First Day of First Grade

I want to cry.  I am not going to cry.  I am totally crying.  I must not cry.  I am o.k.  I am all done crying. 

...I am going to cry again.   

 I am crying maybe a little bit.  I am all done with the tears... I am not all done with the tears.

Look!  He looks so at ease!  He was all smiles and excitement this morning.  He bounded into our bedroom at 6:40 am completely dressed and wearing his backpack.  Mama!  Wake up!  Do you want to get a LATE PASS?  Get up!  Let's go!

I promised him we would not get a late pass this morning, and we didn't.  It was easier today than it was last year. We had old friends to meet again and we knew the routine.  Don't park there, walk to the back of the school not the front, the teacher will blow the whistle five minutes before the bell rings.  All the little things that get lost in the big thing of starting school.  This time, we were pros, Jay and I.  We got to school in plenty of time.  We chatted with his friends and the other parents.  I took fewer pictures and Jay never hesitated for a second.  He found his locker, found his seat, gave me a huge hug and a confident wave and then turned his attention to the classroom.

I am all done with the tears.  No... I am not.  But I am o.k.

To do: update blog

This is totally on my to-do list.  Granted it’s like, item number 516, but whatever.  Point is, it’s on there.  And I didn’t strike it off like I did some things in a rare moment of clarity, when I realized that things cannot stay on your to-do list for years at a time.  They simply cannot.  At some point, you just have to let them go. Like dusting or  balancing your checkbook.

Kidding.  I totally dust.  

Kidding again.  Chris dusts.  I complain about the dust.  

Anyhoo, summer is coming to a close and I realize with incredible guilt that:

1) We have not gone on a real vacation, so Jay will have nothing to report on when he has to write the “What I did for summer vacation” essay this year.  But that is o.k. because he won’t have anything to write the essay with anyway, because buying school supplies is like item 987 on my to-do list. See how I am a problem solver like that?  

2) I did not blog about Ella’s birthday.  Despite the fact that she is my favorite daughter, and she turned the big one vee (roman numerals always make something more important.  Google “Olympics” or “Super Bowl” or “film copyright dates.”) I did not manage to get a single post about how awesome she is.  Rest assured, she is awesome and she celebrated three different times and was well sugared up for the entire birthday week.  By the third celebration she did ask if she was still four, or if this actually made her six, instead?

3) Awe, screw it.  I always feel guilty.  I was raised Catholic and am an environmentalist.  Guilt is my currency.  

I sat down tonight to crack out the lengthy to-do list that has been keeping me up late at night.  Funny that  how no matter how tired you are, the random things you need to complete will keep you awake, dancing around in your head painfully like my dad at a polka concert.  No offense, Dad.  (Do they have polka concerts?) 

Right.  So, in other news, Jack is taking his first steps.  It occurred to me that I should record that.  That at some point, he, or I, or his future spouse, or an FBI agent will want to know when he took his first steps, and I should record that somewhere.  Totally. 

Crap.  Where? 

I can’t find a freaking pen that works or a pencil with a point or a pencil sharpener or a sheet of paper without concentric coffee mug circles.

Ah, here!  On this blog!  Be so noted, world, that Jack took his first steps.  Recently.  Like a monthish or so ago.  Or, maybe not that long ago.  Maybe more like a couple of weeks ago?  Like soonish, but not yesterdayish. 

He’s up to about six steps at a time and is on the move constantly now.  Which means we’re all on the move, too, as we follow the newly toddling toddler. 

And now on to item number 517 (crawl into bed before sleeping baby wakes up.)  Speaking of sleeping babies, please go read this: Honest Toddler: I'm Sorry.  I laughed so hard it nearly made me pee (item numbers 324 and 712, respectively).

Sometimes late at night I lay awake in bed thinking about the world’s problems

I stare up at the ceiling or at the shadows on the wall and try to unravel it all in my head. And sometimes I quietly slip out of bed, kiss Jack on the top of the head and sneak out of the bedroom to write. That doesn’t happen very often, especially recently. Mostly, I ponder the world’s problems silently in my head while Jack nurses and Chris sleeps beside me.

