Rainy Day Diamonds

One Pi$$ed Off Teacher

2011-05-01T18:38:00.000-07:00

The more I think about it, the more ticked and frustrated I become. If I hate school these days, how to my students feel? I know how they feel. They either hate school more than me, about as much as me, or they love school because they would love it no matter what - regardless of how relentlessly we pound them for THE TEST and bleed everything interesting and the least bit curiosity piquing out of the school day. And believe me, we have!

From 8:03 to 2:04, Monday through Friday I teach nothing but English Language Arts and Math. AD NASEUM! I do it the same way, everyday, every hour, every minute because I have been instructed to use the "adopted curriculum" and forbidden to deviate from it. I must pound the Key Standards into my students' heads and ensure they have mastery.

We do nothing new, nothing novel, nothing inspiring.

No assemblies (except to "motivate" them for THE TEST)!

No field trips!

No art!

No science!

No history!

No music! (Save for a handful who choose to play instruments.)

No drama!

No outside speakers!

No silent reading with books of their own choosing!

My students can predict each day, down to the second what we will be doing because it has been scheduled and dictated.

Are my scores on THE TEST improving? Yes.

I teach them daily how to "beat the test" with test-taking strategies.

Can't divide? Multiply all the possible answers by the smallest number in the problem. When you get the largest number in the problem, you have found the answer.

Don't know whether to add, subtract, multiply or divide in a word problem? Look at the multiple choice answers. If they are larger than the numbers in the problem, you either add or multiply - now do both with all the possible combinations till you find the answer. If they are smaller, you either subtract or divide.

Are my students equipped to contribute to a democratic society? No.

They haven't the slightest idea about democracy - no one is teaching them.

Are my students better learners? No.

I don't teach them HOW to learn; I teach them WHAT to learn.

Are my students more curious than they were before? No.

Are they less curious and less interested in learning because school is so dreadfully boring and tedious? Yes.

Would I be willing to work harder and longer for the same pay if I could inspire kids to become curious and fall in love with the wonder of learning? If I had the chance to fall in love with school again?

YES!

Freed

2011-04-22T17:06:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, I returned to Northern California for my father’s memorial service. Taking a train, a bus and a car, I arrived once again in my hometown wondering how I would be received. I needn’t have worried. AGAIN, my Daddy went before me, preparing the way as only He can.

It could have been awkward, oh so VERY awkward. You see, the folks in attendance fell into one of three categories.

1. My family members and a few (very few) friends of my father who knew about me and know me personally.

2. Friends of my father who knew I existed and knew of the circumstances but also knew some things just weren’t talked about. Awkward.

3. Friends of my father and brothers who had no earthly idea who I was, let alone that there was such a thing as my father’s daughter. AWKWARDLY AWKWARD!

I lost count of how many times his oldest and dearest friends shook my hand with the words, “I didn’t know Dave had a daughter.” There was the man who was my father’s boyhood cohort in crime. There was the man for whom my father served as best man. There was the man who worked for my father for years and years. But amazingly, I didn’t feel the least bit uncomfortable. God gave me the grace to simply smile and greet each person warmly without ever feeling the slightest unease. That, in itself, is a miracle because meeting new people in the best of circumstances is not the easiest endeavor for me. I just fake it very well.

And then God gave even more. He gave insight into my father’s feelings for me through the words of the lovely women who lived next door to him for more than 20 years. She affirmed through recollections of my father’s confidences in her that he thought of me often, regretted the past and truly loved me. She put voice to my assumption that, after so many years, he simply didn’t know how to redeem the past from his choices and misdeeds. They simply overwhelmed him.

Then there was this lady, a dear friend of my grandparents. One of the old guard from when the little berg where my father grew up was known more for dinner parties than drug raids. When the Ladies’ Study Club boasted more members than the Medical Marijuana Cooperative. She falls squarely into Category Number Two. Her warm greeting and kind words carried symbolism I didn’t know I needed. It was as if I was being ushered into my father’s world. Out of respect for him, they had waited all these years to acknowledge me, and now was my time. I bear the stigma no more.

The death of my father has freed me. Not from anything. My Savior has done that. It has freed me for something.

