Not Your Typical Emily

Simple writing.

noreply@blogger.com (My name isn't Emily) — Mon, 21 Feb 2022 20:59:00 +0000

Simple writing.

A place of return.

Those who don't write teach, but I have been teaching

--so I have realized those who teach, don't write.

And it's time.

To return.

In front of me

outside of paper

but on a screen

where I see

words flow into songs

I sing when no one is home.

Welcome back.

Simple writing.

Official

noreply@blogger.com (My name isn't Emily) — Sat, 28 Jan 2017 21:58:00 +0000

I am now
"official."

Why do numbers make us "official" when what we do everyday is real?

I am now
"official."

and will be complete
Masters in hand-

May.

And for all your "I am not going to follow you just to get your Masters"
words that never left
my record
I smile.

I am proud.

I did it.

For me.

at 9:04

noreply@blogger.com (My name isn't Emily) — Sat, 30 Apr 2016 22:43:00 +0000

It was the last image
I expected
long legs reciting hello old friend
when I opened the mail at 9:03.

I remember it like it was yesterday.
It was the day before.
And when I stubbed my pinkie toe at 9:04
shutting the front door,
I yelled not from throbbing pain but from
the unexpectedness.

Of that.
Of you.

And all I could do was fall back to
hairbands and conversation.

Good day
Good night
Good dear friend.

Work. Work. Work.

noreply@blogger.com (My name isn't Emily) — Sat, 02 Jan 2016 20:03:00 +0000

So...part of the new year in the classroom means that I have to put task or vocational boxes in the room. With ED kids, they are mostly typical, so I am struggling to decide what to create and apply. I do not want to tasks to be too easy for them, but I also do not want it to be too difficult. During my search, I found a great link for writing IEP goals, on The School Psych Toolbox, which I completely plan on using at some point.

That said, anyone out there has any ideas, I'd love to hear from you!

only (in) appropriate

noreply@blogger.com (My name isn't Emily) — Tue, 16 Jun 2015 20:50:00 +0000

seems only

(in)appropriate

that the day my love

that i reacted from

25 years ago

and hearing the words,

"why would you flinch?"

and me saying,

"i'm sorry"

with tears in my eyes

sadness in your eyes

knowing the past

sometimes leaves shrilling passages

so when i was putting away dishes

and the pasts-last-dish

tumbled it's ultimate fate

i knew

know

that sometimes

it's best to not understand

but move forward

everyday i left,

knowing #whyistayed when i was young

and

knowing #whyileft everyday

dealing with those surprise ripples

on tuesday's like this

A picture is worth...

noreply@blogger.com (My name isn't Emily) — Wed, 11 Mar 2015 12:25:00 +0000

I was sitting on the couch watching something I don't remember when I got a text.

My BFF.

She sent me a picture that I had to wait a few seconds to download.

It was a picture of her 'Wall of Fame.' When she bought her house she had everyone write their names on a wall in her back room.

Weeks ago my youngest, who is 15 (how did that happen?) and I stopped to visit together. And as we were leaving, my youngest noticed the wall and realized her name had faded through the past few years, so she rewrote it. The end.

Or so I thought.

Fast forward to the couch-sitting-downloading-picture.

BFF wrote, "Notice anything?"

And underneath my youngest's name I noticed another name.

My very youngest.

My very youngest that I miscarried 13 years ago in black ink.

BFF told me she's never noticed it and she stares at her wall everyday.

I believe that.

I've never noticed it and there it was..is..in plain sight.

My beloved babe who watches over all of us, but I has a special connection with my youngest.

I've blown up the picture on my phone.

I'm not one for needing logic, but I see no explanation other than spirits live with us..we just need to pay attention closer.

So, this week it's ironic and not, that my youngest got a request to reach out to a family.

I don't think she will decide to go forward with this idea, but clearly my beloved babe is right beside her in all she does.

Much love.

