homework

Today's youth group lesson, which I was asked to teach and agreed before I could back out on grounds of unworthiness, was about forgiveness.

At the risk of sounding nauseously righteous, I usually consider myself a forgiving person; I teach teenagers - if I couldn't extend grace on a regular basis, I would be miserable. And fired, I hope. But since the advent of my best friend's personal Hell, I have felt the blackest hole gnawing through my gut whenever I think about her ex and am wondering if I'm the best person to help young people understand what it means to forgive.

The first thing the lesson recommended I do was share an experience when I had trouble forgiving someone; because my son is in the group and because I don't yet trust my emotions regarding this situation and because it's tremendously awkward when teachers cry, I chose instead to have the kids tell me what they thought defined forgiveness. I wrote their responses on the board - everything from "say 'I forgive you'" to "accept an apology" to "let it go." We talked about whether or not it's important to consider what was done, and if someone had to ask for it in order for you to extend forgiveness. And - do we have to forget after we forgive? I just kept thinking how these concepts are wrenching for me, a grown-up practicing Christian; they must thoroughly confound pre-teens who are frequently overwrought with hormones and questions and beliefs in Fairness.

I had everyone write or draw what forgiveness would look like when they gave it to someone. The pictures & words were remarkably mature, though when I asked afterward who would find it easy to do what they wrote only a few hands went up. In the end, we agreed to talk about it more next week. I told them to keep their eyes & ears & minds open to examples of when it was (and when it wasn't) easy to forgive people.

I will do the same.

tgif. seriously.

1. Wouldn't it be easy if I could command a do-over everytime I screwed up.

2. Being a grown-up is now better than ever!

3. I love the taste of victory. And righteousness.

4. No dying allowed in the living room.

5. The first thing we're going to do is kill all the lawyers. KIDDING! We'll just tie them up.

6. Listen: drip, drip, drip; you should get a cream for that! [this response courtesy of my husband Stu, who will be playing the role of 14-year old boy today].

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to watching Bright Star with my reluctant man, tomorrow my plans include extreme productivity in cleaning house & outlining the new quarter, and Sunday I want to use all my coupons that expire on 1/31.

The joy of Friday Fill-Ins fills my heart;
now you do it.

changes in 5 7 5

Farmer's Market on Whidbey Island

photo by me, 2009

sometimes forced on us

change can feel like handcuffs or

a key to closed doors

hormoaning

Let us sing for you, Mrs. S

My dear friend Shana (clearly gunning for bff status; we'll talk) posted this pic on my Facebook page today. It was, by far, the best part of my Monday.

Being a teacher, especially one of teens prone to hardship [real & manufactured], I often espouse such uplifting mantras as "It's not the end of the world" and "Things will get better." However, every 28 days now & again I want to tell my own self to f*ck off when these words flit through my consciousness. Because sometimes things FEEL LIKE the end of the world, and that they WILL NOT get better. For example:

• Brand new darling $acrazyamountevenwitha20%offcoupon shoes that make my former bunion weep for a few hours before it just goes numb
• Not getting tea because the limping throws off my errand-running
• The throbbing headache that starts one minute into my first class
• Forgetting to manage a number of key tasks for students, 3 days before the end of the quarter
• Can't get hold of the yearbook guy to download our software [again] before things are even more overdue
• Canker sores
• Getting a chocolate cupcake instead of the chocolate chip coffee cake I asked for
• Eating the damned cupcake rather than telling the barista he got it wrong
• No time or energy to stalk see Blockbuster guy
• Online class I need to finish before March that I haven't yet started
• Children forgetting to do chores when they get home
• Children rolling eyes and groaning when reminded to do chores
• Being too tired & cold to check the mail
• Being too tired & cold to make dinner
• Cluttered countertops
• Box of ornaments still without a home
• Son not fitting into 2/3 of his underwear & jeans
• My stupid healing foot still too swollen for the fluffy cute slippers Stu got me for Christmas
• Needing friend time but feeling too weary & scattered to schedule

Intellectually I know I'm spinning (and things will get better; it's not the end of the world). Emotionally, however, I desperately want those Glee men to bust through my door and...do something. Anything. Sing a song, clean my counters, check the mail. All of the above, realistically & metaphorically.

Here's to hard days.

pride

I spent Thursday night joyously watching & listening to teenagers recite poetry and play music. Teenagers who have previously had very few opportunities to feel talented and be praised. This is the second year we've been involved in this competition and even though it makes a lot of our students groan at first, they come around and my heart sings.

