Our church often stays on the same subject for several weeks at a time. For several Sundays this summer, Reggie preached about doing good, not just believing. I have really been thinking about that. What fruit am I bearing? Is it evident to others? Is my life a blessing to those around me, or I am merely there, or even worse, do I become a stumbling block for someone?
The whole AP conference last week and the week leading up to it was such a mixed bag of frustration and blessing. The week before AP, we discovered that Katrina ( my fellow English teacher and supposed roommate) had no room. This greatly upset me because that meant I was rooming with a stranger. I may come across to my kids as confident and in control, but really having a conversation with someone I don't know terrifies me. The first day at Elgin, I almost threw up in the bathroom - not over the job, but over having to walk into a teachers' meeting without knowing anyone. I couldn't imagine having to sleep in the same room as a stranger. Anyway, we got the room sorted out. Sort of. And then Hyatt accidentally canceled my room and I had none at all. Driving in the city also terrifies me. There is no way I could have stayed somewhere else and driven myself to UT everyday. Once again, it got straightened out. These were things I really prayed about. I prayed that God either put me in a room with Katrina or give me the strength to handle the situation. He fixed it.
I believe he fixed it because he knew I needed the encouragement that rooming with Katrina would bless me with. We are supposed to lift up those around us and her life does just that. Her faith is so strong. Her commitment doesn't mean that her life is easy or without challenge, but it means that she is given the strength and ability to meet those challenges with grace instead of those difficulties just disappearing. There are things that she is waiting for answers on, but she waits in The Lord, waits for his direction and his guidance. Sometimes that means waiting a long time. I was encouraged by so many of the things she said, though she may have thought they were just casual conversations.
Our other Elgin AP goer was one I didn't know quite as well. Ruth isn't an English teacher and her kids are grown, so we just don't have as much in common, but once again, I see a woman who blesses. She gives of her heart, of her time, of her resources so greatly. She handles issues calmly, with grace and wisdom and kindness evident in her speech and demeanor. I loved getting to hear about all the children that have become part of their family through the years. Once again, these stories echoed that our Faith does not mean problems are erased, but that we will be able to deal with the problems as they arise. He never promises ease.
I could go on and on. So many of the women I have have become friends with encourage me on a daily basis as I see their walk evident in the way they love their husbands and children, as they deal with the outside world, as they choose life when they speak, even in the simple and not so simple kindnesses they do for each other. I have always been blessed by the lives of the women in our church, watching their steadfastness as they serve their families and the church body. This is doing. This is fruit.
The past few months have shown me certain things I need to be dilligent in putting off and removing from my life, things that will distract and open doors that I don't want open if I am to be any good for my family and those around me. I have been given help in these things, but I am also quite sure that I will be tempted to pick them up again. I also know I must do a better job teaching Bell about this life we choose. I need to be dilligent in these matters if I am to bless you as so many in my life bless me.
Thursday, July 24, 2014
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Summer Camp or the APSI
When we are kids, we go away to summer camp - perhaps it is scout, nerd, or church camp, but we go and come back with our heads and hearts stretched to the bursting point with new knowledge and dreams.
And then some of us get old, become teachers, and go away to this camp like beast called Advanced Placement Summer Institute. I say it is camp like because we have roommates - if you are lucky, it is someone you choose, but many end up sleeping five feet away from a total stranger. It is camp like in that meals are served from a buffet line with a mess hall type atmosphere. Mostly, however, it is camp like in that we are supposed to come home inspired and with the skills to transform our students into these amazing thinking machines who will pass the AP exam in ten months. It is a beast because at the end of each day, you need a stiff drink before you can think about processing all you learned and heard that day.
