WRITINGS BY LISA

Six Foods You Need to Eat When in North Carolina

2015-07-24T19:12:00.000-05:00

One of the things that anyone who lives away from home misses the most is the food. (We say it is family, but... theyyy knowww....) During our last visit to North Carolina, I made a list of foods I MUST eat in North Carolina to encourage you to also enjoy the same foods when you visit.

1. Barbecue sandwich

Barbecue is very important back home, but it is different than barbecue in basically anywhere else in the South. Barbecue in North Carolina ONLY refers to smoked pig. That's IT! And then we use a vinegar-based sauce to season the meat, which some people hate, but I LOVE.

2. Salt-water taffy

There are many places to get salt-water taffy in the United States, but I always buy a box when I visit from the beach, whether on the coast of North Carolina or South Carolina.

3. Thai food

I'm originally from Fayetteville, which I will swear, right now, has the best Asian food in the South. The large Asian population in Fayetteville from the connection to Fort Bragg means the best cooks come to the top of the froth. I always get a rice and a soup. This soup is Tom Yum Goong.

4. Bojangles
If I ever murder someone and I have a last meal, it will be a Bojangles chicken biscuit with dirty rice, seasoned fries, and two BoBerry biscuits. HEAVEN ON EARTH. I don't have a picture of it because I was too busy inhaling.

5. Boiled Peanuts
This is another one of those foods you either love or hate. I've never, even heard anyone say they feel "meh" about boiled peanuts. I have also never heard another woman say they love boiled peanuts. These are found at gas stations and roadside produce stands.

6. Fried fish
When you eat fish from anywhere else in the United States that is not on the coast, it is probably pretty old. There's absolutely nothing like eating fresh fish that has been fried. You can taste the beach in it.

Confictura (Short Story Fiction)

2015-07-07T15:39:00.000-05:00

The temperature inside the Waffle House was uncontrollable. Well, there was some control; the manager could turn the knob to cold or hot or off. How cold or hot exactly was not specified. Mary never felt comfortable.

Waitresses weren't allowed to wear jackets on the restaurant's floor, however, so she used the beverages -- which she technically wasn't supposed to drink on the floor, either -- to adjust to her environment. A hot coffee when she was freezing. A cold lemonade when she was burning up.

Mary sometimes wished that she was like people in places that had harsh climates, like Iceland or the Serengeti, whose bodies naturally adjusted. They seemed so in sync with their environment. Mary had trouble adjusting to anything. She was always imagining things that had no connection to her surroundings and trying her best to compensate for her inflexibility.

She might have looked like she was taking notes during a lecture or writing a customer's order on her notepad, but inside her mind was an episode about grizzly bears in the Rocky Mountains on Nat Geo or a memorable essay from her last anthropology class on voodoo in Haiti. Mary was excellent at being there without actually being there.

John interrupted her controlled daydreams.

She had been waiting for about two months when she was moved to the afternoon shift. Whether it was in recognition for her outstanding work ethic or inability to work under the extreme high pressure of the morning shift, she didn't know, but she appreciated the general calm on her new work hours. And she appreciated that most of her customers were regulars. John was her favorite.

He visited the restaurant every single day. Before he arrived, she sometimes re-enacted their first conversation together in her head.

"Hello. Do you know what you'll be having today?"

John was hunched over the menu and seemed to jump when she spoke, as if she didn't know she was there. She ignored the jump and laid out his silverware on a paper napkin.

"I, uh... need a minute. I'll have a coffee."

"Cream?"

"Yes, ma'am."

And he flashed his smile full of sunshine that didn't strike her then, but made her grin to herself as she washed the dishes now.

She brought him the cup of coffee, which had warmed wonderfully her freezing fingers.

"I'll have two eggs sunny side up with grits."

"Bacon or sausage?"

"Bacon."

He gave her the menu and she placed it back on his table, behind the napkin dispenser, and began to walk away. He called after her.

"You know, most waitresses take the menu with them when I hand it over."

"I don't know why." She glimpsed a laugh she knew he was inadvertently letting out. "I don't have any need for it."

He brooded there twiddling his thumbs while the cook did his magic. She was polishing silverware near his table. He was the only customer in the place.

"How long have you been working here?

She noticed then that he had a newspaper folded under his left thigh.

"I've been working here two months, but this is my first day on the afternoon shift."

There was an awkward moment where he was silent, staring out the window at the highway, and she wondered if he expected her to say something. She didn't know what to say. She usually didn't talk to the customers.

She decided to warm up his coffee mug with the coffee pot instead.

"Do you live around here?"

"Yes, I go to school in town. At the college."

She brought his plates of hot food, asked if he needed anything else, then went back to her silverware. She assumed that he would want to read his newspaper now that he had his food. He didn't.

"What do you do?"

"I'm a farmer. I grow corn."

"You look too young to be a farmer."

"Would it shock you that I have two boys?"

"No, it wouldn't. You just... look too young to be a farmer."

She jaunted away then, pretending she needed to refill all of the ketchup bottles, but really just saving herself from explaining such a stupid remark.

She poured herself a lemonade and wondered if the heat was turned on.

Although she still inhabited countless hours in her own mind working over the statistics of immigration from the Philippines or the food habits of Siberians, she devoted many moments to the curve of his tattered ball cap, his long spindly legs covered in faded jeans, and the moment he once said, "I like your hair," and looked away embarrassed at the cars racing down the highway, oblivious to her self-consciously tucking a few strands of her red hair behind an ear.

One day, John arrived earlier than usual.

"You're here early."

He didn't murmur anything, just hunched over his menu.

"How are your boys?" Mary poured him a cup of freshly-ground coffee and stood three creamers beside the spoon. "You gonna have the usual?"

He peered up at her finally and nodded. He handed her the menu and she tucked it behind the napkin holder.

"You think you're going to be busy today?"

"Hard to tell," she mumbled, before yelling, "Order!" at the cook. "Pull one bacon. Mark order over light. Thank you!"

He perched without reading his newspaper, like he normally did, but one of his long, skinny legs shook nervously under the two-person table. Mary went back to cutting a chocolate pie and plating the slices on a table near him.

"You want to go out some time?"

She continued pulling the plastic wrap over the chocolate pie slices, assuming she misheard him.

"What?"

"Do you want to go out sometime... with me?"

She glanced back at the cook, to judge if she was slowly becoming the subject of Waffle House gossip, but he was wearing his over-sized headphones while cracking eggs.

"Sure." She avoided his eyes, but detected his nod in her peripheral vision.

"Good." He finally started to cream his coffee.

The cook called, "Pick up!" and she rushed to the plates. "When?"

"What?"

"When do you want to take me out?"

"Oh." He looked as if he hadn't actually thought of it. "Tonight?"

"Okay," she agreed, as nonchalantly as possible. And then she spent the rest of his time at the Waffle House at the far end of the restaurant, trying to appear unconcerned, despite the fact that her face was flushed, her heart was banging, and she never, ever completely ignored him like that.

Eventually, she poured herself a lemonade, suddenly hot even though she had been nursing a coffee before John's arrival.

When he left, she did her best to daydream as she always did, to allow it to fill up with musings on the Dead Sea Scrolls and a book she had started the night before but would probably never finish, but instead her mind was drawn back to her date with John that evening.

She wondered where they would go tonight. What should she wear? Would he say many nice things to her like he had before about her hair? Was this the beginning of the relationship she yearned for when she was lonely on Friday nights?

Her usual ability to still work semi-productively around her internal absent-mindedness had completely vanished. She only took ten dollars home in tips.

John picked her up at 7:30 after she called in a favor to Tracy, a waitress always looking to pick up extra shifts. She had tried to practice theoretical conversations with her reflection in the mirror, full of effortless flirting, charming remarks, and absolute ease with her ambiance.

She smiled nervously, pressing her lips together so tightly that they looked redder when she opened them. John gave her that sunshine smile but his side of her truck, but she was disappointed he smelled like he hadn't washed after a day at the farm.

Noticing they were headed into town, she asked where they were headed. "Olive Garden," was his reply.

"Olive Garden," she thought. "Uck..." But she smiled anyways.

At the restaurant, they settled in a stiff silence, reading the menu. She noticed the wait staff at the Olive Garden seemed to recognize him. Was he a regular here too? She considered it adorable that he was a regular at the Waffle House, but now the idea of him just going to the same exact restaurants every day seemed rather... boring.

