Five Fab Faves for Friday!

It's Friday - and I am thankful for a few things.

First, I actually blogged every day this week, thanks to the challenge from:

I'm not sure how I'm doing, but I'm writing, and it feels like circuits in my brain are connecting - and that feels great.

I also like reading posts from Lauren who writes From My Grey Desk, especially on Friday. Did you see that yummy dessert on her High Five for Friday? There isn't enough spandex in the denim for me to consume all that, but it's wonderful eye candy.  I'm also happy for her cats' comfort in the new home. Our cat, Bella (short for Bellatrix), hangs out on the patio these days, which seems to have helped reduce the number of times she streaks through the house like a demon possessed (which may be entirely possible).

She doesn't look like the spawn of Satan. . .

. . .but she definitely suffers from a split personality (as most felines do). 

Second, our Kidlet was asked to test for our new school district's GT (Gifted & Talented) program. You can hope your offspring will find a cure for cancer, or win an Olympic medal, or date Charlie Sheen (well, maybe not the last one), but all you really want is for them to be happy. And successful. And not end up like Charlie Sheen:

No Charlie Sheen Allowed. No Mug Shots allowed. This looks like great parenting advice in one image.
Photo courtesy: www.amazon.com

We didn't tell Kidlet she would be tested, because, well, she works herself up over stuff like that. Where does she get this trait? Well, I often tell friends that the best part of Kidlet's arrival into this world was that she arrived via emergency C-section.   I had no time to worry, stress or freak out. I was medicated, motivated and in the maternity ward for 7 days.  If it had been a scheduled C-section,  my brain would have assured the rest of me that death was imminent. 

We won't find out the results until June, but the fact that they saw potential in Kidlet is wonderful. Sappy, weepy, Hallmark card wonderful. I told her we will be proud of her, no matter what, and that all students, GT or not, grow up - and there isn't a GT section at Target or Chick-Fil-A.  (Note that I didn't include Walmart. Ahem.)

(Still, it's pretty cool that she got the chance.)

Third, I worked as a substitute teacher again this week.  I know it sounds crazy to some people to choose to spend time with 20-22 kids you barely know - or haven't met before - but it has an even better effect on me than writing.  I absolutely LOVE working with students. It makes me indescribably happy, despite any cartoon depicting otherwise.  

Photo courtesy: www.cartoonstock.com

Fourth,  I love my Steve Madden gladiator sandals, which I wore today while working in kindergarten. They're always comfortable, and my daughter thinks they're almost as cool as her Children's Place silver gladiator sandals. Her sandals have the zipper in back, however, and are much easier to slip on. Oh, middle age, how I love what you've done with my back.

Photo courtesy: www.kaboodle.com

I admit that shoes are ALWAYS in my top five things every day (at least until I need orthopedic options. Until then, get behind me SAS Shoe Store. Thankyouverymuch.)

Finally, my fifth fave for today is the great meal that was catered today by the PTA. I knew nothing about it, so a surprise free lunch is even better.  It was amazingly good food - AND I found a new place to satisfy our craving for Tex-Mex since we moved to SC last fall. Thank you, Salsarita's Fresh Cantina, for a yummy lunch!

Yes, those are black beans - and no, it's not Tex-Mex, but it IS delicioso
(as Dora the Explorer teaches all moms).
Photo courtesy: www.examiner.com

So, there ya' have it. Five reasons for me to smile this week. The lunch was a neat surprise - and I was told today by a teacher that she always calls a substitute again when that person works well with her autistic students.  One of those students hugged me before nap today. BONUS!!!!

Have a great weekend, and if you're blogging and want to share, feel free to post a link in the comments - or leave a note telling me something that made your week better. There has to be something, even if it was someone's absence. ;)

Oh, and one more Pollyanna moment: there are only 18 days left in our school year!

Honey, have you seen that box. . .?