Last year, I came home frustrated, thinking I got little from my class, believing too much time had been spent on anecdotes rather than the meat of AP. After day one this year, I realized I had misjudged last years's instructor. Yes, there was little to no strategy, but he gave me a general idea of what to teach and several pre-made units on major literature. In the long run, that was what I needed. I can muddle through a lot of stuff as long as I know what it is I am supposed to be muddling through. This year, in sharp contrast, I walked away with no pre-made units on literature, instead bringing home several units of strategy for teaching each section of the AP lang and comp exam. This lady was fabulous, and these are such good, basic building blocks for beginning my kids on these essays and then working them into upper-half papers.
I came home inspired that I could get more kids to really get it, to really dig in and write deeply and meaningfully. I also came home feeling guilty. Some of this stuff was common sense or was in books I possess. Why did I not teach it? I just didn't know which strategies out of which books to teach - it was my first year and there was just so much I didn't know, but if I had known then what I know now . . . How many more kids would have passed the exam?
Overall, I am pleased. I feared that I would have no one pass. I began the year with twenty eight kids and ended the year with twenty one. Eleven tested and five scored high enough to get college credit at most major universities. I had one perfect score, but she was one of those amazing kids whom I simply guided a little, rather than really taught. There were a handful of others who should have taken the test, but didn't because of a conflict with the test date or lack of money. I think all but two kids walked away substantially more prepared to tackle a real college class.
I will say this. I think I did give them the first tastes many had of the same gift Sarah Webb and Ann Frankland gave to me: the right and power to form one's own opinion and to have a dream and work toward that bliss. It is so hard for kids to learn to have opinions instead of relying on me to say " this character was wrong because . . ." It is harder to start taking ownership for what they really want as opposed to what they think they are supposed to want. If I had to choose between them having learned about thinking and writing or passing the test, I am glad I went with thinking. They are young and still have a stretch of road to cover before they are ready to jump into life on their own, but they aren't too young to start thinking about what they want and counting the costs of those dreams.
And then some of us get old, become teachers, and go away to this camp like beast called Advanced Placement Summer Institute. I say it is camp like because we have roommates - if you are lucky, it is someone you choose, but many end up sleeping five feet away from a total stranger. It is camp like in that meals are served from a buffet line with a mess hall type atmosphere. Mostly, however, it is camp like in that we are supposed to come home inspired and with the skills to transform our students into these amazing thinking machines who will pass the AP exam in ten months. It is a beast because at the end of each day, you need a stiff drink before you can think about processing all you learned and heard that day.
Last year, I came home frustrated, thinking I got little from my class, believing too much time had been spent on anecdotes rather than the meat of AP. After day one this year, I realized I had misjudged last years's instructor. Yes, there was little to no strategy, but he gave me a general idea of what to teach and several pre-made units on major literature. In the long run, that was what I needed. I can muddle through a lot of stuff as long as I know what it is I am supposed to be muddling through. This year, in sharp contrast, I walked away with no pre-made units on literature, instead bringing home several units of strategy for teaching each section of the AP lang and comp exam. This lady was fabulous, and these are such good, basic building blocks for beginning my kids on these essays and then working them into upper-half papers.
I came home inspired that I could get more kids to really get it, to really dig in and write deeply and meaningfully. I also came home feeling guilty. Some of this stuff was common sense or was in books I possess. Why did I not teach it? I just didn't know which strategies out of which books to teach - it was my first year and there was just so much I didn't know, but if I had known then what I know now . . . How many more kids would have passed the exam?
Overall, I am pleased. I feared that I would have no one pass. I began the year with twenty eight kids and ended the year with twenty one. Eleven tested and five scored high enough to get college credit at most major universities. I had one perfect score, but she was one of those amazing kids whom I simply guided a little, rather than really taught. There were a handful of others who should have taken the test, but didn't because of a conflict with the test date or lack of money. I think all but two kids walked away substantially more prepared to tackle a real college class.
