Diapers and Dragons

They're Awesome. I'm Brain Dead.

TeacherMommyBlog@gmail.com (Teacher Mommy) — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 14:39:00 +0000

Because I think it's mostly gone due to the mind-numbing energy sink that is a combination Professional Development and Parent Teacher Conferences day. (That was yesterday. In case you were wondering. That's why I was only online for a split second. In case you were wondering about that too. Though you probably weren't. Whatever.)

Therefore I will take care of a couple of housekeeping chores today before I go stare at a friendly wall. Since that's about as much as I can handle today.

So. Earlier this week my dear long-ago-long-time friend Kathleen at Treasured Chapters awarded me a lovely award, because she's generous like that, and it is the Superior Scribbler Award, which makes me want to squee. Except I never squee. It's a matter of principle. Instead I will bow gravely with all the ~~self-absorbed~~ gracious pomp~~ousness~~ of academia in her general direction.

Thank you very much, Kathleen! That means a great deal to me. 'STruth.

As usual, these awards come with bloggy strings attached. In this case, the strings are:
1. Each Superior Scribbler I name today must in turn pass The Award on to 5 most-deserving bloggy friends.
2. Each Superior Scribbler must link to the author & the name of the blog from whom he/she has received The Award.
3. Each Superior Scribbler must display The Award on his/her blog.
4. Each Superior Scribbler must post these rules on his/her blog.

Eek. Um. Okay. Let's see. Kathleen awarded this to her English teacher(ish) bloggy friends, and I don't dare copy her. That would be so NON-TEACHERY. (That's a word, right? No? Crap.) I also would like to award this to some people who might actually acknowledge and post the award and pass it on (You hear me, Heidi?!?! Yeah, I'm lookin' at you! Well, virtually speaking.)

So I am awarding this Superior Scribbler Award to some bloggers who consistently delight me with their writing. They may or may not have been/be teachers. I'm not going to try anything cute like Kathleen. (Yet.) And they are (dunh dunh dunh):

1. Julia at Julia {here be hippogriffs}
2. DeeDee at Fiddledeedee
3. Beck at Frog And Toad Are Still Friends
4. Mom Zombie at Mom Zombie
5. Marinka at Motherhood in NYC

These five wonderful writers are proof that writing with style Matters.

And now a new reader of mine (Heyla, Hyla! Welcome to my cuuurrrazy little world!) gave me a rather humbling award (Really? I deserve this? Okay, now I really am almost feeling a squee emerge and that would mean that my soul would wither a little. Must. Control. Voice.) called the Best Blog Award. Wow. Okay. Really? Wow. THANK YOU!!!

What makes me gulp even more than that scary word "BEST" are the rules, however, and suddenly I think I might have to cheat. (I know. My reputation as a teacher is becoming seriously tarnished.)

Apparently in order to accept the award, I must:
...post it on your blog together with the name of the person who has granted the award and his/her blog link. Pass the award to 15 other blogs that you have recently discovered and think are great! Remember to contact the bloggers you've awarded to let them know they have been chosen for this award.

ACK. 15 blogs? That I've recently discovered? Crap crap crap.

You see, while I follow a million and half blogs (not all of them are currently listed on that blogroll over at the side), I have NOT added a whopping fifteen to my follow list in recent times. I have added some, but not fifteen. This is because I know that reading blogs is an addiction. I could easily spend the majority of my day simply reading blog after blog after blog if I allowed myself to do so. As a result, I approach blog discovery much in the way that I approach my addiction to shoes and books. I limit my access. I do not enter a shoe or book store lightly.

Otherwise my bookshelves and closets would be even more out-of-control than they already are.

So I am going to have to cheat a bit (Did I mention that last night I actually encouraged ~~DraftQueen~~ a friend to play hooky from class and go have fun with a girlfriend instead? And that she then texted back about the irony of a teacher incouraging truancy? No? Um, forget I wrote that.) and reduce that Very Scary Number to, oh, let's say five (5) (cinq) (cinco). That I can handle.

Recently I've been branching out from MommyBloggers to reading DaddyBloggers. My follow list is slowly swelling with the brilliance of these men. You should read them too. And since I'm just that confusing, I will round it out with a very non-male but still very worth reading MommyBlogger. Because I just cannot bring myself to only list four when five is so much more RIGHT.* I'm ~~OCD~~ awesome like that.

And you know what's fun about that? If they follow the rules, they'll have shiny little hearts on their blogs! (~~mwahahahahaha~~ *giggle*)

So I am awarding the Best (Somewhat Recently Discovered and Apparently Mostly-Daddy-Blogger Oriented) Blog Award to:

1. Jason Mayo at Out-Numbered
2. Sedg311 at Why Is Daddy Crying?
3. Mike Adamick at Cry It Out: Memoirs of a Stay-at-Home Dad
4. Mocha Dad at Mocha Dad
5. MaryMac at Pajamas & Coffee (Here's a clue: she's the one without a penis.)

Go forth and read. You'll laugh. You'll cry. You'll suddenly realize that men (and women too--don't worry, Mary! I got your back, Gurl!) are Crazy. Good times.

I apologize for any ~~brain aneurisms~~ confusion this ~~ridiculously scattered~~ somewhat rambling post may have caused you.

Now you know how I feel.

*I could include Arby here as the fifth, because he is also a brilliant DaddyBlogger, but I've been following him for much longer and he already refused to post an award I gave him because of the froofy hearts issue. So he's not getting it. So there. Nyah.

Just Do What I Say, Not What I Do

TeacherMommyBlog@gmail.com (Teacher Mommy) — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 17:38:00 +0000

They're just awful.

The presentation is going on and they just sit there chatting to each other, doing other work, reading books, rolling their eyes, texting friends.

They're given an assignment and they doodle on the pages instead of following instructions.

They're instructed to discuss the topic at hand and they talk about their plans for the afternoon and what is happening this weekend and Oh my gawd did you hear what Julie said the other day?!?

They're told to send group representatives to mark their discussion results on the activity board and the few who were actually paying attention jump up to the front while the rest chatter away, oblivious.

They're given a short break and they continue to chatter to each other when the lights are flickered once, twice, three times to bring them back to attention. And again. And again.

They're finally released and they walk away muttering about how much that woman is getting paid for teaching them about something they already know and why can't they just leave us alone?

I don't know why anyone bothers with them, really.

Honestly.

Educators.

They're absolutely impossible to teach.

(I was the one sitting in the next-to-the-back row making snarky comments to my counselor friend beside me, laughing with the Psychology teacher behind me, and re-reading The Trojan War.

If I was my student I'd kick my ass.)

Red is for Remembrance

TeacherMommyBlog@gmail.com (Teacher Mommy) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 15:55:00 +0000

Today is Veterans' Day.

This is one of the holidays that pretty much passed me right by growing up. I think this was largely due to growing up overseas, where it wasn't a holiday for us. I don't think I was actually aware of Veteran's Day until I was in college. Maybe.

Even now it's hard for me to pay much attention to it. I know it's happening. People are blogging about it. And yet somehow it doesn't seem very real to me. Maybe that's partly because for most of us it's a Business As Usual sort of day.

My students, of course, are complaining bitterly that we even have school. I have a sneaking suspicion that this has more to do with the current CODMW2 virus sweeping through the male population than a true desire to honor those who have served our country in the military. I suppose the military nature of that game counts for something.

No?

(I don't think so either.)

When I read Arby's post today, however, it suddenly occured to me that it's kind of odd that Veterans' Day and Memorial Day don't have more significance for me than they do. After all, there are three veterans in my close extended family. My maternal grandfather served in the Merchant Marines during WWII. My father's almost-Irish-twin older brother served in military Intelligence during Vietnam. My father's second sister's husband also served in Vietnam.

I don't remember ever hearing any stories.

None.

Diddly.

And I don't quite know why.

