Poetic Glow

I love my job! I love working alongside teachers. I love collaborating. I love teaching. I love problem-solving. I love learning together. However, there are certain times that I am homesick for the classroom. For the past two days I have set up residence in a fifth grade writing class. Each day I have entered class giddy at the prospect of seeing young ten year olds develop into enthusiastic poets. I think the teacher was skeptical. I knew otherwise. And just as predicted, their excitement for this genre bubbled up and out of them like an overflowing root beer float. They were inspired and desperate to share their creations with anyone who might listen to them; a silent writing environment was out of the question. As I looked around the room, there was a poetic glow shining from students’ faces. I miss that. However, as I chatted with the teacher about the lesson, it was her poetic glow, her willingness to take some risks, her excitement at the prospect of this genre that was just as rewarding as a classroom full of children. I love my job!

Addendum to March 8th post: My work pile has been filed, boys' laundry is in their drawers (minus socks - I hate socks), kitchen is clean (thank God for my mate), mail is sorted (thank God for a sister I can chat with while completing such a mundane task), pile of laundry is smaller - but still waiting:)

Unraveling....

My eyes pop open at 5:26 this morning and the first thought in my head was, "How am I going to clean up that gigantic pile on my desk today?" Last night I stayed late to try and make sense of the mess, but ended up only shuffling the papers around my desk. I left with idea that although my desk was a mess, I would go home and return my kitchen to a state of order.

I ponder my work piles as I stumble into our master bathroom, stepping over (and a little on) a mound of dirty laundry. We've strategically placed it there to motivate us to keep at it. Before hopping into the shower I head to the living room to check the weather on my phone. I push aside the overflowing stack of mail before locating it. The folded laundry is still laying in and around the clothes basket, it hasn't quite found its way into the boys' drawers. And a half loaded dishwasher waiting for the breakfast and dinner dishes from the past two days. (My master “leave work to do more work” plan was unsuccessful.)

Since starting my writing challenge, my routine has been knocked on its side. Typically, after putting the kids to bed my day is done. I have just enough energy left to get in my comfies and call it quits. On a good day I push myself to straighten the living room before falling onto the couch for some mindless entertainment. But now, I drag myself over to my computer to create 'brilliant' works of art. It's not helping that each day I walk aimlessly up and down rows of students proctoring 'the test.' This new routine is causing my mental state to unravel a bit. Hours of reflecting and planning, without any time (or energy) to actually accomplish all that I have reflected and planned on – is wearing me down.

So today, instead of getting ready for work I stand in my bathroom writing on my phone. I have no great remedy for my crazy new routine, other than to embrace the sacrifice and enjoy my passion. The piles and stacks will soon be forgotten. The hours of writing and reading will be a part of me forever.

Delightful Detour

Tonight was not a typical slice of life writing for me. Greyden announced at dinner that he wanted to create a book, a chapter book, with pictures and words. While I stapled computer paper together, he began pulling out coloring supplies from our marker drawer. After a few minutes of drawing, Zakariah joined in by adding colorful sketches of red and blue birds. Once Grey was satisfied with his pictures he hopped up on my lap and began to narrate tales of horrible Harry, ladies and birds. That’s the beauty of four, the ideas flow naturally, no care for word choice or repetitive sentence starters – imagination is the only requirement for a successful story. I transitioned from the story of poor Harry to transcribing a detailed description of Zak’s newly coveted game, “Angry Birds”. Cutting and pasting ideas to create one cohesive paragraph explaining the object of this exciting new game. Not the writing night I had envisioned, soooo much better than anything I had planned for myself. It’s nights like this that cause me to inhale long deep breaths of contentment. So divine!

A Taste of Days to Come

Early this morning, before the sun lifted its rays across the horizon, I caught my first real whiff of it. I’m sure you inhaled and understood too. Spring – it sent it’s fragrance through the air and lingered in my mind all day long. As I made my quick little trip to work, a red excavator effortlessly scooped fresh clean dirt from the side of the road. The bag of potting soil I spotted in a third grade classroom reminded me that soon there will be pots to fill with life and vibrancy. Sunshine kissed my cheeks as I navigated the neighborhood over the lunch hour. A woman, wearing pink gardening gloves, raked and trimmed her flowerbed to unveil the tiny yellow flowers peaking from the ground. Our park across the street from our home overflowed with activity; children climbing trees, mothers chatting as they walked the path, and young ones swinging and sliding with glee. Today renewed and invigorated my vision for the beauty of life; it caused my soul to stir with dreams of days to come.

Six Tired = One Exhausted Lady

Tired.

I stayed up too dang late

reading blogs

writing a blog

Tired.

Ate French dip

for dinner

Thanks to a friend

Tired.

Folded laundry

Left it spread across the floor

Maybe it will magically disappear

Tired.

Overly concerned

That yesterday

Was the best writing I have to offer

Tired.

Would rather

Be enjoying ice cream

Than writing for my blog

Tired.

Good night.

More Than China Patterns and Gravy Boats

My mate and I, we’ve been married for fifteen years. For some that seems like a blink of an eye, but for the ones living it – it’s long (can’t hardly remember life without him). During the early years of our marriage, many of my friends were getting married too. I attended lots of wedding and bridal showers in preparation for the big day. It was so exciting to see the gifts being uncovered from the silvery wrapping paper and oversized bows. Bridal showers were a time to celebrate and reminisce about my wedding event too. Each gift was a realization of the dream becoming a reality.

