'll reject wholeheartedly at some point, but for now, I'm going to save the world, one facebook poke at a time.

For my paranoid friends who read this, don't worry. You really are my friend. I'm talking about other people, not you.

Free writing ain't as easy as you think...

2007-09-03T19:30:00.001-04:00

Austin has to free-write for 10 minutes every weekend, so I promised him I'd write alongside him during those times. He just read me part of what he's written thus far - mostly a thorough mocking of his beloved mom. Nice. Trouble for both of us: can't think of what to write.

Actually, I can think of a bunch of things I could write about and would love to, but most of them are about Austin, and he doesn't want me "broadcasting his personal and sometimes embarrassing life all over the internet." (almost verbatim...) For instance, I wanted to write a piece entitled "What I want? I want Somefing!" but that would have required the story behind that ever-so-present part of our family's vernacular. (Hint to outsiders: Austin started it - but I didn't tell you that, now did I?)

Alas. I have Austin-imposed writer's block, but I've free-written with him, so I guess that's what matters.

Time's up already. I cheated and didn't spend the whole ten minutes writing, but neither did he. He spent most of the time asking me how much time he has left. Just like my students used to do before they got the hang of what I expected and knew what to do. How dear. He'll soon have so much to write and such a willingness to do it that he won't even think of the time.

Thanks for reading. Now you go write for 10 minutes and see what you come up with under pressure!

Do I talk in questions? Yes, I do.

2007-09-02T20:57:00.000-04:00

There's an episode of Scrubs (one of my all-time favorite shows, especially now that it's in syndication) where this surgeon is a question-talker. Does he ask questions and then answer them? Yes he does. Is the episode funny as hell? Of course it is. Does it beat Seinfeld's uptalker episode with a stick? You betcha.

Anyway, I recently realized that I do that - talk in questions, that is - a bunch. Now I'm almost paranoid about it. I caught myself asking a question today when a statement would have been just as effective and I almost laughed aloud at myself. Would I have looked stupid? I believe I would have. (See, it's sooooo hard to stop.)

So I hereby resolve to only use the question-followed-by-answer when it is the best way to create my desired effect with whatever I'm saying. I think it's a residual teacher-me habit. If you ask a question, people are more likely to listen than if you just make a statement, because a question mark actually implies you want THEIR answer - but in this case, of course, it's all about me. I'd like to limit myself to asking questions when I really want to hear someone else's thoughts rather than when I want to rope them into hearing mine.

Does that sound like a plan? (Oh, how I want to answer...)

Being the Boss

2007-09-02T09:12:00.000-04:00

My boss (Jeff) is in the Bahamas swilling down Bahamian booze and going to ball games with a bunch of other Indiana Hoosier Loosiers, but mostly he is celebrating ten years of marriage - which, as we've all come to realize in our old age, is quite a feat. Meanwhile, I'm here Being Jeff.

THAT MAN WORKS WAY TOO HARD. Or maybe just too much; hard to tell. My phone rang off the hook on Friday and quite a bit yesterday. My only "scheduled" tasks when he left were two closings on Friday afternoon and get a new listing up and running. No problem! Before noon on Friday, I had the rest of my day booked and ended up working about 8 hours yesterday, as well.

Needless to say, this is one reason I am not a full-time real estate agent, nor do I desire to be. While I can juggle a few cases for a few days and keep all the balls in the air, every task seems to grow in the amount of time it requires to complete between the time you schedule it and the time it is done. I am counselor, photographer, graphic artist, technology technician, race car driver (Lord, I'm in the car a lot), teacher, magician, and palm reader all in one. (And the counselor part is the part that makes the difference in decent agent and stellar one.) Multiply that times 15 active listings and several buyers, and the guy in charge is swamped.

Difference between Jeff and me? It feeds him. He thrives on the surprise of it all and the sense of accomplishment and the tremendous challenge of making everything happen while making everyone happy.

I have just grown to think that most people are a bunch of whiners.

Anyway, I'm glad it's Sunday and a holiday weekend. Most people are wanting to party and play on the lake this weekend, so I don't think the phone will be too active today or tomorrow. At this point, I only need to create, print, and deliver flyers to one listing today, but I'm knocking hard on wood that my day doesn't fill up. It can't, as I have bunches to do around here and want to spend time with MY family. Hats off to Jeff for thriving in all of this - and he BETTER be having a good time and relaxing, because he won't be getting any more breaks any time soon! I quit! (But that's a whole other story...)

FOUND IT: Missing Marie, Missing Me

2007-08-30T21:21:00.000-04:00

(If you read the previous post, this is the one that got away. I know your interest was piqued and that you were dying to see what wonderfully tasty ways I arranged my words and thoughts... So, imagine it's last Sunday, and read on.)

My rotten momma is haunting me. Today in church we sang a song that punched me in the gut with missing her - First Song of Isaiah (Surely it is God who saves me, I will trust in Him and not be afraid...) -and I haven't recovered just yet. For years now I've "heard" her singing in church and gone all emotional, even before she was most ill, and now that she is dead and conveniently unavailable to take my calls, it hurts more. Of course, the poignant thing is not just that I could hear her voice and feel her presence and miss her terribly, but that the message of that song is what I most needed (and perhaps, least wanted) to hear these days. And honestly, I'm not crazy about the song itself - and I don't really recall if she was or not, either, but she was surely singing it directly to me today. And I like to think maybe she was crying, too.