"People are always saying that change is a good thing. But all they're really saying is that something you didn't want to happen at all... has happened." - You've Got Mail


This morning I asked friends for blog topic suggestions, since this is new to me and I'm trying to figure out what makes a blog entertaining  - I mean, besides resorting to bathroom humor. . .

Why does Paul Simon's "Mother & Child Reunion"  pop into my head as I look at this?

(Photo courtesy of Clark Sorenson, via Atlantic Monthly and Toilet (the book)

A good friend suggested I write about our move from Texas to the Carolinas, which began in late July and ended in late September.  

Would you like to know what's great about a cross-country move that takes 3 months to complete? So would I. Leave a comment below and we'll discuss it. 


How did our adventure in cardboard, bubble wrap and tape begin? So glad you asked. My husband left Texas after our daughter's 9th birthday celebration, traveling 1100 miles two weeks after a job offer was made and saying goodbye to the charming wife and only child. In May, he had been laid off after 13 years when the employer was bought out by a competitor.  Luckily, he had been offered a job with the new company - but in Phoenix, which we agreed had a view that could less than pleasant:

An asthmatic's dream, no?

We lived in "tornado alley" for most of our lives, Texas was in the middle of one of the worst droughts in history, which meant we'd be packing enough dust in the moving boxes, thank you very much. 

We took a pass. 

So, hubby packed up a few things, drove for 2 days to the Charlotte area, found a one-bedroom apartment (?!) in South Carolina and settled in, going to work at 10 pm, walking to the lake every day, feeding fish, hanging out by the pool, eating baked beans whenever he wanted. . .adjusting to the new normal, I guess you could say. In the meantime, what did I do? A little bit of this and that - and EVERYTHING ELSE. Good times.

In a later post, I'll talk about how we are adjusting as a family to this new state (which they refer to as "The Carolinas" - like the north and south are conjoined twins), but it's hard to appreciate what makes the Deep South special. . .when you look at the map and see that your home state is, well, deeper south, geographically speaking. 

What was the move from Texas like? If I don't dig too deeply, I can say it was one of the most challenging things I've ever done. I'm proud of handling a lot of responsibility on my own: downsizing the contents of our home of 10 years, coordinating its rental, packing things up and working with the movers who showed up one day early, then 6 hours late the next day - and giving them something to eat and drink (Thanks, Aunt Judy, for the tip!) It was also empowering to drive over a thousand miles with a nine year old daughter and a cat (and the litter box. . .who needs rest areas and gas station rest rooms?). I'm the same woman, who, at age 16,  drove into a maize field because she was trying to roll down the passenger window at the same time. 

What?! No power windows? What am I supposed to do with this? 

Ohhhh, that's MUCH better.  

Before the move, my husband and I tried to focus on the good things about the situation with our daughter - who was brought home to that big house with the big yard on the corner in town over 9 years ago, who met her best friends when she was 18 months old at the Baptist Church, and who loved their moms like family.  What did we do? We turned her into the girl who left after the first six weeks of school - a new school where she was settling in, singing every Friday during Mass and learning Spanish. Those classmates all sent her handmade Christmas cards last month, which brought tears to my eyes  - and a huge smile to her face. I'm sniffling as I type about it now. (Talk amongst yourselves. I'll be right back.)

SEGUE! (Let's move on, shall we?)

Was our move a big deal to our families? Here's a little imagery to paint in your mind. :) 

My husband and I are in our 40s, parents to one and siblings to none. We are a family of 3 "only" children. (The family tree has a few more branches, but I'm not talented enough to figure out where they belong.)  Our parents still live in Texas, in the same county we did. They are in their 60s and 70s - still married - to each other.  If we're not there for a family celebration, it's safe to say there really isn't one. In 1994, my husband and I married the Saturday before Mother's Day. Self-centered? Us?! 

