Reflections

Well, I said I was back, and then I disappeared. Such is life as a working mom with a nearly ten month old. But I need to make it a point to write more, as I need to have some mental clarity. I think writing helps with this.

I'll just say that the past month has been a blur. It all started with my birthday and a tickle in my throat. I had a great weekend with my family, but all the while, I had a sore throat, which progressed into a full-blown cold, that hit its high point the following Friday when I called in sick...and I have been catching up ever since.

This past weekend I started to make some headway into figuring out a few things about what I have been grappling with, as a mother, a wife...and just me in general.

Last week I told B that I wasn't very happy with a few things. In general, I am happy, but in other ways, I haven't been. I think it's been coming from my expectations both with myself and with my world. First, I expect myself to always give everyone 100% of me, which is absolutely impossible. Because I've been trying to achieve the unattainable, I have felt as though I am constantly ramming my head into a wall; at first it may not hurt that much, but after a while, it's one big painful mess. And basically I have to stop it.

I need to see what others see and not worry so much about what I think I should be doing, rather than what I am actually doing. On the outside, most people see a woman who has her shit together. I've always given off this air of confidence and composure, whether real or not, that has had others either admire me, or hate me, depending on their own insecurities--and there are a lot of insecure women out there. Internally, though, I have often felt as though I am coming apart at the seams. I have a feeling I'm not the only one who feels this way. I wonder how many of us feel this way on a daily basis. I bet it's quite many.

Why do we do these things to ourselves? Why do we put so much pressure on ourselves to do everything and be everything to everybody? Men don't put this pressure on themselves. I think maybe we could learn a few things from how men act in this world. We judge them for being "selfish." But it's not selfishness...not really. They just know who they are and don't try to please everyone all of the time. They know that some people won't be happy, and that's just how it is.

As an example, over the weekend, B played games and was online for a total of 3 hours. Granted, they were all done after D went to bed, but still, he had that free time. So I considered how he used his time, and rather than getting mad and rolling my eyes at how he used his time, I thought, "that is not a bad idea."

So, yesterday, I looked at B and said "I am going to have some ME time today." I of course asked if he could handle watching Daniel, and he said it was fine. So, I went out and went shopping and got a coffee. I cannot even tell you just how GOOD that felt to do. I felt more relaxed, less stressed and like my old self. I was only out for an hour and a half, but oh my was it nice. And the best part: I bought some stylish clothes that I am currently wearing. So my hour and a half of me time also impacted today because I liked what I had on, and felt like a young professional mom who has all of her shit together...and I got there by being just a little selfish. Isn't that something?

Oh, and also, when I got home I saw the wreckage from this morning when I had a rough start...but I'm not going to worry about it and get upset. I'll take care of it in a little while...or maybe I won't. Isn't that something?

I am back!

Well, it has been quite a while, hasn't it? Not that anyone reads this, but still, it has been a while. Can't imagine what I've been up to!

So much in life has changed in the past year, and in some ways, much is the same. I'm still teaching. I still go to work everyday and come home to a happy place. What's interesting is that when I look back on the years when I came home from work, my mental image of that time is darker. Now when I'm home, it's very bright and energized. I used to come home and raid the fridge and then go spend a good chunk of time online until B came home. Now my afternoon is filled with D crawling around, nursing, and me just barely able to make it into the kitchen to grab something to eat. With all of the activity both at home and work, it's no wonder I've dropped most of my baby weight, give or take 5 pounds! Anyway, when I look back at that time, I don't miss it. I think to myself that life was very dull before D came into the picture. I loved my life with B, but I wouldn't change it back to the way it was. Not for all of the money in the world.

Anyway, I'm going to write more soon, but as I type I hear D talking to B, and I just want to go to bed, for I am one exhausted momma.

Checking in

Well, I have not posted in quite a while because of our brand new baby, who was born on January 4th, 2010. He was technically 2 days early, but actually right on time by my own calendar, as I knew when I ovulated.

So, I am now a part of the mom club. And yes, we do plan to have another, but stop after that.

Hopefully I'll have a little more time to post my random pontifications now that D is a little bit older.

For the record, I have a few brief comments on our nation and the economy.

First, I know we are technically in a recovery, but I think we're still in trouble as a country. The past 8 years of unregulated lending will take at least (my guess) another ten years to truly dig out. I'm not just talking about our country. The whole world got into an orgy of unchecked borrowing and lending, and the hangover has been brutal. Although our country claims the worst is over, the rest of the world isn't making quite such a claim. Given Greece and Portugal's recent SOS, I'd say we ain't seen nothin' yet.

Also, I'm really not sure what to think of our current president these days. I still approve of him as a whole, but I'm not feeling the love for him on a few of his recent initiatives. I believe the so-called healthcare reform has become nothing but a watered down version of the original intent that has pandered to the insurance industry and lobbyists, which basically will do nothing to keep costs down. And although I approve of his tax credit ideas for small businesses, it misses the point that if there is no business to be spoken of, a small business cannot hire employees simply to get a tax credit. It makes no sense. We'll see what happens, and I try to remember that Clinton faced fierce opposition in '93, but right now, I'm not feelin' it dawg.

