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.

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.
  .

He Still Thinks I'm Beautiful

It has been one of those weeks.  It should have been grand - we had a four day weekend last weekend, but I can't say it was the best ever.  Bell spent the entire weekend feverish and congested.  The fever is gone, but she hasn't really felt good all week - grouchy, still congested, no energy.  If there is nothing to whine about, she has invented something.  Last night I threatened to make her sleep in the well house with the dogs if she didn't hush.  It was an idle threat, but my headache and I had reached the end of our coping strategies. She was grousing because she wanted my bedroom to be hers.  I have no idea where my eight year old went because I have lived with a four year old all week.

Maybe it just one of those weeks.  I am not sure if it is too much screen time while I try to get my work done on the ipad and watch the test takers or if it is the flickering lights of someone else's classroom (I have been administering state tests all week), but I have come home with a lovely headache and a desire for a bottle of wine for supper everynight.  It should be noted that I settled for a glass and some advil rather than the whole bottle.  I am on single parent  duty this week.

But you know what?  It is Friday.  I will only be testing one day next week and better yet, Jack will be home in a few days.  I have missed him more than usual this week.  He headed out a day early this time and we have had a wonky internet connection that kept us from facetiming.  We have chatted on the phone, but it isn't the same.  We at least managed some titilating instant messaging one night, but some nights he was still  driving when I went to bed.  Then this morning as I was sitting here scanning the students and their computer screens, this message popped up on my phone:  "Have I told you lately that you are more beautiful now than when I met you?"  This man can still just make me melt. It is gratifying to know that the man I am still absolutely smitten with is still smitten with me.

Because he is married to me, I know he is supposed to ignore that bits of me that are not so perky any more and the stretch marks - after all, it was his kid that caused them.  I know he is supposed to know that he is aging right along with me, but I really don't think he notices these pretty obvious flaws. I wasn't quite 21 when I met Jack.  Some flaws have surfaced between then and my current 38.  I don't think I had often  felt beautiful until after we married, and then it still took him years to convince me.  But I think it has nothing to do with how I look or don't look.  I think perhaps it has more to do with inner confidence, with freedom to be me.  To be sure, there is power in knowing I am appealing to Jack.  To be thought of as sexy gives me the ability to be sexier.  I just took a lot of convincing.

When we are young, most of us are too inexperienced to understand that we who we are and how we carry and see ourselves can be just as powerful as the package we come in.   I used to be bottled up tight, trying to be everything I was expected to be and locking in the parts that didn't seem to fit.  I still have to be those things to an extent.  My profession does have certain standards and I certainly have standards for myself, but other things . . . well, maybe I am finally old enough to let my hair down and not worry quite as much.  Before, I was trying too hard and hadn't learned to laugh yet, certainly not at myself. I am finally old enough to get that my quirkiness and odd ideas and smarts are okay instead of just weird.  It doesn't mean that I am suddenly not shy or clumsy.  It just means I am at peace with it while finding things I really like about  myself.

I am surrounded everyday by kids who ought to be in their prime of life, 16 and 17 year olds who are beautiful and smart, some shy, some popular, some a mess, some living in a mess.  They have no idea that while I would trade my not so pert body for theirs, I have no desire to go back to youth.  My kids were asking who I went to prom with when I was their age.  They still don't believe me that I went alone because I was the girl who simply did not get asked out.  I am not exactly sure what they see me as, but they cannot connect the me they know to the me I once was.  One student said they see me as self-assured, a little goofy,  and comfortable with my quirks.   That is okay - this me is much more comfortable in my own skin, comfortable enough to enjoy being beautiful to someone and all that it entails.  I will take that over 18 and pert but awkward anyday.


(And the moral of all of this ruminating on beauty is that we should make sure that those around really know how amazing they are; we should tell them and show them and tell them again until they know it too, lest they waste too much time trying to be someone else.)

Farewell

Yesterday, I sat in Davis Hall  soaking in this farewell that Misti orchestrated, wishing with part of me that we could all go back 12 years so I could hear that deep gravely voice make one more pithy comment, thankful with the rest of me that I even was part of this group of people.

I had been at USAO for a whole two days before I met John Morgan through the writing lab where I was hired as a tutor.  In time,  I ended up in classes with him and eventually Misti, Jack, Amy, Chris, Christy . .   I never took a class with Kirk, but by the time my junior year rolled around, I had been drawn into the group. I was an English major, not one of the chosen of the Davis Hall Little Theater, but they so graciously allowed me in their circle, even pulling me out of my comfort zone to tech that semester.  To get to help with Twilight of the Golds was being invited to hang out with the cool kids.

I am an incredibly shy and  somewhat introverted person - teching  was far beyond my comfort zone, but John talked me into it.  He didn't make a big deal of it, no cajoling or flattering.  He just said that they could use my help.  When I hesitated, he just said, "You should - you'd be good at it and it it would be good for you."  That was it and the conversation shifted, but his calm assurance was a good push.