I will say this. I think I did give them the first tastes many had of the same gift Sarah Webb and Ann Frankland gave to me: the right and power to form one's own opinion and to have a dream and work toward that bliss. It is so hard for kids to learn to have opinions instead of relying on me to say " this character was wrong because . . ." It is harder to start taking ownership for what they really want as opposed to what they think they are supposed to want. If I had to choose between them having learned about thinking and writing or passing the test, I am glad I went with thinking. They are young and still have a stretch of road to cover before they are ready to jump into life on their own, but they aren't too young to start thinking about what they want and counting the costs of those dreams.
Monday, July 21, 2014
Farm Girl Skills
I mostly grew up in town, albeit so on the edge of town that there was nothing but pastures behind our house. There were a few brief years we had a 365 acre farm way, way out in the country, there was every summer and holiday on my grandparents' farm, and my dad was an Ag teacher. As much as I would love to convince you that I have always been a farm girl, there were, in reality, afternoons spent playing cops and robbers with the kids down the street and riding my bicycle to the local pool in the summer. I think, though, that I have always been a farm girl at heart. My best memories were always in the country.
The past few weeks, my mother-in law has remarked more than once that I am a farm girl or that she was glad I was country girl. I suppose that is partly because I do things she approves of like canning and gardening and trekking down to the water for wild blackberries or rummaging in the wild plum patch next to her house. Rubilee, who is always spotless, approves of my willingness to get dirty.
The past few weeks, I have been getting better at farm girl skills. The last time Jack Dear was gone to work, I had an irrigation line coupling that kept coming loose, causing me to wake up to a very wet patch in the peach trees and very dry blackberries down the hill. In a moment of infinite patience, Jack walked me through the process of taking apart an old coupling on a spare line and putting it on this one. There were plugs to be stripped out and put in, rings to put on in the right order . . . Sorry, no technical terms allowed. Then a few days later, I got to learn how to operate the battery charger on Harold's cantankerous mower and work the lawn sweeper (also via phone). The battery charger should have been straight forward, but there are electrical issues with the mower and cutoff switches that added to my non-mechanically inclined frustrations.
Saturday, I decided that it was again time to mow, but this time, I was ready to manage the charger and everything. I walked up to the big house and after a chat with Rubilee, went out to the barn. As soon as I opened the door, the stench of something long dead hit me. I first uspected a rat. If only it had been. Remember my Facebook rant about the orange tom cat who kept visiting us in the night, causing trouble? He is no more. I will spare you the gory details. It suffices to point out that it is July and at least a few days had passed since his demise. I will also point out that although at 2 AM three nights running, I did wish a coyote would eat this cat, I was in no way responsible for his end. A shovel was procured, a rather large (but as it turns out, not quite large enough) hole dug, and cat scraped up and buried. I ended up having to put cement blocks over the dirt to keep the dogs from digging - not sure how deep that hole should have been, but a few feet was not enough. The cement barn floor got to be hosed down and bleached, all while Rubilee fretted that I had to do it. Her only comment was "I am so glad Jack married a country girl. Some other girl would have been upset, but you just got the hole dug."
After much charging and fighting with the mower and using the push mower while the big mower thought about working, the yard did get mowed and swept. There were hiccups of course. Jack thought I could probably manage to mow over the irrigation line without pulling it up. I did . . But only for five passes around the yard. Then I snagged the line and spent the next twenty minutes untangling it from the mower's undersides. Good thing I now know which parts to pick up at the farm store and how to splice my line back together with those couplings, right? At one point the mower quit and had to be charged again, of course as far from the house as possible but still just in reach of all Jack's extension cords put together (Minus the taped together one that I am afraid of).
It is Monday. I woke up at five. A responsible me would have gotten in her workout early. The real me has sat with her coffee for 2 hours and window shopped for new luggage and seeds for next year's garden. Today I will see if the weed eater and I are on speaking terms. I will dig through the jungle of tomatoes - no canning today, but I want to replenish our stock of dried tomatoes for salads, pizza, bread, and pasta. It is also the week of deep, before the insanity-of-back-to-school, no-husband-around, vacation-is-next-week house cleaning.
