Now that Mother's Day has been celebrated and put away until next year, I am afraid my real feelings have to be shared.  Mother's Day in all its commercialism and sometimes hokey celebrations, is far removed from the way I think it should be.  I don't mind the day, but I do mind the way it is sometimes celebrated.

Please don't misunderstand and assume that my sentiments are a result of hurt or latent anger.  I am blessed to have a loving mom, and I am blessed to have four children of my own.  Those relationships are wonderful and I was heart-broken not to be with my mom this year.  So where did this intolerance for Mother's Day come from?

When I was a child, I never thought anything of the day except that it was exciting and I couldn't wait to give my mom whatever it was that I had made in school.  She was always gracious and appreciative and that was that.  Then I got into my early adult years and began to see how so many churches all celebrated the same way:  there were the prizes (Who was the youngest mom?  Who was the oldest mom?  Which mom had the most kids?  Which mom had traveled the farthest to be at church?  etc.)  Then the sermon would somehow tie into the preacher's saintly mother and the church would be crowded because all the far-flung children had come home for a day to be with their mothers.  The women were adorned with flowers and everyone would glow, but things were different after Marie.

Marie was a retired teacher without mother or children.  Her mother had always been her companion, and the mom's death left Marie despondent.  After retirement, her primary social contact was church, but the Mother's Day celebrations were excruciating.  She had no one to celebrate or to celebrate her. 

A few years later I met Karen.  She was like Marie in that her mother had passed away and through no choice of her own, was childless and spouseless.  Mother's Day was painful for her, too, but she sat gamely through the church celebrations and never complained.  What bothered me most was that she, like so many others, thought the day was so sacred that she had no right to be around me that day - just because I had kids.

Last year I was thinking about the day when my friend admitted to me that she was nearing the end of her baby dreams. When she said, "It's probably not going to happen for me," her pain was so pure that I wondered what Mother's Day must be like for her when every church offers a "gift for every mother" and for weeks beforehand every store ad shows the expensive gifts each mother is "owed."

So what do we do here?   Last year it was skipping church and then a walk by a lake and shuffle-board.  This year found us with a cold all-day rain and kids with the flu, and so we stayed home, played lots of board games and ate Costco pizza.  I finished the day with a long call to my mom.   In short, I've had two absolutely perfect Mother's Days.


All these thoughts were twirling around in my mind, and then I read Jeanelle's post about Mother's Day and the thoughts did more than twirl!

And now Checkered is wondering how I feel about Father's Day 

        

<< MORE >>

My mom...

some say my mirror image,

but I am not sure.


I do know she is:

a pastor's wife,


teacher and guidance counselor (when I went to my class reunion I had to stop counting the number of people who told me my mother had changed their lives,)

marvelous thinker,

duet partner,


listener and comforter,

woman of faith,

amazing grandmother,


but mostly,

my beloved mom.


Happy Mother's Day, Mom.  Next year I promise that we won't have a dog in quarantine, and we WILL be with you !! 

Much love,
Your middle daughter

        

<< MORE >>

My darling daughter,

It seems amazing to us that we now own have a teen-age daughter.  But we saw the signs coming as you became aware of how your room was decorated and managed to ignore the Mt. Everest of discarded clothing erupting from your floor.  You are proud of your pictures and your mementos.  You are proud of the walls completely covered with posters and souvenirs.  You have worked hard to make your room a place of sanctuary, a respite from some of the pressures pushing you every day.  I see that door shut  now more often than it has been in the last decade.  And I do respect you need for some independence and privacy.

But just in case you ever wondered what happens on those nights you leave for a sleepover with your friends...just in case you think your private sanctuary is simply waiting quietly for your return, lookie here.  For here is the truth, beautiful girl, of what becomes of your "space" when you are gone. 



We could apologize, but we think your brothers' love of you and their missing you when you're gone is just too sweet.

        

<< MORE >>

This has been a really tough week.  A few days ago, our dog responded very badly when his paw was stepped on.  Very badly.  As a result, he no longer has a future as a member of this family.  Our home has been mighty quiet all week as we each process what happened and what is to come.

Maybe that fear and sadness was the reason.  Maybe it was just because he is a boy.  Or maybe it had something to do with the fact that his brother did the same thing to him the night before, BUT when my 10 year old boy opted to give his brother a surprise ice cold shower with the yard hose, we had a lot of tears.

So what to do?  Punish?  Naw, his brother did the same thing to him the day before.  Scream?  Naw, it would just blend in with the other outside sounds.  Take away priveleges?  Naw.  Too drastic.

Then the brainstorm:  a favorite consequence in our family is when the perpetrator is given as a servant to the victim for a period of time.  Usually my kids make great use of their servants:

•     make my bed!
•     clean-up the toys by yourself!
•     practice the piano in my place!

But last night, the servant got one command:

"Pull your pants up high and put on a tie."

The servant looked to me for help.  I shrugged and smiled.  The servant complied and all was well.

        

<< MORE >>

 Thus sayeth the kindergarten boy:

    "I am really glad I go to science class this year.  I used to think that rain was the clouds peeing.  But now      
    I know the truth.  Rain is the angels crying.  That's why I love science so much."