But it has been too long since I have written, and my worries are too heavy for shadows to carry away. Tonight I got out of bed, kissed Jack on the top of the head and snuck out of the bedroom to boot up the computer.

Every Friday afternoon, I leave work at 1 pm and make my way to Jay’s school. I sign in at the office and head to his classroom where I spend the rest of the school day volunteering. I read with kids, I help with math and writing and free choice. I pick up stray crayons and stuff mailboxes and make photocopies. I clean up blocks and give hugs and hand out glue sticks. It is nothing extraordinary.

Nothing extraordinary, yet a complete reality check. I highly recommend that everyone with school aged children volunteer in their kid’s classroom. You’ll come home with this one simple truth: teachers work hard. Really fucking hard.

Jay’s teacher is remarkable. From early in the morning to late afternoon his calm demeanor and easy smile gives Jay a solid grounding and an even greater openness to learning. But Jay's teacher also spends a disproportionate amount of time with about five to seven of the same children day in and day out, dealing with behavior problems. They hit, kick, push, punch, mock, spit at, slap and scream at each other and the other kids. My heart aches to think that Jay falls victim to them from time to time. They’ve called the principal in. The principal has called their parents, only to receive such enlightened and supportive responses as, “Why you callin’ me again? That’s not my problem. School is school. That’s your problem. I don’t call you on the weekends when he don’t behave at home.”

I barely know where to start. When my next door neighbor whose daughter is in the same classroom and who also volunteers in the classroom showed up for her first volunteer day, she returned home in tears. The classroom, at maximum capacity with 21 kids in one kindergarten class, is a madhouse. Again, I want to take the time to praise Jay's teachers. They are fantastic teachers who are maxed out with behavior problems. But in my months of volunteering, I’ve seen firsthand the difference that parenting makes for individual kids, the classroom and by transitive property, for society.

I used to think the value we placed on parenting was overrated. Sure, parents need to provide a certain level of care and feeding, but eventually everyone grows up and adults have to be responsible for their own behavior. No one gets to keep pinning the blame on mom and dad’s parenting mishaps for the rest of their lives. And I still think that’s mostly true. But after becoming a parent of a kid in school, I gained an acute appreciation for the role parents play in shaping the world. And then I began staying up late at night, eyes wide with worry.

The value we place on parenting isn’t overrated. It is nearly all there is. Parenting is where it starts. It is the foundation of our schools, our community, our society. Our world.

Sitting in Jay’s classroom, I bet I can predict who, in twenty years will have a college diploma and who will have a rap sheet. It is akin to watching a slow motion train wreck. There are kids in his classroom who don’t get talked to at home, except when being yelled at. Kids that don’t have books at home. Kids that even when they have books at home don’t get read to. Kids that get threatened with physical violence at home and parrot those same ugly words to their classmates. To my son. Kids that truly rely on the school’s breakfast and lunch to satisfy their nutritional needs on an ongoing basis. These are not clichés. These are students who I talk with every Friday afternoon.

Instinctually, I want to pull Jay out of this school and move him to a school where the parents are highly involved, well educated, concerned about their kid’s behavior and motivated to help their kid succeed. But I know that while that might solve my immediate concerns, it won’t get at the bigger problem. It won’t help the other kids who can’t switch schools, it won’t help the teachers, it won’t help the school. And mostly, it won’t help those kids who are the perpetrators at school, but who are probably the victims at home .

But then Jay gets shoved or punched by one of these kids, and I think, screw it. We’re out of here. I’ll build him a cocoon and protect him from the mean kids on the playground and teach him to care for and respect all living things and…and…and…what? Walk in front of him for the rest of his life to make sure that he never steps on anything sharp or slips in a puddle? Go on job interviews with him to make sure the interviewer is being fair? Argue with his college professors over his grades?

Sigh.

The best lesson I can impress on him is the value of love. I’d like him to be a great reader. I’d love him to love math. I’d be thrilled if he had a knack for spelling or writing or science. But above all, the most important lesson I want him and Ella and Jack to learn from me is the power and the value of love and with that, the ability to emphasize with their fellow human beings. I am not fooling myself into thinking that a few hugs and more smiling will solve all of the world’s problems. But if every parent was on board with modeling and teaching the lesson of love, I guarantee you we’d have more college diplomas and fewer rap sheets.

