Music to My Ears

Sometimes there are days where my work life and home life are mirror opposites of each other. I can have a great day at work, and then go home, and everything isn't so great. Today is one of those days, and coming up is my birthday. In about a month I'll have a baby shower. I am dreading both days for various reasons. I am not a person who looks forward to such days with hope. I learned long ago not to get my hopes up, and this year is no different. But when I think about what went well at work, it really epitomizes why I love what I do.

When my students came to me less than a month ago, they were not the most avid readers I had met. Last year, I felt guilty if I stopped my class from reading so I could teach a lesson. On some occasions I would even apologize for interrupting them. This year, I had more trouble getting the kids, especially the boys, to sit and focus on a book for more than five minutes.

Fast forward four weeks, and when I look around the room during silent reading time, I see all but one child engrossed in his/her book. In the beginning, the students chose thin books filled with mostly pictures, and now they are mostly back into chapter books. When I tell them they have ten minutes of silent reading time (books of their choice), I hear "YESSSSSS," whispered around the room, and they happily plunge into other worlds.

This week I began reading Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing to the kids. On the first day I saw many apathetic eyes watch me as I read, but I knew with my expression and actions as I read, I would get them into the story. Yesterday I saw more alertness in their eyes and stature. Today, before they came into my room, I told them I would read to them, and again I heard whispered "YESSSSSES," abound.

It's the groans that turn to yeses that affirm why I do what I do. It's a darkness that turns to light when I pull them in and take them hostage with a story. It's why I can feel valued and validated, even when I feel insignificant and unimportant in the rest of my world.

And now, I think I will go read.

YESSSSSSSS!

A few thoughts

As a few already know, last night was quite emotionally draining for me. Over the course of about 4 hours (but not continuously), B and I had a very long discussion that we have had many times in the past. To summarize, it went like this:

B: I don't like where we're living.

Me: So do you want to live in this area at all.

B: No.

Me: Okay, then we can move.

B: But where?

Me: Raleigh, Richmond, Charlottesville, NoVa...

B: That's too many choices and I don't trust that you really want to move and give up your job and friends.

Me: get a therapist.

Okay, so it was more than that, but that's about it. I told him that my primary concern is our baby, and that's it. Yes, I care that he's unhappy at his job. He never has been happy since he started there, and I am tired of it, so I am okay with moving. I make friends pretty much wherever I go. I'll miss the coast, but I will be fine.

I don't regret our moving here. It has been good for us in many ways, but when he took the position he has now, he had major reservations about it, and it never quite worked the way we had hoped. I had hoped he would have been able to change departments and do something else, but then the recession hit, and well, he's been stuck. He never wanted to move back here, and then he is doing something he never really wanted to do, so here we are. But still, I want to get over a major hill that we have coming, and that's the birth of our son.

Today I had lunch with a good friend of mine who made me realize a couple of things. First, to backtrack, on top of B being all existential on me, I was also starting to worry about how I would cope with the baby once I go back to work. The answer is, I'll figure it out. But at the time, I was anxious with worry. But as I talked to my friend, I realized that even though going back to work will be a challenge, I will need it. I'll need it because I have a built in group of women who are there to support me. I'll need it because I know I will need to have a sense of identity beyond that of just being a mother. I've always known that about myself, but talking with K reminded me of these truths.

Of course, I know things could change, and he could be a difficult baby, and I may have to stay home. But if not, then I think I will need my work to keep me sane. I already love the little guy, and he's not even 2 pounds yet! But because I love him, and myself, I will have to make some sacrifices that hopefully will pay off. I believe that having a parent who is fully happy with her life is more important than being at home and unhappy. Babies and children pick up on adults' emotions, and I think if I am unhappy, it will make him more unhappy. Maybe I'm wrong, and things will change, but for now, I'm not going to worry because I know I will deal with whatever comes our way, and it will be amazing.

Was it the Right Thing To Do?

Today was a day I will likely never forget, but would very much like to. It's the 8 year anniversary of 9/11/01, and no matter how hard I try, I can't forget it. At school, we were sent a link to a children's video lesson on 9/11. I didn't want to show it, but thought I would. When the kids started talking excitedly about getting to watch the Towers fall, I decided not to show it because they were babies when it happened, and I didn't think they would understand it any better if they watched a cartoon about it. Plus, it is still painful for me....

It isn't just because of what happened on that day, but it's also because of the aftermath of that day that we are all still living through. On a more personal note, I am also deeply affected by the loss of the father I knew before 9/11.

My dad has lived in Virginia since 1976, but he will always be a New Yorker. When the planes hit the WTC, it was he who called my sister as she drove B and I to the airport to catch our plane back into DC. He was about to begin a new job as a financial advisor for a company that was based in the WTC, but once the attacks happened, he had ample time to sit and drink in his depression about the loss of a part of his hometown, and he also had ample time to sit and watch the news constantly replay the footage of the planes crashing into the buildings and the buildings' subsequent collapse, with a bottle of vodka at his side.