To be continued…

What the Locusts Have Eaten

2011-04-21T19:44:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure how to organize my thoughts about the last couple of weeks. They are still a jumble of ahas and impressions and blessings. Forgive me if I ramble or jump around from thought to thought, but I want so much to share before the wonder flies away.

In January my sister-in-law called to say my father had come to live with them for health reasons, and there were no guarantees about how long he would be with us. Because of my own health issues, Mama Mia and I had to postpone any visits until my Spring Break. However, when my sister-in-law called again a couple of weeks ago with the news that my father was failing, Mama Mia, the Boxer Babes and I loaded ourselves into the SUV and drove 500 miles to the Northern California Coast.

In order for you to understand the potential for awkwardness and difficulties that surrounded this visit, you must know some of my history. I don't share this to illicit sympathy, for God long ago healed the hurts and revealed time and time again how he has made something beautiful out of the ugliness of my childhood.

When I was not much more than a year old, my father, who already had one broken marriage and two small sons behind him, chose alcohol and infidelity over my mom and his infant daughter. Hurting terribly, I imagine, he made the decision, when the judge awarded full physical and legal custody to Mama Mia, as judges were wont to do in the late 60's, not to have a relationship with me at all even thought we lived in the same small town. During my elementary school years, he would park his company truck in front of my house and walk to the neighborhood bar on the corner. Now through my adult lens, I imagine he ached for just a glimpse of me, but through the eyes of a child, it was salt in a gaping wound. During my high school years, he lived a block and half away, only reaching out to me – through his third wife – when I was graduating amidst scholarships and awards. I saw this as too little, to late and chose not to reconnect at that time. Three or four years later, during college, I contacted him and we became acquaintances of a sort, seeing each other every few years, usually in a bar over coke for me and vodka for him.

Given my beginnings, I am incredibly grateful that God redeems what the locusts have eaten. I am able to live without bitterness and anger and walk in forgiveness even though at times, I still ache for the little girl who never knew what a daddy's arms felt like or what affection looked like shining in his eyes. Several years ago, I challenged God to prove what he says in his Word. “I will be a father to the fatherless.” I call HIM my daddy now, even addressing him as Daddy in prayer and in my journal. I am no longer fatherless or even daddyless. I haven't been for a long time.

I was more than a little anxious about what Mama Mia and I would encounter when we arrived in my hometown. How would we, a long ago ex-wife and a daughter/sister who had not been “part of the family” be received? Again, as he loves to do, my DADDY, paved the way. My brother and his wife welcomed us warmly, made us feel comfortable and blessed us with the overwhelming care, love and compassion they lavished on my father as he lay slipping away, unable to care for even his most basic of needs. My sister-in-law, whom this man belittled for years, spoke words of affection and love, combed his hair gently and coated his drying lips with Burt's Bees even as he lay unable to speak and respond save for small squeezes of a hand or the barest whisper of movement from his limbs. My brother, the firstborn and namesake who, I suspect, never felt like he “measured up”, smoothed grey, wispy hair from my our father's thin, pale face, choking up as he listened to the “death rattles” portending a soon coming passage.

Over the next couple of days, Mama Mia and I spent hours with my brother and his wife over meals, sharing conversation and meals and snatching little bits of time with my father here and there. Our visit ended with Mama Mia and I both content that we had said goodbye and could look back with no regrets. Five hours into our journey home, my father passed.

To be continued...

Agindo Eu Quem Impedira?

2011-03-26T09:33:00.000-07:00

"If I decide to act, who can stop me?"

We sang this song often during school chapels and staff devotions in Brazil. Even now, the idea that God is unstoppable whispers through my mind in Portuguese rather than English...agindo Eu...
Agindo Eu has proved a good reminder that I am not on my own, all is not lost, and even in the midst of illness, budget cuts and the pressures of state testing, God is not hobbled, hogtied or even halted by litigation. And that goes for the classroom as well.

Every week, our language arts curriculum follows a new theme. This last week our daily discussions centered around the question What does it take to be a hero? Each day we we spend 15 or so minutes building this concept, adding vocabulary, broadening our understanding of the theme.

Monday
Me: Who is your hero?
Kids: Incredibles! Halo! The Army!
Me: Why?
Kids: They shoot people! The run fast! They can fly!