I really needed to jump into the great unknown at the time - I had been there a year and had been soaking up all of this "think for your self" and "follow your bliss" dogma, but I was still not living my life yet.  I think that one step out of my known English department zone allowed the old facade to crack open enough to let me out and the world in.  I needed to spend time laughing and thinking and needed to quit being so uptight.  I needed to figure out what I really wanted.  It didn't happen over night - it is still happening - but doing something new was reinventing part of myself,  giving my self permission to be someone a little different than I thought I had to be.  I found out that I liked it.  I will fully admit that I still made some stupid choices, but I think that semester was the beginning of the me we know now, and I know it was influenced by the people I was with.

I have no fabulously funny stories of John, but I have this.  The few years I got to be around him, he spread his goofy humor around when it was needed and gave sound advice from the heart sometimes when I didn't want to hear it.  When he gave advice, it was short and never dramatic.  Just quiet.  But that voice stuck in one's head.  He was kind and irreverent and wickedly smart.  He told dirty stories and then made me question what I believed all in one conversation.  He was wise and kind and I can't imagine not liking him - I am simply thankful to have known him.  John Morgan, thank you for befriending me, thank you for making a too serious girl laugh.

Hey Ho. Let's Go. And if you don't, don't you dare complain in the fall

As I stood in throng of people today, shoulder to shoulder with teachers and parents and just people who cared, I was really proud of all these people for getting out.  It was windy.  There was a two hour wait at the shuttle busses at Remington.  Bathrooms were scarce.  You had to park far away and walk.    But these people get it.

All those 25,000 plus people who came to the Capitol get that if you want change, you have to speak up.  Otherwise, we would be like those people who don't vote and then complain about the government.  If you don't exercise your right to protest in some way, then you don't deserve the change you want.  Not everyone can go stand around the Capitol all morning.  I have friends who were not physically able to be there. I am sure others couldn't manage child care.  But maybe those people could write their senators and reps.  They can talk about these causes with their friends and family, sparking grass roots change.

So many people who aren't in the education field don't know why we were there today.  At lunch, a waiter thought we were just protesting for a raise.  I would love a raise.  I really would love to be able to afford to not scrimp, but that is a teacher's life in this state.  So yes, a raise is good, but a first step would simply be to not cut the education budget.  What I don't want is over crowded classrooms.  I don't want unfunded testing mandates. I don't want a single test that determines whether or not my child gets to advance a grade level.  I do want rigorous standards, but I want them set and not to change multiple times in a year.  I want a window of transition when those standards are set.  I do want rigorous standards, but I want money to be there for tutors and text books and . . . Oh, yeah, just to pay us teachers and not lay us off.

I am mad.  I am angry.  There should have been at least 678,000 parents and grandparents and teachers there today - that is how many kids are in Oklahoma schools.  I know, I know.  People have health issues, kids at home, and jobs to go to. But doesn't your child's education matter?  Change doesn't happen quickly.  If you want it, it needs to start now.  Once these measures go into effect, the harder they will be to change.

So thousands of teachers stood shoulder to shoulder.  There were speakers and posters and chanting. But first, we solemnly said the pledge of allegiance and sang the national anthem.  As we sang, tears ran down my face, not a surprise when my voice cracks when every day I pledge allegiance in class.  Every year, I talk to my students about protest and rights and democracy when we analyze The Declaration of Independence.  Today we were protesting because we had the right to.  We live in a place where we are not afraid of the Russians crossing our border. Our children are not child soldiers in Africa.  We are Americans with the right to first sing an anthem and then demand a better life.  Simply the opportunity to be able to protest is a beautiful thing.

Thoreau said that he did not demand at once no government, but at once a better government. If you are a non educator friend, you need to find about Fallin and Baresi and their roles in this educational crisis.  And you need to remember come election time when you demand a better government.

As we were leaving, music played over the loud speakers.  The Ramones were yelling "Hey Ho," and my circle of friends were chanting "let's go." But really, let's go make some change.

Happy Saturday To Me

I have been short of patience and tired all week.  Last night I had hit the point of being so tired that I couldn't fall asleep.  I blame the EOI.  For you non-educator friends, it is the state end of instruction test that is given in several subjects.  For sophomores, the English test must be passed or they do not graduate.  I get a little stressed every spring over this.  I don't have blow off days in my class, though there was a day this week when only three students showed up to my 2nd hour.  I didn't teach because they all three had make up work to do.  Where were the rest?  On a field trip or working a track meet for the middle school.  I totally get that field trips and track meets are important, but I just wonder if those teachers who pull these kids out for this stuff would do so if they had the responsibility of a state test.  Electives don't have tests, just us core classes.

Okay - enough ranting - it won't help the twitchy eye or the not sleeping.  Only the end of May will help that. Or a good bottle of wine and a back rub (hint, hint Jack Rucker).