        

<< MORE >>

I remember the first time my stomach lost its mind.  We were traveling in Kansas or Oklahoma, near absolutely nothing, and I suddenly thought I would die.  My stomach was in despair and suffering and I needed to make the immediate acquaintance of a bathroom. 

After that miserable experience, those stomach problems became a fact of life for me.  They accompanied me on every date, every social gathering, every school test or presentation, and sometimes, every meal.  Those problems also showed up when I was at home happily reading or chatting with a friend.  They've accompanied me to bed, to my wedding, and to every job I've ever had.  I've left meals abruptly, ended dates way early (early on, Checkered thought I didn't like him because I wanted to go home early on so many dates), hung up on relatives and friends, and chosen not to bike ride/exercise/walk farther than a block from my house.  I've also learned that when the stomach is bad, it's simply less embarrassing to avoid friends altogether.

Once Checkered married this stomach, he learned the art of finding a bathroom for me quicker than you could tie your shoes.  He knows the look when we are out and about and I need to leave NOW.  And boy oh boy did my kids hate to be with me when my stomach got grouchy and we were at a store.  It's a long, slow process to get the stomach to return to "normal" after one of these episodes.

So after lots of lay thought and girl friend diagnoses, I went to the doctor who ordered all those messy tests.  The diagnosis? It's so unpleasant to the ear that I hesitate to type it.  Irritable Bowel Syndrome.  There.  It's public knowledge now.  Let's see how it looks in other languages:
 

        

<< MORE >>

For a while now, Checkered and I have been missing something from our lovely, lovely church.  We have been missing  traditional beauty and music.  We do love many things about our church and have come to embrace the informality and the contemporary worship style.  We have a good pastor and we continue to grow spiritually.  There is a youth program and a children's program, and we dearly love the other parishioners.  But once in a while a longing rises up and we know we are missing something.  I sometimes wonder at the oddness of missing something I've never had.

So a few Sundays ago, we did something completely out of our ordinary.  We dressed up and went to a different church.  From the moment we walked in and were warmly greeted we were comfortable. Then the pipe organ began to play and we sang verse after verse of traditional hymns.  I worked very hard not to cry and was shocked at the emotion the music drew out of me.  The liturgy was meaningful, the sermon was sensible, the sanctuary was algow with stained glass reflections and Checkered and I were entralled.

I came out of that service feeling as though I had found the missing piece to a very precious puzzle.  It leaves me in a bit of a quandry.

Here's an interesting article about how the liturgy is becoming appealing to a younger generation.  Here's another article about this very hunger I feel now.

**************************

To continue with our atypical Sunday, we decided to have a family baseball game.

It seems that some batters do better in pajamas.


I think there should be a new adage:  When a 2nd baseman poses, the runner steals third.


"I'm not afraid of the ball!"




"Okay.  I really am!!!"



Lots of balls found their way to the germ-infested, water soaked pool cover.  But that was better than the ball Checkered hit which flew across our yard, across the neighbor's yard, and against another neighbor's house.  That could have been ugly.


But here is the part which concerns me most.  I am not sure when Checkered acquired this running posture.  Maybe it's time he and I had a little chat...

        

<< MORE >>

I've spent considerable time second-guessing my employment situation; I am an adjunct instructor at the college-level.  The teaching itself is great.  The first time I ever taught a class was during my student teaching stint back in my undergrad days.  That day, I arrived back at my dorm overwhelmed and confused and delighted to have found my real passion in life.  Helping a student connect with a concept is a thrill that exists to this day.

Over the years there have been several teaching jobs and they have all been growing experiences for me.  I've taught 9th graders and middle schoolers and undergrads and master's level students.  I've taught English and English as a second language, and education courses, too.  And in each job, I've known success.  I've been a very good teacher.

The last many years have been spent in my current part-time capacity and it has been wonderful.  I have taught at night, so when our kids were born or had school breaks or were too young or sick to send to school, I've been able to be home during the day.  That part has been marvelous.

But now the rest of my life has arrived and I am not sure what to do.  The downside of most teaching jobs is the homework.  I spend hours each week preparing for class and other hours grading essay after essay.  The problem is that I am not really compensated financially.  I'm working full-time hours for part-time pay.
So maybe it's time to go back to work -  full-time hours with full-time pay. And that is where the difficulties taunt me. 

In my field, full-time employment is predicated on scholarship and publication.  It is assumed that anyone worthy of full-time money should be a leader in his or her field.  But what does it mean to be a leader?  I've worked with plenty of "leaders" whose students detested them.   Does being a "leader" (and the definition of that word changes from college to college) equate with great teaching?  At my current college, there has been a long push to hire outside of the college.  That means as an adjunct, I must teach at other colleges while I teach at their college to "broaden" my knowledge base.  I used to work at another college where it was decided that if a teacher received a doctorate from that college, he or she must teach else where for several years.  My problem with that theory was that all the deans received their doctorates from that school and had taught nowhere else.

