Snowpacalypse

Let's say that you're just crazy enough to teach middle school and just stupid enough to assign a poem due on the day that a major winter storm is supposed to hit your area.

This is all entirely hypothetical, of course.

Now, let's say you're that person and the six years you've spent in 8th grade have completely destroyed your mind (seven years if you count that year that you were actually IN 8th grade which was like the worst year of your LIFE because you were gawky and a late bloomer and WHY WOULD YOU VOLUNTARILY CHOOSE TO GO BACK!?). Anyway. Let's say that you're this person and you spend all day saying, Your ode is due on Wednesday. And all day long, all you hear back is, We won't be here Wednesday! and when you say, Okay, if we're not here Wednesday, it's due Thursday. And then THEY say, What if we're not here Thursday? And so by the end of the day, you are honestly twitching and tearing out your hair and foaming at the mouth and spluttering rage everywhere as you shout, THEN IT'S DUE WHEN YOU WALK INTO THIS ROOM, I DON'T CARE IF THAT'S THURSDAY, FRIDAY, OR NEXT MARCH, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD YOU WILL HAND ME YOUR ODES AND YOU WILL SIT IN YOUR SEATS AND YOU WILL BE QUIET DO YOU HEAR ME QUIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET.

Remember, this is all hypothetical. Anyway, if you were that person, you might totally lose your mind so much thinking about how if they were this bad today, how are they going to be tomorrow!? that when you stop at the store to grab a few things, you walk out with Lucky Charms, champagne, and Pledge, because you never know when you might need to dust during a blizzard, right? (Okay, this is kind of lie. The drinks and cereal were planned, the Pledge was an impulse buy.)

Anyway, I. I mean, this hypothetical person, really doesn't want a blizzard. Like this hypothetical person, I do not like blizzards. During the blizzard of 1999, I was snowed in at my parents' house for one whole entire week and guess what? It was all Little House on the Prairie. I mean, my mom has a stock of food like you would not believe, so we were well fed, but my parents have well water. Which means no running water for a week, no showers, melting snow to flush toilets. It was horrifying. If I was Laura Ingalls Wilder, I would not have made it (although my mad birthing skillz totally qualify me for pioneer woman status) because it was pretty lame and in the era before smart phones, all I had to entertain me was my DiscMan and headphones.

Blizzards are also dumb because we have to make up snow days in June and I'm sorry month of February, but June totally owns you what with its sunshine and warmth and my ability to wear flip flops. But as long as we're playing the hypothetical game, hypothetically the best way to spend a blizzard would be snowed in with my best friends and all their families in some sort of giant compound with lots of play space and a well stocked pantry. In that case? I think I'd kind of like blizzards, but said actual compound lacking in reality? Yeah. Blizzards can suck it.

Beans!

Today I had to take off work because our sitter was unavaible and well, apparently you can't leave kids at home unattended. I lucked out and was able to come along with friends to an event at the newly opened Little Beans Cafe.

It was good. Really, really good.
Luke played the piano, while Ivy made him tea.

For the first time since Tommy's seizures, I was able to let him play out of my sight and not worry because it was contained and safe and clean and the employees were so helpful (seriously, they really loved playing with the kids). It was like this dream come true where my kids could play and be themselves, but also check in on me from time to time while I visited with friends. We were all ridiculously happy.
I will be back soon, and if you live in the area, GO. If you don't live in the area, you should probably move here because it's that good.

Two Months, Two Days

That's how long it's been since Tommy's last seizure (the last definite one, sometimes normal 18 month old behavior could be a seizure and it's hard, this is hard). I roll the days around in my brain constantly, like a job site posting telling how many days since the last accident. When we passed the two month mark, I breathed a little easier. Still, I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, because I just don't trust this epilepsy monster.

Sometimes I gaze at him and wonder what's going on behind those eyes, like all parents do. Unlike all parents, I wonder how his brain is spinning, if it's going to misfire soon.


I still tiptoe in and place my hand on his chest every night. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and worry. Sometimes I don't. It confuses my head lately that I got pregnant with Tommy when Luke was at the age Tommy is now. Epilepsy has made him my forever newborn, my afraid to let out of my sights and arms baby and will I ever have room for another?