Tuesday
Me: Let's think about people who are heros. What makes them heros? No super heros, video games or people with guns allowed.
Kids: *crickets*

Wednesday
Me: Think about someone you want to be like. Someone who is famous for being brave and helping others.
Kids: Martin Luther King Jr?
Me: I agree. Why was he a hero?
Kids: *crickets*
Kids: Who is your hero?
Me: One is Mother Teresa? Do you know who she was?
Kids: *crickets*
(Insert short, sanitized discussion about Mother Teresa and why she was a hero.)
*Note: Most of my students are Hispanic, so going to mass is a part of their worlds.)
Me: So, now think about your heroes. Tell me.
Kids: God!
Me: Why?
Kids: He takes care of us. He made the world. He made us.
Me: (under my breath) Agindo Eu!

No public school rules were harmed in the making of this moment! It all came from the kids.

Do you think skies help property values? They should.

2011-03-24T18:28:00.001-07:00

I love our new neighborhood. Not only are the people wonderful, but we have amazing skies.

There are mornings like this.

Evenings like this.

Reminders like this.

And then there are cool phenomena like this outside. Right. This. Very. Minute.

Apparently they are called gravity waves and are a sign of very high winds somewhere really high in the air up there.

Whatever they are, they are pretty much the coolest clouds I've ever seen. Waves and waves of parallel bands of clouds so low you're sure you could jump up and grab a handful of fluff.

What are the skies like in your neighborhood?

Care for a cocktail?

2011-03-22T06:00:00.000-07:00

"You have until that glass of water is gone to that pill down, young lady!"

Picture me, tears streaming down my face, hiccuping and trying pitifully to swallow a horse pill the size of a pea all because I had some childhood something or other. I eventually got it down, but that little scene simply represents my ongoing difficulties with meds as a child.

It's a darn good thing I eventually outgrew my overzealous gag reflexes because this little cocktail awaits me every morning, and it's only getting bigger.

Bottoms up!

Cross posted-Rainy Day Diamonds & The Lupatic Fringe

Aware

2011-03-21T05:00:00.000-07:00

Ever feel like you are moving in slow motion at light speed? That's been me for the last several months. Time still ticks by in its ever constant rhythm, but my limbs are immersed in a great pool of honey against which they push and pull, fighting to keep up with each day's wants and needs.

Ironically though, I am ever more aware.

For more, visit The Lupatic Fringe, a blog dedicated to learning to live my life with Lupus.

Puffy with a Chance

2011-02-08T13:06:00.001-08:00

Some days I feel like this.

Some days I feel like this.

Other days I feel like this.

Then there are days I feel like this.

Today I feel like this.

Such is life with this.

How yoo doin'?

The Same Yesterday, Today and in Korean

2011-01-16T12:33:00.001-08:00

For the last two weeks Mama Mia and I have had the privilege of hosting a Korean teenager in our home. Sunny, as she has been dubbed here in America, is part of a month-long cultural homestay program through the Sister Cities organization.

I say it is a privilege because we have been blessed by her and the other students who have filled our home with laughter and the wonder of learning about each other's cultures. Along with that, I am very aware that we are guarding and nurturing someone's daughter. There is a mother's heart beating thousands of miles across the sea missing her little girl, hoping and praying she is safe and cared for.

Last week, the students attended church with their host families as a cultural experience. The two young ladies with me beamed with pleasure upon hearing the drums and electric guitars at my church but where bored during the sermon they could not understand.

But I knew something they didn't.

This week I joined several of the girls at a local Korean church. One girl in particular, Anna, who loves Jesus and attends a large church in her homeland, shared her surprise that I would attend when I would not be able to understand the sermon.

Again, I knew something she did not.

True, I did not understand a blessed word, but I read the Scripture for the morning in my English Bible, prayed during the prayers and lifted my face in worship during the singing, because I knew what most of the girls did not, and Anna had forgotten.

After church, surrounded by her Korean friends, many of whom have not ever attended church, Anna asked me if I had understood any of the sermon. It was my joy to see her smile when I shared with her what I knew:

The Lord our God is One God. He is the same yesterday, today and forever whether in Korea or the United States.