Well, I'll take that back, partially. My uncle-by-marriage is a quiet man and one with whom I haven't spent much time in my life. It isn't particularly surprising that I haven't heard his stories, if he tells any. My uncle-by-blood...well, I know he doesn't tell those stories. First, he was in Intelligence. He isn't allowed to tell many stories. Second, I've been told he came back from Vietnam....changed. He was not the same man who left. Whatever it is he did, whatever it is he saw, whatever it is he knew and still knows, it haunted him. It may very well haunt him to this day. He came back a man with ghosts, a man who no longer seemed to believe in a loving God--or possibly a God at all.

I only see the laughing uncle who tells crazy stories about childhood, the ones that my dad claims he can't remember because all his older brothers and sisters scarred him for life. You know, by talking him into picking up rats by the tails out by the corncribs so they could take turns whaling away with bats (on the rats.) I think he just doesn't want to admit he was that ~~stupid~~ gullible.

Who my uncle is right now? I don't really know.

What makes me wonder is why I haven't heard stories from my grandfather. He is, after all, the grandfather with whom I grew up. He was as much a part of my childhood as were my parents, really. He's referenced it upon occasion, but I know very, very little about what he did or even for how long. In fact, I very easily forget that he was even part of the MM at all. I know all sorts of other stories from his life. Just not those years.

And now...now I am mostly aware of Veterans' Day because I have former students in the military. I have a former student, one of My Boys, who died in Iraq. I have a former student in the Air Force who just dropped by to see me on Monday, because he wanted to introduce me to his fiancee, a lovely girl who also wants to be an English teacher. I have various others as well, some still in contact, others of whom I am vaguely aware.

I am, for the most part, a pacifist. I do not believe that war is a solution. I do not think we should be at war in Iraq. I am conflicted over the war in Afghanistan. I believe that the vast majority of wars are started for horrific reasons and result in horror rather than true peace. However, I am a practical pacifist in that I understand that there are times when war cannot be avoided or can be a necessity.

That being said, I DO believe in supporting our troops. I do not see the warriors as evil: I see war as evil. Does that make sense?

Maybe not. But then, I have never been good at making people very happy with my political views (or religious or social or...) I'm a girl who sees mostly in shades of Grey. I've never been good at the whole Black/White thing.

So maybe, today, I should stick to Red.

I'm Not Sure Why I'm Even Posting This, and Some of You May Never Be Able to Look at Me in the Eyes Again. Sorry, Grandma.

TeacherMommyBlog@gmail.com (Teacher Mommy) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 02:44:00 +0000

How do they always know?

They'll be happily ensconced on the couch, watching The Backyardigans. Or playing with trains in their room. Or eating a yummy snack. They should be content. They should stay put.

And then, invariably, just as I'm nice and nekkid, they walk in.

It doesn't seem to matter WHY I'm clothing-free at the time. I'll be in the shower, or just getting in, or just getting out. I'll be getting dressed in the walk-in. I'll be, Mr. Hanky help me, settling down for a nice leisurely--er, um, session--on the toilet.

It's all quite innocent on my part, you see. It's not like I'm running the place like it's Hedonism II (Hey, never been--just honeymooned down the beach a ways. Stop looking at me like that!) I'm just doing the ordinary everyday things that people do in their homes, generally in the area of the bathroom. And my little nosey parkers always manage to choose that particular time to locate me, because, apparently, that is exactly when The Widget suddenly needs a hug or DramaBoy has a pressing question that Cannot Wait, Mommy!

This was all very well and good when they were small beings who could barely remember how to put one foot in front of the other without rediscovering gravity. Time passed, and I kept convincing myself they wouldn't remember much of what they saw, and it was all natural and all, right? Even when the inevitable questions started regarding the differences between my body and theirs (after all, I'm the odd female out around here), I just answered them and figured it was all a good anatomy lesson.

(I'm still not sure DramaBoy understands how my body can possibly operate with such different plumbing. He gets worried about whether or not I can actually pee without a penis. I just explain I am built differently and can indeed accomplish this important task. I decline to show him the details.)

But...DramaBoy is turning four in just over two weeks, and he has become very much Boy lately. And I cannot continue to pretend he will not remember things, because that child has a mind and memory like a steel trap (well, for the things he wants to remember.) I'm starting to wonder just how much I really want him to remember about me in all my Botticelli glory.

Especially when it involves the toilet.

I've been trying to teach them about the need for privacy, but so far that seems to result in More Privacy For Them and no discernible difference in the level of Privacy For Me. I mean, by all means I am happy not to have to wipe DramaBoy's behind all the time, but doing laundry can be a bit disconcerting these days.

The other day I decided enough was enough and dared to (gasp) lock the doors to the bathroom.

I know.

Those hypersensitive ears of theirs must have heard the tiny clicks, because within nanoseconds there was a knocking on the door.

Mama? I need to come in!

No, DramaBoy. Mama needs some privacy!

Why is the door LOCKED, Mama?

Because I want some privacy, DramaBoy!!

But MAMA, I need to go POTTY!

Go downstairs. There's a perfectly good potty down there.

But I WANT to go potty in THERE!

No, DramaBoy!

But MAMA!!! I NEED to come IN!!!!

NO, DramaBoy!!!!

And then, of course, the wailing and gnashing of teeth began. Which was then magnified tenfold by The Widget, who was attracted to the scene of the crime and went into full blown Panicked Mama's Boy mode when he realized a wooden door was thwarting him from attaching himself to my nearest body part.

(Which is disconcerting when you're trying to--ahem--process things. Just sayin'.)

So tonight when I tucked DramaBoy into my bed because he has a touch of croup and I'll need to keep an ear out for his breathing, I denied his request to sleep nekkid, as is his wont. After all, I'll be next to him all night. There are lines, people.

Truth be told, he gets that from me. I just don't sleep clothing-optional much these days.

Not sure why I even care that much about these minor points of propriety. Because at this point their future therapists are already going to have a field day.

Am I the only one who experiences all this? Because if I am, I think I might take up showering in my bathing suit.

At least that way I won't keep bashing my delicate parts with various toiletries in my desperate attempts to maintain the dignity my progeny stole from me years ago.

My Friday Evening: The Bad, The Good, and the Potentially Scary

TeacherMommyBlog@gmail.com (Teacher Mommy) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 21:24:00 +0000

Bad Thing: Brother's car breaking down on the highway. His cell phone has also been broken for some time.

Good Thing: A friendly driver pulling over to help when Brother finishes his nap and gets out for the long walk to the nearest gas station.

Bad Thing: Having to drive through rush hour AND construction traffic to pick up Brother and then go to his car, with two kidlets in the back trying to be patient.

Good Thing: Having a boyfriend who is an auto mechanic and is willing to diagnose the probable issue over the phone, therefore determining that it is in fact worth trying to save Brother's P.O.S. car rather than calling the nearest junkyard.

Bad Thing: Mechanic boyfriend is on the way up north to go dirt biking with some buddies. The car is stranded Very Far from anyone's house, including my boyfriend's.

Good Thing: My boyfriend is willing to call in a major favor and get a buddy with a tow-truck to come get Brother's car and tow it all the way to my boyfriend's house for less than half the price it would normally cost.

Bad Thing: Brother now will have to pay to fix the same car that already cost him a pretty penny in various fees and fines for other problems--ironically, he was on his way to court to work some of this out when the car broke down.

Good Thing: Brother happens to have the cash on hand and will get a Much Better Price from my boyfriend than he would going to a regular shop. This would be true even if he wasn't my brother, please note (though I have a feeling the towing favor would not have happened had he not been my relative.)

Potentially Scary Thing: I now owe my boyfriend Big Time.