She searched for something to say. She asked about his farm. She asked about his sons. He answered her questions then looked unsmiling away. What had once seemed like a mysterious, handsome farmer with a great smile was now turning into a boring, inarticulate stranger.

She couldn't believe she found someone who loved to be inside their head more than she did. Or maybe he was just dumb? There wasn't really a way to tell.

While they were eating, she found herself starting to think about the show she had recorded for tonight on monks in China when he finally asked her a question. She had almost forgotten he was there.

"What are you studying in college?"

"Oh." She placed her fork down. "I'm undecided."

"Why did you go to college if you haven't decided what to study?"

Her practice conversations in the mirror flashed in her mind briefly.

"Mostly you take general classes the first couple of years. I hope by the time I finish those I'll have a major to declare."

She picked up her fork, not liking their conversation, but adding, "I'm thinking of majoring in Geography."

"Well, I didn't go to college." He struck her as incredulously proud of it. "And I don't know what you would do with a geography degree. Probably be stuck waiting tables again."

She continued to eat her food, wondering if they served coffee at Olive Garden. She glanced as covertly as possible at his plate, to see if he was almost done eating.

On the way home, she stared out the window, no longer feeling uneasy because she didn't expect anything interesting from him anymore. She wished again that he would have at least changed his shirt.

Before dusk, Mary rode her bicycle along her favorite trail in the woods behind her apartment. The sun shone dimly through the summer leaves overhead, which she would have loved to gaze at if the many tree roots didn't threaten to project her like a fiery canon.

Reaching the wooden plank deck over the river, she stopped to peer over the edge at a place where the water rushed ferociously. No turtles were sun bathing on the smooth rocks this late.

Why had she thought John was so great? When she relived their interactions at the Waffle House, she couldn't remember what had made her swoon. Rather than taking note of John as he was, she allowed her imagination lead her into a fantasy of what she wanted him to be. She thought she was actually reacting to her environment this time, but, instead, she was just responding to a new daydream.

Suddenly, a small turtle appeared on one of the moss-covered rocks still bathing in the dying sunlight. The turtle couldn't have been more than a couple days old, tiny enough to easily fit in the palm on her hand.

"Hey, little guy."

The turtle found a comfortable spot in the midst of the rushing waters, opened his toothless mouth, and closed his alien eyes. She realized he was going to take a nap in the warmth of the sun with the spraying of river water hitting his small legs.

By the end of her next shift, she stared out the western window at the empty highway, drinking a glass of lemonade, and knew she would never see the farmer again.

The Sacrifice (Short Story Fiction)

2015-06-22T13:19:00.000-05:00

They were the bane of any decent person's ear drums. An excess of giggling and gossiping with an overindulgence of glitter and gloss. Frantic whispers erupted into shouts of hilarity. It was a rampage against good common manners.

It was a group of teenage girls at a state fair on a Friday night.

Afterwards, none of the girls knew where Avon came from. Everyone just assumed she was a friend of another girl and because she fit in so well and so immediately, no one questioned if she even belonged there in the first place. And indeed, no one in their group really thought about her afterwards, except, sometimes, Susanna, whose life she had changed forever.

With ride-all-day armbands flanking numerous other jelly and gold-plated bangles, they flew from amusement to amusement, seeking out boys to smile flirtatiously and pointing unabashedly to rival groups of girls from their school and other nearby schools.

It seemed inevitable, then, that their attentions fell toward the Ferris wheel, where the best view of the entire state fair could be found.

While dawdling in the long line, Avon began to feel the eyes of an unwelcome stranger on her. Searching for the hostile eyes was a bit like Jesus finding the woman who touched him, but eventually she found them on a carny running the Ferris wheel. In between opening and closing the chairs and manning the levers, he stared openly at Avon with a level far beyond concern. She tried to ignore him, but she became increasingly anxious as the line shortened in front of her.

Right when she thought she was going to be free from the creepy carny, whose name she had noticed on his uniform was Stratford, he roughly seized her arm as she waited for the other girls to board the chair.

"What are you doing?!" he hissed.

"Let go of me," she insisted, glancing at her friends to gauge whether they had noticed her distress. They were arguing over seats.

"You're not following the rules. You should leave them now."

"No! I'm learning so much," and she wrenched her arm from his dirty hands and sat down in the car full of happy teenagers, looking slightly ruffled and otherwise carefree. Stratford hesitated, as if he wanted to pull Avon out of her seat by her hair, but instead moved over to the lever, morphing into an anonymous carny once again.

After the Ferris wheel ride, where Judith spotted Francis and Marlow by the High Striker, they decided to head that way on the pretense of buying cotton candy and funnel cakes, but were subverted by the sight of one dark tent with the invitation, "Want to know your future?" on a wooden arrow. To a group of girls obsessed over their next boyfriend, it was too tempting to not try.

The fortune teller was alone, drinking a cup of hot tea in an overstuffed chair that seemed quite inappropriate at a Southern state fair on the fields of dead crops. She was old, of course, and slightly ethnic, but she was surprisingly accepting of the horde of ditsy teenage girls entering her presence.

"You want your fortunes read," she stated.

Elizabeth sputtered, "We want to know who we will marry." The girls erupted in giggles at the possibility.

"I will tell you what the spirits want me to tell you, no more or less. If you agree, I require five dollars each."

They pulled out five dollars, some of them breaking ten dollar bills among themselves. Then they perched in the metal folding chairs surrounding the lady, who closed her eyes.

"My name is Vere, your fortune teller. I will ask the spirits to speak to me concerning these children."

Silence. The fair continued to rage outside the tent, but inside only the sound of the girls anxious breathing could be distinguished.

Suddenly, with her eyes still closed, Vere began to speak in, surprisingly, her normal voice.

"Elizabeth, if you marry the boy, he will not grow to be the man you wish." Elizabeth furrowed her brown with a stern mouth.

"Judith, stop searching and let them come to you." Judith's eyes opened widely.

"Anne, do not let yourself be separated from those whom you love or you will be forgotten entirely." Anne looked as if she knew this the whole time.

"Susanna... the spirits are trying to speak, but they are withholding their message. I wonder why..."

Suddenly her voice became harsh.

"Someone is here who should not!"

She opened her eyes and looked at Avon.

"You do not know what you have started. Are you prepared to accept the sacrifice?"

Avon looked in shock at the lady.

"Yes?"

The lady sniffed in doubt and hid her eyes with her hands, an old symbol of washing one's hands free from responsibility.

"Let the spirits continue to guide you. I can do no more work here."

The girls sat unsteadily for a few minutes then filed outside. There they stood not looking at each other, trying to decide how to discuss the premonitions or even if they should.

Instead, Anne quietly suggested, "How about that funnel cake? I could go for a Coke, too."

Waiting at the neon-bright food stand was Francis and Marlow. Having long consumed any food they purchased, they looked like they were explicitly waiting for them. Judith was trying to not bob on her feet, forgetting entirely the Vere's warning. They commenced to flirt, Elizabeth halfheartedly joining, while Anne sought the refreshing Cokes, and Susanna leaned against a napkin stand, looking bored.

Avon, for once, stood apart and observed. That was what she was there to do, after all, observe life as a teenage girl in the twenty-first century for her studies as an anthropologist. No one from the grant office had connected that the subjects she had chosen for her dissertation contained her direct ancestor. No one had connected that she was preparing herself for more than observation, but for interaction. But how would she form a distinct thesis if she did not integrate herself with her subjects?

She honestly did not know that much about Susanna, except that her ancestress was seventeen at the point of contact. She didn't know who she married or how many children she had produced, although she assumed she had done both in order to produce the lineage that led to Avon. She could have looked all that information up on the International Genealogical Database, but she was too busy preparing for her life in 2014 to research the history of her 400-year-old great-times-a-thousand grandmother.

Suddenly, a new boy appeared and Susanna perked up. Avon read her lips, "Hey, William. I didn't expect to see you here."

The boy, of a slight built but with dark curly hair, grinned nervously at Susanna and answered back. Avon couldn't read his lips, but decided now would be a good time to just observe teenage body language. Body to body communication had all but ceased during her time. What in the world would they do with their hands while courting?