We serve the same God and this morning through the Scripture and the Holy Spirit, I learned that our enemies want us to submit so they can harm us. God wants us to submit so he can bless us. (1 Samuel 15)

I may not understand Korean, but this morning, I understand just a little bit more about the amazing God we serve.

What has God been teaching you lately?

"I don't even remember who I used to be."

2010-12-21T06:32:00.000-08:00

I'm so fortunate I live in 2010 and not 1910. Had I lived in an earlier century, I would have spent years in a mental hospital until I found a way to do away with myself.

You think I'm kidding.

I'm not.

In the last ten years I've noticed odd symptoms here and there. Some fleeting, coming and going. Some more consistent. My doctors have dismissed them as nothing to worry about, so I went about my life and tolerated the burning, the swelling, the aches and pains and sundry other annoyances.

Every once in a while I asked my doctor to do a certain blood test. "You're too young," he would say. "See, your levels are within normal ranges. Too young," he'd say as he wrote a new prescription for a higher dosage of anti-depressant.

More than a year ago, I developed an alarming symptom that sent me to both a cardiologist and a kidney specialist. Their charge? To find out why I was blowing up like a puffer fish with systemic edema severe enough for Mama Mia (a retired RN) to send me to bed with my feet elevated for an entire weekend.

What did these esteemed specialists discover? Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero. Big. Fat. Goose. Egg.

Back to Square One, I again asked my doctor if it could be what I had mentioned several times over the years. "Doubtful," he said, "we checked your levels last time you were here. Besides, you're too young."

His answer? A daily diuretic and potassium.

Next up in the parade of symptoms now coming fast and furiously?

Finally. FINALLY, after going to my doctor twice in the last 6 months in tears and at my breaking point with Mama Mia also pleading my case, my doctor referred me for a peri-menopausal work-up.

Come to find out, those generic hormone tests he had been doing for the last few years really don't tell you much. In fact, they are worthless! To truly determine a women's hormone levels, blood tests should be done on the 20th day of her cycle and on the 1st day of her cycle. Turns out, I have been operating on less than 1/3 of the normal amount of estrogen, less than 1/2 of the progesterone my body needs and virtually NO testosterone.

NO WONDER I WANTED TO EAT A GUN.

I've now been using bio-identical hormones for the last couple of months and have seen glimpses of my old self. I'm not completely back to who I used to be, who I want to be, but I now have hope. There is still some tweaking to do on dosages, but even if this is as good as it gets, I'll take it and rejoice!

In this day and age of awareness of women's issues, it is amazing to me how many of my friends are asking for the name and number of my "hormone hook up". Somehow we suffer in silence thinking that since declining hormones are "natural" and "every woman goes through it" we should suck it up and deal.

*&%$#@ that!

No two women deal with the same symptoms or suffer to the same degree. Perhaps many women deal only with nuisance symptoms and only to a small degree, but some women - like me - find themselves unable to function. With controversy surrounding Hormone Replacement Therapy and Breast Cancer, we think we have no options, but we do.

Look into bio-identical hormones. They don't have the implications for cancer that synthetic or oral hormones carry.

I don't have to suffer.

And neither do you.

One Day at a Time

2010-11-30T19:18:00.000-08:00

image credit

After being "sick" for more than a year, I am thankful for every day that I feel myself getting better. This afternoon while escorting my students outside at the end of the day, I nearly cried tears of joy upon realizing I was not completely spent with exhaustion and grumpy as all get out. I was even able to exercise for the first time in more months than I can count. Panting my way through the first day of Couch to 5K feeling muscles long dormant respond with rebellion, I rejoiced that I had the energy and desire to push my body physically when for so long it has been all I can do to simply exist.

We are still working to perfect the combination of remedies that are restoring my health and well-being, but the early results are promising. I am hopeful that in the weeks and months to come, I will have my life back...

...one day at a time.

Today...

2010-11-29T20:16:00.000-08:00

...was a VERY good day, and I haven't been able to say that for many, many months.

Today, I remembered who I am.

Today, I remembered what it feels like to be me.

Today, I was the teacher I've missed.

Today, I was not grumpy.

Today, I dealt with discipline graciously and effortlessly.

Today, I made connections with kiddos.

Today, I could multi-task.

Today, I didn't fumble for words.

Today, I remembered everything I needed to do.