Sometimes Honesty is Not the Best Policy

TeacherMommyBlog@gmail.com (Teacher Mommy) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 14:45:00 +0000

So here I was, wondering what post I could write today that wouldn't be all depressing and mopey and all caught up in the drama of this stupid frickin' month, and lo! the lovely and marvelous Fraught Mummy of Brits in Bosnia posted a highly amusing bit about the difference between what you say and what you mean. I was inspired. So here goes my own "Lost in Translation" piece de resistance:

To my children as they crawl into my bed ten minutes before the alarm goes off: Good morning, babies. I have to get up soon, okay? = You couldn't have waited ten more minutes? I mean, I love your cuddles and all, but I could really have used that addition to what little sleep I get these days. Ack! Get your cold little feet out of my lady bits!

To the secretaries: Good morning! = Crap, another morning. And even though I got a little more sleep last night because I popped some Nyquil tablets, I still feel like something the cat dragged in and every time I talk for more than three minutes I start coughing and my head starts aching because apparently some Throat Troll decided to drag its nasty little claws all over my throat last week and leave me in this condition for what looks like the entire next month. I like you ladies, but I really would rather be looking at the undersides of my eyelids right now.

To the student who just shaved his head: Wow! You shaved your head. = You look like a misshaped cueball. I hope you did that for charitable reasons.

To the student eating some yoghurt: What are you eating? = You better have brought something for me to stuff into my mouth too, girl.

To the student who always asks when her grades will be turned in: They will make it onto the marking period. = Seriously, stop asking me every other second. I know you have OCD and anxiety issues, but you're making my anxiety shoot through the roof. I have all but two of your grades in at this point and girl, I do have a life and girl, I do have my own share of stress and if you keep looking at me with that half-crazed thisclosetoapanicattack look on your face I will simply throw. them. away. THEN you'll have something to panic about.

To the same student: I'll tell you about the homework when I tell everyone else. = Holy crap. Seriously, it's not enough that you have to panic about your grades (which at least has some little measure of justification), you also have to come in every morning and ask about the homework ahead of time so you can get ahead even more and then screw me up because I get confused and tell you the wrong information? Which then further aggravates your anxiety and gives me a massive load of guilt? Also, we'll actually be doing something in class today so it's kind of pointless to go over this with you when you might as well just wait until I go over it with everyone. Again, I know you have OCD and anxiety issues, and I really want to like you and admire your work ethic, but you are Driving. Me. Insane.

To my students: It would be wise to take notes. = Staring off into space will NOT be condusive to a good grade on, oh, say the QUIZ you have to take the next time I see you. Not to mention actually KNOWING anything in this life. Do you really think I'm talking just to hear myself? Do you really think I'm risking a Coughing Fit from Hell to fill your ears with meaningless noise? I'm trying to cram some INFORMATION into your ungrateful, atrophied, empty little brains here! Get a frickin' CLUE!

To my students: There are still quizzes out. = Shut your mouths, you noisy little buggers. Seriously, all I ask is that you actually remain silent until every quiz is turned in. It's a simple thing. Really. You want to see what happens if you keep this up?

To my students, again: Remain SILENT. There are still quizzes out. = Holy crap! Are you frickin' KIDDING me with this? You see this pen? You see your papers? Do you want to see the points vanish?!?!? And then would you like to see where your crispy remains will be stored when the Flaming Glare of Death is turned upon your whispering, giggling, noise-making, rude-as-all-get-out bodies?!?!?! Don't think I'm not capable! I'll show you capable!!!!!!!

To my students, finally: Have a great weekend! = Thank the little gods and graces that you're getting out of my sight, because I was thisclose to grabbing those stupid earbuds you wear around your necks like some sort of futuristic necktie and stuffing them down your throats so they will get tangled in your tonsils. Two days without seeing your rolling eyes and hearing your smart mouths MIGHT just make it possible for me to avoid Going Educational (TM) on your asses.

Maybe it's a good thing I have a filter between my brain and my mouth. Although it's getting awfully clogged these days...

In the Waiting Line

TeacherMommyBlog@gmail.com (Teacher Mommy) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 13:32:00 +0000

By mutual agreement and mostly because I am the one with the most time on weekday afternoons to actually get Official Things Done, I was the one who filed for divorce. By a strange concatenation of events, I filed yesterday, on the fourtheenth anniversary of when our relationship began. As if that were not ironic enough, I filed divorce papers approximately five yards from the counter where almost exactly eight years ago I filed the paperwork for our legal marriage ceremony, which took place eight years ago two days from now.

It felt surreal.

I don't quite know how else to explain it. I wasn't quite depressed. I wasn't joyful, either. I was mostly shaky, because now the wheels are set in motion. I watched the clerk stamp the papers and saw that already, just like that, we have been assigned dates for the two major hearings we must attend before the decree can be handed down in six months. I could see the great machinery of government grinding its gears, catching us up in its deceptively ponderous motion. The potential energy of our divorce turned kinetic in a matter of fifteen minutes.

I walked out the door, shaky and a little stunned, and sent a text to about a dozen people. I just walked out of the court house. I have officially filed for divorce, I said, the words stark on the electronic screen. Within moments, the texts started rolling in. A few were congratulatory; most were concerned.

Are you ok?
How do you feel?
Wow. (((hugs)))

I went back to the house and collapsed on the bed after lugging all my stuff inside--it was another "toggle"* day. I talked to a few people on the phone. I tweeted and Facebooked about how weird I felt, and how I had no idea what to make for dinner because I had no money and no energy and no desire to cook. I shored myself up, gradually feeling my head straighten out and my mood lighten.

Then I went and picked up my two little boys, who were very happy to see me and amazingly well-behaved and so polite about asking if they could eat food from "Old MacDonald's" that I succumbed after two seconds and agreed. So we swung through the drive-through to pick up a ten-piece McNugget meal. The boys devoured the chicken and some of the fries; I ate the rest of the fries and drank the Coke. It was a proud mommying moment. It was a very real single-mommying moment. And we snuggled on the couch watching the Backyardigans, which stretched from one episode to two before we went upstairs to get the boys to bed.

I did no grading last night.

This morning the boys were so cooperative that we got out the door only fifty minutes after I woke up. When I arrived at work, my darling mentee S. walked into my room with a bag of mini biscuit pizza makings for the boys and another of fancy pasta makings and French bread for me. Supper is set for tonight. I have friends already working on plans to get together for GNOs in the next few weeks. The love is rolling in.

It still feels surreal. A part of me is grieving the loss of something that was and always will be an enormous part of my life. We will always be tied together by that time and by our children. Another part of me is simply impatient to Get Through It All and Get On With Things. The largest part of me is simply lying quiet, watching warily from a corner, unsure of this new and uncertain future that looms in front of me.

Yeah. November sucks.

******************************
*TOGGLE

Meaning:

Any instruction that works first one way and then the other; it turns something on the first time it is used and then turns it off the next time

Classified under:

Nouns denoting communicative processes and contents

Hypernyms ("toggle" is a kind of...):

command; instruction; program line; statement ((computer science) a line of code written as part of a computer program)

Use in this context:

A day in which custody and residence switches between the two parents

beginning and end

TeacherMommyBlog@gmail.com (Teacher Mommy) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 16:13:00 +0000

no
look away
hide under blankets
let it wash past in a haze of gone
small grey hours lost
not mourned
no

14
years passed
nearly half my life
no way to tell what could have
been if they were
not mine
and

8
years past
but 3 days hence
words were said and papers
signed that said
we would
be

2
for all
time and instead
here we are and now papers
again are signed
that say
no

so
shake it
off and face it
no more hiding from these
hours and days
time to
go

It'll Make You Go OOOOOOH

TeacherMommyBlog@gmail.com (Teacher Mommy) — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 16:42:00 +0000

They're HEEEEEEERRRRRRE!!!! The fabulous, absolutely wonderful Claire took her camera and went clicky clicky clicky last week, and the results are amazing. (If you live in the Metro Detroit area and would like a great photographer for a good fee, she has a portfolio and is willing to talk! Just contact me and I'll put you in touch with her.)