That is a thing that requires no farm girl skills, but on the whole, I must say that I like being able to deal with things. It was very satisfying to walk into that farm store and get my part on my own and then sit on my overturned bucket putting my line back together. I felt accomplished.
The past few weeks, my mother-in law has remarked more than once that I am a farm girl or that she was glad I was country girl. I suppose that is partly because I do things she approves of like canning and gardening and trekking down to the water for wild blackberries or rummaging in the wild plum patch next to her house. Rubilee, who is always spotless, approves of my willingness to get dirty.
The past few weeks, I have been getting better at farm girl skills. The last time Jack Dear was gone to work, I had an irrigation line coupling that kept coming loose, causing me to wake up to a very wet patch in the peach trees and very dry blackberries down the hill. In a moment of infinite patience, Jack walked me through the process of taking apart an old coupling on a spare line and putting it on this one. There were plugs to be stripped out and put in, rings to put on in the right order . . . Sorry, no technical terms allowed. Then a few days later, I got to learn how to operate the battery charger on Harold's cantankerous mower and work the lawn sweeper (also via phone). The battery charger should have been straight forward, but there are electrical issues with the mower and cutoff switches that added to my non-mechanically inclined frustrations.
Saturday, I decided that it was again time to mow, but this time, I was ready to manage the charger and everything. I walked up to the big house and after a chat with Rubilee, went out to the barn. As soon as I opened the door, the stench of something long dead hit me. I first uspected a rat. If only it had been. Remember my Facebook rant about the orange tom cat who kept visiting us in the night, causing trouble? He is no more. I will spare you the gory details. It suffices to point out that it is July and at least a few days had passed since his demise. I will also point out that although at 2 AM three nights running, I did wish a coyote would eat this cat, I was in no way responsible for his end. A shovel was procured, a rather large (but as it turns out, not quite large enough) hole dug, and cat scraped up and buried. I ended up having to put cement blocks over the dirt to keep the dogs from digging - not sure how deep that hole should have been, but a few feet was not enough. The cement barn floor got to be hosed down and bleached, all while Rubilee fretted that I had to do it. Her only comment was "I am so glad Jack married a country girl. Some other girl would have been upset, but you just got the hole dug."
After much charging and fighting with the mower and using the push mower while the big mower thought about working, the yard did get mowed and swept. There were hiccups of course. Jack thought I could probably manage to mow over the irrigation line without pulling it up. I did . . But only for five passes around the yard. Then I snagged the line and spent the next twenty minutes untangling it from the mower's undersides. Good thing I now know which parts to pick up at the farm store and how to splice my line back together with those couplings, right? At one point the mower quit and had to be charged again, of course as far from the house as possible but still just in reach of all Jack's extension cords put together (Minus the taped together one that I am afraid of).
It is Monday. I woke up at five. A responsible me would have gotten in her workout early. The real me has sat with her coffee for 2 hours and window shopped for new luggage and seeds for next year's garden. Today I will see if the weed eater and I are on speaking terms. I will dig through the jungle of tomatoes - no canning today, but I want to replenish our stock of dried tomatoes for salads, pizza, bread, and pasta. It is also the week of deep, before the insanity-of-back-to-school, no-husband-around, vacation-is-next-week house cleaning.
That is a thing that requires no farm girl skills, but on the whole, I must say that I like being able to deal with things. It was very satisfying to walk into that farm store and get my part on my own and then sit on my overturned bucket putting my line back together. I felt accomplished.
Thursday, July 10, 2014
Bounty
I fully realize it has been over a month since I have written anything here, but well, it is summer and my brain has ceased to function properly. It as if there was only so much power in my brain and the end of the school year sucked up what was there, leaving me with only enough to make Isabella behave and the house and garden to function. There was simply no space for written word.
Usually, I have a summer's worth of projects planned. This year the only project was painting my classroom, which didn't and won't get done. Jack just hasn't had time and our artsy plan of superhero bodies with famous author heads is just too much for my poor abilities. It seems that my yard and garden has become my only project.