Every semester my courses and teaching get evaluated by my students.  The results are always very positive.  I've been told in many ways by many students that my class made a positive difference in their lives, but no one at the college has ever considered those things when the full-time positions are open.  The questions revolve around where else I teach and what innovations I bring.  (And since I am already on a rant, I will tell you that for all the "innovators" who have been hired, I have never once known those "innovations" to be shared with the rest of the faculty.)  I sometimes wonder if simply being a really effective teacher is of any worth.

SO I've been vacillating.  Maybe I should get a different type of job altogether.  Maybe I should start all over with education and training.  Maybe this adjunct faculty life is a waste of my life.

And then I walked into class this week and found several thank-you cards and these:


And my heart was touched.  Students lined up to hug me and thank me for a great semester.  I choose to believe it was all sincere

I still don't know where to head career-wise, but I do know I'm still good at what I do and the students respect me.  Maybe that should be enough.

        

<< MORE >>

Checkered and I went to a banquet at church a few nights ago.  It was different from the typical church banquet because it was formal and lovely.  The paparazzi greeted us as we all arrived and that immediately rendered most of us tongue-tied.  When I was asked what I most appreciated about my church volunteer activities, all I could think to say was that I was glad I wasn't doing anything at the church at this time.  It was a rough start.

We finally made our way to main room and were faced with many seating options.  It was wonderfully comfortable to know that we could have sat at any of those tables and been welcomed by the others there.  Then, after spending several minutes pondering our choice of table, we were told that we had assigned seating (because Checkered was in a skit and needed to be in a specific location.)

Our dinner companions for the evening were:  two very quiet couples of a different generation than ours.  We know each of those couples nominally - that's all.  The other couple were absolute strangers to us.  I was okay with our seats until I looked over at the next table.

At that table were five couples. Younger, beautiful and most all inter-related in some way or another to each other.  There was such a sense of intimacy there, such a sense of belonging to each other, such a joy at their togetherness, that I was immediately filled with jealousy.  Here I sat with people to whom I was not connected in any way.  Here I sat with quiet people. Here I sat wishing I were at that other table.  I was flirting like crazy with Self-Pity.

The evening progressed.  The food was delicious.  The entertainment was truly fun.  But I kept looking over at that table and feeling a little cheated as they laughed and laughed and laughed. 

At our table I was determined to not sit in silence, so we chatted and asked questions, and the more we did that, the more the other couples opened up.  We learned how each of the couples met, learned about their families and jobs, and we shared some genuine laughter.  But then Self-Pity would ask and I would agree to another spin around the dance floor with him.  Then I would return to the conversation and decide all over again that things were okay. Then Self-Pity would stop by again...well, you can see the picture by now.

By the end of the evening as we all worked together to break down the banquet accoutrements and set up for the next morning's service, I was having a lovely time.

And because I love minutia, I analyzed repeatedly what had transpired over the course of the evening. 

I am very happy that we left that banquet knowing more people than we knew going in.  That would not have happened at that other table. I am very happy that I had to get beyond my own insecurities, and I deeply regret the dance time I gave to Self-Pity.

I guess I grew up a little, and that's a good thing. Right?

        

<< MORE >>

We are trying to get healthier here, so the other day I agreed to meet my 6 year old after school for a bike ride home.  What should have been a 20 minute activity morphed into a 60+ minute adventure.  Here's the breakdown:

1.  Mom realizes she's late leaving for the school.
2. She heads to garage where she locates her bike hanging from the ceiling and over a lot of other stuff.
3.  After dropping the bike on her head, leaves home for school.
4.  Gets one house away and realizes tires are flat.
5.  After pumping up tires, leaves home again and gets two houses away before getting shoe lace tangled up in the gears.
6. Realizes that the weatherman was incorrect in his prediction of 75 degrees and sun.
7.  Leaves house yet again, this time in long pants and jacket.
8.  Gets 1/2 mile into trek before realizing that not only are thighs wiggly and jiggly, but they have not one muscle in them.  Remembers to use easier gear.
9.  Arrives at school too early to do anything but wait and breathe heavily.
10.  Confounds childcare worker who has also arrived to take child to her room.
11.  Retrieves bikes and tells child he can be the leader.
12.  Acknowledges that child has no earthly idea where his house is.
13.  Recognizes that the weatherman was right.  Divests self of jacket and sneaks it into child's backpack.
13.5 Ignores child when he complains that, "For some reason, my backpack feels heavier."
14.  Child stops to admire crack in the sidewalk.
15. Stops to admire sun.
16.  Stops to discuss dinosaur teeth.
17.  Stops to discuss favorite books.
18.  Mom deeply regrets that child's bike has no brake lights to give advance warning of child's abrupt stops.
19.  Acknowledges that child cannot ride in a straight line.
20.  Child stops because bike seat is hurting his privates.
21. Mom and child arrive home triumphantly 30 minutes after leaving the school which is 1 mile away.
22.  Mom and child celebrate their exercise by getting out the ice cream.
23.  Mom and child laugh when child realizes the bike seat wasn't the source of his discomfort.  Rather his backwards underwear was.