And I'd be sleeping tonight, instead of watching the shadows on the wall.

We made it!

We made it through our first day of school...

To make sure this day was extra special, Ella and I got busy baking surprise first day of school cupcakes today:

I think they were a hit...

Kindergarten!

“Mama! Mama! Wake up! You have to wake up! It’s my first day of school!” And so the day began with Jay running into our bedroom, already fully dressed and carrying his backpack. “WE HAVE TO GO! We have to go! I don’t wanna be late!”

He was joyous and crazy excited, but I had to hide under the covers until I could stop sniffling. I got out of bed, grinning only because of his irrepressible grin. Yes, buddy. It’s your first day of school.

Game on.

I want to remember everything about this day. I want to remember how he asked me to brush his teeth because I do a better job and he wanted his teeth to be really, really clean for today. I want to remember how he looked wearing his new backpack and button up shirt and holding his Lightening McQueen lunchbox. How the grass glistened with the morning dew as we walked through the field to school and it got his new red sneakers all wet but he didn’t even notice because he was so excited. How our next door neighbors were there with their little girl, Ava, and how we discovered that our kids are in the same classroom this year. How exuberant he looked as we walked inside the building together. How their teacher tapped a drum to call the kids to Circle Time and they flocked to him. How proud I felt of him. How nervous I felt. How so not nervous he felt.

Here, in nearly stop motion animation is our first day at school:

Walking to school:


Our school, Sandburg Elementary:
Arrival at the school. Me, willing the tears to subside.
Testing out the new playground before the start of school:

Jay: "Can Ella play, too?"

Walking over to the classroom:

A few fleeting moments of uncertainty before the final move into the classrooom:

Discovery of our next door neighbor, Ava, and her family:

"Yeah, I guess I am ready, Daddy"

Peering inside the classroom:
Deep breath. Now we start the walk into the building.


Note the other parents outside:
Ava and Jay sitting together:


So. Pumped.

New teacher, Mr. Thao:


He plays the drums. He is the coolest EVER.


Jay: I am immensely proud of you. You are going to rock the world.


World: Take care of my little boy. He still can’t tie his shoes and sometimes he needs help buttoning his pants.

Tomorrow we will have a kindergartener.

Our lives will forever be changed as we become subject to the world of school schedules and peer pressure and homework (do kindergarteners have homework? I do not know.) I am also incredibly apprehensive because soon the jig will be UP. Soon Jay will learn that other kids get cupcakes and sugar cookies in their lunchbox not just wheatberries and dandelion salads or whatever. Soon he will learn about video games and that some kids have televisions IN THEIR OWN house, not just at their grandma and grandpa's. He may even learn that Cheetos are something people actually eat, instead of throw in campfires.

While Jay is alternately nonchalant and crazy excited, I am alternately weepy and neurotic. All of my weaknesses and insecurities are dancing about in my head as I lay down at night, going over his school supply list for the hundredth time to make sure I have picked up everything and wondering what we should pack him for lunch in his new Lightening McQueen lunch box. What if we are late for the first day of school? What if his teacher is like that one I heard about in the news who sold her student’s winter coats on E-bay only to get busted by a parent who went searching for a replacement only to find her own kid’s coat for sale? What if the snacks are full of high fructose corn syrup and blue lake #5? What if all the other kids are playing Crocodiles and Parakeets, but Jay doesn’t know what that is because I just made it up right now? What if the other parents don’t like meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee?

I am, as I have detailed in earlier posts, not so good about getting to places on time. Five minutes late? Heck, I’m early. Ten minutes late? Right on time. Fifteen minutes late? Eh. Twenty minutes late? What? Why is everyone staring at me? Do I have spinach in my teeth?

So, it was with no small amount of concern to learn that Jay’s school ends at 3:17. Like, not even a round number. I can’t really fudge that pick up time when they have identified the time with such precision. And here’s the other problem: which time piece should I rely on come the start of school? The microwave, which is three minutes faster than the oven, which is six minutes faster than my watch, but only four minutes faster than the clock on the dining room wall?