The morning our kidlet and I left for Texas, my mother-in-law asked to be taken to the ER because of a migraine.  When I was hospitalized last month with an infection and pneumonia, she flew out the same day to "look after things" while I was sick.  Whenever she and my father-in-law pick us up in their car, she moves to the back seat (with her granddaughter) "to give me more leg room" up front.  

(Sure am glad my husband is the reason we had to move. . .ahem.)

My parents? They were excited for us, saying it would be a great adventure - just like it was when I was a child and my dad was in the Air Force. The difference? You had shared experiences as a military family relocating every few years - and my grandma usually came and stayed with us. Often. For months at a time.  Lucky dad.

The reality? We are the kids who moved away when most children are coming back to spend time with their parents and help when needed. My parents are older, and they'll need my help sooner - and I'm not there. Before we left for the Carolinas,  Mom & Dad told me I didn't need to come back if "something happened." These are the same people who have been helpful enough to joke about going down to the funeral home to make sure their cremations are paid for so I don't have to do it myself - and to remind me that Mom's ashes go in a Windex bottle to be displayed on the mantel.  


The reality, however, is that Dad can't travel due to COPD - which basically means that because he smoked for most of his life, he has the lung capacity of a 110-year-old. (Don't ask me how a machine can calculate it, but it did - and TriCare paid for it.) My parents won't be coming here to visit. Ever. 


My in-laws will come, but they'll need us, too. It's not a matter of if they'll need us, but when.  How do I know this? In the past two weeks, my father-in-law has driven his Mercedes convertible over a parking spot curb (tearing off the front bumper when he backed out), broken the mechanism that controls the convertible top - and, yesterday, backed into a pickup. (The pickup won.) 


I know it's not the worst thing in the world to be far away from family and friends, but it's not a reality check you want to write very often.  Keep that in mind. Relocation wasn't optional. In this economy, we went where the work could be found, but my husband, daughter, parents and I are all paying a price for it - in time. 

I think, as I spent six weeks sorting, packing, cleaning, clearing, and compartmentalizing everything in sight, I tried to do the same with my thoughts and feelings and the conflict I faced. I've kept some of them in storage until I find the time and the space to open them up again. That's not written on any moving checklist, but it should be. 

No Quitter, Go Getter

"You look like the type who'd dig Lil Wayne."

The voice? Self-assured.

The smile? Confident.

The goal? Dominance.

The speaker? A young man I'd never met.

The intended audience?

Oh! that would be. . .

ME!

Swagga so bright I don't even need light. 

(*Pimp cup and grill optional) 

That's me - a grown-up pleaser kid, former teacher's pet and a late 20th century selection from the palest of the pale suburban moms collection (note the non-existent eyebrows and distinct lack of melanin).

Now, I'm married to a man named Wayne (his middle name, which appears to be the most popular middle name for serial killers, by the way), so the concept of "Lil Wayne" would just be a distraction and a fit of giggles I could not afford at that moment.   I'm telling you - double entendre is a gift that never gets old.  Trust me on this one.

Anyway, where was I?  Oh, yeah.

Why was this kid pouring charm and humor on me like a water hose on his baby sister?

Simple. It was the location: a high school classroom. I was "the sub" - and it was my turn to be tested.  It wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last.  (By the way, listening to Lil Wayne should be mandatory for all educators. Know the voices in the students heads that can be louder than yours if you're not careful.)

What was I doing in a room full of estrogen and testosterone run amok? Had I lost my mind?

Actually, no - at least not yet. I had worked in offices before my husband and I had our first and only child in 2002, and I decided I didn't want to return to work full-time after all we had endured to bring the little tax deduction and sleep deprival unit into the world.

I loved being a mom (still do) and was happy to take care of our daughter while my husband commuted 75 miles every night to work a 10-hour shift - and sleep during the day.  I enjoyed watching Blue's Clues and The Backyardigans as much as any stay-at-home parent can - and even more, since I sang along -  but there's a point where Mommy had to re-establish contact with the outside world, or she might build a shrine in her medicine cabinet to her pharmacist:

So, with my emotional well-being and mad money earning potential in mind, I decided "subbing" was a great way to get to know people in my husband's small hometown, and learn about the schools my daughter would attend from Grades K-12.