When we moved here, the grass was mostly stickers, but we have treated with corn gluten and have been faithful to water and fertilize. Between the grass we planted last year and what I have planted and babied along this summer, we are starting to get a real yard. At least we are in the back, but I so rarely spend time in the front that I have trouble getting worked up about it. The stickers are still there, but at least there is more grass than stickers now.Two weeks ago, the burn ban was actually lifted on a week that Jack was home, so we managed to get four huge brush piles burned. There are probably ten more piles worth of downed limbs (thanks to the ice this winter) in the woods behind the garden, but at least we knocked out the ones in the yard. We also moved the fence farther out to encompass my hundred plus pumpkin patch; I know the deer still get in, but at least the horses can't.
Jack put the garden and orchard on an irrigation line with auto on and offs, leaving me about an hour every other day in the things that weren't irrigated, but that is doable. In the meantime, canning season has hit for me. This week has yielded six half pints of apple butter, fourteen half pints of tart plum jam, and fifteen pints of salsa. A quart of roasted and peeled peppers and three quarts of blackberries went to the freezer. Not shabby for a a few afternoons' worth of work.
Sunday I leave for AP conference in Tulsa, so I am callng a halt to the garden work. I picked a bucket of tomatoes that will have to find a new home and I need to hoe out the asparagus patch in the morning, but other than that, I leave my garden on its own for a week. It's just too hot, outside and in my kitchen both. Jack will make sure things are watered. I am sure my jungle of tomatoes will be more riotous, but it will be there when I come home with my brain once again full of school stuff.
Usually, I have a summer's worth of projects planned. This year the only project was painting my classroom, which didn't and won't get done. Jack just hasn't had time and our artsy plan of superhero bodies with famous author heads is just too much for my poor abilities. It seems that my yard and garden has become my only project.
When we moved here, the grass was mostly stickers, but we have treated with corn gluten and have been faithful to water and fertilize. Between the grass we planted last year and what I have planted and babied along this summer, we are starting to get a real yard. At least we are in the back, but I so rarely spend time in the front that I have trouble getting worked up about it. The stickers are still there, but at least there is more grass than stickers now.Two weeks ago, the burn ban was actually lifted on a week that Jack was home, so we managed to get four huge brush piles burned. There are probably ten more piles worth of downed limbs (thanks to the ice this winter) in the woods behind the garden, but at least we knocked out the ones in the yard. We also moved the fence farther out to encompass my hundred plus pumpkin patch; I know the deer still get in, but at least the horses can't.
Jack put the garden and orchard on an irrigation line with auto on and offs, leaving me about an hour every other day in the things that weren't irrigated, but that is doable. In the meantime, canning season has hit for me. This week has yielded six half pints of apple butter, fourteen half pints of tart plum jam, and fifteen pints of salsa. A quart of roasted and peeled peppers and three quarts of blackberries went to the freezer. Not shabby for a a few afternoons' worth of work.
Sunday I leave for AP conference in Tulsa, so I am callng a halt to the garden work. I picked a bucket of tomatoes that will have to find a new home and I need to hoe out the asparagus patch in the morning, but other than that, I leave my garden on its own for a week. It's just too hot, outside and in my kitchen both. Jack will make sure things are watered. I am sure my jungle of tomatoes will be more riotous, but it will be there when I come home with my brain once again full of school stuff.
Sunday, May 25, 2014
Summer is Here
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I know that summer is not officially here, but as far as I am concerned it started yesterday - so far it has been a beautiful beginning of soft rain and clouds. Those sorts of days nourish my soul that is already dreading the hot dry days of July and August. I already dread giving up two weeks to AP training. I dread the never ending math flashcards that will be the bane of Bell's existence. I don't even want to think about school supplies.