Susanna at first continued to lean against the napkin stand with a hand on her hip. William stood with his hands by his side, but when a change in the tone of the conversation occurred, William crossed his arms and Susanna put both hands on her hips. Avon thought they must be teasing each other. She grinned in spite of herself.

Then Susanna turned to check on her girls, leaving her Coke on the stand. Williams quickly pulled something out of his pocket and dropped it in Susanna's drink, where it immediately disappeared, just as Susanna turned around. To cover an awkward moment, Susanna grabbed her drink and swallowed.

Avon stood rooted in her shoes, wondering if she actually saw what she knew she saw. She suddenly felt her heart beating painfully against her ear drums and her breath going in and out of her lungs past capacity. This place was suddenly too loud, too bright, too obnoxious.

She was stuck.

She had to get Susanna away from William, but it would be an act of intervention far beyond what she had done today. Still -- what sort of ramification could she expect from saving her direct ancestor from violent acts? Would Susanna not go on to live a better life? Wouldn't that be better for all of her whole family, then?

Or was the next generation conceived this night?

A choice. She remembered Vere's words. Was she prepared for the sacrifice?

Somehow, Avon convinced Susanna to leave with her. It took all of her heart-pounding, fake-smiling, quick-thinking, and mind-manipulating, but together they left William, looking angry, and walked to the parking lot, Susanna already tripping over her own feet and Avon feeling slightly stretched then and pale.

Avon found the Honda the four girls had drove to the state fair and lifted Susanna into the passenger seat. She rested herself in the driver's seat, although she didn't have any keys. It didn't matter. She locked the doors.

When Anne, Elizabeth, and Judith later found the car, they wondered where Avon had gone and how Susanna, who had obviously been drugged, managed to get herself to the car and lock the doors.

They didn't notice the extra armband in the driver's seat or Stratford the Carny staring with his distant grey eyes, a resigned frown on his half-shaven face.

A Tour of Our New Apartment

2015-06-22T08:53:00.000-05:00

I've been in a new apartment for two months now, but I am finally ready to show it off to those who follow my blog, won't see my apartment, and are wondering where I live now. (Read: My mom.) So, here's a tour of our new apartment!

Sorry for the crappy picture. It's bright outside.

Yep, I got the television :D

My HUGE pantry

The boy's toy and craft closet

The book shelf just has the boys books. I am still trying to decide where to put my books.
I use the blue cabinet as a sort of desk.

Shout out to my sister Christie for carrying my over-sized mirror up the stairs!

The Secretary (Short Story Fiction)

2015-06-10T18:23:00.001-05:00

The doctors never dirtied themselves with the bodies. No, the patients who did not survive the surgeries were disposed by the nurses and assisted by the orderlies. I was there to answer the phone, deliver paperwork to patients, and make that paperwork disappear when patients needed to disappear. I was the secretary.

When I was hired at nine dollars a hour, my mom sent me a coffee mug to celebrate my employment: Always be yourself, because everyone else is taken. I stared at it during dull times, wondering if it was possible that I could still be someone else, at the same time that they were themselves, too. I really didn't see why it wasn't possible.

The doctors, Geta and Severus, who co-owned the medical clinic, collected fresh organs from patients, which they then sold to other patients who needed them. I assumed, given the finite amount of quality organs, these "needy" patients were not needy in other ways, mainly in their bank accounts.

The patients whom I greeted at my desk, however, were needy.

Looking into the eyes of the first timers wasn't difficult. There was shame, sure, but that was nothing a friendly, understanding smile couldn't fix and with some coaxing I could retrieve their hopes and dreams for the money that they would receive.

The returnees, who already had files with their names in the room of labeled folders, were burdensome patients. Some returnees still held on to their dreams, telling anyone who would listen that they just needed a little bit more money. A few more returnees were supporting addictions, whether to drugs, women, or other distractions. They sat in the waiting room making promises to themselves that this would be the last time, while knowing it was all a lie, since they had promised the same promise before.

The worst returnees were those who had given up all hope. I didn't understand what motivated them to sell their organs. I peered into their eyes to search for their dreams, but I saw nothing but despair. Why did they bother?

I'm not sure if my employers had ever planned to tell me directly that some of the surgeries failed or if it was easier to impart the secrecy of the mistakes if I observed the situation and chose to keep my mouth shut rather than be told to. While taking a smoke break beside the dumpsters, I saw a car squeeze in between the alley behind the clinic. Two inconspicuous men emerged. I recognized them as bad men, men whom I did my best to not be seen by. I wanted to hide but there was no where to go. So I stood there, continuing to smoke, with the determined expression of, "I see nothing. I hear nothing. I am nothing."

One gave me a side, searching stare. Either recognizing me as the secretary or realizing I wasn't anything worth worrying about, they proceeded to open the trunk. About the same time an orderly walked out of the same back door I had escaped before with an oblong package in plastic sheeting. I knew what was going on. I became more determined to look less interested or interesting.

Later on in the day I was handed a name on a sticky note: Perpetua Smith. The nurse told me to "make her disappear." First, I shredded her neatly completed paperwork. Then I changed the online schedule to place the doctors in their offices writing notes instead of performing surgery. I assigned all of the materials used in her surgery to other surgeries completed that day to not disturb inventory. And then I sat at my desk, looked at my coffee mug, and wondered if she had a mother, too.

Months passed by. Every week three souls disappeared without a trace, with my help. I prayed for them, but I felt I couldn't do more. There weren't jobs out there and if I quit, I might be in the waiting room myself before long. Besides, I knew too much to be allowed to quit. I know what those bad men were capable of.

One afternoon, coming back from an errand in the back, I felt the unexplained urging to look over the waiting room in detail, as if I knew a part of my fate was sitting there. One of the nurses had already handed him paperwork, which his head was hunched over. His hair was shorter and darker but I would know those shoulder arches anywhere. I sat silently at my desk, feeling my shallow breath, wondering what to do. Would he recognize me? Should I wait until he turns in his paperwork to attract his attention?

My God, what was he doing here?

Decades went by while I waited for his notice. I thought back to the last time I saw him. He was at the third floor of an apartment building, waving sadly to me from the patio while I squinted up at him. An angry phone call was the last time I heard his voice. I tried to remember the date but the pressing of the moment kept me from thinking clearly to the past. I attempted to do something -- anything! -- but always found myself looking back at him.

Finally. The moment of truth. He walked with his pigeon toed feet to my desk, keeping his head down, surprisingly looking like a returnee. Seeing his face for the first time, I witnessed how life alone had aged him drastically. He looked ten years older than me, although I randomly remembered that he was four months younger.

He laid the paperwork on my desk and finally looked me in the face.

"Felicity. What are you doing here?"

"I work here."

"But... why are you in Oklahoma? Why aren't you back home?"

"I live here now. What are you doing here, Revy?"

He seemed at a loss for words.

After all these years, I had nothing to say to him, although I already knew this conversation would replay in my mind forever and I would think of hundreds of other things I could have said to him now.

I sighed.

"Where's the rest of your paperwork?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the contact information and prior medical history. Why didn't you complete that?"

It was a rhetorical question as I stood up from my desk and walked without notice to the room with labeled folders. I found his name. I found his folder. I glanced inside. This would be his fourth visit.

Walking back to my desk, I thought of a thousand things I wanted to say to him to make him turn around and walk out that door, but I was a different woman and he was a different man. The years of love between us had disappeared and we were just cogs in a machine, marionettes on strings, ants in an elaborate ant farm.

Stop feeling, I told myself.

"I found your folder. I'll schedule you now."

I grabbed the mouse of my computer in an attempt to become suddenly impartial, but was seized by a force beyond myself. I couldn't allow him to go into that operation room. I had to save one person, at least.

"Revy. Don't do this. You won't survive. No one comes back from the fourth time."

"That's the point, Felicity."

I sat in shock. I whispered back with steel in my voice, "What?"

He leaned in so that his face with inches from mine and I saw clearly things I had never seen before in his eyes but had seen countless times before in returnees. A despair I had been unable to explain. But Revy was going to explain it to me now. And his voice was a voice I had never heard from any living voice before. The sound of naked fear... and hate... and accusation.