These are the times I love my job so wholeheartedly, I would do it for free.

Check out the Poetry Out Loud website to see what a remarkable program they've got going.
Your heart might start singing, too.

silly (and delusional) haiku

Rockin' clothes & hair.

"I'm with the band," I announced.

And then I woke up.

a pleasure to have in class

To say I can identify only two individuals in my history of teaching that I was glad to have removed from my classes makes me feel both relieved and sorrowful. Despite telling myself at the end & beginning of each day that things might be better, ultimately I felt better overall if they were absent. Though better was served with a side of shitty.

Some people unfortunately live & breathe to disrupt, they are catalysts for mayhem no matter what kind of management techniques a teacher employs, and their behavior steals my time & energy & efforts from the other students. But my job is to keep trying to make connections, to figure out how these people can learn. And they are somebody's children, entrusted to me for a few hours each day. I would want teachers to try and keep trying, even if they found my kids unpleasant.

But these two people I'm remembering were not necessarily unpleasant; occasionally they were rather charming & funny. And they weren't unruly in the classic sense - paper-throwers, note-passers, chatters, wanderers; they didn't stage any of the obvious classroom pranks like chair-pulling or tripping. Instead, they were duplicitous and deceitful though not in the aren't-you-clever-shame-on-me-for-falling-for-it way that some kids use when they're trying on personae. These two pretended to cultivate a connection when I asked about their interests & activities - they might even have lied to me about those things. When it was convenient for them, they would smile and nod and say they understood the assignment or my reasons for moving them away from friends. When they felt threatened - when classmates weren't interested in their coy way of snowing the teacher - they would ignore me, or shout that they weren't doing anything wrong, loudly accusing me of always picking on them.

But my real issue with these students is not so much their behavior; what they did was a symptom of bigger problems in their lives or their minds, which is why I waver between the relief of having them gone from my classroom and the sorrow of having failed to help them turn a corner. My real issue is their unwillingness to accept any responsibility for their behaviors and attempt to make changes.

I come back to the fact that even though they're teenagers and live in grown-up-looking bodies, they are still technically children; they are still forming their values and weighing their options for Real Life. Ideally, one would hope they might look to their teachers for some guidance and appreciate what we have to offer. To be clear, I'm not put out that a couple of kids rejected my particular form of education - I regularly ask for, and use, input from students when evaluating my classes and believe me, it's not always blissful gratitude and proclamations of my perfection. Frankly, it's not ever those things. But I appreciate the real-ness of those kids who do make efforts to be involved, to be present, to ask questions and accept help. Even if they do all those things grudgingly, they've at least given me a chance.

I hope someday those two realize how I tried, because I thought they were worth it. But there is only so much I can do against someone's will.

the dream and the hope

Still I Rise by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies.
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words.
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
___________________________

graciousness

I realize that any news story has to go through some editing before it gets on the air and that means significant details are left out, important background might be missing that could help fill in and flesh out a narrative. That said, this piece I heard this morning on NPR has stuck with me all day, like a poorly swallowed pill that feels like it's still lodged in your throat.

My understanding of the situation in Haiti is limited to basically knowing the earthquake turned a struggling country into one of more desperate despair. Whenever something devastating happens - anywhere: New Orleans, Malaysia, one of my students' homes - I want to drop everything and be available to those who can use me. I want to, but I have not yet done anything particularly meaningful. I've started to think I should join an organization that is called into action when a disaster occurs; I'm much better at moving when ordered to rather than relying on my own pathetic intentions.

So I was struck this morning by the story about a group of missionaries in Haiti, apparently called by an entity one might consider quite compelling, who spent Saturday waiting to be airlifted back to Iowa. Again, my understanding is limited and maybe in order to better help the people there, others have to get out; maybe these women have been on the island for a very long time already and are no longer needed. Fine. But here is where things rankled my brain: the radio report emphasized the plight of these missionaries sweltering for 6 hours in the Haitian sun, who were finally relieved to get "ice-cold sodas" and a seat in a military cargo plane. Who were looking forward to taking a shower when finally home.