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As always I have a monstrous list of projects for the summer - Jack and I are going to try to paint my classroom (more on that later - for now, think of super heroes with famous authors' faces) and I have some holiday presents I need to start now. But what I really want to do right now is dig in the dirt. Today should have been church and then dinner with my family and grandparents, but Bell woke up throwing up this morning so we are home folks. Instead I harvested the broccoli and pulled up the plants. I eyeballed my baby squash plants - some will be ready by weekend. I got some fennel bulbs in the ground for the butterflies and staked up some pepper plants that are already bent over with peppers. Jack will have to help me put up the big wires to hold up the tomatoes this week - they have loved the rain and are already big. I started my pumpkin seeds today - should have done it a week ago, but my brain just doesn't function the last week of school. While it drizzled, I poked around in the flower beds and was glad to see that a lot of Jack's grandma's lilies will bloom this year as opposed to only 2 last year. 
Really, I just wanted to be outside all day, but it seems a bit neglectful to leave a sick kid in the house alone. For now, I will think of salsa that will be around the corner, squash on the grill speckled with herbs and butter, evenings under the tree looking at the lake. For now, I will enjoy the clouds and the cool and be thankful for the break.
Saturday, May 17, 2014
Mothering
Mothers Day is such a made up consumer holiday. And just like Valentines Day, I do not care a bit if Jack and Bell got me a thing. On the other hand, I would not to want to hurt my own Mother's feelings or Rubilee's either, so every year I try to do something little for them. This year it was just hanging baskets of flowers, though I threatened to not give Rubilee hers.
The thing is, as much as I love my mother in law, she does make me a bit batty at times. Last week she was so impressed with a politician who visited with her, that she gave the woman my phone number so she could pester me too. Now, I feel pretty strongly about this year's election. If there aren't some changes in Oklahoma on several fronts, I am going to start agreeing with Jack that we need to move to Canada. Or a deserted island. Mars. Anywhere. So yes, I want to learn about this politician, but not when I have a headache and just want to sleep. Nevertheless, Rubilee did get her flowers, as did my mama. I have just left the phone unplugged. Even if I would never give her phone number to a politician, I do love my mother-in-law dearly. I am not sure she knows what to do with a daughter-in-law who lives next door after only raising sons, but I have come to love her sense of humor, her kindness, her stories. In truth, I spend much more time with her than I do with my own mother. My mama has to spread her attention across a tribe of children and grandchildren and doesn't particularly need me right now. Rubilee, though, just needs us to be here, to fill in the gaps.
As far as my own mothering abilities go, I am feeling pretty inefectual these days. I can't seem to convince Isabella that there is life beyond youtube and minecraft, so I am just having to play the bad cop and seriously limit her screen time. Her answer is to just lie on the couch doing nothing. I just want to poke her with a stick until she gets up to come outside and do something with me. I think she is depressed - she came home crying yesterday. Her only really good friend is moving today and once again, she will be alone. (Last year's best friend moved over last summer.) Add this to a run in with some mean girls last week, and I wish I could fix this ache the way I can a scraped knee. I would like to promise her that it will get better, but it may be a long time before a kid moves to Elgin who matches her oddities. I remember a very lonely 3rd grade year of my own when my only friend moved to Alaska. I really didn't have super close friends again for a few years. I really can't think of anything my mom was able to do for me to make life bearable. I think that is when I learned to live in the world of books - mama would have been busy with a new baby and a 3 year old, so I spent downtime on the prairie with Laura Ingalls or on Klickitat street with Ramona Quimby. I will for sure be taking Bell to the library a lot this summer. Already, she is in love with the Overdrive library ap on my ipad and most of my allotted check outs are her books.
As I contemplate Mother's Day (albeit a bit late), I just want the wisdom to raise a Godly daughter who finds a peace within, who is kind, who gives selflessly. I want to raise her to be the kind of woman that my mother is, that Rubilee is, that my grandmother is. I want her to be strong and independent but with the grace to bend without breaking. That means I have to get better at walking in grace, at patience, at firmness tempered with gentleness. That could be a long haul.