Here’s another thing: they expect us to drop him off outside. Outside! As in, not inside at his classroom. Outside, where there will be one teacher to watch over who knows how many kids on the play ground. No one to clock him in or take a ticket or get a sign-off from or whatever. We are just expected to drop him off at the school playground and expect that at 8:30 this teacher will be able to round up gobs of five and six year olds and herd them into their classrooms. Geez, I mean, what could POSSIBLY go wrong?

And also, school shopping. Dude. Shopping for school supplies is a test devised by the school system to determine how smart parents are, in order that they may place children in correlating and probably permanent class rankings. It is clearly a re-visitation of those math word problems that we all hated in school. Example: “Bobby needs three boxes of crayons, twelve pocket folders, one pair of scissors, one three-ring binder, two bottles of glue, twelve glue sticks and a box of markers in order to have a good school year and thus pave the way for a strong academic career and ensure that he does not end up panhandling on the east side off- ramp of I-95. Considering your budget, the value of your time, the price of gas, and your level of vulnerability to impulse purchases, determine the best way to purchase school supplies without going bat shit crazy.”

Seems simple enough.

I took that list to an office supply store and for approximately eleventy hundred dollars bought everything on the list. Done.

Then I went across the street to the grocery store for a gallon of milk and promptly discovered that I had failed that test.

Because that grocery store had all of those school supplies, only much cheaper. Box of crayons? Only $1.50 compared to $1.99. Glue sticks? $1.50 for a four pack compared to $3.99. I should have just bought a sticker that said “First time kindergarten mom” and also, “Chump”

So I returned to that office supply store, with three howling, hungry, impatient and ornery kids in tow. I got my money back. And then I returned to that grocery store with three howling, even hungrier, even more impatient and much more ornery kids in tow and re-bought those school supplies. Because, heh! I saved seven dollars, baby. I gloated all the way to the minivan.

But then.

Then I went to Target. It was a simple stop. We were there to look for shot glasses (don’t ask questions, just know that when you have three kids, you must own at least one, and preferably two, shot glasses) And you know what? They had crayons for $.40 a box. Hot damn! That’s like… fifty… no, seventy… crap. That’s like A LOT cheaper than $1.50. Did I buy them at Target and return them to the grocery store? Of course I did. Ha! Those suckers at Target. They sold me crayons for $.40 a box. I’d show them to you , but I can’t find them in the $200 worth of other stuff I didn’t need but bought anyway while I was there.

And then you know what? In yesterday’s paper, Toys R Us, which is only 38 miles away, is selling the SAME crayons for only $.25 a box. Holy crap! How can I stand by and allow myself to get ripped off by those guys at Target? If I only drive the forty minutes to get there, I could save, like, fifteen cents. Thirty cents on two! But, for some reason, Chris has hidden my car keys. And I can’t figure out how much money I would save if I called a taxi to get there…

There Snow Place Like Home... Again

Just got back home. I tried to leave for the office this morning and after driving a quarter of the way amidst cars that were facing the wrong way and wheels spinning but getting nowhere, I pulled into a parking lot and called my boss. He was stuck at home, too, his back alley not having been plowed yet and no way to move his car out of the garage. It took me fifteen minutes to make it a mile and a half, and after white knuckling it for all of those minutes, I decided there was simply nothing I need at the office bad enough to keep driving. I turned around and headed back home.

It’s probably best that I am at home, anyway, as there is yet another board meeting today, and yet another nerve racking, bated breath, “ are we losing our jobs next month?” discussion. At least at home I can crank up the Christmas music and pretend that my job is not being discussed. Hopefully I will have a sense of how things went by this afternoon. Lovely that I was just sent a reminder from Outlook that the board meeting is starting this very minute. La, la, la, la… I’m not listening.
… I need a Christmas cookie.

On the upside, since I am back at home this morning I called Godzilla to discuss the terms of my student loan and potential pending unemployment. Turns out Godzilla has a really sweet phone demeanor. Also turns out that there is a program called “Income Based Repayment.” Also also turns out that we qualify. Also, also, also turns out that our income is so low that it qualifies us for making a monthly payment of ZERO for the first year. After twenty-five years in this program they forgive any remaining amount due. Godzilla has officially been downgraded to a newt. A Christmas newt.