        

<< MORE >>

Mike's Hard Lemonade is a little misleading in its packaging.  When it first hit the market, Checkered and I didn't know it contained alcohol.  Could this situation have been handled better?  I think so!  Why didn't the security guard simply pour the alcohol out?  And was the ambulance necessary?  How about what happened to the child afterward?  I do get frightened at times at the overzealousness of the child protective services division.  Any thoughts about this story?

From the Detroit News:
Dad's Oversight Lands Son In Foster Care

ANN ARBOR, Mich. -- An Ann Arbor couple's 7-year-old son ended up in foster care over Mike's Hard Lemonade.

        

<< MORE >>

Friday evening arrived sunny and HOT and HUMID: perfect party weather.  My 8 year old cleaned like a crazy man, my 10 year old spent time theorizing about the details of crimes, my 6 year old dreamed of being allowed to decorate the house all by himself, the birthday girl panicked, decorated, decorated herself and kept in touch via text with every other 13 year girl in the county.  Checkered and I sweated, and cleaned, and pretended to be in control of everything.

Then the guests descended on our house.  Poodle skirts and bobby socks, hair in pony tails, Elvis and Chuck Berry serenading us, a houseful of young teens all with shiny new braces, lots of squeals and the party was underway.

Our theme was a reunion for the class of 1957.  The history was that two days before graduation, one of their classmates had been murdered!  The murder remained unsolved.  Two days before the reunion, another classmate was murdered.  The night before the reunion, another classmate lost her shopping mall to a huge fire.
It was a delicious night of mystery!

Who killed the first classmate?
Who killed the second classmate?
Who set that fire?

For hours, our party guests ate (notice the helpful waiters):




They bribed (no one was safe: BFF's, siblings, former teachers):



They blackmailed (it was a little alarming how quickly these girls learned to say, "I've got a dirty little secret about you.  $20 should keep me quiet for a while.") 



They threatened:



And they solved the two murders.  Unfortunately, the arsonist informed us after the detective left that she was guilty and had gotten away with it!  But 2 out of 3 is pretty good.

One of the goals for the night was to acquire lots of money.  Our money winner (who also turned out to be a double-murderer) ended the night with $500.  Some of the more innocents were blackmailed and mugged repeatedly and ended with nothing.


We were very impressed with how quickly the girls got into the story and their roles.  Even as they left for home, I made the mistake of calling the girls by their real names.  They refused to answer until I used their party names. We had muggings and assaults galore, but all in the name of keeping secrets secret.

Would I have another murder mystery party again?  Absolutely.  Would I use this particular one again? Maybe.
I know this picture is odd with all the mystery faces, but what I really want you to see is the absolute joy on my daughter's face.  It was a wonderful night. 

        

<< MORE >>

The idea was to celebrate her 13th birthday.  It's a big birthday and she's a good girl.  The trick, however, was to find a party idea not yet done by neighborhood girls.  The idea is originality without any originality.  Don't you remember being 13?

The options: 

Boys?  No. 'Nuff said.

Make-over?  Been there.  Done that. 

Slumber party.  17 girls?  No.

So in stepped a big mouth named Caution.  And this Caution person said, "I have the perfect idea!  We shall have a murder mystery party.  How hard could that be?"

And so, here we are the day of the party, and things are a mighty mess.

1st problem:
The murder mystery parties we found for teens typically were written for 8-10 girls.  The ad may have said up to 20 girls, but that meant that 8-10  girls had real parts, and the others were "extras."  Not good for a room full of insecurely, competitive 13 year olds.

2nd problem:
We then moved to the parties written for adults, but you can imagine what some of the themes were.  Not good for a room full of young, but trying not to be 13 year olds.

3rd problem:
We finally settled on a 1957 class reunion theme which promised to be very clean and appropriate for church groups.  I love that disclaimer.  It was user friendly and easy to download.  The problem was that it was written for couples.  Not a problem, thought that Caution person.  And she decided that she could rewrite all the boy parts and make all the couples into best friends.  So the character, Bobby, who owned an air conditioning company became Bobbie who also owns an air conditioning problem company (gender equity, you know.)

The rewriting quickly became an ISSUE when it was discovered how interwoven each character's history was with all the other characters.  So the former Bobby may have married Bonnie.  Then I learned that Bobby once kissed Sally.  Uh, okay....   Bonnie and Sally used to go for walks in the woods.  Then it turned out that when Bobby kissed Sally in the woods, Fran (who was dancing with her boyfriend Frankie) saw Bobby and Sally and fell instantly in love with Bobby and that's why she killed Sally all these years later. The trouble was that Fran married Markie who doesn't know anything, but that doesn't matter because Markie actually used to date Melanie who....

Capisce?

Now it's not simply a matter of changing a boy's name to a girl's.  Somehow the characters must be consistent with their genders (which must all be female.)  There can certainly be no romance (all we need is for some 13 year old girl to go home and announce that Mr. and Mrs. Flag had a murder mystery party where her character had a crush on another girl.)  And there must be a logical story line (interwoven as it is) tying each character to the others historically and currently.

In addition to that, the house must be transformed into a 1957-era setting.