"Don't you think we know that no one survives the fourth time? Why, Felicity, why do you think people come back for a fourth time? Do you think we're that stupid that we haven't figure out this will be the end?"

I sat in shock, my fingers still on the mouse.

"But you're better than this, Revy."

"No, I'm not. And you're not, either."

He hesitated as if he too wanted to say more, closed his eyes, and shuffled back to his seat.

I placed his paperwork in a folder, scheduled his operation, filed insurance papers, and looked at my coffee mug. I didn't want to be myself. I didn't want Revy to be himself either. I wondered though, if really anyone else was any better.

When he was called back, I took a smoke break. After breathing in the tobacco of one cigarette, I smoked another. And another. I smoked the whole damn pack and wanted more.

When I went back to my desk, I found his name on a sticky note, like I thought I would.

What My Title I Classroom Looks Like

2015-06-07T23:56:00.001-05:00

A couple months ago, I read on a post on one of my favorite teaching blogs, Love, Teach. She wrote quite eloquently about the positives and negatives of working in a Title I school. A Title I school has a very high percentage of students whose families fall below the poverty line. These schools have many issues, from low test scores and parent involvement to lack of technology and supplies, because of the poverty of their communities. What I want to show in pictures today is the infrastructure problems Title I schools face.

This isn't a condemnation of the school system I am teaching. I believe they do their best for the children. Neither is this a condemnation of the community. I think that is an issue more complicated than a simple blog post could expose. This is just a window, from my classroom to you, a member of the public. This is what a classroom in a poor community looks like.

These cracks are mostly caused by earthquakes.

The Mountain (Short Story Fiction)

2015-06-01T00:38:00.000-05:00

She had never seen the mountains before. Sure, she had seen photographs in her National Geographic magazine subscription and even watched an IMAX movie about the Himalayas, but had she ever actually seen a mountain rising above her with her own eyes?

A couple friends had invited her on a week-long hiking trip. Initially, she laughed and gave an emphatic "No." Didn't they know she simply didn't do things like that?

They told her to stop being a wimp and start breaking in a pair of hiking boots.

With that sort of challenge by people who knew her, she wondered why she had assumed she couldn't spend a week in the woods hiking. Cold fear snaked up her spine and old whispers of humiliation, failure, and loss of respect caressed her thoughts. She felt the shortening of breath that usually predicted an anxiety attack and started crafting the conversation that needed to happen to avert this terrible experience. Or maybe she could just avoid her friends until they forgot entirely about the invitation.

That's when her phone dinged with an email notification. Those jerks had already bought her an airplane ticket. Holy Jesus.

Before she could third-guess herself she was in the backseat of a Honda on a curving road where the trees increased and the light poles decreased. She had a pack full of supplies she'd never seen before and a nervous dread in the deepest part of her stomach. She still hadn't seen any mountains.

"It seems weird to take an air-conditioned car to the middle of nowhere. I thought we were going to be roughing it."

"Stop with your asinine comments, Suzanne. We know you're just being a pill."

David and Amber looked at each other, exchanging thoughts through one expression the way they had always done since high school. She hated it when they did that, especially since years away from both of them meant she no longer could understand the meanings. They were hiding something from her though, that much was for certain.

The Honda stopped in a campground spotted with picnic tables and ground reduced to dirt paths from overuse. The sun was reaching that point in the sky where it shone painfully in her eyes. She grabbed her pack and followed the two lovebirds to a group of rocks, where they showed her the best way to load sixty pounds of supplies onto her back without killing herself. They loaded their packs onto their backs and she realized this was it. She was doing this. Holy Mary.

They started up a small hill where the dirt paths decreased and the overgrown grasses that reached to her fingertips increased. After fifteen minutes she was short of breath with a sweaty forehead, a growing need for either caffeine or nicotine, and a nasty feeling she had made a regrettable mistake. Could she still turn back? She started crafting the conversation that would lead her to a return flight home --

"Suzanne, how are you doing back there?"

"Oh... not too bad... feeling kind of tired... you know... maybe..."

"Don't worry. We only have two more hours of walking. Then it'll be worth it. Promise."

"Oh... okay... I guess so..."

Two more hours? Holy St. Francis.

The night was finally falling and the air was full of the damp, cold feeling that led medieval doctors to advise women to stay indoors. They found an open, flat area to stake tent poles and start a small fire. She was so exhausted she could barely keep her eyes open so David shoved the bowl of canned chicken and hydrated mashed potatoes into her hands. After a few bites, she started to feel her extremities again.

"Suzanne."

"Yeah?"

"How are you feeling, babe?"

"Well, ugh."

She laughed nervously and shoved more deliciously hot food into her mouth.

"Let's go over to the lake."

"What lake? I'm tired, Amber."

She glanced longingly into the ready sleeping bag under the tent.

"No, babe. Let's go to the lake. We won't be back here ever."

Grudgingly, she stood up thinking dark thoughts about her two friends and praying to St. Christopher for the strength to endure future shame. Slipping on a pair of worn tennis shoes and her thick thermal jacket, she followed Amber's reflective shirt along a path with grasses higher than her waist and tree limbs inching their way into her path. Past a fallen Sequoia hollowed out from a recent forest fire, she wondered what in heavens she, of all people, were doing in a place like this.

Until she saw the lake.

Until she saw the mountain.

Rising above the calm lake like a queen upon her throne, she suddenly understood why ancient Greek citizens declared Mount Olympus to be sacred. It was simply beautiful. The full, bright moon shone on the top of the mountain where snow found a home even in the hot summer days. There was tresses of green and blue striping the mountains -- what were those colors anyways? She was mesmerized by the sight. Noticing that it mirrored onto the equally beautiful lake could not astonish her anymore. Her heart was already overwhelmed.

She began to cry.

Years and years of saying no. Years and years of rejection of opportunities because she thought she wasn't that type of girl. How many beautiful mountains had she missed? How many mirror lakes had passed her by?

Amber placed a comforting hand on her back and gently suggested they go back to the campsite. But she couldn't leave. She couldn't leave the mountain again.

Summer 2015 Bucket List

2015-05-28T00:32:00.001-05:00

Summer began for me on Tuesday, as it was the first date that I would have gone to work but totally didn't have to because school is out for the summer. (If you sang that last part in a sing-songy tone, kudos to you.) Now I have created a summer bucket list for me and the boys. Some of it are things I want to do with the boys and some are things I have planned for just myself. I hope you enjoy seeing me cross them out gradually.

1. ~~Frontier City~~
2. Edmond Farmer's Market (Saturdays 8 am - 1 pm)
3. ~~The Myriad Gardens Splash Pad~~
4. ~~Apartment Swimming Pool~~
5. ~~North Carolina trip: June 24 - July 8~~
6. ~~OKC Zoo Trip~~
7. ~~Science Museum~~
8. ~~Hafer Park Summer Concerts~~
9. ~~Sam Noble museum~~
10. ~~Metro Summer Reading Program~~
11. ~~OKC Dodgers Baseball Game~~
12. Mount Scott
13. ~~Downtown Guthrie visit~~
14. ~~Hafer Park Duck Feedings~~
15. Write a story every week
16. Read 33 Books
17. ~~3 workouts a week~~
18. ~~New tattoo~~
19. Harkins theater (Curious George July 27-31, starts 9:45 am)
20. ~~Oklahoma City National Memorial~~

The Drowning (Short Story Fiction)

2015-05-17T23:38:00.000-05:00

I started writing short story fiction again and think I'll post some of my stories on here. Here is my first one.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She hated wearing that life jacket. It was cold and damp and squeezed too tightly against her chest. She shuttered at the thought of all of those germs planting themselves on her body. Gross.

“My ancestors didn’t wear life jackets,” she thought defiantly. But then she remembered her uncle Bill, whom she had never met because he drowned at age sixteen in Red River Lake. Perhaps her ancestors were just lucky.

Pushing the sail boat out into the sound, where the wind and the waves were, always made her feel useless. She was sure her camp leader, a twenty-year-old college student, and her best camp buddy, Aaron, whom had nicknamed her The Four Square Queen, could paddle the sail boat across the Atlantic Ocean without an iota of help from her.

It was a majestic day for sailing. The wind smelled of salt and seaweed. The sun was bright but not overbearing. She would have closed her eyes to savor the feeling but the beautiful blue of the sea kept them open. She felt like she had died and gone to heaven.