Godzilla comes a knocking

By marching across that stage in May, I had hoped to leave the stress of grad school far behind. With each passing day, my white knuckle grip on everything slowly loosens, my breathing becomes steadier, deeper, freer. I am adapting to the idea that I still do not have any papers due, still do not have any presentations to prepare for class, still do not have heaps of reading to do. I occassionally get a little riled up at the thought of spending an entire evening away from home because oh my god, I can’t, I have too much homework…

No, wait. I don’t do homework anymore.

Huh. I guess I could go visit that friend/ take that walk/call my parents/watch that movie/go to bed, afterall. In short, it’s been a sort of abstract dread that materializes periodically, but one that I can invariably put in check with a healthy dose of reality.

For the past few months, lingering thoughts of grad school and the havoc it created have merely been the boogeyman. Content to pop out of my closet and scare the shit out of me only occasionally since May (Boo! You have a test tomorrow! And you don’t even know what class it’s for!)

Now it is Godzilla.

It has reappeared, for good, to sit at my dining room table for the next ten or fifteen years and squeeze me, at regular intervals, until my eyes bulge. Big, ugly and with bad teeth, it has taken up permanent residence in my conscious thought and in my checkbook.

Today, the student loan officer came knocking, and he wants a monthly payment that is roughly equivalent to our monthly grocery budget. Despite my inclination to tell him to piss off, I’ll need to calmly and professionally talk to these folks about other payment options. Because, hah! I work at a nonprofit! Hah! No raise this year! Hah! No raise last year! NO raise for the foreseeable future! Hah! The job market sucks rocks! Hah! I won’t be getting a better gig for the foreseeable future! Hah! Hah, hah? Er… ahem. (Uneasy shuffle of papers and smoothing my pant legs).

Guess we’ll be eating a whole lot of beans from now on. Anyone got any good recipes to share?

School Daze

There is a certain undeniable buzz associated with back to school time. The air is crisp, the backpacks are new, the sidewalks are full and the camaraderie overflowing. The electricity downtown is palpable as students make their way back to campus for the first day of classes tomorrow. It will mean football games and traffic headaches and full city buses and marching band practice.

And for the first time in a long time, I can simply be a bystander.

As I watch students line up to buy their books or congregate on the grassy lawns of campus, part of me does so with a sense of nostalgia.

But, trust me, not a big enough part of me.

Mostly I am still getting over the idea that while it has been months since I have done any homework, I am not in trouble for it. This August, I did not have to drop three hundred dollars on school books. I won’t have to rearrange my life for four months to accommodate classes, studying, writing papers and reading textbooks. I will not have to fret about where to park on campus or how expensive my inevitable parking tickets will be.

I can, instead, pick berries with the kids and, as Jay says, “listen to chirp-its cricket and feel the sun smile on my face.”

Sigh....

But then, maybe neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeext year…because I heard about this really cool PhD program, and...

Argh. Somebody help. I just ain’t right. Could I just maybe smell someone else's backpack?

In the home stretch

Whew. It’s been a little crazy around here. I am at the tail end of school, with three weeks to go before graduation. Slowly, slowly, things are beginning to ease up a little.

As part of my degree, we spend an entire semester working with a real life client to address some issue they have identified. The equivalent of a Master’s thesis, this course, called the Capstone Workshop is both dreaded and celebrated for its intensity and rigor. With three weeks left we are closing in on the finish line. We presented some of our findings to our client, the Wisconsin Department of Health Services, yesterday at a state-wide conference. In four days we submit our final report to the school. Our copy editor reviews it, and if all is well, begins the publication process. It will be printed and bound with the La Follette school seal on it. In two weeks we will present our full report to the Secretary of Health as well as DHS and can begin distributing the full report publicly. In three weeks I will walk across the stage in the Assemby Room of the state capitol and recieve my diploma. Then I will shake my booty and do the funky chicken as I exit stage left. Because BOO- YA.

I'm done.