Love what you do

noreply@blogger.com (My name isn't Emily) — Thu, 19 Feb 2015 19:43:00 +0000

Really...I have it figured out, the LOVE part of being what I do...I am grateful to know myself in that way. I know I love yoga, sharing what I know, reading, jewelry, outdoors, music and people. I've been fortunate to follow my path, because I've never doubted I could. My path. That might be a rocky, weed-driven path, but none the less, mine.

Now, I doubt I could become a rocket scientist, but I do believe if I loved it, I'd figure out how to become a rocket scientist.

Maybe that's it. Believing you can do it, even if you don't know how.

Kind of like me going back to school.

I didn't know how I was going to manage and if I think too long about it, I start to freak out and wonder how I really am doing it.

But, I am.

And I will.

So when it comes to student teaching and I have no money coming in, I won't worry now (pant, pant) but know it will all fall into place.

It will, because there's no other way.

That may mean serving tables at night or teaching lots of yoga, but it will all come together.

Love.

Moving on...

noreply@blogger.com (My name isn't Emily) — Mon, 22 Dec 2014 12:39:00 +0000

And again, I am starting over...

The boy I aided has moved.

It was an emotional last day.

It has been emotional since we knew he was moving.

Being autistic and 9 years old, change was not inviting to him...at all.

He acted ways he never had before, but the teacher's were amazing with him

and I felt like I learned even more.

And now, I am moving to the severe autism unit. I am going this morning to visit, so I will at least know where I am going the first day of school. The kids won't be there, but I will find out more from my director what my responsibilities are and how I will be trained.

Honestly, I hope I am strong enough, emotionally and physically, for this job. I think that I will know one way or the other whether I would prefer this setting or a typical public school job setting. With my schooling, it is only a plus..it's just the not knowing, I suppose.

I've wondered that maybe this is what I meant to do...or do well at. When I did book talks, one of the things I loved was visiting different schools and community settings, sharing books. Now, even though I am mostly staying in the same place, I am periodically changing and this gives me more of a chance to help. Getting to know different adults and children, creating connections....

What I think it's all about.

Love.

noreply@blogger.com (My name isn't Emily) — Sun, 02 Nov 2014 16:09:00 +0000

It has been
more than a clock full of days
that
we
placed under
rocket
socket
putitinyourpocket
and
1
2
3
Tuesdays away

I am going to school
driving
online
where's the time
3am
asleep

gooddaysir

best summer ever

noreply@blogger.com (My name isn't Emily) — Thu, 07 Aug 2014 15:37:00 +0000

As I sat on my yoga mat this morning all I could think was, This has been the best summer ever.

I considered my last good summers...the girls were much younger, so even though they were great - I was super busy. Now I am busy, but I can sleep, sit and eat - mostly at my own pace. I sleep so well these days I am worried I might not hear sounds that I should. I sit and listen to the mourning doves. I eat clean. Healthy. With a side of junk on occasions. I feel really good.
And I am so grateful.

I have traveled to Michigan and Kentucky. Hardly exotic, but time away has been long enough to feel rested mentally. I have seen Ziggy Marley, been to Country Concert and will soon be heading to Nashville to see 1D. I have spent countless days in the sun, letting my hair & skin turn it's natural highlighted color. I realized yesterday that I haven't put sunscreen on in a month (not a big fan of the chemicals) and my body is as brown as it will be...till next year.

I have taught more yoga than I can count and have worked with wonderful students. I love being a student all the time.

Plus, I have simply gotten to be home.
Time is such a gift.
It is what makes a poor person feel rich.
I don't know how it makes a rich person feel.
Probably content.
Time should make us all content.

Anyhow, so *cheers* to the best summer ever.
Much love.

noreply@blogger.com (My name isn't Emily) — Thu, 06 Feb 2014 01:37:00 +0000

Well, after months of daily stress and years of walking on the edge, I was offered a new job 2 weeks ago and will be starting tomorrow...as long as the weather cooperates.

I won't go into the details of my former job, other than I loved my actual job and most of the people, but other components of the job turned my dream job into an anxiety ridden reality.