Resolutions, Schmesolutions

Last night, as I sat through more labor pains, which culminated in a big pile o' nothing (but I still have 4 days to go), I thought about resolutions that people make at the advent of each new year. Here are my thoughts.

According to statistics, only 6% of the people who make resolutions actually follow through on them for the entire year. Despite our gung-ho enthusiasm for losing weight, exercising more and saving money, by February most people go back to their old ways. I think I know why.

If you know you want to lose weight, and set a start date for doing it, you probably aren't as committed to it as you'd like to think. In the meantime, it also gives you a period of time in which you essentially do whatever you want, as far as eating, saving, whatever goes. So to say, "for the new year, I resolve to start a diet and lose ten pounds," probably means that you're actually okay with being ten pounds overweight, and if you don't lose that ten pounds, then it's okay, which is why people who make such resolutions rarely follow through on them. On the plus side, many gyms and companies who cater to such whims are ready and willing to take the profits from such failed dreams.

Same goes for saving money. When I graduated college, I had my first salary-earning job. I was making the most money I had ever made ($28K) in my life, and I wanted to enjoy the fruits of my labor. All throughout college, I envied the other girls who had tons of clothes in their closets. I was not one of those girls. I had to earn the clothes I bought through waiting tables, being a merchandiser for Brita water for a brief stint, and doing whatever else I could to pay rent, bills and buy a few outfits on the side. So when I landed my first job, I had a choice to make: save the money, or spend it. I decided to spend it; and spend it, I did. I also decided that I would start saving money by the age of 25, and I was happy with that.

Meanwhile, my husband began saving money as soon as he was out of college, and I have to say, his savings exceed mine by far. I can't say whether or not he was better off for it in other ways. He hated his furniture, where he lived, his clothes, etc. Meanwhile, I would go ahead and put a coffee table on my credit card and pay it off in 4 payments, rather than dropping all of my money on one table, and I had cash left over each month, just in case. I also bought a keyboard, new bed, furnishings and many other things I wanted to have a decent apartment. Even though I decided I wouldn't worry about saving money for three years, I did manage to have enough money set aside so I could quit working full time and concentrate on grad school full time while working part time.

The point of that little story is that I was okay to not save money for a while, and by putting a deadline on myself, it made it easier to be a little less responsible with my money and to not be as well set as my husband. And I'm actually okay with that. I've still managed to save more than your average 30-something, and I no longer put large ticket items on credit cards. Now saving money is no longer discretionary, it's mandatory.

So I contend that people who put new year's as a date to start losing weight are actually doing themselves a disservice if they TRULY want to lose weight. The time to start is not an arbitrary date, but as soon as you can. It also takes going through your cabinets and throwing out all of those things that held you back from keeping off the weight.

By the same token, if you want to save money, don't wait until a start date. Do it as soon as you know you want to do it. Make a plan for eliminating any outstanding debt, work it into your monthly budget, and as soon as you know what you can comfortably afford to do, do it. Don't wait for new year's. Let the new year be a celebration for all of your accomplishments, not a chance to look back and see where you went wrong and try to make amends with the past. There is, as they say, no time like the present.

Bringing in the New Year

Okay, so here's the rundown on the last year for me, personally:

*Went to Paris and London for the very first time.

*Got pregnant for the very first time.

*Discovered the school that everyone loves to work in, including me. Apparently I was just teaching the wrong grade and hadn't really gotten to know the people.

*Became closer with B's family.

*Gained a new appreciation for my old body.

In a nutshell, that has been my year.

The past decade sucked in so many ways. Shall we count them? No, because that's what the news is for. We all know how terrible this past decade has been in terms of world events. For me, personally, it was mostly good, with a touch of bad, and here's how it went:

*Met and began dating my husband in 2000.

*2001: Had to discover what it's like to pick up the pieces of a man, my dad, who fell apart and into the hospital for 6 months, which changed his life forever.

*2002: determined to have my own life and make my own way after going through hell with my dad's illness, I decided to go to grad school to become a teacher. I had this realization while visiting my sister in CA, after the birth of her first daughter in 2002. Inspiration can come in tiny packages.

*2003: finally broke free from my roommate and moved out on my own. It was awesome, and with the thanks of B, I found an apartment that was perfect for me as I went through grad school. I recommend to anyone living on your own for a little while before settling down with anyone. It is truly liberating and empowering.

*2004: one of my best years in Charlottesville.

*2005: finally finished my Master's and began teaching in the fall of 2005. Also moved in with B in a place we still talk about to this day. It was so tiny and had its problems (heating unit freezing over in the middle of the night, so we had to go out and chip away the ice to warm up our house, noxious smell came from the washing machine, and the master bathroom had no door), but we loved it for its gorgeous views, the hot tub, deck off to the side, where we had many a dinner and spent many hours playing cards and drinking wine, big snowstorms that came and painted our world in pristine white....it was perfect for us.

*2006: Picked up and moved to Virginia Beach.

*2007: got married!