It strikes me as insensitive at best to focus on these supposed hardships - heat, waiting, no shower - when an inconceivable number of people are dead from this disaster. Thousands more are injured, homeless, grieving lost family members. The women NPR quoted praise God and the military? For a Coke and a trip home to bathe? Not that God and the military are not worthy of praise, but I am hoping somewhere on the tape are remarks about praying for the Haitians left behind in their pain, suffering, and grief. And maybe an explanation of why the missionaries are leaving now, when people might be more inclined to want some information about grace. Or better yet, an example of it.

my stately pleasure dome is a roller disco, too

In my excitement about driving today, I forgot to mention in my weekend plans that we're going to see the Broadway version of Xanadu tonight. So my day will be about alternating laundry & napping with a few errands thrown in - maybe shopping for some sparkly blue eyeshadow? I wonder if I can get my hair to feather...

you are here

1. The lesson I learned yesterday was don't unexpectedly leap up on a very newly almost-healed foot.

2. Sometimes it's uncomfortable where friends and family meet.

3. All these years have only made things better.

4. Mayhem was already here when I arrived.

5. The truth is sometimes slippery, sometimes thorny, always liberating.

6. Continuous lack of wise judgment is what I remember most from that day.

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to wine & brie (yay!) & Shaun of the Dead with my man, tomorrow my plans include driving! Anywhere! and Sunday, I want to watch my Cowboys win another post-season game. Then take a nap.

Friday Fill-ins, especially for you

13 things i'm neglecting

I am frankly stunned stupid at how grossly exhausted I am at the end (and beginning) of each day due to a healing foot. Let me just state for the record, in case my foot or any other marginalized feet are reading this, I completely underestimated the hard work put forth each day by feet and beg forgiveness for my arrogance. That said, here are 13 things I was once (or planned to be) reasonably good at accomplishing but have been, for four weeks and counting, trying to ignore because I have no energy to properly care about them.

1. cleaning bathroom sinks
2. dusting
3. changing seasonal decor (though I did rally to put away Christmas stuff. Well, boxed it; not yet put away)
4. wine & brie with my man [because I am freaking asleep by 9 pm]
5. watching potential Oscar-nominated movies - and it is beginning to stress me out; only 9 weeks left!
6. reading other people's blogs
7. printing school lunch menus
8. stacking dishes in alternating colors
9. making sure kids have clothes that fit
10. - 13. everything I had resolved to start doing in 2010

I love you, foot. Get better soon so I can return to my OCDivine ways. Yours truly, the dirty, tired, unfit & uncultured invalid.

hit it

Whidbey Island, 2009
photo by me

where are you going?

make a move - forward is best

enjoy the journey

bonding

Tonight I was awake and lucid enough for a trip to Blockbuster. It has been a strange change from my former, pre-surgery life when I stopped by the video store hourly more frequently; these days I am constrained by not being able to drive myself combined with the fatigue I feel as soon as I step in my front door. But I rallied because I desperately miss my Geeky Cute Video Expert Guy needed to rent The Prestige for my upcoming sci-fi lesson on Steampunk.

My dear Best Husband Ever thinks it's hilarious that I have this crush, which kind of pisses me off and ruins some of the clandestine joy in my heart, but he still gets irritated that my GCVEG acts like Stu is invisible, or reminds him that he is not on our account whenever Stu tries to rent a movie on his own. So our joint visits can be simultaneously amusing & awkward, depending on who is behaving like the bigger weirdo. And how cute I think my hair is.

This evening, my secret boyfriend and my real-life husband shared a couple of poignant-guy moments - first when I was trying to figure out what to get as our free rental, Stu suggested Shaun of the Dead and GCVEG's eyes lit up in admiration; he bolted over to find it on the shelf. Then as we were leaving, Stu jokingly mentioned that I should show Heavy Metal when I teach the subgenre Fantastic Voyage; GCVEG actually gasped and put his hand over his mouth, clearly impressed at my man's audacity.

I think I feel a bromance brewing; glad I can start driving myself again this week.

color me content

I have always been a fan of coloring. Coloring as in crayons and coloring books and rainy days and quiet times. I remember settling at the coffee table with mom, each of us working silently on a masterpiece, or sitting in my grandma's kitchen, finishing page after page while she peeled potatoes for dinner. Everything about the activity whispered pleasure & peace, and I clung to it with a deep serenity that rivals most religious rituals. (I still do).

I can't recall being formally introduced to coloring - it was just something I did, mainly when I was too tired to read but not interested in TV, or when I was home sick. I was elated when Coloring was allowed, and sometimes even encouraged, at school; I was shocked to find out my friends were not nearly as excited about the prospect of Coloring when they came over to play. What kind of person didn't quiver at that thick smell of crayons, delight in the sound of them jumbling together in an old coffee can, take pleasure in selecting just the right hue for each tiny detail on the page? Signing one's name and dating the picture upon completion??