The camp leader’s voice was the only sound interrupting her peace. His instructions and remarks didn’t make an impact on her, although she heard them, like she vaguely heard the seagulls overhead.

“Alright, let’s get this sail boat turned around so we can make the loop back home. Keep your heads down…. Uh-oh. Wind is getting tricky. Aaron, quick, grab that line…. Crap! C’mon, girl, work with me…. Okay, we might have to get out. The boat might turn over, but that’s fine. We’ll just turn it back over. No worries! Aaron, you jump out first. Now, you, Ophelia. Watch those ropes…. Well, it looks like we’ll just have to swim to the pier, then. This has never happened to me before, guys.”

Coming out of her daydream, she realized the sail boat was emerged in the waters. Sail boats sink?

Dog paddling after the camp leader and Aaron, she felt so tired. Maybe it was the large amount of four square she had already played that morning. Or maybe it was because the pier just seemed so dang far away.

Her arms and legs were moving but she wasn’t going any further. In fact, she seemed to be sinking.

“Aar–!” and then she was underwater, the life jacket choking her in a futile attempt to keep her afloat. She tried to struggle back to the surface of the water, but the beautiful sight of the sun meandering through the murky blue salty water distracted her. It was just too lovely.

The wooden pier was warm on her back. The sun was too bright. Aaron’s face loomed above her. His wet hair and red-rimmed eyes startled her.

“You drowned,” he stated. She tried to ask what happened, but her voice wouldn’t work. He knew, though.

“The sail boat’s lines were caught in your life jacket. It pulled you down. The more I swam to get you, the more you were pulled away. I ripped that life jacket off you. When we brought you up, you were dead. They had to bring you back.”

He grabbed her shoulders firmly.

“What would I have done without you?”

“But I’m useless,” she thought.

His voice dropped to a desperate whisper. “What did you see? In those minutes… when you were gone…”

An image of the sunlight floating in the waters came back to her.

“Nothing,” she thought with her sea-green eyes. “Nothing.”

My Best Mother's Day Ever

2015-05-11T13:09:00.004-05:00

I just had my best Mother's Day ever.

I picked up my boys from their grandparents' house right before church and dressed them in matching outfits. They had painted a frame for me with their dad. We went to church together, which is always a pleasure. Owen was selected to hold the Bible during the procession. I was so proud of him! He came back to our seat and told me, "It heaby, Mama." I bet it was, son.

I made an appointment at Target Portrait Studios to get our pictures taken. I have a tradition of getting the boys a yearly portrait around Mother's Day. I also decided to get my picture taken with the boys, as my mother's day gift to myself. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get two little boys to sit still, facing the light and camera, look at the camera, and smile AT THE SAME TIME? It's a miracle, every time.

After our portrait session, we had our Mother's Day lunch at On The Border. The boys ate bean and cheese nachos, chicken strips, french fries, and as much chips and queso they could stuff in their little mouths. I had chili relleno, enchilada, and tostada. And a giant frozen margarita. Yesssssssss.

Half way through the dinner Wyatt wanted his bottle. He laid his precious head on my lap and took a nap. My little men are so special to me. I am so happy I am their mother.

2015 Gardening: The Battle To Grow in Oklahoma, Part 3

2015-05-07T15:43:00.003-05:00

It's that time of the year again! Time to put a little bit of green on my porch and pretend I can grow plants. This my third growing season in Oklahoma. The past two years were complete failures. I'm feeling more optimistic this year because:

1. I didn't crowd my vegetables in the containers.

2. I didn't buy the cheapest dirt.

3. My patio gets a lot of sunshine.

Here's one of my tomato plants. I have two. I already put the stakes around them after my mom recommended I do so before they get too big. They already have yellow flowers sprouting.

In my long planter, I have two summer squash plants. I've never grown summer squash before, so this is a new experience. My research on the Internet told me these two plants are the best containers plants to grow in Oklahoma. I need all the luck I can get.

The last plant is a small thyme plant that actually doesn't look to be doing so well, so I'm not sure about it. I've never successfully grown thyme before. Do you think it's because this pot doesn't have a drain?

As always on my gardening posts, tips are appreciated!

Teaching KidZone -- Wednesday Night Children's Ministry

2015-04-21T08:28:00.000-05:00

On Wednesday nights, I teach KidZone, a children's ministry on Wednesday nights at the Episcopal Church I attend in Edmond. I'm the head teacher. I never saw myself as teaching a children's ministry class, but there was a giant need for a teacher at the church and they offered to pay me to do it. I'm not sure how much longer I will be able to be paid to do the job, but I know I'll keep doing it even afterwards, because it is a rewarding ministry. Let me tell you how my Wednesday nights go.

When I arrive at the church, my boys and I eat a dinner prepared by one of the families for everyone participating in Wednesday night activities. Then, I drop them off at the nursery where they play together and watch movies. I head to my classroom to set up.

Abbey is usually there by then. She's a nursery worker, but works as a teacher assistant when we have KidZone. She's a great help.

We have a set schedule for each day: Play a game, Read a Story, Make a Craft, Watch a Movie. I post the schedule on the board. Abbey is in charge of creating a physical game to play with the kids, which usually just involves a game of tag on the playground if the weather is nice. We take turns reading a story out of my boys' children's Bible, The Jesus Storybook Bible. I create a craft activity from ideas I get from Pinterest. And then, with the time remaining, we watch a movie. Right now we are working our way through the Chronicles of Narnia movies.

I have my expectations also posted on the board, but my biggest struggle is with a few of the kids who are troublemakers. I'm also not a K-5 teacher, so it takes a lot of mind-adjusting to bring myself down to their level after a day with teenagers. But most of the kids are really fun, and I'm happy to make their time at Wednesday night church full of good memories and people who care for them.

Follow me on Twitter.

Career Day: My Most Successful Writing Project #FirstYearTeacher

2015-03-25T10:06:00.003-05:00

On the last day before Spring Break, I went to school dressed as a wizard.

Not just any kind of wizard. An auror. Dark wizard fighter.

It was all part of a project my students completed on what they wanted to be when they grew up. They researched their career on iPads, wrote their findings on note cards, created an outline of their essays, conferenced with their rough drafts, and published a final research report.

The research reports were really good. It was my class' most successful writing project, so I wanted to share it. When you're a first year teacher, completing a project with only ten percent of the students making below a 70 is a success. (That includes the students who just didn't turn it in. There was only six of those out of 125. No one who turned in an essay failed it, but I had a few in the 60s range.)

I think the students responded to this writing project so enthusiastically for two reasons: choice and reward.

While I was planning the project, I asked on the class Instagram account what the students wanted to write their research reports on. Two students responded, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" Although that's a small response, the fact that they both had the same idea resonated. Even the students who didn't respond to my question still have the choice of deciding what career they wanted to research.

Another reason I think they were so enthusiastic about the research report was the prospect of a party. We held a Career Day party on the last day of school before Spring Break. We all brought snacks, danced to the "Push It" radio station on Pandora, and listened to speeches from students on what they discovered during their research. I gave a prize to any student who volunteered.

Oh, and we dressed up. Students dressed up like the career they chose and I dressed up like a wizard. Why was I a wizard, you might ask? I'm already what I want to be when I grow up -- a teacher. But if I had to choose a career besides my dream job, I would choose fighting bad wizards.

And hearing your teacher model how to research, write a research report outline, create citations and a bibliography, and produce a final research report is way more entertaining when she's talking about fighting in wizard duels.

The more engaging I make education for their teenagers, the more learning happens in the classroom.

Follow me on Twitter.

My First #EdCampOKC

2015-03-10T10:43:00.000-05:00

Last Saturday, I went to my first post-college professional development conference.

Actually, it was called an un-conference.

At conferences I have attended, I sit in a large room with a hundred other people while a speaker drones on about a subject that may or may not interest me. At this un-conference, I was invited to come up with ideas on workshop subjects, which were small and led by whomever seemed the most qualified in the room to lead the discussion.

In other words, I learned A LOT.

This is the selfie I took in the halls of Southmoore High School and sent over my class' Instagram account with the caption: Mrs Jones is in Moore on a Saturday becoming a better teacher while you sit at home in your pajamas.