*2008: that's a blur, mostly. Went to Disney World with B for his first trip there.

*2009...up above.

So yes, aside from 2001, I really can't complain. As for the rest of the world, may we have a more peaceful decade ahead of us.

In a Constant Work of Progress

It never ceases to amaze me that no matter how long you are in a relationship with someone, that relationship is a constant work in progress. Perhaps this is because people always change, or maybe it's because we're exposed to new situations which reveal particular nuances of the person you're with. Nevertheless, it's always an interesting ride.

Over the past few days, B and I have been dealing with a faulty refrigerator. Yesterday I spent my morning e-mailing our landlord and calling various repair places to get here ASAP. Although it was only 42 degrees out and we had our food on the balcony, time was of the essence. My pulse started racing and the tension within my body was palpable. As I'd been sitting there making calls and trying to get it fixed, he was sitting there playing a game on his X-Box (I swear there should be a phenomenon called X-Box Dads and Husbands). As he tapped the controller buttons and twisted his body while he tried to control his CGI race car, I stared at him.

At the end of his race, "Yes?" he asked. "Well, I'd like you to call M. I've sent him e-mails, but haven't gotten a response," I said. He sits there and continues to play on into his next race. "I heard you," he assures me. More minutes pass and I feel the pressure grow from within, and no, this isn't the baby moving downward. I continue, "I feel stressed. I feel like this is all falling onto me, and last night I was in a lot of pain, I think from stress from the week."

So he pauses his game and sends a text message to our landlord. (It's a good thing having a landlord who is our age.)

While we wait for the landlord's response, he continues on and says, "Why don't WE look for repair places." In this case, WE means YOU. Pressure rises, and I walk away. I go online and find places who can come on a Saturday afternoon, and relay the information back to him. He continues to play.

Over the course of the next few hours, we find a repair place and set up an appointment. In that time, he cleaned underneath the fridge, which was quite helpful, since I can't get down there in my current state. The night before, he had taken out all of the frozen items and put them in boxes to go outside, since it was 18 degrees that night. I should also mention that in that hour or two, I also let him know that I felt like he was perfectly content to let me sit and make the calls while he busily plays away. He agreed and said he'd rather not call anyone because he doesn't want to talk to people. Once the repair men came, he handled the visit from start to finish. Immediately my pulse rate lessened and the pressure I felt disappeared as quickly as it came.

Later on, B and I were talking as we drove back from a cousin's house. He said, "I'm a worker bee. I'd rather get into things and do things. I don't want to call people, but I don't mind getting dirty to fix things." He had also bought a saw to trim our new Christmas tree, and I could tell he really enjoyed it. Later that night, he also cleaned the freezer before putting any food back into it. I sat and thought about that and told him that I was a thinker, a planner. So for us, I'm the planner, and he's the doer. Plan it out, and then just tell him what to do, and he will do it, albeit in his own way. I'd say that's a pretty balanced pair.

In the future, I need to do a better job of remembering what our strengths are, so they fit in better with our roles within our house and life. Also, I need to remember this so when I feel my blood pressure rising, I can calm myself down more quickly. Perhaps it's hormonal, but I have felt this pressure rise ever since we began our journey together ten years ago.

Our big test and journey through self-discovery will come when the baby arrives. Remember: I'm the planner, he's the doer. Not to say that I don't do things to, but still, this it what it all boils down to. Also remember: breathe.

Fighting the Good Fight

When I began my studies in education seven years ago, I entered the field not with the intention of maintaining status quo, but with the intention of changing education in small and incremental ways. I know, I was delusional to think that I could have made any difference whatsoever in a system that is so archaic and myopic, but nonetheless, I joined the ranks of thousands of teachers and every day I try to make a difference to children. Some days I fail miserably, and some days I am almost in tears when I see the progress of some children. Usually that does not come until the middle to end of the year.

Then there are some children who, despite every attempt to intervene on their behalf, do not progress as adequately as they should. This year I have a student who is currently TWO years below grade level in reading. He has learned to compensate for his reading deficiencies by learning how to take tests very well, such that he is able to reason through tests and correctly identify answers. Despite his average achievement, I brought his case to a child study meeting. To me, failing to address a child's obvious disability in reading is negligent; and as his teacher it is my job to try and do whatever I can to help him.

So today we sat in the meeting about this child, and the school psychiatrist acknowledged that there was a problem, but wanted to "wait and see" how he does. They have been waiting to see how he does since he was in the first grade. He has been consistently well below grade level for years, and yet they refuse to test him for a disability. Having knowledge of the system and its shortcomings, his mother and I have already initiated testing from an outside source, because I knew that the school would choose to do nothing.

As I sat there and listened to the psychiatrist and the other special education teacher, the word negligence continued to go through my mind.

Tonight I just looked up what educational negligence is, and according to public education laws, it exists within the realm of physical harm to a student, but the definition does not include academic harm to a student. In my opinion, if a school or school district acknowledges that there is a problem with a student such as the case is with my student, to choose to do nothing is negligent. For teachers to continuously bring a student up for study, and for the teachers to be denied the right to proceed with testing is negligent. In my mind, it is unlawful and it is NOT acceptable.