We went out to Kensington Metro Park and had a wonderful time romping through the leaves.DramaBoy initially had a meltdown over something ridiculous, but once Claire came along and started doing her animal charming, he perked up. And then we had fun.

So here are my favorites:

The Waiting Land

TeacherMommyBlog@gmail.com (Teacher Mommy) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 16:49:00 +0000

(with apologies to T.S. Eliot)

November is the cruelest month, stripping
Gnarled limbs of autumn's final glory, blending
Festivities and failure, haunting
Memories with what was and is no more.
Autumn brought new delights, shimmering
Forth in blazing array, feeding
Souls with harvest plenty.
Summer surprised us, soothing wounds
Thought too deep to mend; we learned
Life does not stop when one phase ends
And friendship may blossom best in times of pain.
November slices scars half-healed.
I slog through mud and frozen mire under
Sullen skies, and mourn the loss
Of what I thought I had: peace, security--
They fled and in their place are new
And frightening vistas of change.
I clutch my children's hands and face
Days of risk, uncertainty, fear; nights
Of loneliness, sleeplessness, worry.
I shiver in the damp cold of another
Sunless day, and bend my mind
Toward distant possibilities.

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

I know quite a few people who have months that are their bete noirs, the space of time in which they hunker down and try to pretend the world doesn't actually exist for a space of thirty days. DraftQueen's is October. Joe's is May. A few other people have told me theirs, but I've forgotten them for the moment. These are months in which, for these people, Bad Things Happen and/or Bad Memories Haunt. Thus far in my life, I can't really point to a specific month. Years, yes, (I'm so glad 2008 is over--2009 is a mixed bag, let me tell you) but not so much a generic month.

I'm nervous about November this year. It may decide to turn on me.

November, in Michigan, is a grey month when the leaves have left the trees and the Indian Summer days are very rare and the sky tends toward slate rather than robin's egg blue. Cold rain falls leaving cold mud that occasionally frosts over at night, creating treacherous footing. Leaves lie soggy and forlorn upon the grass, demanding that SOMETHING be done for appearance's sake, but no longer offering ease of raking or mowing.

Yet somehow November has been fairly good to me in the past. November was full of events, good ones, fun ones, brightening the gloomy days. Unfortunately, it is these selfsame events that weigh heavy with me now.

November 4th and 7th were, respectively, my Dating and Legal Marriage anniversaries. Since I'm about to file for divorce, these anniversaries become...problematic. I'm planning on ducking my head and plowing through those days and cuddling my boys at night.

November 25th is DramaBoy's 4th birthday. While I'm excited for him, the birthday now gets mixed in with the whole How Are We Celebrating This? thing that comes along with divorce. One saving grace is that We are getting along quite well and should probably be able to do a birthday party all together as a family. Probably on Sunday...

November 26th is Thanksgiving. This is where things get dicey. I don't know where I will be, who I will see, and how We are going to divide this holiday in terms of the boys. Are We going to try to split the day? One take Thursday and the other Friday? Set up an every-other-year arrangement? I'm just grateful it doesn't fall on DramaBoy's birthday itself this year.

That day is also a certain Special Someone's 40th birthday, and I WON'T be able to see or spend it it with him. Considering this will come at the end of a month where things are looking like I won't get to see him much at all, I find this especially depressing. He's also rather gloomy about turning Forty, and despite my reassurances that he is Not Old, keeps calling himself an Old Man. Sigh. And I won't be around much to shake him out of it. Double sigh.

Oh, and let's not forget the whole end-of-marking-period and Parent Teacher Conferences thing, which is taking up the space between those two groups of dates. I'm already getting Attitude.

I'm trying to buck up and keep a smile on my face, but it's tough going.

Maybe I should take up hibernation. I hear it's quite good for the figure.

My Tummy, It Is Happy

TeacherMommyBlog@gmail.com (Teacher Mommy) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 17:22:00 +0000

Sometimes I'm a pretty good cook. I'm also capable of being a pretty good hostess. And in those moments I am even capable of being *gasp* organized.

I know.

It surprises me too.

Nevertheless, it happens. So when a few weeks ago my darling mentee S. suggested we have a lunch group Harvest Potluck today (as in the Friday before Halloween, in case you're clueless--check the calendar!), somehow I was nominated as the official organizer of said lunch.

So I wrote the emails and kept track of who was bringing what and sent out reminders, and yesterday I hauled myself through Walmart (while keeping myself amused by texting Joe) and bought all the ingredients to make my fabulous and very harvesty Pumpkin Turkey Chili.

Before you start gagging, please believe me that this chili is AWESOME. And today even the doubters in my lunch group had to agree. This chili is so GOOD, TeacherMommy! they exclaimed, and they went back for more. Well, they didn't exactly call me TeacherMommy, but I'm not giving away my identity that easily.

(Though I realized while going through some old posts that I did once mention my actual last name. Hmm...)

Anywho, here's some pictures of what we ate (and ate and ate and ate), because I enjoy torturing you with visions of gastronomic delights:

The chili. Best served with cheddar and sour cream.

One end of the spread...

...and the other.

And of course, dessert.

And in case you are now salivating and would like to know how to make this really, really yummy, healthful, and (best of all) easy chili, here's the recipe:

TeacherMommy's Pumpkin Turkey Chili

1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 cup chopped onion
1/2 cup chopped green bell pepper
1/2 cup chopped yellow bell pepper
1 clove garlic, minced
1 pound ground turkey
2-3 cups chicken broth
1 (28 ounce) can diced tomatoes with juice
2 cups pumpkin puree
1 can kidney beans, drained and rinsed
1 can corn, drained
1 package McCormick’s chili seasoning
1 1/2 tablespoons chili powder
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 dash salt

Heat the oil in a large skillet over medium heat and saute the onion, green bell pepper, yellow bell pepper, and garlic until tender. Stir in the turkey and cook until evenly brown. Drain. Mix in chicken broth, tomatoes, pumpkin, beans, and corn. Season with seasoning packet, chili powder, pepper, and salt. Reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer 20 minutes. Serve topped with Cheddar cheese and sour cream.

I made twice this amount and served about 12 people with some left over. I cooked it the night before, kept it in the refrigerator overnight, and then heated it back up in a crockpot the next morning. FABULOUS!

He Should Have Checked My Fine Print Before He Started Dating Me. I'm Fairly Sure There's Something About "May Make Head Explode" in There.

TeacherMommyBlog@gmail.com (Teacher Mommy) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 21:32:00 +0000

No, this isn't what he looks like. Move along.

(text: me to Joe) Guys keep looking at me because I'm smokin' hot. That or I have schmutz on my face.

(text: me to Joe) Judging from your silence you think it's the schmutz. Or you're really busy. Or you're ignoring me.

(text: me to Joe) And now you're probably thinking I'm fishing for compliments and the answer would be yes, and attention.

(text: me to Joe) And now you're saying to yourself doesn't this crazy girl have anything better to do with her time than harass me? The answer is no, not at the moment.

(phone rings)

Me: Why, whatever made you think to call me right now?

Joe: Were those multiple choice questions? Is this a quiz? Will there be a test?

I'm wondering--do those fancy schmancy i-phones have an app for electronic scantron quizzes? Cuz if they do, I might have to start saving up.

Yo and Ciao

TeacherMommyBlog@gmail.com (Teacher Mommy) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 16:46:00 +0000

I have very little free time today (I'm writing this at the very end of lunch), but did want to let you know that:

1. I have most of my voice back today and am now simply a sexy redhead with a low, sultry voice.

2. That picture of my hair yesterday REALLY did not do the red justice. I had kids singing Christmas songs at me because I was also wearing a green sweater.

3. The photo shoot yesterday with Claire went SO WELL and her photos of me with my boys were amazing. I'll be posting some (and totally advertising her photography skills, because she's available) as soon as she can get them to me.