Anyway, I sneak out and get some kleenex (mental note - bring my own) and sneak back in and make it through the rest of the service just fine with my smiley face on. But my priest pulled me aside after the service (before he shook any hands) and told me he felt like I was feeling empty and alone lately. (Welcome back, waterworks.) He's right, of course, and I am, and I don't want to be. But he noticed, and that felt good. I think. I really do reserve my most blitheringly idiotic moments for church, it seems, so I think the people there think I am more miserable than I really am. Maybe they're right. But church is an important part of who I am and I am not feeling fed right now, but I don't really have what it takes to be part of the solution there. I am also too "home" there to go a-wandering looking for another place. So, I plod onward.

Whew. I miss my momma and I miss me. I am trying and trying to reconnect to whoever I am or was or will be, but I am so busy going through the motions that I keep missing something. So, this control freak is going to do what she is able to do, and leave the rest to God and happenstance. But that is soooooooo hard.

For the Lord is my stronghold and my sure defense, and He will be my savior...

Blog errors and internet woes

2007-08-30T21:06:00.001-04:00

Sunday I spent about thirty minutes pouring my guts into this silly blogspot about aloneness and emptiness and loss and change and all of my other thirty-something angst, and darned if the stinkin' modem didn't choose the exact moment I clicked POST to disconnect. Anyway, by the time I got it back online, I had managed to lose the woe-is-me post-from-hell in cyberspace.

Here's it in a nutshell: I miss my momma. I miss ME. I cried like an idiot about a song in church (First Song of Isaiah - "Surely it is God who saves me, I will trust in Him and not be afraid, for the Lord is my stronghold and my sure defence, and he will be my Savior.") and struggled to recover from Poor Meesh Syndrome (not to be confused with the other PMS) all day.

See, you didn't need to read it all anyway - I guess I just needed to write it.

I'm sure there's a way to recover it, since I just noticed that my drafts are autosaved, but I haven't figured it out yet, and at this point, why bother?

My next post will be pleasant and delightful - maybe - since I have done a pretty good job of keeping myself busy and happy this week. It's bedtime (I'm REALLY trying to get to sleep earlier) and I have an exceptionally full day tomorrow since my boss will be on his way to the Bahamas and I'm in charge.

In case I don't get back to this and in case anyone is actually reading, have a great long weekend!

Back to School and such

2007-08-24T19:43:00.000-04:00

When we started this blog, I thought for sure I would be on it posting uncontrollably, or at least daily... I suppose it would be a pitiful state of existence if I lived to blog, so I'm forgiving myself!

BACK TO SCHOOL! Woohoo! I am almost excited about the normalcy and structure that the school year brings. Summer is delightfully random, but trying to work from home with both kids in tow is a tremendous pain. Some of you know I've recently realized that I am both ready and wanting to be back in a school setting. I am always happiest when I am volunteering or visiting the kids' classrooms or just hanging out in the waiting area at pick-up time... My last experience in front of the classroom reminded me how very hard it can be to juggle teaching full-time and parenting full-time, so I thought I'd apply for a position as an assistant. Well, I reckon my years of experience and qualifications are not enough to get a return call from the district office in these parts, as I have not been interviewed (nor, needless to say, hired) at this point. I suppose it would have helped for me to apply earlier in the summer when there were more openings and fewer applicants, but I didn't have my AHA! moment until it was almost too late to do anything about it. Turns out other totally qualified folks I know have had the same problem - the district office won't call back. Disturbing, but I am not giving up.

The hard part about all of it, other than the blow to the old ego, is the trusting God part. I am always pretty certain about what I WANT to do or what I am WILLING to do, but I am not always in tune with what the Almighty would have me do. It seemed like a no-brainer -I apply, they call me, they hire me, I'm happy, the end. But, it isn't working out that way. I wonder what is up God's sleeve?

Now, I have a perfectly lovely job - my boss is completely wonderful and supportive, he lets me define the way I want to work, my hours are completely flexible, and the pay is certainly decent. BUT, the flexibility means I am always doing a little here and a little there and by day's end, I feel like I've been working all day, even if I've only put in four or five hours total. There's very little about real estate in general that makes me feel like I'm making a positive difference in the world - sure, I suppose I make a difference to the clients I work with, and I know I've made a difference in my boss's world, but as much as I enjoy his company, I really grow weary of doing something I don't love.

What a whiner, eh? Good job, good boss, good money, but not satisfied. Wah wah wah, Meesh, right? But I know it is possible to be both employed AND happy with what you do... I am just waiting for those things to coincide.

Maybe this is why I don't blog a lot - I get started and can't seem to finish. It isn't like I don't have a TON to do - for work, for the kids, around the house, for my volunteer positions... but it is a pleasure to just sit and write and vent a bit. Even if nobody will ever read it!

Anyway, if you happen to read this, say a little prayer for me and mine for the new school year. I am going to throw my name in the hat to substitute (even though I can't make a living of it) and see what the ten-day count brings... Then I'm going to get my certification current so I can pursue more positions... Then I'll probably be back on here complaining. Crazy.

Oh my, we have a blog.

2007-08-18T13:15:00.000-04:00

Jim's parents are coming tomorrow and our house is in the you-gotta-freakin-be-kiddin-me mode, so instead of cleaning, like we should be, we've created a blog. Cause what I need is one more thing to do to waste time, right?

Hope you all enjoy the occasional musings, rants, and tales of our little family in our little house in the big woods (wait, I think that was already taken...).