Turning Points

I've always been that person that's a little uncomfortable with the prom moments in life.  You know, those built up occasions you plan.  Weddings, births, Christmas.  I don't like having all the stress for two reasons:
1.  Things might not go the way you dreamed.
2.  There's always the day after.

Ugh.  The day after Christmas.  Bringing the crying baby home to endure nights of sleeplessness.  After the honeymoon.

A sprinter at the Olympics spends years training for one moment.  One moment that will be over in 10 seconds.  The results: win or lose.  I don't do well with this type of pressure.

And then there's the longing... Christmas is over?  That's it?  I can't stay there?

So I've come to some crossroads.  Once again, I think back to Robert Frost and those two idyllic roads in the woods.  One is easy.  The other a challenge.  Somehow, though, life doesn't seem worth it if you don't take the challenges.

So watch out.  Win or lose, I'm jumping in.

Parenthoodism

Being a parent is hard.  You worry about your child.  You hover over your child.  All to keep them out of harms way, keep them from making stupid mistakes.  It will be curious to see this generation as adults.

We all repeat the same mantra... 'It was different when I was a kid.'  Was it really?  Sure, the texting idiots on the 12 lane roads add to the paranoia.  Sure, there are web sites that list the closest sex offenders in a 50 mile radius of our home, school, and library.  But was the world really that much safer for the children of the '80s?

When I was a kid (somewhere, my son just rolled his eyes) we didn't wear seat belts and sat in the bed of a truck.  We walked down roads that didn't even have *gasp* bike lanes and "pedestrian speed cushions."  We didn't check in with a cell phone.  No one ever thought to ask if your house had a loaded gun or killer dog.  All our sex offenders just ran willy nilly through the community without a tracking device, which may actually now be an app you can get on your phone.

My best memories from childhood almost always were doing something I shouldn't be doing.  Hiking down to the creek, wandering through the woods, walking to the grocery store, and, my favorite, going through all the treasures in the illegal dumping area about a mile from my house.  (Don't knock it... I once found a little people airport with about half the accessories)!

We organize safe, educational play dates for our kids.  We have settings of  grandeur like build-a-bear and omsi.  Children who don't go to Disneyland are considered "at risk."

I didn't let my daughter keep a stick she found in the woods by her grandparents house.  A stick, which she described as none other than 'perfect.'

Hmm...  I think we had more fun than our kids.

Conquer

A friend of mine recently got a tattoo that simply said conquer.  It fits her and her spunky, powerful personality.  It started me thinking about words as tattoos... conquer, invincible, prevail, triumph.  The mere thought makes me stand taller, dream bigger.  Maybe I'll get a conquer tattoo.

Well, except that under the word would be a footnote that says *with tolerance and acceptance.  And kindness.  And don't forget to walk in others shoes before you judge them. 

Wait- Aren't our failures and mistakes what make us strong, confident people?  Without defeat how would I improve myself?  Isn't that an opportunity to truly look yourself in the mirror?

I remind my kids to fight for what is right and be the best they can be, but to remember that sometimes it's just not worth it.  So what word would I tattoo on my back that describes that?  Understanding when to fight and when to back down.  Understanding that sometimes the gain isn't worth the loss.  Sometimes just let the other guy win.

Humanitarian?

I can't capture myself in a single word, a single thought.  I'm glad that I can describe myself in so many words, so many paradoxes.  Perhaps I will simply leave the word tattoos to those that have it all figured out.

When I grow up...

When I was little, I wanted to be a geologist, artist, writer, illustrator, mission specialist astronaut, archaeologist, and even a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader.  My choices were limited when my lack of height knocked out astronaut and cheerleader.  Teacher never entered that list.  It just... happened.

For the past 10 years, I have been home raising my children.  I tried to stay involved in their lives as much as possible.  I was warned before my transition to stay busy, or I would lose myself.  I followed that advice.  I was on every board and committee I could find.  I joined playgroups, volunteered at preschool, joined the PTA.  I ran the art discovery program, headed picture day at the school, and made the school yearbook.