I'm a mess.  The party is tonight and I can't keep each character's identify clear in my head.  Far beyond rewriting a few names, I've had to rewrite the entire murder mystery.  As a little extra "fun," the game company suggests that guests try to silence each other with the murder weapons I am to provide.  I know we'll be the headline in the newspaper tomorrow.

So tonight, think of that Caution person who so confidently declared that this party would be the best ever.  And think of her curled up in a fetal position right now.

        

<< MORE >>

Thanks for your support, blogosphere friends.  You make me smile, but I still don't know what to plant in that rock covered, Eastern exposure little garden area.  I suppose that I am feeling better knowing that you don't know much more than I do about this.  Checkered is going to be sad if I don't come up with something.

My kids are still snoozing as they have no school today.  However, one 8 year old I love is exceptionally loud this morning due to a lovely red ear drum, so he and I will spend this day off visiting the doctor.  You know what I like about the kids getting sick?  How often they tell me they love me.  That's kind of sick in itself, isn't it?

And lastly,  if you are thinking of traveling to the Congo with your beloved in the near future.  Read this first.  Here's a spoiler for you: the article is called, "Penis Theft Panic Hits City."

        

<< MORE >>

I need help.  Yes, I need lots of help.  In addition to any other help you may think I need, I also need landscaping help.




What was there:
I am in the process of deconstructing a portion of my backyard.  In this fairly small plot were:
3 or 4 forsythia
3 rose bushes
1 evergreen ground cover
2 bushes I don't have names for

They came with the house when we bought it 10 years ago, and were probably past their prime even then.  I have been periodically pruning and ripping out bushes, but this year I have decided to start anew.  The two remaining bushes you see will be gone this week.

The problem:
The problem is that I don't know what to plant. Big? Little? Lots? Green? Colorful? (I LOVELOVELOVE colorful) 1 item? 10 items? I know the local weatherman said not to plant anything for another month, but I need a plan

Sun:
The area faces the east so it gets some morning sun.  It will get more morning sun when we cut down our Emerald Ash Borer infested past-saving Ash trees *sob*

The area does get some mid-day sun, but no afternoon sun at all.

Size matters:
The area is 21 feet wide and 13 feet deep (which tapers to 2 feet deep)


Those pesky rocks:
The previous owners of the house followed a great landscaping trick of the '80's.  That means we have tons and tons of decorative rock.  We got rid of the rocks in the front yard by carting them all to the back yard (not much forethought went into that decision.)  Now I don't know what to do with all the back yard rocks.  I could:
1 - continue to drop one rock each day over the neighbors' fences
2-  continue to allow Ben the Beagle to eat one rock per week
3-  continue to put one bag of rocks in the trash per week
4-  continue to keep a purse full of rocks to creatively redistribute all over town

Each of those solutions should have the area cleared of rocks by early 2010.

Your job:
Please send some help this landscaping novice's way.  Please??  I had to pinky-swear to Checkered that this part of the yard would not remain barren all summer, and although I rarely take promises too seriously, I believe there could be consequences for breaking this one.

Thank-you !!

        

<< MORE >>

Do you remember the maturation movie from your elementary school days?  The one used in our district was horrible!  It was made in the 50's and was a lovely version of black and white.  The trembly orchestra music faded in and out and did the close up shots of the mother and daughter.  Here's what I remember most about that movie:

The meaningful non-verbal exchanges between mother and daughter, which were surpassed only by
The meaningful vacant stares from the mother, followed always by
The meaningful comment by the mother, "Sometimes I can't believe how much she's grown up."

The movie told us that the school nurse would help us and that was very meaningful since we didn't have a nurse in our entire school district.

At some point, the movie transitioned from a mother/daughter tale to a science lesson and then to celebration mode - all of which was entirely meaningful.

The movie ended and we were then threatened to keep this meaningful information secret from the boys.  Because if they found out...well, who knew what tragedies would transpire.  And being the very good girl I was, I hid my "gift bag" (what a disappointment that turned out to be) while more adventurous girls quickly turned the gift bags over to the boys on the school bus.  End of story.

Fast forward a few decades, and now I was invited to preview the maturation movies (yes, plural) my children would see.   The first movie was okay.  Cartoony characters in full color and graphic images.  This movie actually explained puberty in both genders.  That confused me because the maturation movie I  saw in 6th grade made it very clear that only girls went through puberty...  Anyway, back to the modern version.  The second movie was the "AIDS" movie.  It was only slightly less confusing than my own maturation movie.  As one mother said, "I'm so glad I saw the AIDS movie because now I know that if someone two classrooms over gets a nosebleed, we will all get AIDS."  Glad to know how clear the movies are these days.  And you know what else shocked me?  A man/male/non-female principal ran the preview for the parents.  Wow.  Progress.

Now onto the kids' viewing.  I am happy to say that the kids were segregated, but boys and girls saw the same movies.  No more secrets!  I am also happy to report that although one boy did pass out during the maturation movie and another ran from the room to throw up, my child sat calmly through the movie and was non-plussed at the information.  And that, my friends, is meaningful in its own way.