When I started grad school, I had the intention of going into education policy. But once I entered the classroom and saw all that administration had to deal with, I decided against going into administration. Now, I am reconsidering the notion of going into education policy, only this time, I am looking at it from a prosecutorial standpoint, rather than a defensive standpoint.

Usually I think schools get a bad reputation unnecessarily, but in this case, I believe the blame for an adult becoming functionally illiterate falls squarely on the shoulders of the system. The system has failed that child, and I wonder if I am on the right side of things. Sure, I can teach a child to read, and I can do as much as I can, but when I am part of a system that chooses not to help a child, am I really on the right side? And, what is the right side?

The answer I continuously arrive at is that if I don't like the system, then I need to try and change the system. How can I affect change? I wish I really knew the answer. Part of me thinks I need to pursue education law, but then part of me thinks I need to keep trying with what I'm doing. On the flip side of that, I recognize a perilous pursuit when I see one.

At the end of the meeting today, the child's mom praised me for my efforts and how "awesome" I have been for her son. I smiled, but I couldn't appreciate what she said, because ultimately I am still failing him. I never went into this field for myself. I went into this field because of the kids, because I wanted to do something good for others, and in so doing, to feel fulfilled. I know I am not failing him, but it's hard to not feel that way when you keep running up against a brick wall.

When I came home tonight, I thought of whether or not I really have the energy to fight the good fight. And then I thought of people like Teddy Kennedy, who fought for most of his life for equality. After having seen his old speeches made to Congress, I understood why he was called the Lion. He had a platform to speak out, and maybe I am just not at the right place to speak out and make a difference. Maybe one day I'll figure out the answers.

There's ambition, and then there's reality.

On Sunday night, I felt what I thought were remnants of my cold dissipating of into the vastness of the past. I stayed up until 10:30 preparing lessons for the weeks ahead, fully motivated to end my last three weeks with a bang. Then Monday morning came. I told B I thought I was worse than the day before, but I went in to work anyway.

The trouble with working up until the very end of pregnancy isn't the lack of sleep, at least for me. I have been fairly lucky to get sleep, up until this point. The main problem is that my body is in no way prepared to deal with teaching 40 kids all day long, and so my adrenaline kicks in to help me endure the day's progression. So although I may feel fine during the day, 2:30 usually signals my decline, and by 3:00, the adrenaline wears off and I am exhausted. Last night, I was beyond exhausted, and by 1am, I threw in the towel and put in for a sub. Another week damaged.

The rest of the week won't be any better. Tomorrow I have an appointment with my OB, and because I have to get a sub, I can't just step out for an hour and then return. I can't call in for a sub for just an hour, so I have to take the afternoon off. This may sound good, but when you have a deadline approaching, essentially you have to pull and pray: put out the plans, hope the kids do it, and when they take their test, they do well while I'm gone.

The following morning I have two child study meetings, neither of which do I expect any tangible long-term results; which is why a parent and I have initiated testing outside of the district because my faith in the system is perhaps not at its highest. So, again, I will have someone in the room covering for me while I am in those meetings. And then, on Friday, we have a field trip. I will honestly be amazed if the kids are successful this week, as I believe they do not perform as well when I am gone. I suppose they had better get used to it though.

Mentally, I have thrown in the towel. Physically, I know just to try and survive. Whatever I can accomplish between now and the 22nd will be a bonus, and as for everything else, I will just do the best I can. More and more, emphasis is placed on my home life anyway.

Perhaps this is a sign of things to come. I think it is. Perhaps this is my new reality: one with grand ambitions and disappointing realities. I know moms always have to contend with these conflicting issues, and I will join the ranks soon enough. I suppose that right now, along with Braxton-Hicks, the interrupted sleep (I do get up, but then fall back asleep), I am just practicing for the real thing. Thank goodness my profession is one that requires flexibility at all times. My ligaments are still stretching, so I am flexing in more ways than one!

Help me.

Possible reality check here

It has occurred to me that the longer I am away from work, the less I want to go back. It's not because I don't love what I do, but I'm really wondering....when I am there, I feel like I am needed, and the need is strong. I feel like I am really helping kids who need extra support, but then, when I have days like today, where I ache, and I am teary because I feel like a failure with everything I try, I wonder if going back this spring is really what I should do....time will tell.

Frailty

Yesterday I went out to get a haircut, and when I came back, B told me about his mother falling down concrete steps at work as she went into the basement of her bank. She cut her head, which required five stitches, and she broke her wrist. B's cousin went to meet her at the ER, and she was promptly discharged after receiving treatment and having a battery of tests run on her.

We decided to go to his hometown, which is about 45 minutes from here. She was at the cousin's house, so we went to see her there. What B saw was a little unnerving, and for me, it just served as a reminder of how frail we can become.

Her forearm was wrapped in a bandage, and she had a huge ice pack sitting on it. Her left eye started to swell and bruise from the cut up on her forehead. And well, she just looked frail, sitting there on the sofa, eyes half-opened, and clearly shaken from the whole experience. This may have been the first time B has ever seen his mother as the vulnerable human being that she is, and it bothered him.