4. I'm heading to the doctor this afternoon for some tests, not for my throat, but to see if my bruising issue might be more of an issue than I thought. The doctor muttered something about platelets in an ominous tone when we briefly discussed what's been going on and that I sometimes get bruises from, oh, scratching my leg if it gets itchy, and not just impacts. Sigh. I'll update you. Hopefully I'm just a wimp.

The kids are descending. Ciao.

Changing My Perspective

TeacherMommyBlog@gmail.com (Teacher Mommy) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 18:03:00 +0000

I apologize in advance for getting practically warm fuzzy in this post. I'm sure the snarkiness will return in due time. It's the whininess that needs to go.

This look? Not attractive. Another reason to knock it off.

I've been feeling quite whiny lately. Not that *ahem* you would have noticed that in my last few blog posts or anything. My juniors have been driving me nuts because they are horrified that *gasp* I'm actually requiring them to READ A BOOK (I know. The humanity.) My kidlets have been less than cooperative the last couple of days. The district is trying to destroy the honors English program AGAIN. I miss my peeps. I'll be filing divorce papers as soon as I get some time to actually finalize them. The holidays are looming and I don't know how they're going to go or be organized or anything. Almost every time I try to get together with a friend, something drastic happens or someone gets sick and plans fall through. And I sound like a frog.

And then I read about Stellan suddenly ending up in hospital again and Mom Zombie's encounter with a content counter man and Bored Mommy's very sad anniversary and heard some horror stories from other people about deaths and divorces and illnesses and whatnot and suddenly...

I had to put things in perspective.

I have a job. It pays well, I have excellent insurance, and because of my spot on the seniority list and the size of my district, I'm not in danger of being pink-slipped. And as an added bonus, it's a job I actually enjoy (for the most part), and one in which I have earned and receive a healthy measure of respect from students, coworkers, and administration. I am good at what I do.

Although my children still get the sniffles and have asthma flare-ups and whatnot, they no longer suffer from the more extreme illnesses that had DramaBoy in and out of the hospital and required special diets and required consultations with insane infectious disease specialists. Neither of them has ever been on the verge of death, even amidst all that drama. They are both bright, beautiful, (usually) adorable children.

Even though I am going through divorce, it is one marked by an absolutely mutual desire to keep things friendly and make things as peaceful and positive for the children as possible. Despite financial complications (like a house that is worth less than is owed), we do not have to argue over money issues or get lawyers involved. Neither of us hates the other. We are both good people going through a bad situation, and we are both attempting to do so with grace and patience.

I do not have to worry about having a place to put my head at night. If anything, I enjoy a plethora of options. I may live out of a suitcase much of the time, but I have clothing and fabulous shoes to put in that suitcase and a car to transport it and places to take it. I may need to be a little careful with my money, but I can afford to put gas in my car and pay my bills and even have a little fun now and then.

I have friends and family who love me and, even when they can't be with me, actually WANT to be with me. I may not know where I'll be these holidays coming up, but there is no lack of options.

I have children who adore me and want to give me hugs even when I have Lost It, who run to me with huge smiles on their faces when they see me. This afternoon I will be taking my children and meeting a wonderful friend and her children and we are going to take photo shoots in a park. And the sun has chosen to emerge from behind the clouds, so even this oft-gloomy season is deciding to cooperate.

Maybe I don't have a voice today, but I can still choose which words I will say both aloud and in my own head. I am blessed, and I'm choosing to focus on that.

After all, it's less than a month until Thanksgiving. Might as well start practicing! I don't want that Thanksgiving Turkey to decide I've been a Bad Girl and give my house a miss. That would be embarassing.

Oh wait...

Okay, so maybe I just got a little...confused, but the practicing is still a good idea. What are you thankful for?

Notes from the Overwhelmed

TeacherMommyBlog@gmail.com (Teacher Mommy) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 12:45:00 +0000

There are days when I should just crawl back under the covers and shut out the world.

Today would be one of those days.

But I have these pesky things called children and students and responsibilities that mean that I crawled OUT of bed this morning, showered, dressed, comforted a weepy Widget until his whininess and clinginess drove me out of my mind, somehow got two children dressed, got in the car (remembering a can of soup on the way out the door for a fabulous lunch), drove them to daycare, pried The Widget off my legs and into the arms of the caretaker, drove to school, and started work.

All with no real voice to speak of, ha ha ha. I have been struck down by the dreaded Laryngitis Lament, which means I'm croaking and squeaking my way through everything. It would be funny if it didn't Suck.

The Widget is also coughing and sneezing a bit, but seems fine otherwise (healthwise: Mama's Boy clinginess-wise he's off the charts) and insisted he was okay for school, and I wanted to believe him because I'm already halfway through my sick days this year because of him. And we haven't even finished the first marking period. I'm crossing my fingers that I don't get a call from daycare saying he has to go home.

Yes, I am that parent. You may hate me now.

The Widget has always been a Mama's Boy, and there are times when it drives me absolutely around the bend. Of course it tends to manifest itself most strongly when I have Many Things To Do, such as get us all ready and out the door in the morning. I may have found my voice temporarily this morning when he nearly tripped me down the stairs with his compulsive grasp of my legs. I also was less than patient with DramaBoy's langorous approach to getting out of bed. I've been trying to encourage him to dress himself in the mornings, and he's been doing fairly well, but today...

It's a good thing we're not graded on our parenting based just on one day, or I'd be getting at most a D.

I am now getting Creative with Teaching because I can barely be heard by the students in the front rows, so discussion involving me is Out. Thankfully I don't have my juniors today, because they are the ones who need the most verbal squashing and/or encouragement. My sophomores are handling group discussions about The Scarlet Letter quite well, and my Myth students conveniently just finished reading the myth of Hercules, so I'm moving up my compare/contrast project: I'll show them Disney's version of Hercules and they will keep track of all the ways Disney Got It Wrong. Try it sometime. Just be ready for some writer's cramp.

Oh, and I am now a sexy redhead. My beloved stylist trimmed my overabundant hair last night and gave me my winter-time color, and my hair looks awesome. (I know, my modesty and humility astonishes even me at times.)

Even if I feel like a piece of warmed-over week-old fish.

Sometimes this whole Being An Adult gig blows.

------------------------------
*This gives you a vague idea of my new hair color. It's actually a little redder and more vivid, but this lighting is less than flattering. This is also the reason why I am not showing my face. Between the flourescents and my crappy cell phone camera, I LOOK like a piece of warmed-over week-old fish.

distance

TeacherMommyBlog@gmail.com (Teacher Mommy) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 11:59:00 +0000

sometimes the distance between
stretches in endless rolling waves
miles of nothingness
crossed only by thin bridges
spun of gossamer and silicon
particles of light and sound
flung into the ether
bounced off titanium, aluminum, polycyanate
miracles of science
connecting us across the chasm

and yet

the years roll by without sight of face
touch of hand
warm embrace
i feel the absence in my soul
the gape of missing pieces
spread across the surface
of this far-flung world

my roots are deep in this soil
twined through Michigan's loam
i have made my choice
planted my seeds
and cling fast to this land of seasons
and lakes
and feeling of home

yet tendrils grope in endless search
for that which is missing
withheld in time and space
particles of heart tucked away
in pockets and purses
whisked away on man-made wings
soaring over continents and oceans
to land on other ground
where i once was or dream of being

and when you dig deep your roots
my heart is planted with them
and calls out
with endless siren songs
of other earth and skies

Monsters That Lurk Within

TeacherMommyBlog@gmail.com (Teacher Mommy) — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 01:41:00 +0000

Halloween brings visions of ghosts and goblins, witches and wizards, murderers and mayhem. We thrill in the terror, turn fear into fun, mix harvest with horror. This one time of year, we embrace the monsters. We paint them and plasticize them and plant them in our yards and parade them through the neighborhoods. Their very physical presence somehow lances the fear, allows us to shiver deliciously and then, on November 1st, tuck it all away in safe storage.