This conference was called EdCampOKC, which means it was an educational camp in the Oklahoma City area. There are EdCamps in other cities around the nation, too. It's kind of the hot thing in professional development these days. I like the way it's headed because I hate being bored.

It's a free conference because they don't pay for speakers and use places, like schools, that are free to rent. I also hate paying money.

The community of teachers is very strong, so many teachers love to attend EdCamps to meet up with "famous" teachers, who they met on Twitter or through blogs. I'm not that famous yet, mostly because I write about how I do my make-up at work when I'm running late and not how useless standardized tests are.

I hope that I can attend more EdCamps in the future... and bring more teachers with me!

Follow me on Twitter.

How Can You Tell A Teacher Has It Together?

2015-03-05T21:22:00.005-06:00

Let's talk about what my twentysomethingself wears to work. I teach English to seventh graders at a junior high school. I am also the mother of two toddlers. I am also... not a morning person. I have already posted before on how to examine how far behind I am running in the morning by my level of dress (or undress):

The different levels of how far behind I am running in the morning.
Level 1: Woke up on time. Am ready to start working when I arrive at work.
Level 2: Don't have make-up on when I arrive at work.
Level 3: Brought deodorant and toothbrush to work, in addition to make-up, but washed my face before leaving home.
Level 4: Didn't wash face before leaving home.
Level 5: Haven't made it to level five, but will probably involve pajamas.

There's another variation of this leveling of morning preparation, but it has to do with how much I feel like being a Teacher Success Story. Here's how to gauge my confidence as a teacher/working mother by my attire:

The different levels of my emotional state in the morning.
Level 1: Make up. Dress or skirt with hosiery. Flats or heels. Jewelry, including earrings. Hair down.
Level 2: Make up. Slacks with blouse. Flats. Necklace. Hair up in clever braid. Cardigan.
Level 3: Make up. Slacks. Flats. No jewelry. Hair up, but using pretty clips. Cardigan.
Level 4: Make up. Pants with blouse. Laced-up shoes. No jewelry. Hair up with bobby pins, but it's a hot mess. Hoodie comes on and off during the day based on insecurity.
Level 5: Chapstick with mascara. Pants. Laced-up shoes. No jewelry. Hair in messy bun. Permanent hoodie.

There you have it. And now you know.

Follow me on Twitter.

Our Lenten Calendar

2015-02-22T14:17:00.000-06:00

For this Lenten season, I am trying something new with the boys. We enjoyed our Advent calendar so much before Christmas... looking forward to a new activity each day and creating new memories. Even Clifton was asking what we were going to do that day. I decided to try a similar concept with Lent in order to be more observant of the season before Easter and get the boys involved in my faith. I'm not the only one on the Internet who has thought of this, but the way I am doing it is different from what I have seen elsewhere.

I bought this framed corkboard at Hobby Lobby and painted a cross on it in black. (I wanted a prettier color, but I only had black and glittery red paint.) Then I thought of an activity to do for each of the forty Lenten days. (Did you know Sundays don't count as one of the Lent days? Me neither.) On little slips of paper, I wrote the date on one side and the activity on the back. (The list of activities are below.) Then I push-pinned the paper to the corkboard, putting the latest dates on the bottom.

As we do each activity and the Lenten season progresses, we will see more of the cross. In the Episcopal church, all of the crosses are covered during Lenten and revealed on Easter morning, like Jesus revealed himself to his followers. On Easter morning, we will reveal the cross underneath all of our activities and, hopefully, be prepared for the resurrection of Jesus.

Our Lenten Calendar Activities

Wednesday, February 18: Ash Wednesday church service
Thursday, February 19: Bible Story
Friday, February 20: Bunny Banner craft
Saturday, February 21: Bible Story
Monday, February 23: Scratch Art craft
Tuesday, February 24: Bible Story
Wednesday, February 25: Learn a Prayer
Thursday, February 26: Bible Story
Friday, February 27: Suncatchers craft
Saturday, February 28: Bible Story
Monday, March 2: Bible Story
Tuesday, March 3: Button Crosses craft
Wednesday, March 4: Learn a Prayer
Thursday, March 5: Bible Story
Friday, March 6: Ship Painting craft
Saturday, March 7: Bible Story
Monday, March 9: Bible Story
Tuesday, March 10: Paint Easter Scene craft
Wednesday, March 11: Learn a Prayer
Thursday, March 12: Bible Story
Friday, March 13: Bible Story
Saturday, March 14- Saturday, March 21: Visit to North Carolina
Monday, March 23: Bible Story
Tuesday, March 24: Fuzzy Art craft
Wednesday, March 25: Learn a Prayer
Thursday, March 26: Bible Story
Friday, March 27: Bible Story
Saturday, March 28: Bake a Treat
Monday, March 30: Bible Story
Tuesday, March 31: Bible Story
Wednesday, April 1: Learn a Prayer
Thursday, April 2: Bible Story
Friday, April 3: Good Friday service
Saturday, April 4: Dye Easter Eggs

Follow us on Twitter.

Valentine's Day with the Boys

2015-02-15T14:02:00.001-06:00

We started celebrating Valentine's Day on Monday to make it a week-long holiday. We created a banner of different colored hearts for the kitchen doorway by sewing the hearts together. On Tuesday, the boys made heart paintings using a toilet paper roll shaped like a heart and red paint. I framed the dried paintings for later years.

The boys had a Valentine's Day party at daycare on Thursday, so they needed snacks and valentines to give their friends. Homeland gave them the choice of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Spongebob Squarepants. They emphatically yelled, "SPONGEBOB!" They brought suckers and fruit snacks.

This is the valentine mailbox they brought home. So cute.

Valentine's Day between me and Clifton was pretty low-key. We both have been so busy with school. Clifton sewed me a flower.

I baked his favorite chocolate chip cookies, which came out especially well. Owen helped me.

Toward the end of the day, which also involved a trip to Lake Hafer with the boys to enjoy the beautiful weather on the playground and feeding the duckies, the mailman delivered a card from my mom and stepdad, Michael, making me think fondly of home. Overall, a good day.

Follow me on Twitter.

Five Steps to a Weekly Meal Plan

2015-02-01T22:24:00.000-06:00

When you're a hyper-organized person, you forget that other people are not only not-hyper-organized, but simply unorganized. For instance, did you know that some people don't plan meals for the week? It's true. There are some people in this world who -- get this -- don't know what they will have for dinner every single night of the week. I don't understand how these people even grocery shop, much less make a meal happen every night.

Planning meals for my family is such an integral part of being organized and getting things done, after a long day of teaching and mom-ing, that I can't imagine how other working moms could possibly make dinner for their family without a meal plan. But some women do and, of those women, some are interested in not doing it that way anymore. So here I come, explaining how I create a weekly meal plan for my family.

How I Plan Meals For My Family

1. I always grocery shop on Saturday, so I make a grocery list either Saturday morning or Friday night.

2. I check what I have in the pantry and refrigerator and compare that with the weekly sales ad for Target, which is where I buy all of our groceries. Almost all of our meals are things I have made multiple times before, but sometimes I try out a new recipe, especially if I have an ingredient that I don't have many recipes.

3. I write what meals we will eat for the week on our whiteboard, which hangs from the refrigerator. I only have to plan four meals; Sunday we eat with Clifton's parents, Wednesday we eat at church, and Friday we order out. I usually don't plan which meals we will eat on which days, just whatever I feel like cooking (or Clifton requests).

4. All other meals are handled differently, since dinner is the only meal we eat together. I check to make sure I have enough food for breakfast/lunch and check that the boys have enough snacks. I ask Clifton if he wants me to add anything to the list, which covers his breakfast/lunch.

5. I check the Cartwheel app and Target mobile app for coupons.

Easy! Simple! And customizable for your family needs. So, take a chance, and plan a meal!

Follow me on Twitter.

A Day in the Life of an English Teacher (And Working Mom)

2015-01-23T12:01:00.000-06:00

Like most English teachers and working moms, I'm half-awake while writing this. I stayed up late last night so I'm not quite awake yet, even though it's 9:39 in the morning and I have already drank one coca-cola. Even though I'm still bleary-eyed, I am writing up this blog post about my daily schedule because this is the time I have devoted to writing on my blog. Every minute counts while you're a teacher (and a mom).