Today is glorious Saturday, the day usually reserved for house work and laundry.  Not today.  There isn't much wrong with the house that a thirty minute tidy up won't fix.  Instead, there is sunshine and a promise of little wind.  The local farm that is turning itself into a vineyard is having a festival today and thanks to Jack's volunteer work planting grapevines last spring, we got free tickets.  I think Bell and I will go even though Jack is working - there is supposed to be story telling, vendors, face painting, and dancing.  Sounds right up our ally.

Bell wants to run into town first and exchange a duplicate birthday present - she doesn't know it but we also are going to Penney's for some shirts for her.  This kid has grown a little over an inch since Christmas and close to three since school started in August.  Last fall's short sleeve shirts look like they need to go in the give away box. I am sure the shorts are too short too.

I think when we come home, there will have to be a tree watering - we only got 3/10 of an inch Wednesday and I live on a sandy hill. While we are out,  Bell is ready to try out her birthday presents.  She got outdoorsy stuff this year - you know, camo netting to hide behind while she watches birds, flashlights for camping, bug catching gear - oh, and a BB gun and her first pocket knife.  Before you say it, yes, we are aware that she is a girl.  Thankfully, though, she is not a girly-girl.  I wouldn't know what to do with one of those.  This is the kid who likes to have her nails painted and wears earrings but then draws the line, preferring bugs and animals and playing in mud.  She likes the idea of target shooting  with us, but my gun is just too loud.  A BB gun seemed natural; I never had one but always wanted one.  And pocket knives?  My sixteenth birthday present from my grandpa was a Buck knife.  Since it isn't supposed to be windy today, I think we will set up targets for her.

I would have liked to sleep in this morning, but my internal clock is convinced that 5:20 is wake up.  I even had clean sheets to luxuriate in.  But I also had good coffee to get up to and quiet house to have to myself for just a bit.  I don't think there will be much quiet involved in the next week - I plan to go rally at the Capitol on Monday despite my distaste for crowds, I want to hear Sarah Webb on Tuesday, there is a vet appt for a dog on Tuesday, hair appts on Thursday . . . Nope, no quiet at all.

I hope you are all out enjoying this spring weather.  Get out and enjoy the Sunshine.

The Ting Tings and Flaming Brownies -- Part of Turning 8

Tomorrow at just past 7:30 Bella will officially be 8.  I should so be into the groove of motherhood, but I still am 1 part in awe, 1 part overwhelmed, and 1 part terrified.  This whole kid thing is tricky.

Last weekend we had cake and presents with the family since Jack is away this week.  Tomorrow I have a few more presents for when she wakes up.  Jack's thing has always been music so on his behalf, I am supposed to make sure the Ting Tings' "Happy Birthday" is playing when she gets up in the morning.    She will take brownies and ice cream cups to her class.  I promised her I would fix her what ever her heart desired for supper.

Even though we didn't do anything big for her birthday, there is a trip planned for later in the spring, but  between baking last weekend's birthday cake and tonight's class brownies, I felt like it was big doings.  I have been on a roll of kitchen related messes for a week now, beginning with last Saturday. I had the layers of cake stacked and frosted and safely in the fridge while I mixed up some other colors of frosting to decorate with.  When I opened the fridge door, the cake just leaped out and landed upside down on my freshly mopped floor.  This was a case of scraping the frosting off and being thankful that there was enough left in the bowl to start over.  To think I had almost only made a half batch of frosting.  Today involved flames.  Bell loves little bite sized things and wanted to take brownies that were mini-muffin sized.  Not a problem.  At least not until I took them out of the oven. I jostled the pan and six brownies popped out of the pan and into the bottom of the oven.  To get to them, I had to pull the racks out.  By then, the ones that landed on the element were nice chocolaty torches.  The BBQ tongs were handy and the blackened brownies were tossed into the sink where they promptly fizzled out.  I would love to have something to blame all these messes on, but I am simply clumsy.  Or rather, I am absurdly clumsy.

Whatever the preparations, I am well aware that this child is a gift to me.  I didn't realize how much first Jack and then Bell would fill up my heart and my life, making more of me than I had any idea was possible.  I am not parent of the year and Bell is not child of the year.  We are too flawed for that, but she completes us.    Perhaps we all see so much to wonder at, to be enthralled by as we look at our children.  I hope we all do, for every child should be a wonder to someone.

This year has brought us a tall girl with a sense of humor who is becoming quite the joke teller and awho has peculiar grasp of language. It is like listening to me.   She is wise beyond years and yet still small and so very innocent of so much of the world.  I cannot imagine how she will change in a year.

As any decent parent, I have such high hopes for Bella - to be strong, to be able to bend, to be wise and smart.  I think my prayer for this year, though, is for her to simply grow in the spirit of generosity, to be able to give of herself when it isn't particularly easy, and to walk in gentleness, peace,  and love.  I pray that she will have ears to hear Truth.

  I am always enchanted by the delight on her face with each new discovery, whether it be dinosaur bones at the museum or the first flower of spring.  I am thankful for another year of these moments of watching her grow and discover.  I do not know what her next year holds, but I pray blessings and grace for this child as she learns and grows and explores.