It's in daily life that the monsters remove their rubber masks and talons to expose an uglier truth. We see the real ones on television every day. We read their stories in the newspapers and online. And even then we know that we are only witnessing a fraction of the monstrosity this world has to bear.

I wish I could say that the monsters are easy to spot. Some are. Most aren't. They are our neighbors, our lovers, our family, our friends. And the reality that we are most unwilling to face is that there is a touch of the monster in just about every one of us. Every time we lose our tempers just a little too much, every time we feel the need to undermine someone we love in order to feel stronger ourselves, every time we stop considering what our actions may do to others, we loose the chains on that monster a little. When we fail to shut down the monster, when we loose or free the chains entirely, then the monster rages free.

A short while ago I posted about a student of mine who was abused by her boyfriend, another student of mine. I wish I could say this is the only experience I've had with the monster of abuse. I would be lying. I can't tell all the stories here, mostly because they aren't my stories to tell. I didn't tell the entirety of that story either. I told the parts that were fresh and raw and part of that day. I wish I could have done more, had done more, to keep that story from being one that ever even happened. I wish my one student had never suffered the horror of what she went through. I wish my other student had never warped into a violent abuser who will now face the legal ramifications for his crime. I wish I didn't have to fear that there will be more victims of his violence in the future. I wish I didn't know there are other stories just like theirs that go unknown, untold.

Abuse comes in many forms: child, adult, spousal, physical, emotional, mental, spiritual, sexual. There's molestation, rape, incest, pedophilia. There are so many forms that we classify them, categorize them, rate them by degree. The law contorts itself trying to determine what deserves which punishment and when. And such is the nature of abuse and how it damages its victims that many abusers go unpunished, unstopped, undealt-with, because the victims cannot speak.

You may have noticed I have a button for the Violence Unsilenced pledge on the left side of my site. I discovered this website a few months ago through some Twitter rabbit trail and was glued to my computer screen for hours. For some reason I did not add it until my blogroll until just this week. Instead, I would occasionally stumble back and catch up on entries, once again riveted by story after story of the pain we as humans inflict on each other. Again and again I am struck by how crucial the step is for all these victims and survivors to speak out, to share their stories and their pain and receive love, support, and healing in return.

Violence Unsilenced is all about breaking the silence about abuse in any and all of its forms. It's about giving people a safe place to tell their stories, however subtle, however horrific, however old, however new and ongoing. It's about providing support and sharing the pain so people don't have to bear it all by themselves. It's about giving people a forum to learn the reality of the monsters in our world.

And it's a reminder that when we look in the mirror and see something prowling behind our eyes, it's time to tighten the chains a little more; it's time to kneel and pray for the endurance to be stronger than the monster that lurks within.

Look, Ma! No Heels!

TeacherMommyBlog@gmail.com (Teacher Mommy) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 16:14:00 +0000

Today has been Crazy and I'm not going to go into all the reasons why because it mainly involves Other People doing and not doing things they shouldn't or should, as the case may be, and I don't feel like outing them here because they're not my students (who are almost always fair game) and at least one of them is no longer mentioned on this blog and the other would get hurt feelings and I'm trying not to be bitchy.

With only a small measure of success, but hey! You take your victories where you can get them.

With luck, I will be able to somehow both completely rearrange my plans for the day and still fit in what I need to do, including go to the doctor and get the boys' hair cut. We'll see. I can hold off on the hair until tomorrow if I really must.

So in the spirit of Focusing on the Positive, here are my gorgeous new boots with the (faux) fur:

You're welcome. You may now return to your regularly scheduled lives. I'll be over here trying not to resent you for it.

I Think She Meant These to be Humorous, But This Is What She's Getting From Me. Maybe I'm a Little TOO Scary.

TeacherMommyBlog@gmail.com (Teacher Mommy) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 16:14:00 +0000

Jill over at Scary Mommy has challenged all of us mommies out in the blogosphere to confess our ~~weaknesses~~ ~~dysfunction~~ fabulous scariness for her fabulous Scary Mommy contest. I won't dare presume I'd win, but in the spirit of transparency and honesty and all that crap, I'll put myself out there. After all, we all know I have an iffy background at best with my parenting, what with all the PPD and crazies and depression and other Bad Mommying, not to mention my dangerous tendency to pretend I'm perfect.

I'm not, in case you were wondering.

(Right about now there are at least a dozen friends and family members snorting their assorted beverages through their noses at that idea.)

I debated even posting this, again because of the whole ack what if they know how screwed up i really am?!?!? thing, but since this is the last day to enter the contest, decided maybe I'd take the chance. So in advance, I'd like to make the disclaimer that I really do love my children and am not (I think) an unfit mother, so please forgive me for being so very, very Scary.

Ways in Which I Am a Scary Mommy:

I really, really, really do NOT enjoy children's games. That whole sitting around playing with trains and simple board games and blocks and all that bores me to tears after about ten minutes. There's a reason I made sure I got out of the house and met up with people over the summer. I'm much better at supervising the fun while chatting with a friend or reading a book.
I let the TV babysit for me way more than I "should." Especially on a Saturday morning when I can barely open my eyes longer than it takes to shove cereal bars in the kidlets' hands and turn on Nick Jr. or the Disney channel. Or at the end of a long day when they have an hour or so before I can realistically put them to bed and all I want to do is collapse on the couch.
When I pick the kidlets up from daycare at the end of the day, we are far more likely to swing through the drive-through of the closest Old MacDonald's or Burger King than head home for a nice home-cooked meal. Last night I went all out and went through the drive-through at KFC. Where I bought the kidlets mac-n-cheese because making my own at home would just be too much trouble. Oh, and I was also hoping the genuine non-altered lactose-containing milk products might help The (lactose-intolerant) Widget with his *ahem* bowel issues. As in, you know, moving them.
Bath time is NOT my favorite time. It's all fine until I have to actually wash them, upon which I have to contort my body into the proper positions for manipulating slippery little bodies in a low-lying tub. Yes, I know a little stool helps. But consider my back and knee issues (Lordy, I sound ancient, don't I?) and you'll realize a little stool only goes so far. I can hardly wait until my children get over the whole AHHHH! there's water running over my FACE and it might HURT me give me a TOWEL before I DIE! phase and can take showers. They might get fully clean a little more often then. I have been known to look at the latest deposit of paint/syrup/dairy product/who the heck knows in their hair, soak a washcloth, and scrub it out to the sound of vociferous complaints rather than go through the whole bathing rigamarole.
If the kidlets get too whiny and annoying while in the car, I have been known to crank up the music enough to drown them out and sing along at the top of my voice and pretend their noise is just part of the backup singing. And the adverb "too" is very subjective here.
I am constantly being caught off guard by events and fundraisers and whatnot at their school. Just this morning I saw the children had a special optional lunch for a $5 donation toward the Make A Wish Foundation. I had no clue. You think I actually LOOK at all the papers they send home? It's a good thing the teachers are willing to let me pay after the fact.
I have never made a Halloween costume from scratch for my boys and am not sure I ever will. Unless they want to dress up in drag, in which case they can raid my closet for fabulous shoes.
I lose my temper very easily. Even more easily with the boys, who somehow manage to not just push all my buttons, but jump up and down on them and smash them into pieces. I have had to apologize to them on more than one occasion for Completely Losing It.
Sometimes when I've been in a major hurry to get the boys to bed, I have "forgotten" to have them brush their teeth.
I have pinned The Widget on the floor with my legs and forced medication down his throat on multiple occasions because he's worse than a cat about taking meds. I only do this with urgent meds like antibiotics, however. And I never have to force him to eat his gummy vitamins, for some reason. (I do, however, have to keep them out of reach. I don't trust that childproof cap, because my children are far too intelligent for my peace of mind.)
And maybe the hardest and scariest thing to admit? Here goes. I'll preface this by saying I LOVE MY CHILDREN and I love their hugs and cuddles and kisses and whatnot after I haven't seen them for a while (well, any time, but especially then.) However. While I do miss them when I don't have them and think about them and carry pictures of them around in my purse, I don't ache the entire time we're apart and feel like I cannot wait until I see them next. I think this would be different if I didn't know they're with their father who loves them dearly and is a good father and that they're having a great time with him (and at school, where they have a blast as well). If I was forced to share custody with a man whom I could not trust with my children, I would be a mess. But honestly? I value my Me time. It's the silver lining in all this separation/divorce Stuff. I can have a guilt-free social life with a built-in babysitting service.