A Day in the Life of an English Teacher (And Working Mom)

6:30 am - 8:10 am
Usually I try to wake up at 6:30, but sometimes I wake up at 6:45 or even 7:00, depending on how tired I am. The mornings that I wake up late I usually show up at school half-ready and spend the first five to ten minutes fixing my hair and putting on make-up. I have a mirror app on my computer, so I usually use it to prepare myself. I have to be at school at 7:40, but classes start at 8:10.

All of our bedrooms are upstairs in our duplex, but if I start messing around in the bathroom upstairs, I wake up the boys. So I prepare everything in a bucket the night before and carry the bucket to the downstairs bathroom in the morning. I use my cell phone as a flash light. Clifton wakes up around 8 am and takes the boys to daycare by 9 am.

8:10 am - 12:10 pm
I have four classes before lunch: remediation and three regular English classes. During my remediation class I tutor students who are falling behind in the past or current unit of study. I have around twenty-five students per forty-five minute class. My class starts with ten minutes of writing response to a journal prompt on the board, then a ten minute lecture on a subject pertaining to the unit of study, followed by twenty-five minutes to work independently or in a group on the unit of study project. Today, my students finished a unit on argumentative essays.

12:10 pm - 1:30 pm
I eat lunch from 12:10 to 12:40, which I usually spend in the faculty lounge with the other teachers. Every three weeks I have lunch duty in the courtyard, where I spend my lunch supervising students running around after they eat their lunch. After lunch is out I have a planning period. I also have a planning period from 9:00 to 9:45 am, which I spend doing similar things, in addition to my daily prayers and eating breakfast. I spend half of my planning hours for a week in meetings with my team, special education, administrative, or federal officials. The other half I write curriculum and lesson plans, answer e-mails and phone messages, and grade, grade, grade!

1:30 pm - 3:10 pm
In the afternoon, I have two classes: my pre-AP class (gifted students) and a regular English class that is over half students with IEPs. The pre-AP class follows the same unit of study as the regular English class except the material has higher level thinking questions and assignments. A paraprofessional aide helps me teach the IEP students during that last class of the day.

3:10 pm - 3:45 pm
Even though school is out at 3:10 pm, I must stay until 3:40 to be available to any other teachers, parents, or administrators who want to meet with me. I usually spend the time preparing for the next day, including erasing my board and writing the next day's information, fixing the desks, and making copies.

My classroom is the one in the bottom right hand corner with the long row of books on the window sill.

3:40- 5:00
It takes me thirty minutes to commute from my school to home. On Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and sometimes Fridays I go to the gym by my house for thirty to forty-five minutes before I pick up the boys from daycare.

After running on the treadmill. I also ride the bike and lift weights.

5:00 pm - 6:30 pm
After I pick up the boys from daycare, I go home, make them comfortable and occupied, clean up any messes or chores, and cook dinner. I almost always have dinner on the table by 6:30 pm. On Wednesdays, I teach a bible study class to elementary aged children at the church I attend, which involves a meal for my family and a nursery for the boys. On Fridays, we always order carry-out as a treat.

6:30 pm - 7:30 pm
Around this time I try to devote myself to family activities. I give the boys a bath around twice a week, we make a craft or color with crayons, and watch PBS shows I DVRed. I read books to them and read books to myself on the couch. I take care of more chores and things I need to do with school (although I try to do as little school work at home as possible). Clifton's classes end at 7:00 pm.

8:30 pm - 9:00 pm
Getting the boys to bed is always a struggle, especially Owen. He hates going to bed. We only very rarely get both of the boys to go to bed at the same time, as there is always some amount of crying and whining involved, which disturbs the other toddler trying to sleep. Getting them both to bed feels like VICTORY every night.

9:00 pm - 10:30 pm
Once the boys are asleep, I relax. I take a bath to get all of the gym sweat off, drink a margarita or glass of wine, read my books, watch shows on the DVR, or mindlessly surf on the Internet. I also have to finish cleaning up the messes the boys have made and lay out clothes for them tomorrow. Clifton will usually be doing something similar or homework. I try to go to bed at 10:30 pm, but almost always go to bed later than I intended.

My weekends obviously look a lot different than the weekdays. Normally, I shop for groceries on Saturdays with one or both of the boys and then take them to the park. On Sundays, I go to church, eat lunch with my in-laws, and work out at the gym.

Follow me on Twitter.

My Will (Just In Case)

2015-01-16T08:48:00.000-06:00

After the death of a friend, who was younger than me, in a car accident, I have thought about the trajectiory of my own life, both good and bad. One of these thoughts had to do with what will happen in the event of my own untimely death. I don't plan on dying any time soon (I just became a life member of UNC's alumni association!), but I have wondered if my family and friends know my wishes. This might not be the most legal way, but I know if I express them in writing, they will be honored.

If I should die, I hope that my husband Clifton will not have died with me and will be able to raise our sons, Owen and Wyatt. If I should die with my husband, I want my children to be raised by my mother and father in North Carolina, so they can be raised with the same values and faith as me. I hope my sister can also be instrumental in their upbringing, but I wouldn't want to leave her the entire burden. I do not want my children to remain in Oklahoma, unless Clifton is alive.

I leave all of my monetary possessions to my husband or my children, except items that might be treasured more by others, such as my jewelry or my books. I hope they use wisdom to decide these things.

I want to be buried in my mother's family plot near my brother and Grandma Pauline. I am not particular who I am near, except that I am not too far. Leave room for Clifton, if he does not remarry, and my sons, if they wish to be buried near me, in the way off future.

I would like an Episcopalian funeral in a church. Please sing "How Great Thou Art" and "Come Thou Fount," because those are my favorite hymns. Bury me with my Bible and my rosary beads. Dress me in whatever you think is best, but don't put me in anything ugly or eccentric. Please do not play any modern music at my funeral. There's nothing wrong with them, but I love traditional Christian hymns. They remind me of home.

There are many things I enjoyed while I was alive, like Star Wars and Lord of the Rings, but I don't want these things at my funeral because those things are not the most important things in my life. My children and my God are, so they should take the focus. However, if anyone wanted to sing my alma mater's song for the last time, I would be happy. Hark the Sound is almost a spiritual hymn for a Tar Heel.

I can't think of anything else I want to add, but I am probably not thinking of loads of things. Hopefully I will have time to add more things as time goes on.

100 Books in 2015

2015-01-09T08:43:00.003-06:00

For my first New Year Resolution, I decided to read one hundred books in 2015. It's a lofty goal, but I'm feeling good about it. I'm a very fast reader with a large appetite for books. I am dedicating my year of intense reading to my friend, Jennifer Briggs, who was killed on October 27. She loved to read.

For record-keeping purposes, I am going to update this blog post as I finish books.