Tommy fell down on the floor in the midst of an epic temper tantrum and Luke said, Mommy! I think he's having a seizure! I reassured and swallowed around the perpetual lump in my throat and wondered at the bigness of a three year old knowing the word seizure.


If you were sitting on the couch next to me right now and we were drinking champagne, I'd raise my glass and say, Here's to two months and three days.

Circle Round

This week, I didn't really set out to take pictures of circles because well, I'm lazy. Also because I dropped my camera this summer and my lens is still falling off and I probably can't afford to replace it any time soon, which makes taking pictures annoying. But thankfully, I have a phone and also thankfully, circles are EVERYWHERE. Seriously, everywhere.

Like in my morning cup of coffee with my favorite creamer.


Or in the layout of this Veteran's memorial that I pass every single day, twice a day but have never visited. It's hard to see in a snow, but it's set up on a circular platform.

It was snowing, windy, and so cold that day. I had to walk through ankle deep snow to get out here, but what it took me to walk out there is nothing compared to the sacrifices made by the men listed on that black wall.

Unfortunately, after I took this picture, the weather started spitting ice pellets in my face. And although they are probably circular in nature, they are also not very fun to photograph, but I definitely plan to stop more and appreciate more when it's warmer.

Food And Resolve

I have no will power when it comes to food. None at all. You can set a plate of brownies on the counter in front of me and I will think to myself, "I resolve to eat none of these brownies. I'm not hungry." And then two seconds later, I'll be like, "I resolve to only eat one of these brownies. One brownie is okay." And then five seconds later, I will have eaten THE WHOLE PLATE (I eat really fast) of brownies. The worst part is that I'm not even sure what happened. I'll have brownie crumbs in my hair and I'll be shaking from the sugar and looking dumbly at the empty plate thinking, What just happened here?
Still, despite my general lack of sanity around food, I thought it'd take a little longer for me to eat my New Year's resolution of eating a Big Mac.

My lack of never eating a Big Mac has nothing to do with being a vegetarian or even having a healthy diet, because I don't. Instead, my mom followed the health food craze before it was a craze, so even though I grew up in the 80s when no one really cared about trans fat and fries were fried in lard, I never ate at McDonald's. Ever. (We also did not have sugary cereal, I WAS SO DEPRIVED.) In fact, the first time I ate at McDonald's, I was in 3rd grade and with a friend. I didn't know what to order for breakfast, so I ordered one donut (do they still have donuts at McDonald's?) and her family laughed at me while they enjoyed their Egg McMuffin's and hash browns. Jerks.
Growing up, I still didn't eat at McDonald's much, except for the occasional french fry. It just wasn't something I did. Also, I never really liked burgers of any sort until I was pregnant with Luke and CRAVED bacon cheeseburgers like they were going out of style (thankfully I still love them). I just don't want you guys to think that I avoided it because I had food standards or something. I don't. I once ate a Junior Mint off the sidewalk.

It still isn't really something we do, except maybe for breakfast or when we're traveling or when I'm in desperate need of junk food, so I just don't get much of an opportunity to eat a Big Mac. However, last week, I unexpectedly took Luke to the doctor and went to fill a prescription, only to be told that it'd be a 45 minute wait (which actually turned into a NINETY minute wait, thanks Walgreens), so to fill the interim, I decided to take Luke and let him play at the play place (please note, he had an infection of the boy parts--he was not contagious or spreading germs through the play place) and of course, how could I not go ahead and fill my Big Mac quota for the year?

BEHOLD:


And then, three minutes later (I told you I eat fast):


That picture is blurry, because I was busy shoveling french fries into my mouth. So, what did I think? It was so fabulously junky and delicious that I'm kind of sad that I didn't eat one ten years ago, back when I weighed 100 pounds and could get away with eating a Big Mac more often. My only regret is that I did not listen to those of you who told me to get extra sauce. My other regret is that in shoving the whole burger in my mouth at once, I did not get to enjoy it better. But as far as fast food burgers go? I kind of want to fill a room with Big Macs so that I'm forced to eat my way through them to get out of the room. Am I the only one that fantasizes about having to eat my way out of a room filled with food? I hope not.