Next on the list is the 8th grade AIDS movie, part II.  Rumor has it that it is a doozy.  We shall see...

        

<< MORE >>

I believe that today should be, "Take your blog readers to work with you day."  Sometimes I forget that I'm not completely a SAHM (stay at home mom.) I guess I'm a ptsahptwahptwohm.  There.  Easy enough.  I'm a part-time stay at home, part-time work at home, part-time work outside the home mom.  Makes perfect sense to me.  I teach two courses per semester.  Unfortunately, the classes are in the English department.  Well, not that's not really unfortunate since my degrees are in English and I like it.  What's unfortunate is that English classes have lots of homework (essays) to grade.  So that means that I spend at least two hours per day at home grading papers.  So I'm home, but not really.   I love my job.  Reallyreallyreally love it, and I am not being sarcastic.  The very first time I taught a class way back when I was student teaching, I knew I was in love with teaching.  I still feel that way now.  So, come on.  Let's go to work!

It's 5 p.m. During the last two hours, my four children have been picked up from school, begun their homework, not eaten the dinner I prepared, and collected the materials or equipment they will need for their evening activities.  That would be soccer gear/piano books/dance stuff/scout stuff/Bible study stuff, et cetera.  Checkered has arrived home at some point in this process and there is a mad dash for the right kids to the right cars.  Actually, since I work during the evenings, all the kids head to Checkered's little bitty car and head to their activities and I get in my big car all by myself and leave for work.  There's real beauty to our system.

I have a work commute of exactly one mile.  Sometimes it seems just right and other times it's way too short.

Here we are!  Welcome to my evening home away from home.

This is the faculty parking lot which has been conveniently placed right next to the buildings.  It is designed to please those faculty/staff members who appreciate retaining a little extra wiggly jiggly in their walks. 


Now look this way and you will see my building.  It's a lovely architectural design.  Notice the short college students to the left.  Aren't they cute?  They just had their fist fight interrupted by their annoyed mother a certain astute English prof.



First stop, the faculty mailboxes.  Over the span of a school year, there will be hundreds of bribes, love letters, and offers of full-time work late essays placed surreptitiously into my mailbox. 


At last, the classroom!  My students are quite shy about having their photos taken.  Notice how they turn away from the camera.  Where, you ask, are the other 18 students?  Well, of course, it is 71 degrees outside.  Enough said.  It is also 6:35.  Class began only five minutes ago.  They'll drift in eventually.  Chillax!




I  understand that I have been a bit tough on school teachers of late.  There was some crazy reference to movie watching.  Anyway, what will those students be doing in Dr. Caution's class tonight?  Is that a television?????
To be technical, the television is playing a movie.  A MOVIE DURING SCHOOL!!! Okay, we are studying visual argument/film criticism.  So of course we had to watch John Q in class before the students could present their projects.  Please notice that there is no sexual activity taking place among the students.  That, in itself, is a victory.


Break time!!! Yeah!!! Let's head out the healthy snack-bar.  3 Musketeers or Fritos??  Choices!


Break time's over.  Please be sure that your trash in disposed of in the ......



Where is the trashcan?  Did someone really steal my trashcan?  You've got to be kidding me...


Hey!  There's my colleague, Professor Really Nice Guy.  He's a true intellectual and his brain used to scare me when we took an online training course together.  Then I learned he is not only super smart, but super kind.  (Are you appreciating my expanded vocabulary here?)


There's another colleague, Professor I-Run-Marathons-and-Still-Teach-at-Two-Colleges-and-Have-a-Family-and-am-a-Very-Popular-Teacher.  Her name is a little tough to say quickly, but she is the kind of colleague every person deserves to work with at least once in a lifetime because she is simply lovely.

 


Well, class is over.  Another evening well-spent with Dr. Caution.  Time to retire to my spacious office and reflect.



I share this work-space with 34 other teachers.  If we ever all show up at the same time, there's going to be a problem.

Time to think of home.  There are lunches to pack, outfits to pick for tomorrow, agendas to be signed, faces to kiss, and emergencies to handle ("I forgot to tell you that my teacher said you need to make play do for tomorrow."  "Did you remember that I have to have a ______ [supply any random color not currently in your house] shirt for tomorrow?"  "Did you ever call Mrs. So and So  back today?  She said it was an emergency.")

Just another evening in the life of this ptsahptwahptwohm.  It works pretty well for me

        

<< MORE >>

Years ago, I loved the music of John Michael Talbot.  I think I was intrigued by his vows as a lay monk.  I also genuinely liked some of the music.  A few weeks ago, I rediscovered his music.  I had put him out of my mind entirely for the last 20 years, so the rediscovery was a shock.  How could I have forgotten something for 20 years?  How did I get this old? But this reacquaintance has been wonderful.  I am now over the fascination with his monk life, and more intrigued by the way he sings scripture and other spiritual concepts.

The following words are from a prayer by St. Teresa of Avila, and they have been set to music by Talbot.
These words have come to mean a great deal to me recently as I am working at acknowledging that I don't have to plot out in minute detail every aspect of my life or the lives of my children.  At first the phrase, God alone is enough, seemed too simple, then it became a challenge for me.  I think I am somewhere now between it being a challenge and a comfort.   As I've spent time with these words, different parts of the prayer have spoken to different parts of my life. 