After we left his cousin's house, we went into her house to see what food she needed. This is the part I hate the most, and it conjures up images from when my dad went into the ER in October, 2001 and we went back to his house to get his belongings.

When someone goes into the hospital unexpectedly, she has no idea that someone else may see how she had been living up until that point. No one lives in a perfectly kept house, but sometimes, secrets are revealed when she least expects it; and for those who discover the secret, feelings of worry, disbelief and unease prevail.

When my dad went into the hospital, we discovered several things: first, that he had taken a bad fall when he had a seizure, and told no one. The evidence left was a broken chair on the balcony. The second was that he was trying to end his vomiting by making and eating TONS of Jello. The evidence: several empty bowls of red Jello in the kitchen. He got the idea for this from when I had the stomach flu 13 years earlier and the doctor had me eat Jello to help ease the nausea. Another bit of evidence left behind were the countless packs of medicine on the kitchen counter that he had been using to try and treat himself. The most damning of all evidence: a giant box of wine, which he later swore was not his (yes, dad, and the cigarettes you smelled really came from my friend...). When we found these things, we were in total disbelief. I also felt guilt for seeing what he had been going through, but never bothered to tell anyone about.

For B's mother, we were in disbelief for other reasons. As we stepped into the kitchen, we saw weeks and weeks of mail scattered and stacked about in the kitchen. It was all over the kitchen table, on the counters, in her office, and in B's old room. EVERYWHERE. Countless pairs of shoes were not far off from the piles of mail, and save for a can of almonds and a bag of cookies sitting on the counter, we could tell that she had been trying to lose weight by drinking drink mixes and eating frozen dinners. Not that I could fault her for that. Living alone, you don't really feel compelled to cook very much.

As I walked around her house, I couldn't help but think of my dad when he was sick. Looking at all of this, I wondered what was going on. I had been there before, but it was always an announced visit, and she had usually managed to straighten the house before we came. This time, we caught her with her pants down, and it wasn't pretty.

I grew increasingly worried as I looked through the contents of the wreckage. Old bills and coupons were intermingled, newspapers were unopened...it was just a mess. Thankfully, B said that this is normal for her, so my unease relented.

Less than 24 hours later, I can't shake the feeling of unease about her. From what we saw, one thing was obvious: she needs to sell the house and move into a condo. The house and its upkeep are just too much for her. I got the sense that she is overwhelmed in her life, and some of the unnecessary weight needs to be taken off her shoulders. She has been at her bank for 40 (yes 40) years, and she is also managing the finances of her church, and in between, she is also taking care of elderly people, and of course worrying about her son being ready for the baby.

It's been eight years since my dad fell ill, and in that time, I have had to cognitively distance myself from the risks associated with living alone. He has fallen several times since, but thankfully has not broken anything. I hate hearing about his missteps and I do not want to go through what I went through with him before, but we also have our own life to live, and we deserve the chance to start a new family and a new life, just like every other younger couple.

I hope that this fall served as a good reminder to B's mom that she is not invulnerable to injury, that her life is just as precious as everyone else's. It definitely opened up B's eyes, and served as a reminder that as much as we would like to, we just can't move wherever we want, and assume that nothing will happen to our parents if we do. Like it or not, we have two parents who are growing older, and eventually both of them will need care, and it will most likely be from the both of us. I don't like it, but I have just had to accept this as fact.

In the meantime, I can take comfort in knowing that we are not far from either of them if they should show their true and frail colors once again.

3x5

This morning as I drove to work, I played John Mayer's album, "Room for Squares" from my iPod. As I heard the first tune, I skipped forward to a song, called 3x5, I used to listen to as I drove to class at JMU, which was an hour from my house. It became a ritual for me, and something I looked forward to doing every time I hit the road. It is a beautiful song, if you haven't heard it. I'm fairly certain hearing it the first time while I drove over the mountain was coincidental, but it was perfect for the scenery.

I'm writing you to
catch you up on places I've been

You held this letter
probably got excited, but there's nothing else inside it
didn't have a camera by my side this time

Hoping I would see the world with both my eyes
maybe I will tell you all about it when I'm
in the mood to lose my way with words

Today skies are painted colors of a cowboy's cliche'
And strange how clouds that look like mountains in the sky
are next to mountains anyway

Didn't have a camera by my side this time
Hoping I would see the world with both my eyes
Maybe I will tell you all about it when I'm
in the mood to lose my way
but let me say
You should have seen that sunrise with your own eyes
it brought me back to life
You'll be with me next time I go outside
just no more 3x5's

Guess you had to be there
Guess you had to be with me

Today I finally overcame
tryin' to fit the world inside a picture frame

Maybe I will tell you all about it when I'm in the mood to
lose my way but let me say

You should have seen that sunrise with your own eyes
it brought me back to life

You'll be with me next time I go outside
no more 3x5's
just no more 3x5's

I do love this song. As I drove to school today, images of the slate blue mountains sliding by my car window, touched with pink and purple highlights, came back to me. And then I wondered, how long ago was that? Five years. That's it. Five years! How my life has changed in that time! In that time, I got a Master's, moved in with B, moved to Virginia Beach, got married, went to the Bahamas and Europe, and now I'm sitting here feeling my baby kick as I type.