The plus in this former stress was that I studied my yoga, my spirituality, myself and situation, to try and find peace of where I was at. I understand that change happens and there are mean people in the world, but I have worked for wonderful people in the past and I know it exists. I know that the people above are capable of supporting the people below. And I tried to be that good person. I tried longer than I needed. But then this past 6 months, I knew I couldn't do it any more. I knew I would get sick if I stayed.

But really, finding a job is hard work. It's a job itself.

I applied online.

I talked to friends.

I tried to network.

I listened to self-help, Abraham-Hicks and meditated like crazy - and then I did something...I applied to go back to school to get my licensure and I let go.

I tried to 'stay neutral.' I knew that the only way out, was going back to school...and a funny thing happened...I got a phone call to be an aide at a school within weeks.

So the Universe was listening..it heard school and knew that was my way out. And here I go...back to school - 2nd grade, but I am going.

All the while, applying for my Masters - but this next step will let me know my path. I easily see myself being content and teaching more yoga - but I might decide licensure is it for me.

Thank you Universe.

My vibration welcomes this new path...flying high.

Om.

#nofear

noreply@blogger.com (My name isn't Emily) — Fri, 06 Dec 2013 01:50:00 +0000

Today someone I work with asked me how I was...I try to be honest when answering that question. It has to be the biggest lie told, but for me - at some point - I made it about checking in with myself. I spend most of my day giving, giving, giving and sometimes I forget where I might be in the moment. So I pause, check in and then answer the best I can.

So, she asked how I was and I told her, "pretty great."
And I then I went on to explain.
Normally pretty great would be a fine way to leave the conversation, but working life has been less than pleasant this past year so I kept talking.

I told her how when I am home, I feel great.
(I wanted to tell her my vibrational frequency rocks out, but didn't want to scare her off too much...) But when I come to work, it's like BOOM...falling to the bottom of an energy pit and how I am looking for new work and I am trying to stay positive, because maybe when I focus on the negative at work it keeps me attached to that frequency (maybe I didn't say frequency) and I need to let that go so I can move on.

I think she got it.

I wouldn't say that to everyone.
She and I have a good karmic friendship in that way...

And I felt really proud of myself that I could express what I needed to say so succinctly. I had a brief moment of clarity. #nofear #love

I am not Catholic, but...

noreply@blogger.com (My name isn't Emily) — Wed, 04 Dec 2013 13:01:00 +0000

Yesterday, as I was wasting time online, I caught the headline about the Michigan woman who is suing Catholic Bishops over the way her miscarriage was handled or in her case, wasn't handled, at her local hospital. This morning I ran into the headline again. I decided to read further, discovering this NY times article.

This of course, led me to think and realize what I already knew...

12 years ago I was pregnant with baby #4. I was 30 years old. I had 3 natural births, so I wasn't too worried about any complications.

At 20 weeks I went in for the typical ultrasound, which was kind of a big deal at the time, because my then-husband & I decided to find out the sex of the baby...something we hadn't done with the others.
But as the ultrasound technician was working, she told me she needed to find our midwife. We didn't think much of it honestly...our midwife would have loved to share this experience with us. Sadly, she had to share that we lost our baby.
Our last...our very last baby. I remember saying, "but I'm not going to have anymore babies..." like that would make a difference.

We went through the process of listening to the non-heartbeat. I had to really know this baby had died in utero.

Our midwife sent us home with clear instructions on what we should do and what might happen. She wanted me to know that sometimes when the brain catches up with the body, the body physically releases...the miscarriage happens naturally.

This did not happen.

We went back to the hospital the next morning.
I was admitted.
I was initially given the choice of having a D & E (not C - this would be an Extraction...a medically induced abortion) or to take medication that would cause my body to go into labor.

After much deliberation, we had decided on a D & E. Our midwife respected this decision. Quickly after this mental relief, my decision though was nixed by the Doctor. He told Midwife I was too far along to have a D & E. I knew that couldn't be true, because women were still able to have legal abortions at 20 weeks in Ohio. But who were my husband and I to disagree with a Doctor? We were grieving parents who being guided during this time of complete sadness.

I would take the medication, which I was told was for ulcers. A side effect of this was spontaneous abortion. Initially, they inserted the medication vaginally.
The body absorbs the medicine quickest that way.
After how many times and a tender vagina, they decided to give me the medicine orally.