Our report focuses on health disparities between lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) populations and non-LGBT populations. There is mounting evidence that LGBT folks have higher rates of smoking and tobacco use, substance abuse, tend to be disproportionately overweight and obese and have increased rates of mental illness. It has been a fascinating topic and one in which I have become personally invested in. Our report will provide recommendations to DHS, as the agency charged with public health for the state of Wisconsin, for dealing with this disparity. With both the ears of the department and the Secretary of Health of Wisconsin, I hope some great changes can be made. We’ll see.

I usually don’t get long winded about my class work on my blog, but then I don’t usually get so completely consumed by it either. I’ll be back soon with my usual strange sense of humor and stories about the kids and the garden and self diagnoses of head cancer, but until then, at least you know what I’m up to.

Breathe.

The semester hit that inevitable crescendo this week, the point in which no matter how on top of things you are, you can’t possibly keep up with everything. The point at which you start skimming readings instead of actually digesting them the point at which your dreams are simply replications of your classwork the point at which you stop using punctuation in your blog posts because commas take too much time the point at which you start using texting speak instead writing things out the point at which when someone asks you to do them a favor you get all bug eyed and mash your fingers in your mouth in a silent chompy cry because you don’t have TIME to get them a drink of water dammit, christhavemercy omfgwftwtfff??

O.k. BREATHE.

Breathe.

On the other hand, freedom sits just on the other side of a month and a half. I could do almost anything for a month and a half, even if it involves late nights and dinners out of vending machines. Aside from the insanity that is the last push of grad school, life is good. Really good.

We’re all healthy. I still have a job. We mailed our check for the garden plot yesterday and are making plans for visiting Miami come June. I hope, I hope, I hope. We’ll see what plane fare looks like now that we need THREE seats on an airplane. Yikes. Seeing my parents and digging my toes into a sandy beach makes it worth it, though, so we’ll see what we can do to make it affordable.

I think that is about it from here. I am still planning on posting pictures of Jay’s birthday and other random videos of our life. So, stay tuned, or something.

We did it!

I did it!
On Friday afternoon I pressed “send” and emailed off my last term paper of the semester. Thank God it’s over. That semester kicked my ass. Now we have a month break and then it’s on to the final semester for grad school. It’ll be another tough one I am sure, but it’s the last one, so just that fact alone will make it easier.

Now I turn my thoughts to Christmas. So far the only thought I’ve had is “oh crap oh crap oh crap Christmas is next week and I don’t have a single present for anyone yet.” Worse than that, with me being the only income earner and only working part time at a non-profit for said income, we are beyond-beyond strapped. SO! Hello, friends and family! We are going to make Christmas gifts this year. And because we have not had time (see last paragraph) and we do not have the money, we have a wide variety of possibilities, like… binoculars made from toilet paper rolls and Saran Wrap, fashionable hats made out of newspaper (I may even use the comics, for a splash of color) pasta necklaces (a twofer, because it doubles as dinner), and certificates good for writing one term paper (not to be redeemed in the next five months, or actually, like, ever). I could also go with gifts from our kitchen, like… breast milk ice cream?

We did it!
So. All by way of saying don’t get real excited if you get a present from me this year. Or at least open it at your own risk. We did get our Christmas cards sent out last week, which Chris and I have been high fiving each other about for DAYS, because seriously, we freaking ROCK. Christmas cards? Like on time and stuff? To people? In the mail? Without coffee stains or any bodily fluids on them? Dude, the season is a complete success. Totally.

She did it!
In other news, Ella rolled over for the first time last night. I set her down on her back in bed so I could brush my teeth. When I walked back in the room with my toothbrush, she was on her belly. And she was craaaaanky. I flipped her back over and watched in amazement as she turned onto her side, worked the bottom arm out from under her and rolled back over onto her belly. And then screamed, because, really WTF? Tummy time sucks rocks.

This is nearly a whole month before Jay rolled over on his own, which was at about five and a half months. This is proof enough for me that girls are smarter than boys. Totally.

For my family who is making their way all the way up to Madison to celebrate the holidays with us, beware. It is insanely cold. The thermometer reads negative eight, but with the wind chill, it is between twenty and thirty below. Bring a jacket or at least a long sleeved shirt. And please, dear god, some degrees. At least enough to get us out of the hole, maybe a loan until temperature pay day? Seriously, bring all the freaking clothes you have. And then go get more.