Those drives over the mountain seem like a lifetime ago, and yet in the grand scheme of things, 5 years is a flash! And when I list out what has happened in the five years since, I think to myself that life has been pretty awesome! Before these past five years, I thought the highlight of my existence was getting to work for Disney, meeting a president, and meeting Pat Conroy, who also signed my journal, which I still have.

Does everyone's life flash by like this, or have I just been lucky? Is there a point at which all of these things end, or does it take just greater dedication towards making your life the best that it can be, whenever and wherever possible? I think it probably just takes more determination to not let life suck as you get older, to continue to do things that expand your horizons both internally and externally.

I can say, without a doubt, that my traveling this past summer has not silenced the urge to travel. If anything, it was just a morsel to whet my appetite, but I know that we are not done with traveling. I want to see more and do more, and for some reason, I don't think it won't be possible once the baby is born. I don't think it would be easier to do, but I think if we really want it to happen, it will. We just need to be patient, and do what we can, when we can.

And the best part of all of this is that all of this will pale in comparison to the birth of our son. I just can't wait.

Really?

So Virginia has elected a Republican for governor. Wow! That has never happened before....except, it has. It happened in '74, '78, '82, '98, and '02. (Prior to the 70s, the Democrats ruled, but at that time, they were the Dixiecrats, who were in favor of segregation.) If the gap in years are noted, one can safely assume that the Republicans are always given a fair chance, and yet somehow the no tax, increase spending rule has gotten our state into trouble every time they take office. As history repeats itself, voters were tired of how the economy was faring, and so McDonnell has been voted in.

The press is saying that this is a referendum on Obama's policies. Really? Personally, I am not sure why Creigh Deeds wanted to be governor, and he never expressed his message in an effective manner. I believe that those who did turn out, turned out to vote for McDonnell because they knew who he was and what he stood for. By the same token, I was never really sure why McCain wanted to be president, as his message was never clear either.

I believe that national news networks need to stop trying to draw connections where there are few. It isn't at all surprising that a Republican won. We go back and forth between one guy or the other, and none of them deliver on their promises.

Also, there is one aspect that they are failing to mention: the economy. Whenever the economy goes down the drain, whoever is in office is blamed; and if it happens to be his election season, he's screwed. Should the economy have begun to turn around by the end of Kaine's term, the outcome may have been vastly different. After all, Kaine rode on Warner's coattails.

Warner governed over the state at the end of the recession, and was given much praise for turning the state around, which more than likely would have happened anyway, as economies tend to go through a natural cycle. And yes, even though this current recession has been nasty, it does not defy logic. Laws of physics state that the higher and faster something rises, the harder and faster it will fall. In fact, upon its decline, it picks up momentum and force, all to make for one big mess, which is what we are still in, despite the signs of growth.

So, was this a vote of no confidence on Obama? No. Was it true to Virginia's mercurial nature? Yes. Remember, we have always been prone to voting one way, and then changing our minds. Virginia was not the first to break away from its mother country, but once it changed its mind, it changed in a big way. That's our history, and it will repeat.

On a more personal note, I truly hope that as a teacher, I do not suffer the consequences of this poorly played election. Every governor campaigns on the platform of education, claiming to be the candidate who cares. The only problem is that unless you have taught kids yourself, your own understanding of teaching and education are limited by what you have experienced or what you perceive. So, those who have no background in education make decisions about education that affect us all. I just hope to see education continue to improve. I don't want to see anyone lose his/her job over a political fight that has nothing to do with us. Inevitably, it will happen. But that's okay. It's only four years.

Nit-picking ourselves to death

Today my husband went home early to let the plumber in to work on a leak in the shower. Meanwhile, I went and got my H1N1 flu shot, as well as the seasonal flu shot. When we were both home, he told me that he read about how the two "wayward" pilots who landed 180 miles off course admitted to being on their laptops, which is why they missed their destination. As he's telling me this, I'm wondering, isn't this being a bit nit-picky? Not that the pilots should be applauded for missing their destination, but why all of the intensity of focus on their misdeeds? How many headlines have we read about a pilot being drunk, or a pilot killing his crew, that have made less waves than the "wayward" pilots? We read these headlines and they disappear just as quickly as they appeared. It begs the question, are we getting to be a society where nit-picking and over dramatization are becoming the norm?

On a daily basis, I cannot even count the many times I hear people complain about this minor issue and that minor issue. And really, many issues are minor, and not worth the energy used to complain. Case in point: assistant principal sends out an e-mail to myself and another teacher about how the kids cannot play outside for extra recess on Fridays because of an altercation with a kindergarten student (the K student punched one of our students). In the same e-mail, she states that the kids can play games in the room. "Fine," I think, and move on. Apparently others did not move on, and this became the source of disbelief and criticism of the assistant principal who sent the e-mail. In my mind, the bottom line is: the kids who deserve a reward will still get their reward, and no students will be punched in the process. Isn't that what's important? Is it really even worth it to send around e-mails about the situation that never really was?