I would take the medicine when given, but my body did not want to give up this sweet baby. Or maybe my mind did not...I held on for almost 24 hours. I still remember, but even more felt the moment I heard an Inner Voice say, "Let go," allowing my body to deliver this baby.

Our midwife stayed with us inbetween her patients. In my mind, she was there with us continually. She spoke quietly with me, as my body contracted this baby...using oils to help the process.

I delivered baby #4...a boy we named Elliot.

And in the end, I am glad I delivered him because I got to hold my baby and tell him goodbye...how much we loved him already. But, I never felt right that the Doctor had decided the process instead of me...especially when we were given that choice.

And so - what do you do when you have no choice? What do you do when it's not a natural, easy process?

You sue.
And though I usually think people are sueing-happy, in this case - I think she has every right. This hasn't just happened to her. More stories I am sure will start to flood the headlines and what ever may come of it...the truth will be heard.

For the good...

noreply@blogger.com (My name isn't Emily) — Wed, 04 Dec 2013 01:35:00 +0000

I won't apologize for not writing...I will simply write.
xoxo

So...anyhow,

Today I found myself sitting in yet another meeting.
I won't go into any great detail, but I'll share what is bothering me.

Because of this tiny tsunami

day
to (2)
day
responsibilities
shift under the rug,
on top of the staircase
and inside whispery voices.

One
but
two (2)
sat
explaining fairness,
how there will not be flexibility and in that,
there will be no 8 o'clock
ship docking.

9 o'clock is when the bell will ring.

No playground laughter,
straight to the dentist chair.

And I said, with a crack in my voice, "I can't afford not to teach yoga."
"I wish I could, but I can't."
Mostly I feel, I wish I could afford not to - but I can't - and I don't want to give it up.
I don't want to have to make a choice.
I don't want to hear "what's best for the library."

I want you to understand "what's best for my family."
And I suddenly felt angry.

Wishing I could fall into easy madness,
but my brain doesn't like easy -
instead
understanding
too
(2)
many things

Dreaming...

noreply@blogger.com (My name isn't Emily) — Fri, 07 Jun 2013 10:51:00 +0000

This morning I dreamt that a Shiva-type energy told me she wanted to show me the "something" and meditation room. She took me through the woods and I found myself into a large purple room. Sam was in there and it was like it was his idea to have this room, but he wasn't quite sure about it. And when I was looking around I could see that outside of the room there were two other beds, like they were going to be his and Andrew's. But as I was in this room, I could feel the warm breeze flowing through and I kept saying how beautiful it was. There were woods and a pond out back and I kept feeling the wind. Then I looked up and I was like, "why wouldn't you want to stay in here? It is what I've always wanted - a clear ceiling...like a tent." It was wonderful...and then I woke up.

I hope Sam is doing ok this morning...I wonder if the dream is about him or if it is about me finding a new spiritual room? A place to truly be....

no privacy

noreply@blogger.com (My name isn't Emily) — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 19:19:00 +0000

Privacy
hot topic
o
t   word
lack there of
on
in       line
which way do you go
o
r
kitchen
           private
space
lack there of
is
no longer
on
in      house
lock your cabinets
lock your drawers
when glass offices
move paper weights
privacy
lack there of

noreply@blogger.com (My name isn't Emily) — Mon, 15 Apr 2013 01:44:00 +0000

I've been a bad blogger for months now, but I've been a decent writer. I find myself writing just for me more often than I have in years. I do notice that I write more freely when I know it's not 'out there.' My creativity feels sparked, crackled and spotted. My creativity shines after yoga.

I am still living the same life, but not in the same shoes.

Guns at school

noreply@blogger.com (My name isn't Emily) — Wed, 20 Feb 2013 12:19:00 +0000

When trending isn't cool...

4th day of guns, bombs and various school dying threats.

Today is going on the 5th day warring mentality.
Waiting.
Will there be another note in a boys bathroom?
Does it matter what steps they put into place?
Be smart. Be done.
Does the $500 cash reward help? $1000?
Faith can be bought.