Rattling

I have so many thoughts rattling around in my brain today. Thoughts that keep me awake in the middle night, worrying over all things big and small and wondering if those worries will ever go away. Thoughts that are much less deep and involve me really, REALLY wanting chocolate chip cookies but not wanting to make them. Thoughts that are strange and out of nowhere, like how I keep remembering this one time when I was in college, the health clinic gave me anti-nausea medicine after a horrible bout with the stomach flu. They neglected to tell me that it could cause hallucinations, until after I mentioned that the door was moving--like the wood finish on the door was rippling as it was an ocean. I don't know what made me think of that today, but I keep remembering how I waved my fingers in front of my face and could see trails following them and how I kept slurring my words and then apologizing and explaining that I was going to be an English teacher and could really speak well, just not at that moment. I don't know what made me think of that today, but it was kind of a funny moment in my life.

I keep thinking, too, how thankful I am to have today off. Not just because of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr and all the good he did for this world, but selfishly because I feel like I lost all day Saturday to a migraine. I've been seeing a new chiropractor and while he's done amazing things to help my headaches, since they're hormonal, he can't totally make them go away. It was most definitely less intense than they used to be and it was also a month apart from my last one, which is amazing... but still, migraines are hard and after twelve hours with no relief, I threw in the towel and climbed into bed. Tommy, of course, wanted to follow me, so I laid down with him, thinking he'd nurse for a few minutes and then wander off. Except that he did the one thing he's never done, the thing I've been trying to get him to do practically since the day he was born (Luke would still sleep with us, but Tommy never was able... it was the one thing I really looked forward to when he was born!). He fell asleep after just a minute of nursing. He'd already napped and we were so close to bedtime, but who was I to interrupt this blessing? I snapped a picture, then curled up around him and slept.

I woke up to Shane tiptoeing into the room and sliding his hand on Tommy to reassure himself of the rise and fall of Tommy's chest. I do this every night and have since his seizures. I didn't know that Shane did, too. I smiled at him and whispered that he was fine, just sleepy (which is not something that Tommy is, ever) and that my head still hurt. Then I drifted back to sleep. Eventually Tommy woke up and Shane took him, so I could continue to sleep and attempt to get rid of my migraine. I'm so glad, though, for that time curled around his warm body, feeling his hair tickle my face and my brain just keeps rattling back to that--how even though I was so miserable and in pain, it was so, so good.

I See The Moon

All day Tuesday, it looked like a snow globe outside, so when I picked up the boys at the sitter, all Luke could talk about was going sledding at "Big Hill." Big Hill is not really so big, but it's just a few houses down and to Luke, it's big. Shane had a meeting after school and didn't arrive home until it was dark, but how could we crush those dreams of sledding?

After dinner, we bundled up and ventured outside.
Tommy was captivated by the moon and said, "Muh...muh...mooooon" over and over.

So big, that moon. And so big, that baby of mine.

Luke was so fast on his sled that all I could capture with my phone was a blur.


Luke and I made a heart in the snow, and then we went outside and found our way to a hot bath and comfy pajamas. I don't really like the snow, but that night with the world quiet all around us, except for giggles and softly falling snowflakes? I could go for more nights like this.

Of Geese And Men

Today started out dubiously with frustration and nerves and sadness and disappointment. You know the days, the ones where you just want to throw in the towel and go home. If only.

But then, a goose showed up outside of my classroom. Yes, a goose. There is an episode of The Simpsons where a dog is outside of the classroom and the kids all plaster up against the windows to watch a dog. It's funny, because it's so very true. My students will often get distracted by a squirrel, so the arrival of a goose sitting on several inches of freshly fallen snow is a surefire bet that teaching will be a battle.

Although the goose once stood up to angrily flap its wings, like The Raven, the goose was sitting, sitting, never flitting outside my classroom window. This prompted my students to theorize that it was injured or perhaps nesting (in the middle of a snowy field). They came running back from lunch to see that, yes, the goose was still there. It was all I could do to keep them away from the windows, so imagine when during 8th hour, a police car showed up and a policeman and our principal accosted the goose. Disproving the theories that it was injured, the goose almost immediately took off in flight. Satisfied, they adjourned over near the police car... except that to my students' hilarity, the goose had merely circled around and landed behind them. Goose: 1 Humans: 0. A second attempt to shoo away the goose resulted in the same and a third attempt involved the goose actually strolling next to the policeman, then lazily flying some ten feet away and landing back where we started.