God alone is enough:  what a glorious, glorious concept!

So let nothing trouble you,
and let nothing frighten you,
for everything passes,
but God will never change.

Patient endurance
will obtain everything.
Whoever has God wants for nothing at all.

God alone is enough.
God alone is enough.
Whoever has God,
Wants for nothing at all.

        

<< MORE >>

I've read some blogs recently where the writers complain about their towns being boring and unexciting.  To prove these writers wrong, I thought we should examine some other American towns.  Let's start in Detroit.

Long known as the Motor Capital of the World, things are looking a little troubled these days. 

Did you know that:

Detroit is the most dangerous city in America?
Detroit is home of America's Nazi party?
Detroit is one of the most impoverished cities in America?
Detroit has one of the highest child malnutrition levels in America?
There are some neighborhoods where the USPS (one of my BFF's) will not provide residential mail delivery because the neighborhoods are too dangerous?
That fewer than 25% of students attending Detroit Public Schools actually graduate from high school?

Now, I don't know about you, but it sounds to me like Detroit is a happenin' place.  Need more convincing?

Try this:

The mayor of Detroit allegedly had a party at his city-provided mansion.  The party included lots of fun-family activities for this married father of four.  Some of the fun was provided by the strippers.  When Mrs. Mayor arrived home, she attacked one stripper so brutally that the stripper required medical attention.

When the police were called to quell the storm and began to investigate, they were honored for their honesty and promoted  summarily fired.

At some point later, the stripper who was beginning legal activities toward some above-named individuals, was murdered.  Some Detroit media speculate that Detroit police were involved.

Enough yet?  Moving to Detroit as soon as possible?  Let's continue:

Although the mayor denied that he was having a romantic relationship with his chief of staff and lied under oath about it, the 12,000 text messages they exchanged and which revealed their relationship and other news, eventually were made public.  When those messages first threatened to come to light, a pay-out of 9 million dollars was made to keep the info "under wraps."  Who paid the 9 million?  The impoverished citizens of the city.

What??? You need more convincing??? 

The mayor has since been indicted, but he won't step down from his post because he is on a "mission from God" to lead his great city.  The poor Lord.

And how about this week's city council meeting where one member wore a princess dress and tiara because it was her birthday?



There's more.  Much more, but I'll stop now because I am getting all confused.

But not all Detroit news is bad.  The city has stopped its citizens from trying to burn large portions of the city down every Halloween Eve (aka Devil's Night.)  And don't forget the new casinos where the homeless are often seen working the slot machines.

There really are some good things about Detroit.  There are renovated museums and big-time sports venues, and other tourist-worthy attractions.  However, when Detroit is googled, these stories I've mentioned will be the first hits on the results page. 

So next time you get dissatisfied with your town, think how it could be worse.  You could be living in Detroit.

P.S.  Like the title?  It's a slogan seen on shirts in the city.  Point of pride thing.

        

<< MORE >>

One of my favorite things is caller i.d.  Now, I don't like it when someone I'm calling has it and answers the phone, "Hi Caution!"   I do, however, like it when I have it and you-know-who calls.  Enough there.  I also don't like it when I see these in my phone display....
            "Neighborhood Elementary School calling..."
                                            or
               "Neighborhood Middle School calling..."

They call me a lot.  It's not to hire me or to ask my advice on grammar.  They do call to tell me:

my child thinks he's going to throw up,
my child thinks he's going to faint,
my child feels "shaky"
my child missed the bus,
my child made a mistake in judgment.

Here was last week's call,

Teacher: Your child is missing an assignment and final grades are due at 3:00.
Caution: I will look for it here.
Teacher:  It's worth 100 points.  I don't know what to do.
Caution: Okay, that would devastate her grade.  We'll find it.  I promise!
Teacher: Let me know if you find it.  This is a serious problem. Did I mention that final grades are due at 3:00??!!


When the call ended, I felt so bubbly and joyous I almost couldn't contain it all.

The house was searched.  Nothing.  The backpack was searched.  Nothing.  The "No name paper' box in the classroom was searched.  Nothing.

My child was in a panic.  I was in a panic.  There was ample yelling and crying and blaming.  It was a lovely mother/daughter bonding time.  All my child knew was that she had turned the assignment in one month previously.  Then again, she's thought that before. 

I sent an email to the teacher saying the paper was not here, but that my child said it had been submitted.

Some time later came the return email,

"Sorry to panic you.  The assignment was found here. She did quite well."

I am tired of not being happy when I look at caller i.d. and see that a school is calling.

So here's my solution to that problem.  I think that every teacher should be required to call each student's parents once a year to say,

"Your child is nice."
               or
"Your child has worked really hard this week and deserves some ice cream."
               or
"You are obviously an amazing parent I'm glad your child is in my class this year."