I worry about the kids who are creating chaos.
Worry about their adulthood.
I worry about their parents.
No one thinks it's their kids making this mess.
There will be a witchhunt.
Burn them at the stakes, will be murmured across the wires.
And I worry all this national hate, worry, stress will
be taken out on a couple of teenagers who need
real therapy.
Real peace.
Real love.

Valentines Day Shouldn't be About Guns

noreply@blogger.com (My name isn't Emily) — Thu, 14 Feb 2013 16:03:00 +0000

Today is not their first day of kindergarten, but Valentines Day for my middle school and high schoolers. Today is more difficult than their first day of school though. Today I have to let them go to school because they have made the decision to go. And I really prefer they were home.

Everyday my youngest calls me after school.
Everyday I ask her how her day was, what the best part was or what the worst part was--because we all know that coming home is usually the best part of any day, or should be.
Anyhow, yesterday she told me that her teachers were "acting weird" and they were really secretive. One teacher told her that if she was allowed, they would talk about it tomorrow.

That did make me wonder what was up.

Parents got a One Call Now in the afternoon, explaining that a cryptic note had been found in the high school boys bathroom that said, "School Columbine Number 2 - 2/14/13 - Good Luck." The superintendent explained school would be "as usual" with a heightened sense of security with the police there.

Guess we didn't have to wait till tomorrow to find out the secret.

I told each of them they could stay home.
They each told me why they couldn't.
So, I told them that they had the choice.
Still no.

My 7th grader, "I don't want to miss the work." We then talked about Columbine. She knew there had been a song written about it.

My 9th grader told me, "I don't like this choice." And then explained why she was going to school: scheduling.

My 11th grader, also scheduling.

And then both of my high schoolers, at different times, had the same thought...the scheduling is taking place in a common room where most of the kids of each grade will be. They understood that could be a place where most harm could be done, yet we don't live in fear, so they aren't acting in fear.

Their choice was to go.

And I cried.
I cried because I am not sending my children to war. I am sending them to school.
I cried because this will become their normal. Whether in school or the workplace, we accept gun violence is a possibility in what should be safe environments.
I cried because we should value our children, family and friends like we this everyday, not just a day we realize may be the last time we hug them goodbye.
I cried because I wished they were babies...unknowingly a simpler time.
I cried because my children will have police at the school all day.
I cried because there is no right or wrong in this solution.
I cried because they had the choice to stay home and didn't.
I cried because they feel safe.
I cried because the note could have been a prank.
I cried for the person who wrote the note who didn't know what would become of the note.
I cried for the person who knew what would become of the note.
I cried for the parents of the person who wrote the note.
I cried for parents.
I cried for children.
I cried.

And then I hugged them goodbye.
Wished them Happy Valentines Day.
And can't wait to hear all about each of their days.
Police, talk about guns and everything in between.

Taking the long road

noreply@blogger.com (My name isn't Emily) — Sat, 08 Dec 2012 19:23:00 +0000

The thing about having your children close together is that they generally leave close together.   I never thought about this idea when they were 4,3 and 1.

I always knew I wanted kids.
From a young age, say maybe 7, I had a true maternal desire to love my own child.
I can't explain it, it was just always there. As a teenager, I babysat as much as I could. I knew I didn't want to have kids, I just desired to love them. I worked at a daycare. And then the church nursery. To this day, kids make up a huge part of my day. And my own girls are my heart.

I also knew I wanted kids semi-youngish. I had my first a few months before I turned 24.
I wanted to be "done" by 30, so I could have a life. The year I turned 30, I miscarried my last baby. I knew I was done.  There was no one telling me this was the way. My own friends were just beginning at 30. I just knew this was true for me and my family.

So, last night as my youngest went to spend the night with a friend, my middle went on her first date and my oldest hung out with friends, driving to a movie, I realized they are all leaving at the same time. Literally and figuratively.   I realized this should be the time that I would spend with my beloved. This alone time that you spend years working towards. And as sappy as I was feeling, I didn't fall head first into saddness. I rejoiced in their growing up together. I realized how lucky they are to have each other to giggle and share first kiss stories together. I realized I am lucky they want to share their stories with me. It's as if they are crossing this threshold into young womanhood that is meant to be sacred and shared. Loved and laughed with. Protected.