Today, I remembered how to get from one location to another.

Today, I could make decisions.

Today, my entire body was not tense and ready for battle by the end of school.

Today, I enjoyed my job.

Today, I was not exhausted beyond belief from wake-up to bedtime.

Today, I did not hurt from head to toe.

Today was a very good day.

Tomorrow may be different, but I will remember Today and know there is hope.

For everything there is a season

2010-11-22T20:43:00.001-08:00

Our time with Precious did not last as long as we believed it would.

We imagined we would see many milestones as she passed through puberty, middle school, learning to drive and all the other moments parents both dread and anticipate.

We were wrong.

Precious left us suddenly last Friday in a jarring and painful manner filled with half truths, manipulations and hysterics. Of which, only the hysterics were hers.

It was necessary for her to be placed in another home because I am struggling with health issues that have made me unable to parent Precious in the way she deserves. As my health struggles deepened, her behaviors, nightmares and woundedness increased creating a vicious cycle of pain for all of us. No one could heal in the perfect storm that raged in our home.

The hardest realization I have ever come to was that I was no longer good for Precious. In fact, because of my inability to function for several days at a time, I may well have been a harm to her healing.

Throughout this painful decision process, God has reminded me that He is sovereign and able. That He know the plans He has for Precious. Plans for good and not for evil. Plans to give her hope and a future.

In Him I rest.

Gone

2010-11-20T08:39:00.000-08:00

Gone. Just gone.

They took her from school yesterday with but a few moments notice.

No goodbyes.

No closure.

Unless you count the hysterical phone calls filled with begging and pleading.

Goodbyes to the Boxer Babes sobbed over speakerphone.

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

1:06 A.M - The house phone rings.

1:07 A.M. - My cell phone rings.

1:08 A.M. - Mama Mia's cell phone rings.

We don't answer.

She's up in the middle of the night without her new foster family knowing.

God, please don't let her run.

1:25 A.M. Red strobe lights fill the room where I fain sleep. Thankfully they pass.

God, please don't let her run in the middle of a rainy night.

Please hold her.

Cradle her.

Rock her.

Her new family loves Jesus.

Her new family will take her to church.

God, you have not forgotten her.

God, please hold me.

Cradle me.

Rock me.

In the pit

2010-10-19T19:27:00.001-07:00

I don't post very often, especially during school, because of being so busy.

But if this post somehow finds it's way into your reader, please pray for my little family.

We are in the pit, fighting a spiritual battle that has Precious harming herself and me off work for a week dealing with hormonal imbalances that render me unable to function.

"Greater is He who is in you than he who is in the world!"

"We are more than conquerors through him who loved us so!"

"If God is for us, who can be against us!"

"He who began a good work in you will be faithful to compete it."

"Faithful is He who called you who also will do it."

Just as God brought Daniel out of the lion's den and the fiery furnace, Joseph out of prison and Jerusalem out of captivity, I know he will demonstrate his sovereignty in our lives.

I'm just so very, very tired of the fight right now.

Put up your dukes, jerk! This mama is rolling up her sleeves...

2010-10-09T11:59:00.000-07:00

...and kicking off her shoes. You will NOT take my little girl down with your lies and evil ways.

I will not allow you to speak putrid words into her mind and heart.

She was not created for pain!

I will not allow you to lead her into self-hate.

She was created for joy!

I will not allow you to make her a slave to self-harming behaviors.

She was not created for pain!

I will not allow you to deceive her into believing she is worthless and owned by her past - by the disgusting behavior of others.

She was created for joy!

In the Name of the One who created her for HIS pleasure, I will fight you with everything I have. And when I have nothing left, I will depend on the One Who ALREADY WON THE BATTLE AT THE CROSS!

Satan, you have been put on notice.

If this is wrong...well, you know

2010-10-02T18:23:00.001-07:00

This summer the fam and I frequented the local farmers' markets, and oh the wonders that have unfolded before our palettes!

fresh squeezed orange juice

grass fed beef

fresh from the ground with the dirt still on them carrots

crisp watermelon

sweet, juicy peaches

fresh herbs

Having such wonders before me reminded me how amazingly flavorful and gratifying simple meals can be.

A little salmon. A little lemon pepper. A little Mediterranean salt. A few pats of real butter.