The thing is, as much as I love my mother in law, she does make me a bit batty at times. Last week she was so impressed with a politician who visited with her, that she gave the woman my phone number so she could pester me too. Now, I feel pretty strongly about this year's election. If there aren't some changes in Oklahoma on several fronts, I am going to start agreeing with Jack that we need to move to Canada. Or a deserted island. Mars. Anywhere. So yes, I want to learn about this politician, but not when I have a headache and just want to sleep. Nevertheless, Rubilee did get her flowers, as did my mama. I have just left the phone unplugged. Even if I would never give her phone number to a politician, I do love my mother-in-law dearly. I am not sure she knows what to do with a daughter-in-law who lives next door after only raising sons, but I have come to love her sense of humor, her kindness, her stories. In truth, I spend much more time with her than I do with my own mother. My mama has to spread her attention across a tribe of children and grandchildren and doesn't particularly need me right now. Rubilee, though, just needs us to be here, to fill in the gaps.
As far as my own mothering abilities go, I am feeling pretty inefectual these days. I can't seem to convince Isabella that there is life beyond youtube and minecraft, so I am just having to play the bad cop and seriously limit her screen time. Her answer is to just lie on the couch doing nothing. I just want to poke her with a stick until she gets up to come outside and do something with me. I think she is depressed - she came home crying yesterday. Her only really good friend is moving today and once again, she will be alone. (Last year's best friend moved over last summer.) Add this to a run in with some mean girls last week, and I wish I could fix this ache the way I can a scraped knee. I would like to promise her that it will get better, but it may be a long time before a kid moves to Elgin who matches her oddities. I remember a very lonely 3rd grade year of my own when my only friend moved to Alaska. I really didn't have super close friends again for a few years. I really can't think of anything my mom was able to do for me to make life bearable. I think that is when I learned to live in the world of books - mama would have been busy with a new baby and a 3 year old, so I spent downtime on the prairie with Laura Ingalls or on Klickitat street with Ramona Quimby. I will for sure be taking Bell to the library a lot this summer. Already, she is in love with the Overdrive library ap on my ipad and most of my allotted check outs are her books.
As I contemplate Mother's Day (albeit a bit late), I just want the wisdom to raise a Godly daughter who finds a peace within, who is kind, who gives selflessly. I want to raise her to be the kind of woman that my mother is, that Rubilee is, that my grandmother is. I want her to be strong and independent but with the grace to bend without breaking. That means I have to get better at walking in grace, at patience, at firmness tempered with gentleness. That could be a long haul.
Friday, May 16, 2014
Rainbows, Picnic Tables, and Hand Holding - No Apologies Allowed
Last night in a brief moment of aloneness, Jack apologized for not being much fun this week. He wasn't feeling great, all achey like he was getting the flu and not being romantic or at all friendly.
The thing is, he doesn't have to be Don Juan all the time. He may still make my heart go pitter patter when he kisses me, but it is also deeply satisfying to simply know he is home, to have him go to sleep holding my hand or rubbing my foot with his. I know, we are still sappy.
It is funny that he should apologize. Tuesday, I started the day by hitting a deer on the way to school - the Juke is not so pretty now. I went straight from school to get my hair cut and colored (I am posing as a red head this month) and from there straight to a friend's house for a girls gathering - the kind with talk and food and talk and margaritas and talk and brownies and more margaritas and more talk. That meant he was on single parent duty until after the kid was out for the night. I managed miss dinner and clean up.
When I opened the coffee cup side of the cabinet the next morning, my coffee cup that I have been using since the day after we got married was missing. Instead there were these small rainbows of coffee cups. I am a bit dense until after a shower and coffee. I was mostly stymied at where my cup had gone rather than curious about the arrival of new dishes. So I went to the next cabinet to see if we still had plates and bowls. Nope. Rainbows there too. Dense. Dense. Then I realized the Fiestaware fairy had visited. It was all I could do to not be a 5 year old at Christmas, running to jump on the bed and say "Get up, Get up! Look what has come!" But the Fiestaware fairy might have wanted his sleep and so I left him in peace.