I know the teachers will say they don't have the time, but here's another suggestion. You know how my kids watch lots of movies during school?  (One every two weeks - even on days that are sunny and 70 degrees???)Don't stop watching them.  Instead, when you push that play button on the dvd player, pick up the phone and starting dialing.   When I answer with trepidation in my voice, say,
 
"No, he's not sick, injured, in trouble or missing something.  What he does happen to be is one great kid."

        

<< MORE >>

I love spring and fall but they bring me tremendous conflict at times.  The conflict is not about the allergens bombarding the earth and my family's sinus cavities.  It is not about time changes (something I really don't appreciate.)  It is not about going back to school or ending the school year.  My conflict is about clothing.  Well, no it's not.  It's really about footwear.

Here's the thing.  I am quite sympathetic toward toes.  It's not like mine are well-kept or pampered, but I think too many people mistreat their toes.  For example, let's say it's the middle of summer.  In this region that means we have humidity and temps in the 80's.  It's weather that begs the question of confusing clothing.  Do I dress for the heat of outside or dress for the arctic air of the central air conditioning? 

Do I:

1 - tan and beg for melanoma (but settle for more freckles and melanoma instead)?
2 - use my sunless tanning lotion and proceed through the next week with lovely orange streaks?
3 - rob a bank and get a spray on tan which will last for a very few days and, according to my teen-age spray on tanning hostess, possibly leave me slightly orange???
4 - head into my public appearances with winter clothing to cover my glow-in-the-dark white skin?

It's tough because all the choices pretty much stink.

Then there's the shoes and mistreated toes.  I think that it's a complete tragedy when I see summer toes encased in heavy winter shoes.  The toes are suffocating in there already.  Let them out!!!

So now we're back to the fact that it's finally spring weather here in the Flag family locale.  That means we've had a handful of days with temps at 50 or above.  That means that it hasn't snowed since Easter week-end.  That means I need winter shoes in the morning, summer shoes in the mid-day, and winter shoes at night.  What I need is transitional foot-wear.

So off to DSW I go.  Now if you haven't been blessed with a DSW shoe store near you, I must apologize.  It is a 
warehouse (Designer Shoe Warehouse) of shoes that are beautiful and almost always in my size and the rows go on forever and ever!  Okay, I'll stop.

Anyway, I go to DSW every spring and fall looking for transitional footwear.  I need transitional shoes to wear while I drive my children to school and pick them up from school.  I need transitional shoes to wear while I grocery shop for organic foods.  I need transitional shoes to wear while I eat ice cream and grade my students' essays. 

What I see is this:


And this:


Not a carpooling/buy some milk type of shoe -- at least for me.

And not a transitional shoe in there.  *sigh*

Here are two other reasons I am conflicted about DSW:

1.  Why do they have so many pairs of shoes missing one shoe (always the right).  Is there a one-footed person out there shoplifting right shoes at my DSW?
2.  What's with the ear piece communication devices the clerks wear?  Inevitably, I will be talking to one and while I am asking where the right shoe is, she will begin to talking while looking at me.  What she will say is something like this:
"How many bonus rewards do you have?"

I will respond,
"I think I have one coupon, but I left it home."

The clerk:
"I have 10."

Me:
"That's good??  Um, about the right shoe..."

The clerk:
"I need you to run a scan on...."

After I realize that she not offering to hire me, I do realize she is talking NOT TO ME, but to her little wire which is connected to her ear piece.  The weird thing?  She has not broken eye contact with me the entire time, nor did she apologize when compelled to start talking to someone else AFTER she asked if she could assist me.

Yes, DSW, I am very conflicted.

 

        

<< MORE >>

I am conflicted in multiple ways.  Because there are so many wiser and clear-thinking people in the blogoshere, I've decided to share some of these conflicts with you in the hopes that you will help me unconflict.  Deal?

Today's conflict revolves around organic consumer products. 

When I first became aware of consumer foods, I really thought they were just another gimmick designed to separate me from my paycheck.  I  thought that organic was synonymous with designer, synthetic, belonging to the "rich" part of town just like the full-size Hummers and the brand new Jaguars. (Hey, when did the pronunciation of that car change from Jag-waar to Jag-u-ar??)

Then, much to my chagrin, these same organic products began to be sold under store brand labels.  Now I can buy Kroger organic butter, Kroger organic milk, Kroger organic whatever.  Unfortunately, these organic store brands are still more expensive than the non-organic store brands.

        

Here is my limited knowledge of organic:  I know it means that the product was farmed/made/grown without the use of chemicals.  I also know that some of these growth hormones and other chemicals are wreaking havoc with children's growth and development, so organic milk and meats (and eggs?) make sense to me.  I also know that Checkered's cousin was going to transition her farm to an organic farm, but couldn't find enough local distributors to justify her costs.  I guess that means that any organic product is going to cost me more.

This week I saw organic cotton pajamas at the store.  There were also organic cotton sheets.  The packaging told me that I would love their softness and natural comfort, but do I really need organic pajamas?  Maybe the rule would be that if I am ingesting it, organic is good?

What is your opinion of organic products?  Do you buy organic food products? If so, what?   Do you buy organic non-food products?

If you could help un-conflict me, I would be most appreciative.