All of the drinking worsened his illness, chronic pancreatitis. He drank to the point where he began having delusions and then he had seizures. He eventually went to the hospital, and was in a coma for a week from his pancreas essentially consuming his own blood. He stayed in the hospital for 6 months, and even though he survived, I lost the dad I knew, and had to get to know the new man that only mimicked my father. Although he had pancreatitis for years before 9/11, I know that that day affected him deeply and profoundly. He used to tell me, "your brother and I made models that went into the lobby of that building. When I was younger, I looked at the Towers and truly believed that those buildings stood for our great country."

In 2000, I had to train for my new position as a tech support analyst for a financial data company in Hoboken, NJ. The PATH station I went to was the same station where I saw workers from the WTC pour on and off the trains during rush hour. At sunset, looking across the river from Hoboken, I could see the Towers, which were otherwise unattractive, glow purple in the dusk. To me, it was beautiful. Less than a year later, the Towers were gone, and I am still haunted by images of the men and women coming off the train to go home after a long day at work. I wonder who survived, and I know that train will never run again, as it was crushed when the buildings fell. On 9/11 I silently cried as I thought of the analysts who worked in this buildings that I helped. I still have no idea who lived and who died. I'd like to think that many of them escaped, and I'll hold onto that hope.

In the year after that day, New Yorkers were still filing obituaries of all of the firemen who sacrificed their lives as they rushed into the Towers. I went to visit my family in Long Island, and I was shocked by the pages of obituaries. To me it was shocking. To them, I am sure it was just another day. The thought that those men ran in when everyone else ran out still sends chills throughout my body.

Every year I move on, and yet on this day I am forced to remember the pain of those times. Maybe I should have chosen to show the video. Maybe I need to detach myself from it more, and maybe it wasn't the right thing to do. Or maybe it's okay, and I am allowed to not want my kids to relive something they know nothing of, and hopefully never will.

The Woes of Pregnancy

I'll start off by saying that pregnancy isn't nearly as bad as I imagined it to be. My sister experienced what I perceive to have been hellacious pregnancies; constant nausea and vomiting, moodiness, all sorts of various side effects that made me dread being pregnant. To that extent I can most certainly say that I am so sorry my sister went through what she did, but I am also very thankful that I have not had the same experiences she had. I know, I'm only 23 weeks along, but all in all, I really haven't had it so bad.

Then there' the BUT....

But, when I feel badly, I really feel badly, and it isn't so much physical, but emotional. I'm not saying I walk around in a cloud of depression. I don't. But on days when I feel moody, all I want to do is get out of my funk, which I invariably do, and usually within the day.

The past 24 hours have not been fun. All at once, I have felt happy to have what I do, undesirable because of my expanding stomach, beautiful because of the changes I am going through and remorseful for experiencing mood swings that are on par with PMS for me. In short, I am a mess on some days. It sucks.

Today B and I went to Colonial Williamsburg and decided to sit on a bench in the shade, as the breeze cooled us off. He could tell I was "off" and I told him that I don't feel desirable. I feel fat and ugly, even though I KNOW I am not. He looked at me and said, "How can you feel undesirable? You're carrying our child! I don't see what says that you're more desirable than that." Well, that put me in my place. And, he's right.

So now I feel calm and relaxed, and quite pleased with myself for walking three or more miles around the area. Just now, B came in, grabbed the remote and turned the channel to one of my creature comforts: Friends. He said he thought I'd like that better than what was on, and he was right. I am glad I have him to keep me grounded as I go through this. I guess I should say, "as WE go through this," because this is a shared journey. Thank goodness I have someone to share it with along the way.

Jeans and shorts, among other things

I tell people that despite my pregnant state, I am most certainly still me. To that end, I have a few observations to make about the Obama family.

A month ago, the newswires spread headlines about Barack's jeans that he wore to a baseball game. The jeans were baggy and in Obama's words, "comfortable," and yet he was chastised for wearing the "mom" jeans. Barack brushed the criticism aside and chided those who disagreed with his choice of style. I would bet, though, that he had not hired anyone to pick out his outfit, and for that, I am happy he wore his "frumpy" jeans.

Today, pictures of Michelle Obama's shorts were on the internet for everyone to see. In an article on Yahoo!, the writer of the article stated that people weren't quite sure what to make of her and her husband's choices in clothes. The informality of the couple has left some unsure of whether or not this is acceptable as the first couple. Plus, they both look pretty darned good for their age, and I'm sure that makes a few people in their late forties jealous in their own right.