To go back to the story about the pilots, here's what I see: no one was hurt and everyone made it back home just fine. Sure, it was cause for disciplinary action, but is this really something worth the media's attention?

As we continue to read similar headlines and judge each other for other actions, ask yourself, are you being a bit too nit-picky? Have you made things better by pointing out others' ineptitudes, or have you just sprayed your bitterness around for everyone else to feel? Really, take a good look. In my mind, it's the big picture that counts.

Almost 30 weeks

I am almost 30 weeks along! 8-10 more weeks!

There are so many things to look forward to, they are innumerable, but if I could make a short list of what I am looking forward to, beyond the implied baby, this is it:

1. Being able to look at normal person clothes again. I am thankful that so far the area where I have gotten the biggest is my tummy, and everything else is pretty much the same, give or take an inch (three in the buttocks area). So, I am looking forward to shopping for new clothes in the spring and summer. Yes, I admit, I do like to shop, and I appreciate my old body even more now. It won't be the same, but still.

2. Being able to go out for dinner and a drink or two, thanks to our sitter (mother-in-law) in waiting. She's a different kind of person, but I know having her available will be a huge benefit to us.

3. Having sushi again, at some point.

4. Going on my 4-mile walk in the spring--or for that matter, going on a walk without feeling like my lower ligaments are being pulled over my head.

And of course....

5. Opening a new chapter of our life. I'm the type of person to look at all of the difficulties of raising a child before I look at the positives, but I know there will be many bright spots to balance out the dark, and it will all be worth it.

Buster

When you're little, some things stand out in your memory as if they happened just yesterday. You remember the time, setting, words that were said and everything, except, maybe for exactly when it was in your childhood. The story of Buster is one of these memories memories.

Living on a farm has its ups and downs, just like any other place.

The minuses? No neighbors to rely on when something bad happens, such as a fire. If there's a medical emergency, you're better off driving twenty minutes into town to the local hospital, because there's no way an ambulance will get there any sooner. If you lose power, you are last on the list of areas to be restored. If there is an ice storm, make sure to leave your water running at a small drip, because the water will freeze over if you don't, and are on a farm, that can have disastrous consequences for both you and the animals.

The positives? Being surrounded by nature gave us a greater appreciation for the natural world around. Gazing up into the blue sky, I knew the difference in flight style between a hawk and a crow, and their calls. I've seen a group of deer gracefully hop across a cornfield as if they were crossing their own roadways, and there was no one there to disturb them. I've seen wild turkey hang out around the barn as if we were the great intruders. I know how to cross over a creek in a matter of minutes, where usually you see people carefully and shakily walk across, so as not to fall in. If you fall in? You get wet! Big deal. I've taken creek silt and spread it across my legs as if I were at a spa, and I have gotten stuck in the thick mud of a creek. I survived. The best part of all, in my childish mind, were the stray animals that would roam into our farm.

Dogs and cats were often dropped off by the side of the road by pet owners who no longer wanted them. When they smelled food cooking at our house, their noses and stomachs were led to our porch. We dutifully filled spare bowls with food and then had to decide what to do with these pets. Usually we kept them all, until we found a new owner; or we would adopt them as our own and take care of them.

One summer day, before I entered the fourth grade (I think), a golden retriever strayed onto our property. He was relatively young with a buttery yellow and thick coat. He was the idyllic family dog, in my mind. As with all of the other dogs who strayed to our house, he was tied up to a lead line (for a horse) and clipped to a hook on the side of one of the two back porches. The golden retriever was no different. We fed and petted him, and then tied him up to the porch.

One summer day, shortly after his arrival, my sister and I decided to go swimming. We walked across the long, thick grass and jumped into the pool and swam around for a few minutes. Suddenly we heard a dog yelping and shrieking. We looked over the edge of the pool toward the house and saw our new dog hanging from the porch by his lead line. My sister jumped up and ran toward him to save this dog from his imminent demise. He had wrapped the line around a column of the porch several times, and then decided to jump off of the porch. I followed behind my sister as she tried to save him. As she tried to unwrap him from the porch, she muttered, "Okay, buster....." and so our family dog, Buster, was named.

It should have been a sign of things to come; but we all laughed it off and thought, "oh that silly dog." In the coming months, Buster made it very clear that he did not like to be tied up, and come hell or high water, he would not be tied up, even if he had to pull the whole house down as he tried to make his escape away from the hook that bound him. So, to save the house from falling down, he was released.

Buster was a ravenous golden retriever. Whatever we put out for him as food, he devoured within seconds. It stands to reason that once his bowl was empty, he would search for food elsewhere, and that meant in the trash. Once we relented and let him run free, the trash cans were his first target. There was trash everywhere. There was trash blown into the trees nearby, food scraps (bones) littered around the house; it was a mess. But he didn't stop there. When he found what he wanted from our trash cans, he went hunting for more food at the houses over a mile away down the road. We got many phone calls telling of his adventures. We'd tie him up, and he'd almost pull the house down. We released him, and the cycle would repeat. Buster was a real buster.