Look at the cute kids!

The pain is almost over. I am down to:


1 class meeting
1 final exam
3 term papers



Then I only have to work full time and be a mother and wife. Easy peasy.


At this point, I am no longer feeling overwhelmed or like I am a ragdoll being tossed around in the surf. Granted, vacation won't start until I hand in that final paper next Friday, but everyday I breathe a little easier as the semester edges to a close.


Almost there.


In the meantime, to assuage my guilt of not keeping more current posts, here are pictures of my kids, courtesy of Christy Langheim, the world's best photographer.

Hey... want to see a picture of my kids?

I keep meaning to make updates to the blog, and I’m gonna, just as soon as school eases up a bit. I come up with blog entries when I am falling off to sleep and when I am out running, but neither time is particularly good for writing. Then I wake up or I come home from my run and the brilliant idea is gone. Gone! And all I have left is, hey… want to see more pictures of my kids?

Like the other day I had this post in my head about how I was sure -SURE- that I had a brain tumor because I was dizzy for like three whole minutes, and I just knew that meant I had a brain tumor, because one time I had read this book about this guy who had an inoperable brain tumor, just like me, and really what else could it BE? Why me? Why now? Whhhhyyyyyy??? I want to liiiiiiiiiiiivvvvvvvvvvvvvve.

Turns out I was just hungry. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich cleared up the brain tumor pretty nicely. Who knew?

School is over in two wonderful, delicious, tantalizing weeks, and I can taste the freedom and Christmas cookies. Bring it. …in the meantime, stay tuned for more pictures of my kids.

Also, ROSIE- happy birthday. I wrote you a song. It's from my heart. Here it goes.

Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday dear [Insert name here]
Happy birthday to you.

I hope you like it. O.k., fine, I didn't like, actually write it myself. But I would have. And I think we can all agree that it's the thought that counts.

Seriously, hope your day was great. Love ya!

Better Living Through Running

Someday I hope to be a better mother, a better spouse, a better citizen. Right now, though, I am afraid I am failing at all three of these things. My parents were in town this week. Rosie had surgery and they were here to help take care of her while she convalesced. And me? Hi Mom and Dad! Glad you’re here! Nevermind this small matter of Rosie having an organ removed. Could you watch my kids for me? Chris is feeling a little burned out and needs some time to himself. And I don’t have time for that shit.

So… work started this week, and I have never, ever been so stressed in my life. I feel as though I have just been swept up in a strong undercurrent and I am tumbling and rolling in the crashing waves as they sweep me along.

I just can’t seem to fix all the problems that keep popping up. I feel like the little Dutch boy with my fingers plugged into the holes of the dam, and I can’t keep up. There is so much work to do at the office that I can’t get it done, but I can’t not get it done because it involves keeping the entire organization afloat, and I can’t stay later because I don’t have the extra time to give, but even if I could, I couldn’t, because we don’t have the funds to pay me to do that, anyway. And if I lose my job because we go under, how are we going to make ends meet? And without insurance, what are we going to do? Shit, shit, shit.

And of course, there is the unrelenting backbreaking load of school work. There’s always school work. Every night when I get home Jay asks, “Mama have school work to do?”. Yes, I say. Because Mama always has school work to do. Because I suck. And I suck again. And I just keep sucking.

Today I made myself a cup of tea. As I waited for the water to heat up, the teapot started to scream. And I thought, me too. That is EXACTLY how I feel right now. I am edgy. Impatient. Humorless. Screeching for no apparent reason. And doing my very best not to boil over, so help you god, do NOT make me boil over up in here or I will lose it on yo' ass. Er... see what I mean?

It's why I run. When I feel like I am about to reach that point, the point where I start to scream and steam shoots out of my ears and I am THIS CLOSE to boiling over, I throw on my running shoes and get the hell out of wherever I am. Because it’s about to get ugly. And I run. And run and run and run.

I run until my vision clears up, until I stop yelling in my head, until my chest heaves, my legs tremble and I am back under control. And through my breathlessness, I can breathe again. I am calm again. I am in control. And for one more day things fall into their proper place in my life, in the universe.

With six more months of school, I'm thinking I should buy stock in Saucony.