I remember taking classes at Disney as an intern, and in particular, I remember a class we took on changing the paradigm. Those who make real, lasting change are those who are willing to look at the current paradigms in society and change them. They are the leaders and thinkers of society. To consider this possibility, look no further than Thomas Jefferson, who paraphrased the writings of Mason, Locke, Hobbes and Rousseau. For centuries, the power belonged to the monarchy, whose power was divinely ordained. In only a relatively short time, power shifted from the he or she, to the we. We the people.

When a paradigm is changed, people often balk and feel uncomfortable, and sometimes angry about the changes that are coming.

Maybe, just maybe, jeans and shorts are symbolic of so much else that is changing in our nation. As a country, we may feel confused and not sure of what the future will bring, but one thing is certain, nothing is the same as it was. And that is how you know you have a leader, jeans and all, like it or not.

A boy!!!

So today we found out that we are having a boy!

It's weird, but I had a feeling for a long time that it was a boy, but I didn't want to say for sure, because I obviously could not have been certain.

I always try to find deeper meaning behind things, and when I had my class from hell (which was boy heavy) a few years ago, I had determined that I would have a boy because I was getting a good lesson in how boys are, which is quite different from girls.

Also, last year when I was thinking about wanting to start a family, I had a dream. In my dream, B an I had a boy with dark brown hair and big blue eyes, just like B.

I've always believed in following your gut instinct on things, and I still believe it will give you the answer.

Yay! Winnie the Pooh and Tigger too, it is! (for the nursery)

Sponges

I went to the bay today to relax and enjoy the rarely beautiful day. This summer has been filled with storms and cooler than usual weather, which has altered my summer substantially. Today I finally got to go and pass the time in my favorite way: sipping on an iced latte (decaf) while reading Vanity Fair and watching the waves lick up on the sore, closer and closer to my chair.

The bay seems to be under attack by invading sponges. As I looked up and down the shoreline I could see their goldenrod mounds washing up, bobbing back and forth as the tide carried them to and fro, without a care in the world. I was concerned about the amount of dead sponges I saw, but I thought perhaps a good number of sponges were born at the same time, and so they also die at the same time. Nothing speaks of communalism more than simultaneous mass birth and death.

With the exception of a carnivorous sponge, who eats crustaceans in nutrient poor environments, the sponge is perhaps one of the most innocuous sea creatures in the Animal Kingdom. As an invertebrate, its job is simply to cleanse the water in which it lives, which is actually a critical role in our world. For that matter, I would guess that a sponge can live a long life, as long as nothing comes along to disturb its world, most likely a human.

We take such creatures for granted and assume they will always be there, but as with most anything, there is no certainty as strong as change.

Looking at the sponge, maybe there's also something to be gained in observation. The sponge takes in everything in its surroundings and cleanses what it is able. It leads a relatively peaceful life, and hopefully in return is given the promise of a long life.

For we humans, is it possible to lead such a simple life? If we take in everything we can, never end our learning, give back to our society and lead a peaceful life, can we also have the promise of longevity? I'm not sure, but I think it's a noble ambition. Beauty is in simplicity.

Seeing gold instead of mustard

Since I was eight or nine, I have always had issues with my body. When I took a dance class in the third grade, I looked at myself in the mirror, and aside from the pink leotard and tights I wore--which made me look like a little pig--I could see only one thing: my pot belly poking through the pink nylon. I looked at all of the other girls standing in line against the barre and I felt completely out of place. I was taller (and older) than the other dancers and, in my mind, noticeably plumper. I knew that I was the oldest one, but I couldn't shake my feeling of being a giant amongst dwarves.

I eventually dropped out of the class, not because of my issues, but because I hated tap class. I had to take tap and ballet together, and I strongly preferred the grace and fluidity of ballet to the cacophony of tap. I begged and pleaded to be let out of the class, and my mother finally gave in. I'm not sure if she gave in because of my hatred of tap, or the fact that she would no longer have to drive me to another lesson. That year I was also in Brownies and piano, so I was in the car a lot that fall. I'm sure no longer having to hear my tap shoes clack against the slate floor of our foyer was also a welcome change.

Puberty hit me with a vengeance. I had hips before most of my classmates, and by the time I was in the sixth grade, I was one of the tallest and largest students in the class, even though my weight barely crept into the 100s. I was called fat by the boys and many of the girls distanced themselves from me. Oh, to be the duckling.

In the seventh grade, an ice storm hit the area and I had to walk over an icy sidewalk to get into my school. I fell on the concrete and was consequently late to class. When my teacher asked where I had been, I told her I fell, and one of the boys, who was also the class clown (and eventually became a high school dropout) remarked, "Yeah, couldn't you feel the ground shake? " My cheeks burned with shame and instead of thinking, "asshole," tears stung my lids. I never let him see me cry. The boy who said this was the object of my affection. He was funny and talented, and for him to say that was the worst thing that happened that year. To this day, any time someone teases another girl for being bigger, I pull out a picture of myself at her age to assure her that she will have the last laugh.