100 Books in 2015

1. Stalingrad: The Fateful Siege: 1942-1943 by Antony Beevor
2. George Washington, Spymaster: How the Americans Outspied The British and Won The Revolutionary War by Thomas B. Allen
3. Alanna: The First Adventure by Tamora Pierce
4. The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie
5. Founding Mothers: The Women Who Raised Our Nation by Cokie Roberts
6. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by JK Rowling
7. In the Hand of the Goddess by Tamora Pierce
8. Dreaming In Indian: Contemporary Native American Voices by Lisa Charleyboy and Mary Beth Leatherdale
9. The Woman Who Rides Like a Man by Tamora Pierce
10. The Song of the Lioness by Tamora Pierce
11. Economics for Dummies by Sean Flynn
12. Painless American History by Curt Lader
13. The Complete Idiot's Guide to U.S. Government and Politics by Franco Scardino
14. American History to 1877 by Robert D. Geise
15. Oklahoma: A History by W. David Baird and Danney Goble
16. US History: Colonial Period through 1865 by Sparknotes
17. Russian for Dummies by Andrew Kaufman
18. The Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John in The Bible
19. I Am Legend by Richard Matheson
20. Other Bells For Us To Ring by Robert Cormier
21. The Maze of Bones (39 Clues, No. 1) by Rick Riordan
22. The Monuments Men by Robert M. Edsel
23. Citizen Soldiers by Stephen Ambrose
24. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson
25. How to Lose a Battle: Foolish Plans and Great Military Blunders by Bill Fawcett
26. Esperanza Rising by Pam Munoz Ryan
27. The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold
28. Pride and Prejudice and Zombies by Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith
29. Poor Girl Gourmet by Amy McCoy
30. Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bordain
31. Arch Enemy #1 by Lars Kramhoft
32. Arch Enemy #2 by Lars Kramhoft
33. Get Hired: 25 Essential Interview Questions by John Alexander
34. Cry Into the Wind by Othello Bach
35. H2O by Irving Belateche
36. Harriet Tubman: The Moses of Her People by Sarah Bradford
37. British Legends: The Life and Legacy of William Shakespeare by Charles River Editors
38. JRR Tolkien by Charles River Editors
39. Your Home Organized by Ava Conner
40. Get Organized by Barbara Tischler
41. Understanding Minimalism by Julia Green
42. Love Your Curls by Taiye Selasi
43. Cheap and Filling! by Abbey Lynn Langley
44. Container Gardening Made Easy by Niezel Ann Veracruz
45. Hearty Soups by Dennis Weaver
46. Smoothies for Weight Loss by Jackson Nash
47. The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe
48. Salads To Go by Arnel Ricafranca
49. My Fake Fiance by Helen Cooper
50. Clean Food Diet by Jonathan Vine
51. Slow Cooker Recipes b Sara Banks
52. Always Know What to Say by Peter Murphy
53. Unmasked by Melody Grace
54. Nikola Tesla by Sean Patrick
55. Bring Me Back by Taryn Plendl
56. Quick Books DIY Gift Guide by Homemade Quirk
57. In the Arms of the Dark Elf by Willow Nonea Rae
58. Alpha Male by Sean Lysaught
59. Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass by Frederick Douglass
60. Work Smarter Not Harder by Timo Kiander
61. Soap Making by Madison Dawson
62. We Were Soldiers Once... and Young by Harold Moore
63. Fever 1793 by Laurie Halse Anderson
64. The Hound of Baskervilles by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
65. A Game of Thrones by George RR Martin
66. A Clash of Kings by GRR Martin

2015 New Years Resolutions

2015-01-01T15:52:00.000-06:00

It's that time of the year again. New Years Resolutions. Unlike most Americans, I love to make new years resolutions. I love goals, because I love the thrill of achieving them. Not achieving them kinda sucks... but once I get over the sadness, I am inspired to keep trying. Don't give up on your goals!

Last year I made a whopping ten goals! I made so many, though, because there were many things in my life that I wanted to improve drastically. And things have drastically improved since last year, although it has been a rough year for me. I met seven of my ten new years resolutions.

This year, I am only making five resolutions.

1. Read one hundred books.

That's about two books per week. I decided to adopt this resolution in honor of my friend, Jennifer Briggs, who was killed in a car accident two months ago. She loved to read.

2. Meet my weight goal by continuing to exercise at the gym and improving diet.

Basically, I need to drink less alcohol. I really only need to lose 5-10 pounds.

3. Become fully certified to teach history and English in the state of Oklahoma in grades 6-12.

Four tests and the completion of this school year separate me from becoming highly qualified. This will really open up my teaching opportunities.

4. Spend more time relaxing and playing with the boys.

I want to spend more after work playing with my boys and relaxing on the couch instead of being so hurried and distracted. That means I will have to become more productive during the day so I have less work at home.

5. Meet my saving goals every month.

I want to create an emergency, airplane ticket, and 2016 Christmas fund. I have already opened a Capital One savings account to track my progress.

My biggest goal is to just concentrate on every day. Try to make every day the best day possible and not worry about how things will work out in the end... or even tomorrow.

I imagine if the boys had new year resolutions, Owen's would be to become potty trained and Wyatt's would be a combination of learning how to open the refrigerator by himself and growing taller than Owen.

There you have it! Please share your resolutions in the comments, I would love to hear them. And have a happy new year.

Follow me on Twitter.

A Christmas in Oklahoma

2014-12-27T08:39:00.003-06:00

We spent Christmas in Oklahoma this year, our first as a family. The boys had a great time; any day spent as a toddler opening new toys and eating candy is a fabulous day. I spent most of the day missing my family and arguing with Clifton. But that's a post for another day. This post is about the Joneses' Christmas day.

It started with toys. My parents sent their Christmas presents for the boys in the mail a week or so before Christmas. We always buy the boys Christmas gifts according to the Four Gift Rule: a present to read, a present to wear, a present they need, a present they want.

In their stockings we always place arts and crafts supplies; Owen received PlayDoh and Owen received paint.

Wyatt received a book with all of the Thomas the Train Engine stories, a pair of Cars sunglasses, a package of Planes socks, and a toy Navy Blue Angel airplane.

After spending the weeks before Christmas doing nothing much trying to open their presents (and succeeding sometimes), they wanted nothing to do with opening presents on Christmas Day. Especially Wyatt. He opened two... maybe.

Owen received a book about airplanes, a pair of Spiderman sunglasses, a package of superhero socks, and a toy Navy Blue Angel airplane.

I wished we could have gone to the Christmas church service, but there wasn't a nursery and it was at nine o'clock. Wyatt didn't wake up until eight o'clock. I just contented myself with reading the Nativity Story to the boys out of their children's Bible.

The next day, we brought out my mom and Michael's Christmas presents, a pair of rideable, motorized cars. They at least got to spend a day playing with all of their other toys before spending all of their time on these.

UCO Winter Glow

2014-12-19T08:37:00.000-06:00

Last Friday, Wyatt and I went to UCO's Winter Glow celebration at the Nigh University Center. We had planned on bringing the whole family, but Owen was feeling sick and Clifton said kiddie events were more of my thing than his.

The celebration was a lot of fun, and I have been to more than my share of crappy kiddie events. When you are bringing a child as young as Wyatt (eighteen months), you have to keep perspective. They don't have fine motor skills. My goals were twofold: make Wyatt look happy and wear him out for bed time.

This event definitely succeeded. There were many things that Wyatt was interested in doing. The first was eating. Wyatt ate a WHOLE hotdog himself. We also ate cookies and smores. Wyatt loves to eat.

He also enjoyed poking the giant blowups in the hallways, watching a light show on the second floor patio to the tune of "Let It Go," playing in the midst of a fake snow machine, and riding a motorized train car around campus. We tried to make a Santa craft together, but I just ended up attaching the adhesive Santa mustache to his face and laughing at him.

At the end of the evening, we went to the auditorium to listen to music and watch older kids dance on the stage in costumes. Instead of participating in that activity, Wyatt wanted to crawl/walk to the very top of the auditorium, at the exact opposite corner as me. He stood there for a while watching the kids on the stage and other people in the audience. He's a weird one.

Can you see him up there in the corner?

Scrooge Buys a Christmas Tree (And Other Chrismas Decorations)

2014-12-12T08:33:00.000-06:00

This is the year. The Year I Bought A Christmas Tree.

When I was younger, I HATED decorating the Christmas tree. I had to decorate my mom's tree. I had to decorate my dad's tree. I decorated at least one grandparents' tree AND the church's tree. That's too much Christmas tree decorating! I promised myself that when I grew up I would never buy a Christmas tree.

Later on in my adolescence, I told myself I would only buy a tree if I could decorate it only once and then take it out of a closet every Christmas, fully decorated.

When I became a mama, however, I changed my mind. Children should grow up with a Christmas tree. Even in the midst of Christmas-tree-decorating-hatred, I have fond memories of making ornaments, place presents under the tree, and the beauty of a colorfully-lit tree at night. We needed to buy a tree.

I had no idea Christmas trees were so dang cheap. I bought a 6.5 feet tall tree at Walmart for $39. Holy crap! I expected to spend $100, at least. The tree we bought was pre-lit with white lights, fulfilling at least part of my childhood dream about having a pre-decorated Christmas tree.

We don't have that many decorations on our tree, but I want them to all be handmade or special in some way, either because they were individually selected at the store for a meaningful reason or they were inherited from a parent. We are already added more ornaments this Advent season.

Of course, the Christmas tree isn't the only holiday decorations gracing our humble duplex. Most of my decorations, like my nativities and snowy village, were inherited from my parents. Some were bought by me, like the string of colorful Christmas lights along the door and mini-tree we used in Hawaii. All are so special to me and I hope will one day be special to my boys.