At this point, they gave up on the goose, who strutted around then settled back in the snow. During our prep, a coworker went outside and at this point, the goose was entirely unphased by human interaction.

As I left school tonight my principal was standing guard over the goose, lest any kids decide to harass it, and the goose was still claiming his territory. Although I was initially pretty annoyed by the goose, by the end of the day and the laughs he gave us, the goose is kind of my hero. I'm thinking that perhaps we can claim him as a student to receive extra funding.

Cleanliness

Years ago, I used to make soap. I used to devote hours and hours each weekend to making soap and bath salts and bubble baths and body scrubs. I used to splurge on vanilla beans and very carefully scrape out the insides to create the most delicious smelling concoctions. I once made somewhere around 150 bars of soap for a friend to use as wedding favors. It was wonderfully therapeutic and such a creative outlet for me, though I hardly ever made any of it for myself. But soap making involves melting and heat and tiny little bottles and so, it should come as no surprise that the last time I made soap, I was seven months pregnant with Luke.

My three giant containers of soap making supplies have languished in the crawl space for four years, until finally, Julie asked me to teach her to make soap. Although I was fumbly and out of practice, managing to burn the first batch, and of course, little hands were in the way, we made soap.

And then? I used that soap. On myself. It's delicious, full of cinnamon, cocoa, and cloves, it smells so good that I kind of wanted to take a bite out of it, but common sense prevailed and instead, it made me skin sing and I wondered why I didn't do this more often, why I didn't carve out the time to make soap and even better, why I don't carve out the time to treat myself (I know, easier said than done).

It was a weekend of indulgences, with a new bookcase that I probably shouldn't have bought because we are budgeting and will be paying off Tommy's medical bills until he's 112 but it was kind of necessary because the old bookcase was so wobbly that we were going to end up with MORE medical bills from it falling on Tommy. It was supposed to go in the living room, until we got it home and it looked much better in the kitchen. I kind of love when that happens, because it's like an added surprise in a new found item. Shane is happy because he can put his favorite cookbooks out of the reach of Tommy's hands and I'm happy because I can put my Skittles out of the reach of everyone's hands. Basically, everyone wins in our house except for the short people.

(This is the worst picture ever because it was taken with my phone at night and I keep forgetting that my phone has a FLASH, but I assure you it is very pretty.)

It was a very cleansing weekend. Soap, life, friends, newness. All wonderful, and I hope yours was nothing less.

Behold

When I cut Tommy's hair, I was so afraid it'd ruin the epic bedhead he'd been rocking since the moment he rocketed his way out of me.

I was, fortunately, wrong. Behold: The epic hair that which cannot be tamed by a haircut


(Sorry for the grainy. Taken with my phone at 5:45 in the [dark, cold, miserable] AM.)

Yearly

I'm really not a huge New Year's resolution person. One, because I never really know what to resolve. Not because I can't use some changing, because goodness knows I can, but just because the thought of changing something for one whole entire year is daunting because life changes so much from one month to the next.

So honestly? My only resolution is to eat a Big Mac because I'm 28 and I have never, ever had a Big Mac. I asked on Twitter if I should eat one and I got responses that fell into two categories: NO DEAR GOD NO YOUR ARTERIES WILL CLOG AND YOU WILL DIE OF THE DISGUSTING vs. OH DEAR GOD YES WHY HAVEN'T YOU EATEN ONE DO YOU LIVE IN A CAVE
Because I'm the type of person who believes that you should try any sort of edible thing once (on our honeymoon, I ate a termite. It tasted like mint), I believe that at some point, I will eat a Big Mac. Probably this year. I aim high with my resolutions, see?

But also, other than resolutions, there are things I want to do. One is that I want to continue the daily photo project I began last year. I'm a little disappointed because I didn't make it past November 21 last year, due to spending a week without the internet, then being without a phone for three weeks. But honestly, it's pretty great that I managed to document almost the entire year. I love that I can look back in the archives a year ago and see tiny baby Tommy (who incidentally, judging from this photo, is still teething just as bad now as he was a year ago).