There was not a better way to begin my day - I was expecting not anger, but at least annoyance about the car. I was certainly not expecting a cabinet full of beautiful things that I have wanted since I was in high school. About the car, all I got was a hug and an assurance that he could probably fix it himself.
Jack didn't stop at dishes this week. He took all the old rotten wood off his grandpa's picnic table, painted the frame bright red at my request, and put new clean, smooth boards on it. He has bought 2 toilet seats to replace my broken one (Home Depot has problem with labels - niether fits). I have no idea what all he has worked on today. But he mentioned some tiki torches for the backyard and putting in emiters on my drip line in garden and working at shop today. We hope some college friends are coming for a visit at the end of the month and we are busy doing those yard things that need doing before company comes.
The man of the house has been making time for the kid too. There have been a few nights of rock parties and sword fighting until bedtime. Last night he was on comfort duty since she was all sad about her friend moving. Friday is air bed night - that means he has his weekly camp out with Bella in the living room and they watch weird cartoons.
It is funny that he apologizes when there is nothingn to apologize for. Men who don't love their wives or make time for their kids should apologize, not the man who brings comfort and joy, not the man who works all week to make life a bit sweeter at home, and certainly not the man who fell asleep holding my hand after I had messed up his car that morning.
.
The thing is, he doesn't have to be Don Juan all the time. He may still make my heart go pitter patter when he kisses me, but it is also deeply satisfying to simply know he is home, to have him go to sleep holding my hand or rubbing my foot with his. I know, we are still sappy.
It is funny that he should apologize. Tuesday, I started the day by hitting a deer on the way to school - the Juke is not so pretty now. I went straight from school to get my hair cut and colored (I am posing as a red head this month) and from there straight to a friend's house for a girls gathering - the kind with talk and food and talk and margaritas and talk and brownies and more margaritas and more talk. That meant he was on single parent duty until after the kid was out for the night. I managed miss dinner and clean up.
When I opened the coffee cup side of the cabinet the next morning, my coffee cup that I have been using since the day after we got married was missing. Instead there were these small rainbows of coffee cups. I am a bit dense until after a shower and coffee. I was mostly stymied at where my cup had gone rather than curious about the arrival of new dishes. So I went to the next cabinet to see if we still had plates and bowls. Nope. Rainbows there too. Dense. Dense. Then I realized the Fiestaware fairy had visited. It was all I could do to not be a 5 year old at Christmas, running to jump on the bed and say "Get up, Get up! Look what has come!" But the Fiestaware fairy might have wanted his sleep and so I left him in peace.
There was not a better way to begin my day - I was expecting not anger, but at least annoyance about the car. I was certainly not expecting a cabinet full of beautiful things that I have wanted since I was in high school. About the car, all I got was a hug and an assurance that he could probably fix it himself.
Jack didn't stop at dishes this week. He took all the old rotten wood off his grandpa's picnic table, painted the frame bright red at my request, and put new clean, smooth boards on it. He has bought 2 toilet seats to replace my broken one (Home Depot has problem with labels - niether fits). I have no idea what all he has worked on today. But he mentioned some tiki torches for the backyard and putting in emiters on my drip line in garden and working at shop today. We hope some college friends are coming for a visit at the end of the month and we are busy doing those yard things that need doing before company comes.
The man of the house has been making time for the kid too. There have been a few nights of rock parties and sword fighting until bedtime. Last night he was on comfort duty since she was all sad about her friend moving. Friday is air bed night - that means he has his weekly camp out with Bella in the living room and they watch weird cartoons.
It is funny that he apologizes when there is nothingn to apologize for. Men who don't love their wives or make time for their kids should apologize, not the man who brings comfort and joy, not the man who works all week to make life a bit sweeter at home, and certainly not the man who fell asleep holding my hand after I had messed up his car that morning.
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