And maybe that will mean some of you will judge me harshly, but the reality is I've never been the type of mother who needs or wants to spend every waking hour with her children. Perhaps part of this is due to having had PPD for so long. I think it's possible that I never achieved the same level of bonding with my children that other mothers do. I think it's also possible that they are caught up in my abandonment issues. A part of me knows that one day they will leave me, and so I never quite allow myself to connect fully. There's always a small distance between us, a piece of my heart I cannot seem to hand to them.

And part of it is that I am the person I am, The Cat Who Walks Alone (Part of the Time).

I spent three years pretending I was perfect, being told I was Super Mom. The reality is that I'm more Scary than Super.

The reality is this: motherhood is HARD. Scratch that. PARENTHOOD IS HARD. And true, there are some for whom it comes quite naturally and it really is more butterflies and buttercups for them than anything else, but some of us...Well, some of us struggle to look past the poopy Diapers and the terrifying Dragons that face us in our parenting journeys.

I have to content myself with the reminder that my children adore me. They truly love me, and while they may know that I am Scary when I've been pushed too far, they do not fear me.

(Sometimes I wish they feared me a little more, truth be told.)

And so while I may be a Scary Mommy, even a Bad Mommy, I am not a scary mother. Or a bad one.

That just might have to be enough.

I Know You're Out There!

TeacherMommyBlog@gmail.com (Teacher Mommy) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 14:44:00 +0000

For whatever reason, my recent posts have received very skimpy commenting.

My feelings are hurt.

(Though the faithful few who do leave comments are officially among my Favorite People, so that's good.)

(At least they love me.)

I would just pout in the corner, except yesterday was a good day and I'm working on making today a good day too, and pouting in corners isn't conducive to such things. What IS conducive to such things? Oh, I don't know. Let's see what I can find:

1. Former students (in droves--I've been running into them everywhere lately) telling me how much they miss me and that I Was Right About Everything (well, duh, but some people have to learn the hard way).

2. New shoes (yesterday's pair was new: keep an eye out for the other two pairs Coming Soon to a Blog Near You).

3. Old shoes that still make me happy because I can Strut My Stuff in them.

4. A man who respects me, loves to spend time with me, misses me when I'm not around, brings new and exciting adventures into my life, and tells me (frequently) that I'm beautiful inside and out.

5. The same man being someone I respect, love to spend time with, and miss when he's not around. Oh, and he's pretty hot, too.

6. Getting compliments and even mild (and fortunately respectful) come-ons from quite a few men in general lately. I must be sending out the vibe that I feel beautiful and confident.

7. Long phone calls and online chats with wonderful girlfriends, with whom I can laugh and cry and talk about both Silly and Deep Stuff.

8. The prospect of Skyping my mom tonight, something that can only happen when she's in an area with good Internet connections.

9. A recipe for espresso fudge from DraftQueen.

10. The news that DraftQueen is coming to Michigan to visit! (Even if I do have to wait for seven months.)

And last but most definitely not least, the prospect of seeing two little boys tonight whom I have not seen since Friday morning. I foresee lots of hugs and kisses and cuddles in my near future.

Life is Good.

(But I'm not above a little guilt trip.)

(Please leave a comment. Or I will cry bloggy tears.)

Sometimes You Wish You Were Wrong

TeacherMommyBlog@gmail.com (Teacher Mommy) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 19:26:00 +0000

The warning signs were there.

The arguments. The possessive gestures. The angry words. The demands that she separate herself from her friends, from her family, from her extracurricular activities. The cold shoulder when she didn't please him enough or talked to someone he didn't like.

They sat in my class and I watched them alternate between Antartic chill and get-a-room heat. I could almost see the chains glitter sullenly in the flourescent lights.

Her friends were worried. They came to me in ones and twos and threes. We don't know what to do, they said. She's changed so much. She won't listen to us and she's starting to avoid even talking to us any more.

Has he hit her? I asked.

We don't know. We don't think so. He might have pushed her a little, but she isn't talking and we haven't seen it, they said. We're just worried about what will happen. He's not good for her.

I pulled her into the hall one day when they'd had a particularly nasty argument that ended in tears, however tightly held back, glimmering in her eyes. He didn't want to leave her behind. I made him go to his next class. He went reluctantly, glancing back all the way down the hall.

I'm worried about you two, I told her. I talked to her about the warning signs, about her friends' concerns, about what I saw in class.

He's just a little jealous, she said. He doesn't hit me or anything. He just loves me so much and he has a hard time with me doing things without him.

I'm worried, I said. This kind of relationship isn't healthy. I'm worried about where it could go. Please think about it.

I will, she said, and she made her escape. She must have gone straight to him. He must have gotten her to tell him what happened.

He was angry. He emailed me, telling me I had no business telling her these things, that I was out of line, that he wanted to talk to me about it.

I emailed back. It is my business when you are my students and you are in my class and your relationship affects each other and my classroom, I wrote. I would be more than happy to talk to you face to face about this. Let's meet after class.

He never replied, never addressed it. He backed off a bit in class, tried to charm me a little.

They don't like strong women who call their bluffs.

Five months later, I had him in a new class in a new school year. Two weeks in, he disappeared from my classroom and my roster. I received an email saying he is not allowed within one hundred feet of her and I am to report any interactions whatsoever to the deputy.

I saw her today. How are you? I asked. What happened? Are you okay?

She told me the story, about the jealous rage that led to him throwing her across the parking lot, breaking her cell phone, punching her in the face, chasing her as she fled in her car after a good samaritan pulled him off her, only giving up when she swung wildly into the lot of a police station.

Should I go to the sentencing? she asked. The prosecutor thinks I should.

You need to go, I told her. Not just because he needs to be sentenced and the judge needs you there, but for yourself. You need to be able to face him and stand up and be strong.

You could have said 'I told you so,' she said. You were right.

I didn't want to be right. I never wanted to be right.

More About Me: Because I'm Just That Fascinating

TeacherMommyBlog@gmail.com (Teacher Mommy) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 14:55:00 +0000

What shall I write about today? I ask myself, and there's an alarming silence in response.

Not that there's a lack of topics on which I could write: it's whether or not I should or even want to write about them. Topics about which I could drone on for pages are too sensitive or infringe on other people's privacy or my privacy or are just too boring to inflict upon you, my masses.

I could write about how habits creep back in so easily. That's how I started this post initially, and then I was all, No, I don't feel like preaching today thankyouverymuch. (Which is probably your response too, now that I think about it.)

I've been struggling with a vague sense of ennui and gloom. It's touched over almost every area of my life in recent days, and wouldn't you know it, I was actually oblivious as to why. I may be highly intelligent in many ways, but sometimes I'm just dumb. Or at least blind to what's right in front of my face.

Hey, TeacherMommy! You have, you know, ISSUES and stuff you're trying to work through with various levels of success and failure, not to mention the whole lack-of-closure thing and the divorce thing and the new relationship thing and the stress of work thing and oh yeah, don't you have young children too?

Speaking of habits, have I mentioned that I have a nasty one of expecting myself to be perfect all the time? And hiding my head under the sand when it comes to facing my struggles? Throw in an inferiority complex and some abandonment issues and Hello Damage Girl!