In the years since, I have always been self conscious and conscientious of my body. Although my pot belly disappeared into a tiny waist (24 inches in high school and 26 inches as of 5 months ago), my disproportionately larger legs always made me feel as though I was much larger than I ever really was. My upper body, until recently, was a size 4, and my lower body was a size 8. Despite this, I always felt like a big person. Perhaps I was a bit hard on myself.

Today I went through my pre-pregnancy clothes to put away until I can (and will) wear them again after pregnancy. I could write many of them off and simply acknowledge that my body will never be the same, but I am still determined to try my damnedest to be fit and in shape after pregnancy. I may have to donate some clothes that were already tight on my before, but I am still optimistic that I can do it. Once I do fit back into those clothes (I can still wear an 8, but the waist and hips are tight), I will appreciate my body more for what it is.

I will find out the sex of the baby on Tuesday. If it's a girl, when she hits an awkward stage, I will try to do for her what I do for my girls in school, and I will be there when the kids are mean, because they will be, and I will be a growling momma bear--this much I already know because I am with my own students. If I have a boy, I will try to make sure that he is not one of the boys who crushes a girl's heart and self esteem. Thank goodness my husband doesn't make harsh remarks, because he will be the biggest role model for our boy, if it is a boy.

Maybe it takes a profound change to realize how stupid and foolish you were in the past. And in this case, change is good.

Am I the only one, or is it obvious as it seems?

I don't know if you've been following the whole Gates scandal that has erupted onto the political scene in the past few weeks, but I have, up to a certain point. Once the Beer Summit was held at the White House, in which the arresting officer, Obama, Biden and Gates sat with a carefully prepared beer for each to discuss the scandal and move past it, most of the controversy seems to have subsided; except for this one little story about a cop in the Boston PD who referred to Gates as "a banana-eating jungle monkey."

Barret, the officer who used the phrase in an e-mail in response to the Boston Globe's portrayal of the scandal, insists that he is not a racist (and I'm sure he has a best friend who is black, as most bigots insist) and used the phrase to illustrate Gates's actions, but not to attack Gates as a person. Um, okay.

Since sending the offensive e-mail, Officer Barret was suspended with pay for his words. Since his suspension, he has filed a lawsuit, citing his right to the freedom of speech under the coveted first amendment.

This raises a few questions for me, morally and legally. Should Barret have actually been suspended for his words? I believe that yes, all people do have the right to express their thoughts, no matter how offensive they are, and no matter how much I may disagree. Of course, I may be a minority in that belief. But, should he have been suspended for other reasons? Technically, since he was an employee of the city and is bound by the city's regulations as an employee, the city has the right to suspend his job, as they are the proprietors of the computer and his e-mail account. Had he actually sent the e-mail through a private account at his house, he may not be in the position he is under now. Had there been any repercussions for sending out the e-mail from his home, he may have a case, and would be protected under the first amendment. This would be an interesting case if it went all the way to the Supreme Court. I would like to see how it turns out. I personally don't see how the case would have any standing. He would have to prove that he has been harmed as a result of his suspension. He has been given pay, and the city acted within their rights, if the regulations clearly state that such actions are grounds for suspension or termination.

But here's what I find to be incredibly ironic. At the end of the article about Barret on CNN.com, Barret states he is

"'not a racist but I am prejudice [sic] toward people who are stupid and pretend to stand up and preach for something they say is freedom but it is merely attention because you do not get enough of it in your little fear-dwelling circle of on-the-bandwagon followers.""

Let me see if I have this right. He isn't a racist, but he is prejudiced against people who beg for attention under the guise of freedom. I wonder if that will be his lawyer's defense should his case go to court.

Big thanks

Yesterday I saw a news article that stated that for this fiscal year ending in September, the federal government's tax revenues were at their lowest levels since 1932. Let's see, that's one year before the worst year of the Great Depression, right when Roosevelt was taking office.

You know, I just want to give a big shout out to the W. Truly, he has made our country so great. I mean, really, for years and years he continued to pledge to cut our taxes, and despite the cuts, my salary remained stagnant as healthcare insurance costs rose, and now we get to have a much leaner postal system, thanks to their bankruptcy, and the potential loss of more jobs due to the tax cuts over the past 8 years. Republicans argued that it would put more money into everyone's pockets, and spur the economy. Well, now our economy is barely creeping along, and with unemployment nearing 10%, those wonderful tax cuts are now bankrupting our country.

Now there is discussion of tax increases, but the White House is afraid to do it because of Obama's promise of no new taxes to the middle class. We know what happened when Bush Sr. promised that in 1992.

Thanks Mr. Bush. It sure was a good eight years.