But as time went by we transitioned from bridal to baby. The dream shifted from marriage to family. And with it, the fine art of buying baby gifts – one ducky baggie holder, it is the perfect size for your diaper bag & you always have something to put those “diapers-on-the-go” in. Second, a plastic picture book – you can slide pictures in of important people in your precious one’s life. These can be found at Target near the teething toys. Then, depending on boy or girl you find the cutest outfit possible. If I’m being practical I purchase something in the 9 – 12 months, but if I see an “I’ll eat you up, you look so cute in this!” girl outfit, I get it in the birth to 3 month size. Then to top off the gift, I search for the perfect board book. It just wouldn’t be right for the teacher to give a gift that did not include a book.

Today I went to a bridal shower. It’s probably been about ten years since I’ve been to one. Prior to the party, I set out to find a gift. I went up and down the kitchen aisles, admiring platters, pitchers and interesting kitchen gadgets. Since it had been so long since I had done this, I decided that I would purchase things that I would really enjoy having in my own well-worn kitchen. Once I settled on a few brightly colored items, I headed to the wrapping and card section. I picked out a gift bag covered in brightly covered circles and a simple card of congratulations.

It wasn’t until after I was headed home that I remembered that there was a difference between a bridal and wedding shower. Was I going to a bridal or wedding one? Was my gift appropriate? Would I be the oddball who gave cutting knives instead of frilly underwear? Should I go back? Oh, the stress of it all! After much deliberation, and counsel, I decided to go with my original purchase.

As I settled into the couch to watch the bride open gifts, I smiled as her eyes sparkled with glee as she unwrapped the china she and her young beau had selected for their soon-to-be home. The day was filled with delight at the prospect of starting a life together. However, instead of dreaming about my own young marriage, I reflected. Our marriage has taken us beyond the idealism of our youth, and into the wisdom of our years. Years filled with amazing moments of beauty and pain. Tears of joy and tears of angst. Years of learning each other, and loving each other – sometimes, in spite of what we learn. Times of being near and times of distance. Years of shaping and molding ourselves – individually and as a couple. Times of birth and times of grieving. I am so grateful that after fifteen years of marriage I have a mate who loves me, and whom I love.

I know that marriage is more than gravy boats and cutting boards, but sometimes those things are fun, so tonight we pulled out our “fancy” wine glasses and pretty plates in celebration of our not-so-young love.

The "Perfectly" Imperfect Routine

“Today, I will strive to go with the flow.

I will strive for harmony with my own needs and the needs of others.”

 – Melody Beattie

Our little family has a Saturday morning routine. The boys get up early and play Legos in their room. Their battles and creations usually wake us up. We lay in bed. I begin creating a mental list for the day – I need to clean the house (top to bottom) while my perfectly content children play, grocery shop, take a shower, have lunch with a friend, go for a walk, shop for some new clothes, paint the bedroom, make a new plan for losing ten pounds in ten days, write, read, finish some unfinished schoolwork – and take a nap. All while feeling no motherly guilt for doing everything I want to do, and ignoring my sons’ needs. Fortunately for my mate, he typically works on this day.

By the time I actually get out of bed my internal organs are tight and my heart is tense. Now, I know that my expectations are completely unrealistic and unattainable. So, I begin the process of taking myself back off the ledge, hoping to do this without any family member losing a limb in the process. I take deep breathes and head to the kitchen. The children have made several demands of, “I’m hungry!” To which I reply, “How could you ask me a polite question?” I pour cereal (with and without milk), make toast, get drinks. I sit with them and make attempts to engage in their young conversation, trying my best to ignore the kitchen that looks like it’s been untouched for days. Once their needs are met I send them off to watch morning cartoons.

Now for me. I pull out the small frying pan. As the oil heats in the pan I open up the raisin English muffin and slide it into the toaster. The crack of the egg causes me to breathe just a bit slower. After adding a bit of salt and pepper to the pan, I turn to my beverage selection. Since I’m trying to be better about making healthy choices I grab my red mug and fill it with warm tea. However, I can feel the tension in my fingertips, so after a couple sips I decide it’s not quite enough. It doesn’t take me long to find my tall sturdy tumbler and fill it with cold bubbly diet coke. The mixture of fizzing soda and a sizzling egg cause a slight smile to cross my lips. I’ll try again tomorrow to make a healthy choice.

Today, I accidentally dropped my ear buds for my iPod into my tea, overcooked my egg, made another one, and dropped my iPod on the floor (twice). But, whatever – the routine must go on.

Once my breakfast dance is done, I settle myself at the end of our table. I’ve collected my stack of books and journals that I like to read during this time. Books that remind me of who I am and what I believe, journals that are filled with quotes and Saturday morning thoughts, and blank pages waiting for me to share my latest joys and sorrows. I pop in my headphones and begin listening to my choice Pandora radio station.

It is this routine that transitions me from a work week, past unrealistic expectations, to a weekend that is filled with (hopefully) realistic plans. Time to love on family, return the home to some semblance of normal, relax and care for self – and breathe. Long, deep, cleansing breathes.

Not a perfect routine, but a routine non-the-less.