I have ribbons (some blue) from the Island County Fair for my carefully colored & ripped out entries. And many a Mother's Day card was really a coloring book page with a greeting scrawled in pretend cursive.

My collection of coloring books has ranged from popular dime store issues (Barbie and Peanuts) to the more coveted Mrs. Beasley (with paper doll!) and vintage Disneyland souvenirs. [I still have all of these, except for Barbie; she started to get on my nerves.] In college, I proudly purchased new ones for myself and turned to them when Life was too noisy and difficult. And I knew certainly I'd chosen wisely when husband-to-be Stu bought me a set of Suzy's Zoo Christmas coloring books.

I colored voraciously while pregnant; it was satisfyingly artistic but required little energy. My books are now filled with the inspired work of my sister, my cousins, and my own kids as well as babysitters they've had. It took a little letting go of my OCD everypicturemustbeperfectlythewayI'veenvisioned but once I did, my heart swelled to watch others settle in at the table, can full of crayons at the ready, and thoughtfully begin their journey to a quiet bliss of their own.

mmm...blogging

On the occasion of The Simpsons' 20th anniversary [a show I have known since the beginning, when it was part of The Tracey Ullman Show and I was just starting to date the man who would become The Best Husband Ever], I had all kinds of interesting thoughts this morning that I was excited to mold into a fascinating post for you, my faithful readers. But then I showered and started a load of laundry and went to church and did some antique store shopping and planned two trips to California and watched some football and forgot about the laundry and had tacos with my best friends and am now too tired to string a few potent words together.


So. D'oh.

0 to 60 in 10 hours

Firing up with my 'boys
photo by Bad Mom in the house, 11/22/09

My day started with something like a nervous breakdown (me: collapsing in our bathroom over wrong version of Vitamin E oil while well-meaning husband/man servant looked on bewildered), turned into a productive afternoon of boxing Christmas decor (though still not quite getting it put back into storage) & bra shopping (also part of the morning drama - nothing in the drawer matched my Dallas Cowboys underwear), and ended with friends coming over to have pizza & wine and watch the game.

Life is good, if not a little schizophrenic.

friday, love me do

1. There are places I can go where teenagers are not allowed HallelujahThankyouJesus.

2. A couple of snow days could blow those clouds away.

3. Standing in the anyplace is pretty taxing for me lately.

4. It'sFridayIt'sFridayIt'sFriday, oh boy.

5. He went out tiger hunting and brought back a cougar [ba DUM bum].

6. Not much can keep my mind from wandering .

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to Chipotle & Daybreakers date night with my best man, tomorrow my plans include a little thing called A PLAYOFF GAME, and Sunday I want to stay in bed all day.

This Beatle-tastic list brought to you by
the Magical Mystery Friday Fill-Ins

caring for my gimp

My Gimpy Gal has been going to bed early, like old person early, for the last couple weeks. Normally she (and I) are night owls (we are still able to close a bar when needed). Stephanie hit the sack a little after 9 tonight and before hobbling upstairs implored me to write a post.

If you have followed this blog for any time you know two things about my wife:

1. she hates pain or the anticipation of pain
2. she avoids exercise like pain

For years I have badgered nagged suggested that she get her bunions removed, but was, shall we say, rebuffed. So when Stephanie said she was going in for surgery for the worst bunion, I told myself I would be the best Nurse Nightingale I could be. I actually like caring for my temporarily disabled wife, although she has a hard time letting me 'do it all'. I must have done a decent job though; she is talking about when to schedule surgery on her other foot.

Now if I could just get her to come to the gym with me :)

I'm proud of you, my Gimpy Gal. We'll do it again soon.

-Stu

steps

going up or down

doesn't matter in the end

as long as you start

best (& worst, to keep things in perspective)

In honor of the new year and my return to insanityland everyday posting, here is my Best & Worst of 2009, succinctly narrowed to 5 things each for efficiency (and not including givens that I am happy & sad about - health/pain, shelter/nasty weather, et cetera).

Best of:

1. Husband getting new job
2. New CARnotminivan
3. Watching a game in Cowboys stadium + meeting fellow blogger Texan Mama
   [These occasions happened together; I am not cheating]
4. Reconnecting with friends/closer connections with cyber-friends on Facebook
5. Rollerskating birthday party weekend

Worst of:

1. Best friends divorcing
2. Husband losing beloved job
3. Not traveling to see family @ Christmas (filed under "bunion fun")
4. No Disneyland or Europe trips (I know, waah)
5. Still didn't get invited backstage with Fountains of Wayne
   

Here's to a blissful 2010 wherein some of last year's worsts are transformed into next year's bests. And I'm not arrested in the process.

for the monday post-vacation blahs

Beat up

or

cleaned up,

Yum.