With both children finally in school full time, I began substitute teaching last year.  It's a nice gig, if you don't have to worry about money.  I only teach at my kids school.  I feel just as involved as before, but now they pay me!
This past year, I watched the struggles of proposed district cuts threaten the very existence of the under appreciated and underpaid teachers I've come to know and love.  RIF forms issued in mass.  Field trips cut.  Technology taking a back seat to having enough desks.  Sports and music becoming a luxury item.

And yet... with all this, there are still hundreds and hundreds of people applying to each and every teaching job posted in the district.  The competition is fierce and completely unbelievable.  Why do so many people want these few crummy jobs?  Jobs that aren't even secure?  Jobs with pay cuts, class size increase, and a never ending line of people claiming that teachers are still just babysitters with the summer off?  A job where your job is to essentially raise other peoples children? 

Then I step into the classroom.  It fits me.  The smell of school supplies, the excitement of trying to control so many people in such a small space, the rag-tag children that either hate you or love you.  The feeling when you connect with a child.  That brilliant, heart warming moment when you think you may have made a difference.  The idea that in some non-heroic way, you may have saved someone just by loving them.  People don't become teachers... they are teachers.                         

 

I might not know what I'm going to do when I grow up, but at least I know what I am.

chocolicious torte

Picture this... it's 5 in the morning, and I can't fall back asleep because I keep thinking about... the chocolate cake in the kitchen.  I picked up the said cake at the store a few days ago to take to my dad.  He loves chocolate cake.  He loves pecans.  *Note:  he is from Texas, so make sure, as you read this, you pronounce pecan the correct Texan way.  Enter the chocolate caramel pecan torte.  I had it home only 2 hours before I started thinking about it.  Convinced it was reasonable, I took a bite directly out of the edge of it.  The hole kept getting bigger.  I rationalized I would explain to my dear ol' dad that I simply cut a piece out for my husband.  Well, two pieces.  I put it in the freezer.  This would stop me from eating any more... Or cause me to start chiseling instead of just sampling. 
                             

Life is full of chocolate cake.   You know you shouldn't, but you just can't help yourself.  I try to take the high road in life.  Pay your taxes.  Vote.  Love thy neighbor.  Eat your vegetables.  Kiss your children.  Clearly humans are not programmed to have perfect discipline.  Otherwise there wouldn't be so much chocolate cake in the world.

Then there's the school of thought that begins with "you only live once."  My dad lives by this.  He wants to enjoy life.  He makes me promise that if he ever embarks on a fatal illness, to just put a gun to his head.  (I did mention he's a Texan, right?)  So clearly he would have loved this chocolate cake.  Oops.

So do you do all the right things, take care of yourself, and live a lengthy safe life?  Or do you throw caution to the wind and live every day like it's your last, giving no thought to the future.  Should I just banish the notion that '...a moment on the lips, forever on the hips...'

Maybe I'll take a jog later.  For now, I need to find a fork.

Ahh the Memories

Many of my teen memories are solitude. I’m not sure why, but often when I catch a fleeting smell in the air, a season changing, a familiar song, it takes me back to warm evenings, looking up at the stars on my driveway. Perhaps it’s because I spent a lot of my time doing just this. I loved a nice breeze, masses of stars swimming above me, and writing. When I should have been a giggling school girl, I was drinking hot tea and writing poetry. I had one of those moments tonight. Husband on a surprise business outing at the last minute, kids screaming and fighting. Dishes in the sink. Coffee not made for the morning. I noticed a football on the front lawn. I stepped outside, barefoot, in the cold grass to retrieve it. Soft breeze. Silence except for the humming street light. The tiniest faint of moon through the cloud cover. Closing my eyes I smell pine and dirt. I remember her. The girl that was happy to be outside at night, in her own solitude. Glancing down, I notice a chalk drawing on the pavement. It reminds me of the boy, all those years ago, I crushed over. Then I thought how happy that girl would have been for that boy to have drawn with chalk on her driveway. I imagined how she would have sat next to that drawing, under the night sky, drinking her tea. I trace that drawing with my toe, smile, and step inside.

Thankful

Since everyone else is doing it....
Today is November 2nd.    Election day.  I am thankful to live in a democratic nation, where elections have us buzzing and excited and stressed on the edge of our seats.  I am thankful for freedom of speech.  I am thankful to dream big dreams.