And...wait for it...fresh thyme.

I'm not sure who would be prouder.

The Pioneer Woman for the butter.

Rachel Ray for the 30 minute meal.

Or Musings of a Housewife for the farmers' market angle.

Precious Progress

2010-09-23T19:00:00.001-07:00

We are making progress. Precious progress with Precious. *snort*. I crack myself up.

Anyway, after the hellatious last few weeks, Precious has settled into a much better place. The attitude has ratcheted down to appropriate prepubescent levels so that her irrational anger flames out quickly and only leaves an acre or so of scorched earth behind rather than devastation of Mt. St. Helens proportions.
-------
THIS JUST IN: As I am typing this very minute, I hear from the other side of the room, "Sorry I was grumpy in the car, Mom".

It's little moments like these that keep me going. Thank you, Lord, for hope!
-------
This afternoon she sat and humbly accepted a math lesson from me on a concept she is not understanding in class. She seemed to accept my explanation that her education is my responsibility-not her teacher's; therefore, I will make sure she understands important concepts.

The sweet, helpful, funny kid is back, for a little while at least.

Oh, and did I tell you she is running for Student Body President? Only one other person is running, so she just might win!

Proud mama right here!

The Power of a Promise Part 2

2010-09-12T16:20:00.001-07:00

"I'm afraid it will all collapse."

Perhaps the most honest and courageous words Precious has ever uttered fell in a resigned whisper from her lips.

While we have talked about guardianship for months, hounded her lawyer when he drug his feet and negotiated land mines scattered along the way by her first family, Precious treated the Promise Mama Mia and I made when she moved in with us like all the other throwaway words tossed her way.

She didn't allow herself to believe them. Not way down deep where it matters anyway. After all the last foster family told her they were going to adopt her only to kick her out two weeks later.

"Why should these two be any different," she must have asked herself in the quiet of her sleepless nights.

"Why should their Promise to never send me back be the one that I let myself believe?"

Paper thin words seemed too little to bolster the fragile faith in Precious's heart, but I gathered what I could and prayed they would be a balm to the wound that had spewed the puss of angry words and deeds in my direction for the past six weeks.

"Precious, Mama Mia and I didn't just make that Promise to you. We made it to God. We could break a promise to you, but we can't break a promise to God!"

"WHO WOULD DO THAT!"

The words flew from her mouth of their own making surprising even her.

"Honey, I would because God asked me to, and he whispers in my ear each day how valuable you are and how important you are to him and how much he loves you. How could I not when he was willing to keep the most important promise he ever made? He was willing to let his Son die for my sin and yours. How could I refuse him? Because Mama Mia and I made the Promise to God and not just to you, you can be even more sure we won't break it."

In that moment peace washed over our home and our family like a color wash over a black and white photo.

The Good Twin has returned.

It seems when the evil voices infecting the wounds of her past begin to cloud her mind and trouble her dreams, she acts out in anger even she doesn't understand. Even though I asked all the right questions, stood firm at the boundary lines and assured her of my love again and again and again, it wasn't enough until she could marshall enough strength and courage to make herself supremely vulnerable.

Can you blame her?

The Power of a Promise Part 1

2010-09-11T13:04:00.000-07:00

It seems we live with a set of twins who only let us see one of them at a time.

For the last 4 or 5 weeks the evil twin has plagued us with screaming fits, passive and IN YOUR FACE defiance, tones of voice fit for the demons, slamming doors and toys and pillows careening off the walls and ceiling of her room.

As quickly as she appeared, the evil twin has taken her leave. THANK YOU, JESUS!

What prompted her exit? We finally got to the bottom of what caused her anger. It took hours of consequences. Multiple crying and cuddling sessions. Two intense sessions with her therapist. The fervent prayers of my lovely friends on Twitter. And finally, a mom so worn down she all but quit.

It happened in a moment of incredible courage in the quiet of the ride home from school. A wounded little girl admitted her deepest fear.

"I'm afraid its all going to collapse!"

And she's got good reason to believe the implosion is imminent.

Abuse of every kind at the hands of Mom's boyfriends and Dad's girlfriends.

Kicked out of several foster homes.

In and out of group homes.

Rejected by both sets of grandparents.