I feel better already.

reality NSF check

Tomorrow I am back in my classroom for the first time in 18 days.

I thoroughly enjoy nearly every part of my job (not in love with grading and alerting parents about failure); I am looking forward to seeing my students and my colleagues, and to settling in my new knickknacks & calendars (yes, plural); I am reasonably prepared to move forward with the last few weeks of the quarter. What I am not looking forward to is trying to rebalance my school life & home life after all these weeks spent completely out of whack.

Normally on weekends and during breaks I relish the time off but keep in mind that I must stick to a basic schedule of rising & eating & cleaning & planning and such so the return to school doesn't feel too unmanageable. But since I was physically unable to stick to any kind of schedule this time, I feel thoroughly disjointed. It's like I've been on a wild rollercoaster - a little jerky, a touch of nausea, but mostly enjoyable - and am walking onto the field as starting quarterback first thing in the morning. I like the game, love my fellow players, am excited about being on the team, but have not been to practice in 18 days.

I'm going for a Hail Mary and hoping for the best.

my right foot

It is a strange thing to feel like a part of your body is a distinct entity. Since I visited the podiatrist in November and scheduled the bunionectomy, my right foot seems to have developed a personality. It didn't hurt at all for a week or so after the initial appointment, no matter which shoes I chose to wear, like it was trying to show me how good it could be. Hey, wait a minute! I was just messing around! Being wacky! You don't need to CUT OFF A PIECE OF YOUR BODY! Are you CRAZY??

Then, when I didn't cancel surgery, it became outrageously hostile. The bunion would ache first thing in the morning - after I had been resting my feet for at least 8 hours. It would begin to hurt so much that I had to take off even my most forgiving shoes during lunch in my classroom. By the time I got home and desperately put on slippers, the thing was throbbing.

Two weeks ago, the night before B-Day, it was eerily calm, like a resigned Death Row inmate. Checking in at the hospital, I began to ridiculously think they might send me home since I was no longer in pain; I sensed the bunion smirking at my growing madness. I wanted to poke it, squeeze it, make it scream one last time.

But then a prep nurse came to mark & wash my leg for surgery. She was thorough and loving (in a not-weird way), and it was not only relaxing but reminded me that my right foot was still a part of me, my whole; not my enemy. I started to feel sad for the foot that was losing a part of itself - maybe it resented me for making this rash decision, maybe we didn't have to have such an adversarial relationship. Maybe the morphine drip in my IV was a little strong.

When I came to a couple of hours later, I was of course looptastic (I asked first for my iLover then argued with the nurse that my husband couldn't possibly be back yet from dropping off my kids at school) but soon realized my foot was an entirely new being - and it hurt like a motherf*cker when I tried to sit up. Now I was truly at the mercy of that right foot; if I didn't cater to its every whim, my life would be Hell for a month. Its first whim was a dose of Vicodin every two hours, followed closely by being propped on a pillow like Cinderella's precious shoe every minute of the day. Both of these things ensured I did nothing 'normal' for two entire weeks - no compulsive straightening, rearranging, putting away, getting, doing; not even any meaningful reading because I was constantly on the verge of sleep.

My right foot, while not remotely as majestic as Christy Brown's left one, has taught me some lessons in humility, patience, and meaningful actions. Certainly it has resorted to pain again to teach those lessons, but at least now I feel it is more my wise ally than my cruel warden.

Hello, beautiful friend.

shambling into 2010 on my own power

(Thanks to my friend-from-6th-grade John for the post title when I mentioned my New Year's Eve highlight was no crutches).

1. Last night was the best of times, and the worst of times (stitches out & walking shoe, yay! barfy daughter, boo!).


2. Imagining more brilliant discoveries this year.


3. The funniest thing sometimes isn't so hilarious for awhile.


4. Cast off, crutches returned, still can't drive...so where do we go from here?


5. He said "Come on, I'll take you to Blockbuster;" "This must be some sort of trap," she said.


6. There is a joyous life out there and it's up to us to find it.


7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to watching 9 with the family, tomorrow my plans include a [possibly newish?] haircut & friend's birthday party, and Sunday, I want to find my Zen place and get ready to go back to school.

Happy New Friday Fill-ins!