The other thing I've always wanted to do is write down all the books I read in one year. Last year, I wrote down the books I read in January, February, and March and then I just kind of forgot about it. To push myself to not give up this year, I started a tumblr for books. I do a fair amount of reading because I have 30 minutes of mandated silent reading time every day with the kids and since we don't have cable, I unwind at night by reading instead of TV watching. So hopefully at this time next year, I'll have compiled a list of books I read in 2011. There's really no reason that I want to do it, except that I think it might just be fun.

But honestly? I'm kind of most excited about the Big Mac.

Better From Above

Today was one of those days where I was pulling into the sitter's driveway, both boys were standing in her front window, grinning and waving enthusiastically. My heart soared, so proud to call them mine, so happy to rush inside and scoop them up in my arms. Then I got inside and heard how one got two time outs for hair pulling, while the other jumped on my back without warning me first, so that I [embarrassingly] fell over, my legs knocked out from under me both literally and figuratively, and I wanted to get back in my car and just drive far, far away. Instead I smiled and nodded and apologized and slunk to the car, wiping away hot tears.

A few months ago, I was emailing with a co-worker about parenting. He confessed that he felt like he wasn't very good at this parenting thing. I confessed back that every single night, I pray to be a better parent and I feel like it never comes true. Maybe it isn't supposed to come true, I don't know. Maybe if we were all perfect, if our kids were always dressed well and clean and never ate candy at breakfast time, we'd become complacent. I question sometimes why Tommy has seizures and why Luke's worst behavior is always in front of other people and why Tommy lately thinks hair pulling is the best, most fun thing ever, but maybe it's like this to teach me to appreciate the little boy who didn't make a peep on a three hour airplane ride this summer, who most often sits through restaurant meals like an angel. To appreciate the fragility of life and the even littler boy who looked at his ridiculous crying mama, put his head on her shoulder and patted her back with the gentlest of touches. And maybe, just maybe, I'm not as bad as I think I am. Maybe someone bigger than me, someone better than me, knows I try to do my very best and that sometimes I fail and that's okay.
My friend's confession floored me, though, because he has five daughters. The oldest has lived in Heaven since she was 7 and he speaks of her with such pride (and how she must look down on him with pride of her own). His four younger girls are some of the most beautiful, well-rounded teenagers I've ever met. If ever anyone should be confident in parenting skills, it should be him.

But he isn't. And neither am I. And probably, neither are you. I wonder sometimes why my prayers aren't answered, why I don't feel confident, why on earth I've been entrusted to be so much for these two boys, but then, don't things always look better from above?

Music of Words

Every year at open house night, I go over the curriculum with the parents of my students. I tell them that poetry is my favorite unit, but for my students, it is a love/hate relationship. They either love it or hate it, there is no in between. What I don't tell them, though, is that it's always the kids you least expect who love it. The hulking boys already growing stubble in 8th grade, the ones more at home on a football field than in English class. The ones whose papers are written sloppily in pencil, with torn spots from where they erased too hard. Often times, those are the students who love it. It makes no sense, but then, I suppose that's the beauty of poetry. It doesn't have to make sense to reach you.

Whether they love it or hate it, I always teach my students that just like songs are meant to be sung, poetry is meant to be read aloud. I also teach them that in poetry, there is no right or wrong at how a poem makes you feel. There is no right or wrong in what speaks to you in that poem. It should be no surprise, then, that when Sarah and Steph both posted a link to this poetry reading, I swooned.



After I shared it on Facebook, Sarah commented and said, "I love that we can all just keep sharing this from each other's profiles, because we all hear something different in it."

That one single sentence epitomizes everything I've always believed about poetry, and I just wanted to say YES YES YES.
This is what I heard:
"for the kid who's always late to class because he forgets the combination to his lockers, for the girl who loves somebody else. Shake the dust."
I know that kid. The kid who stumbles into class late every day because he lost his backpack again. Because he forgot his locker combination, even though school has been in session for months. I know his face.

"Do not let a moment go by that doesn't remind you that your heart beats 900 times a day and that there are enough gallons of blood to make you an ocean. Do not settle for letting these waves settle and the dust to collect in your veins."
And this. Do not settle. Do not forget to be alive for a single moment of your life. What a glorious reminder as we go into a new year..

And you. What spoke to you?