I'll admit that yesterday was a very Mondayish sort of Monday and I indulged myself after work by going shoe shopping. Because I Really Needed Those Shoes, of course. I found some awesome flat-soled boots with (faux) fur at DSW. And I replaced my knee-high black boots at Famous Footwear, since the ones I've had for three or four years are cracking. And I may just have given in to a darling pair of black pumps that were calling my name from across the room. They'll replace the black pumps I've had for eight years that are getting a little nasty.

You see, I do indulge, but at least I buy them on sale and at decent prices and use them until they give out. It's not like my student who told me today that she LOVES this pair of black pumps with red heels by some fancy schmancy designer and she's asking her mom to get them for her birthday and they only cost $695!!!

(My wedding dress cost less than that.)

(In fact, the most I've EVER paid for shoes is $150, and that was for very sturdy and rugged waterproof insulated leather outdoor boots that should last me for years.)

(I may have ranted at her a little bit about such frivolous spending, especially when she tried to defend--defend!--herself by saying she wouldn't even wear them very often. Because that makes it so much better.)

(Anyhow.)

I was chatting with Heidi online last night, discussing personalities and Myer Briggs and Enneagrams and all that good stuff as we often do, and we managed to figure out my Enneagram wing type--in other words, the way my main type combines with a neighboring type to create my own little category. I am a 4 wing 3 (main type 4 combining with the neighboring "wing" 3 type), which makes me "The Aristocrat."

Consider that I've been walking around calling myself a queen (and no, not in the drag sense) for years and you can't help but giggle.

The description we found is scarily accurate. Especially when you look at how I've been stuck in the Unhealthy mode for so long and am now working towards becoming the Healthy version of myself. I found the following description on a Very Useful Website (Check out the Famous 4w3s. Yay. I'm in GREAT company):

Four with a Three Wing: The Aristocrat

Healthy
Healthy 4w3’s can be both successful and inspired. They leave a personal touch in all the works they do, while maintaining some connection with the larger world. They enjoy public attention but are also committed to private self-exploration.

Average
Average 4w3’s can be provocative and attention-grabbing, whether through art or life. Their emotional turbulances [sic] are more on the surface than the more withdrawn 4w5’s, and it often translates to immediate and widespread interpersonal impact. They can have problems with vanity and self-indulgence, and can resemble sevens in their love of luxury and pleasure. But unlike sevens, sensations are not sought in themselves but as another accessory to their fantasy identity. They tend to “hide away” once the problems with self-image caught up with them. They can also be competitive, play emotional games, and cause “dramas” of various sorts.

Unhealthy
When 4w3’s are unhealthy, they are prone to hysteria and shallow/melodramatic emotional displays. They can have pronounced issue with self-image and shame. They feel justified to act selfishly because of their suffering. Narcissism and jealousy is also common.

Famous 4w3’s
Prince, Michael Jackson, Judy Garland, “Blanche DuBois”, “Madame Bovary”, Oscar Wilde, Marcel Proust

(From www.enneagrambook.com regarding Type 4)

Don't I sound delightful?

But then, as Heidi would say, I'm letting myself focus on the Dark Side of my Self (so Star Wars), the Self into which I disentegrate if I allow myself to do so.

This discovery does, however, explain the shoes.

two days late

TeacherMommyBlog@gmail.com (Teacher Mommy) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 13:00:00 +0000

i know it was a year
two days ago
i started this thing called a blog
thought i'd be clever
thought i'd share a few words
thought i'd pretend to be well-put-together

it's amazing how when there's an audience
for your Self put into code
sent out on the silicon veins
shot out over satellite waves
the truth has a way of coming out
creeping through the lines of lies
and half-truths
and shallow observations

and when the world comes crashing down
it's there
raw
real for once

so i took a break
didn't know if i'd return
or if the words would remain
silent in their wondering
what happened
and where did i go

and after three months
returned
with a new attitude
transparency
truth
time to be raw and real
and mix in a little humor
write what i know
write what i am
write what i would like to be

it's been a year
but a year of such change
such upheaval and pain
discovery and loss
stretching and learning
failing and growing
and still wondering
what will happen
and where will i go

it's hard not to plan
not to predict
not to jump a mile ahead
press fast-forward
take a short-cut through the woods
and forget the path
i'd rather skip the next few months
there's too much that's unknown

but that's not how it works
life
the process of time
is necessary and cannot be voided
a time machine would only land me
where i'd be unprepared for what has changed
experience is painful
but experience makes up Self

and so i'll write
and post
and learn
and grow
and fail
and grow some more

through pain and healing
sorrow and joy
evil and good

and even though i'm two days late
i'll send this out to you
my readers
who watch me in my journey
as witnesses to my words

and i'll say
wherever i go
wherever this next year takes me
thank you
and thank you
and thank you again
and may the words mean more
than a vacant babbling in the wind

Top Marks Award: Halloween #5

TeacherMommyBlog@gmail.com (Teacher Mommy) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 18:22:00 +0000

I've been following Beck over at Frog and Toad are Still Friends for ages. She is an excellent mommyblogger who brings humor and sentiment to her writing in turns.

Lately she's been writing very spooky versions of well-known children's books and TV shows in honor of Halloween. I love the first one, a take on Clifford the Big Red Dog, but it was today's story that officially wins a TeacherMommy's Top Marks Award for Fiction.

Go read it. It not only addresses the reaction EVERY parent has to the TV show "Max and Ruby" (Where the heck are the parents!?!?!), it will also make your skin crawl.

Congratulations, Beck! And keep 'em coming!

Life Outside the Paragraph

TeacherMommyBlog@gmail.com (Teacher Mommy) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 14:35:00 +0000

Tomorrow is my one-year bloggiversary, sort of. I did take that three month hiatus. Maybe I'll do a second bloggiversary marking my return and my transformation into a much more truthful and transparent blogger. Yeah. That's a good idea. I'll do that.

I'll schedule a post for tomorrow, since I may be up north or at the very least in a non-Internet access zone.

Today? Today you get some more rambling. And maybe some poetry, since there's something stirring about in there. I'm not sure what it is. That's how poetry is with me--it tends to erupt without much advance planning, if any. I do tweak and edit, though.

It's a little odd, I suppose, that I break rules with my writing here on my blog. I don't use quotation marks for speech; I use italics instead. I don't use capitalization or punctuation at all in my poetry. I make up words. I use cuz instead of because or 'cause. I use fragments and run-on sentences and all sorts of grammar violations.

And it works. Or at least I think it does. (Does it? Feel free to tell me how awesome I am. Or how horrible, though then I might have to block you.) We're talking about the difference between formal and informal writing; personal narrative versus literary analysis, poetry versus academic prose, style versus standardization. The key to being allowed to break the rules, I tell my students, is knowing the rules in the first place and then knowing how and when to break them.

One of my favorite poets is e. e. cummings, bless his uncapitalized heart. His poetry is a constant experiment with language, a game with words and sounds and meanings. Every time I read one of his poems, I feel like I'm entering a playground filled with the English language, and I feel like giggling and diving into the fun. Some of them are even visual puzzles, like one of my favorites:

(im) c-a-t(mo)
b,i:l:e
FallleA
ps!fl
OattumblI
sh?dr
IftwhirlF
(Ul)(lY)
& & &
away wanders:exact
ly; as if
not
hing had, ever happ
ene
D

--e.e.cummings

Can you figure out what he's describing? You have to see the poem as a picture, as a description in its form of what is happening.

And others speak to my soul:

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
- the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for each other; then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis

--e.e.cummings

How beautiful is that? And how can I not adore a poet who compares Life in terms of grammar and punctuation and syntax?

Perhaps the poem stirring inside me will figure itself out later. For now, I'll leave you with cummings' wisdom.

Live outside the paragraph today; dare to change your syntax.