Today, I realize being a mom is never being "done" -- it's a willowy road I love traveling.

Thanksgiving

noreply@blogger.com (My name isn't Emily) — Thu, 22 Nov 2012 19:29:00 +0000

It's Thanksgiving.
After Tammie told me this morning this is her least favorite holiday,
I said, "Yeh--I've never really gotten it." We took land from the Native Americans and feasted. Hmm.

Fast forward an hour later.
While I was doing the dishes, listening to the local public radio station, there
was a story about Nora Ephron, an interview she did before she passed away. Because my listening skills aren't the most focused always, I'm not sure if she said this or someone else, but at some point a woman was
speaking about Thanksgiving. And how it was the one time of the year that her
family, which was as dysfunctional as most, came together portraying the image
of a Norman Rockwell painting.

That stuck with me.
My childhood growing up was rather Normal Rockwell-ish.
I was fortunate to have parents who loved each other and did their best for my brother
and I. But I knew that wasn't true of other friends or even other family members. Yet,
at Thanksgiving (and really Christmas and Easter too) we would get together with extended family assuming life was simple and good.

There was an intention to love and appreciate family and food.

Of course, as an adult I know that there can be stress because of those two factors also.
If you are the host, you clean and get it all in order, to appear the picture of joy. You worry something might not go right in the preparation, but you do it and accept it, because family is more important than your stress. Hopefully.

Family is love. And family doesn't have to mean blood relation, but anyone you sit with in gratitude.

So, while I'm eating my mashed potatoes and gravy -- I will be thankful I "get it" a little bit more today.

Om

zipper remorse

noreply@blogger.com (My name isn't Emily) — Sat, 10 Nov 2012 03:17:00 +0000

that point
when your zipper stops
              mid-sentence           mid-thought        middle
you don't want to think it's stuck
              so you pull
                                             up a little harder
                                                                        down a little slower
with no give
and maybe you
groan
because those were
your favorite jeans
your favorite coat
your favorite boots
your favorite purse

why do we keep using zippers when we know
one out of how many ends in a disappointed relationship.

noreply@blogger.com (My name isn't Emily) — Fri, 19 Oct 2012 18:24:00 +0000

We argued over half cooked pizza,

I told you I don’t like people with big ego’s.

You said, you mean you don’t like human beings?

No I like humans, I don’t like big ego’s.

Are you saying my brother has a big ego?

You both have big ego’s.

Then why are you dating me?

You don’t like people with big ego’s.

You don’t let it get it in the way (most of the time), I say back.

And we continue.

About football.

Turning the other cheek, you quote as my “beliefs” (or was that Jesus?)

About fronting on people.

I explain, Not controlling your anger is a weakness.

I said twice.

I told you you are passionate in your being, emotionally, physically, sexually.

You find the passion in the argument.

And you petted the dogs,

Letting go of the argument.

noreply@blogger.com (My name isn't Emily) — Tue, 16 Oct 2012 01:08:00 +0000

I wished today was Sunday-n-a-half.
I wished for that day often as a kid, hoping I didn't have to go to school on Monday.
But of course the day continued, just as it did today -- and even though it
was really a great day, my weekend was too short.

Part of the problem I think is my age.
Really.
I've gotten to the point, at 40, that I need 2 days off in a row.
When I work Saturday, I'm off Friday - which is also pretty decent, but
in the end - I need those 2 days. One day to "work", the next day to relax.

I understand why the weekend finally exists.
Now...how to get to the other side.

Om

shrinky dink keys

noreply@blogger.com (My name isn't Emily) — Sat, 13 Oct 2012 17:19:00 +0000

with a pocket full
pocketful
pocket
full
of
shrinky-dinks
plastic wrapped
unwrapped
her hand jingles
unSanta
sansanta
sansbells
keys she doesn't carry