As any kid would have, I loved that crazy dog. Aside from his misdeeds, he was loving and happy and never minded a good rubby-dub on his ears. For him, having his back scratched was the next best thing to finding a turkey carcass in the trash. I saw past all of his abhorrent behavior and never wanted to let him go.

A year and half passed since that fateful day on the porch. The phone calls from neighbors never ceased, and the porch where he was tied back would never be the same again. It was time, my parents thought, to find a new home for Buster.

Eventually, right around Christmas, Buster was adopted by a family with a station wagon and two kids to love him. I never said anything to the rest of my family about it, but I was heartbroken. If I had shown any emotion over it, I would have been reprimanded by my dad, and he would have said, "Stop feeling sorry for yourself." (It took me years to accept that I do have emotions, and there's nothing wrong with it, and it also took me years to tell my dad that those words simply meant he felt guilty.) So on the Saturday afternoon when his new family took him away, I lain under the Christmas tree, gazing up at the lights and ornaments, and choked down a series of tears. The feeling always burned in my throat and chest, and its one that I associate with disappointment and heartbreak as a kid.

My dad saw me lying under the tree, and asked what was wrong. When I told him I was sad about Buster's departure, he was truly surprised. To him, the dog had been nothing but a nuisance. He had never even considered asking his kids how we felt about it. I suppose times have changed, and kids are now given more respect than ever, but at that time, what dad said is what was done, and that was that.

When I think of large dogs and golden retrievers, I often think of Buster. I often wonder if his new owners kept him, or if they gave him up as well. Whatever the case may be, I hope Buster got to live a long life, surrounded by love and laughter.

If my kids ever ask to get a golden retriever, I'm not so sure I would say yes, because I know the heartbreak of having to give up something that you love and have absolutely no control over.

A Letter

Dear Belligerent Parent,

I see you sent me your warm and comforting e-mail at 2am. I suppose your e-mail took hours and several shots of Jack Daniels to compose to help you think of exactly the right words you needed. I know, I am a terrible teacher because I said your son needed a note for being out to go to Star Trek Conventions...every other Friday, and possibly Monday.

But here's what makes it okay: I only have to deal with you for less than 9 months this year. You have to live with yourself for the rest of your life. I think I win, in this case.

Thanks,

Mrs. X

A Box of Chocolates and a Blue Plaid Blanket

A cousin of mine recently wrote a blog about her dreams of living in the country conflicting with the reality of her urban-ness. Her blog lead me to thinking about my life out in the country, and how despite people's preconceived notions of a simpler life, living out in the middle of nowhere is harder than most people could imagine.

Let's go back to January, 1990.

My sister and I were home on Christmas break, and an ice storm was in the forecast. Since a young age, I was taught to fear ice storms. They tore down power lines, sank 200 year old trees as if they were young saplings, and worse, had the potential to shutter your house in darkness for endless days. A side effect of this was food cooked on a kerosene stove. We had no clue we were breathing in toxic fumes, but we had small stoves for extremely cold and/or icy days. The food prepared on it never quite got hot, and from time to time it tasted like gasoline.

On this steel grey January day, we knew the storm was going to hit us hard. Mom and dad, as usual, were nowhere to be found, so my sister and I sat in her room listening to music when it happened. The lights went out and we sat in stunned silence of the storm. It was still daylight outside, but being the teens that we were, we didn't think to read; so we just sat there for a little while.

"What do you want to do? Want to play a game?" I asked.

"No....I don't know." she replied. For the record, my sister never wanted to play games with me. If she did, it was the result of persistent pestering on my part. (Maybe that's where I learned about the value of persistence.)

"Well okay. So what can we do?"

We sat in cold silence for quite a while, and decided to grab our new plaid blankets and wrap ourselves in them. We sat back down, she in her white upholstered chair, and I on the floor nearby. It was our routine. Suddenly, my sister started to stare at a gold Godiva box that sat nearby on a table.

"I know, let's just sit and eat chocolate."

Just sit and eat chocolate? My sister had lost her mind. But I thought it was a funny idea, and I laughed. She was dead serious though. She slowly unwrapped the clear plastic from the box, removed the padding and stared at the delectable treats waiting to be gobbled up on this otherwise terrible day.

"Which one do you want?"

I chose the dark chocolate ganache with raspberry filling. She chose a dark chocolate piece as well. We ate several pieces, and I was truly amused by her choice of activities for that day.

The day without power turned into night, and we continued to live without power for three days. What no one mentions about living in the country is that when power is lost, you are the last one on the power company's list for restoring power.

My dad finally made a desperate call to the power company. He told them he had a heart condition and they needed to restore power soon. He wasn't exactly lying, because he did have a heart attack the summer before, but we didn't feel good about his stretching of the truth. Within four hours we had power restored, and our Christmas tree was aglow again.

And the box of chocolates? I think you have to ask my sister about that.

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.