Now as our final court date for guardianship approaches she just can't let herself believe in the power of a promise.

A Promised Reward

2010-08-05T04:19:00.000-07:00

I love summer! I look forward to summer! Summer to a teacher means not having to be the boss of kids for hours on end, making sure they are coloring in the lines, walking in lines and toeing the line.

Not this summer!

This has been the summer of change.

I now have a child who seems to think it is my job to keep her occupied 24/7. ARGH!

She has been on restriction more than off! DOUBLE ARGH!

Moms everywhere...can you feel me?

One of my feeble attempts at keeping my sanity and keeping Precious occupied has been to require an hour of reading each day. She has a plethora of books in her room thanks to my classroom library. Nearly every non-fiction topic and genre of fiction you can imagine reside on the shelves of her room, so after a few groans, attempts to dissuade me and a promised reward, she gave in and began reading.

I made a deal with Precious that if she read Beezus and Ramona, (affiliate link) wrote a summary and created graphic organizers detailing the characters of Ramona and Beezus, I would take her to see the movie.

Sweet Girl jumped on that like white on rice, and in less than a week, she met her end of the deal.

So one morning last week, we jumped in the car and made our way to the local theatre, sank back into the plush seats, dozed through 20 minutes of previews and feasted our eyes on the wonder that is Ramona.

To say it was not what I expected is an understatement. My mind was already set on suffering through a string of childish hijinks created to satisfy those with a hankering for potty humor and slapstick sight gags. Not my cup of tea.

What I didn't expect was a sweet, poignant, intelligent story showcasing what is best about families - the bonds of love, acceptance and forgiveness that weathers life's struggles, coming out the other side stronger and more beautiful than before. With a good dose of comedy sprinkled throughout.

In contrast to most movies and television fare today, Beezus and Ramona's parents were strong yet vulnerable, fallible yet worthy of respect, human yet redeemable. There was no question they loved each other and loved their family.

The amazing young actress who played Ramona conveyed complex emotions with an innocence that broke my heart and moved me to tears. At points in the story, I wanted to climb inside the screen, take her in my arms and soothe her hurts. She was that believable.

I loved how artlessly this movie juxtaposed the struggles of today's families with the joys and stumbles of childhood.

I'm not one to watch movies over and over, but I'm thinking this one will end up on my shelf.

For those of you who haven't seen it, GO!

For those of you who have, what did you think?

*Edited to correct names

Aaaaak! You have hair WHERE?

2010-07-29T04:13:00.000-07:00

Mama needs some help, y'all.

This little one? She's convinced she has hair under her arms. The other night, she began asking me questions about shaving!

This little girl? She can bring the STINK!

And this one? She told me her "breasts" hurt last night. Okay, so maybe she's got some bumps there, but breasts?

And this little girlie-Q? She wants my old make up.

Help me out mamas. How did you handle all those little growing up moments with your daughters?

When and how did they begin shaving?

What about wearing make up?

Wordless Wednesday: Umm, Clark?

2010-07-28T04:11:00.000-07:00

There is more Wordlessness to be found.

I caved.

2010-07-27T04:43:00.000-07:00

It called to me like Oreo cookies hidden under the pasta in the back of the pantry.

Like the last piece of Halloween candy tucked behind the the baking soda.

I wooed me with its pleasing shape, tender words and amazing experiences.

Please be happy for me.

I don't need your blessing, but I want it.

Don't shun me because I was not strong enough to resist.

I'm only human.

I can't help that my addictions collide in a wonderful, fiery, exciting synergy that is...

THE KINDLE!*

I'm refuse to feel guilty.

I relish and revel in its offerings.

It tucks me in each evening and wakes me with its whispers each morning.

I know when this magical summer wanes we will pulled from each other for hours on end, but we will gratefully take the time we've been granted and wait breathlessly for the few stolen moments we can find in the coming months.

Be happy for us.

We are blissfully, sublimely happy together.

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The Many Faces of Eve Breezy

2010-07-26T04:44:00.000-07:00

It seems we have an aspiring model in our home. She asked me to help her practice her moves for the camera. She's very serious about her work and would like your feedback.

ennui

melancholy

forlorn

"Whatever"

Shesh! This is hard work!

So what do you think? How'd she do?