What's the worst that could happen?

I'll tell you: high school freshmen. They haven't returned to a fully human state yet, so it's a bit like seating 20 gorillas in a library when one of them smells like a banana and another is in heat.

. . .which brings me back to that high school campus.  The same student who smiled and cajoled, pleaded and placated to listen to his iPod during class? He was the one, when I subbed for a science teacher whose health crises in class proved more educational than her lectures, who told me he was grounded if his grades fell below 95. He was at school with his jaw wired due to an injury,  consuming nutrients through a straw.  He's also the one who earned a $25,000 scholarship his senior year - the only one -

 - but he wasn't the only one who listened to Lil Wayne.

Because of students like him, I accepted a full-time job at that high school - coincidentally, during his senior year. I sat at the front desk, answering the phone, greeting the public, helping anyone who asked. . .and learning a little bit about what it means to be a student in a small town in the 21st century (with a little translation help from Urban Dictionary, so I could figure out what they were talking about.)

Rainbow Party, Skittles Party,  Train Party. . .all terms I learned in 2009 from students in rural Texas, where even muddin' has clothing-optional potential.

Because of students like him, I learned to try and keep my eyes from crinkling shut when I laughed out loud, from widening in shock, welling up with tears or rolling skyward in exasperation when they talked about what this teacher said, or what another student did, or how they separated their fighting little brothers in the front yard at 6 am after prom. (Answer: chase them with a bat.)

Silence! I kill you!

I never quite pulled off a poker face - but they knew it - and seemed to know that what I wanted, more than anything, was for them to be okay.

Most importantly, I learned I could NEVER shut my eyes to avoid seeing their reality. . .because they wanted someone to see it, to listen to them talk about it, and to honestly care what happened to them.

Seeing the relief that they "blew a zero" at a party busted by cops. . .seeing their bloodshot eyes when they came to school "blowed" - just another day on the job - 187 in all.

In this small town, predominantly Caucasian, Catholic and Czech, with involved parents and lifelong friends who graduate, go to college and come back to raise their families, time did not stand still and problems didn't stop at the city limits sign.  It just seemed many over the age of 30 were supplied with blinders once kids reached 13.

There are always students facing realities no one should - and this school I love was not immune (hunger, poverty, prescription addiction, alcoholic parents, attempted rape, teen pregnancy, custody battles, molestation, abortion) and in our town, teens drinking, driving and dying (every few years - for decades).  The town holds their collective breath on school holidays and three day weekends. Kids see their parents on Thursday morning, go home with a friend after school and conduct alcohol poisoning contests with beer pong, Jell-O shots and swamp water until they come back home wiped out and hung over Sunday night.  They can be 15 years old - with loving parents who naively trust adults who supply the location and the liquor.

Budgets are tight in schools, and teachers are overwhelmed, overworked and underappreciated - and occasionally micromanaged by administrators. Some should have left the field long ago, when they ran out of patience for students who are basically raising themselves - through experiences I just listed. If a friend confesses to another that she's a victim of sexual abuse or a dyslexic student took care of a vomiting sibling all night,  the importance of calculus or a research paper falls down the list, if not completely off.

So, what did the students teach me? What do I think you should remember when you hear about public schools, underperforming students and budget cuts?

1. A student's radar still works. They know when an adult doesn't give a damn.  They sense it when they're 18 months old and they can see through the fake smiles and psuedo-concern when they're 18 years old. They're just tired of pretending it doesn't matter or hurt once they reach puberty. Don't even try.
2. Young people always trust the wrong person at least once - usually of the opposite sex - who will  hurt them deeply, and they will die a little inside, blame themselves - and likely do the same thing over again if an adult doesn't listen and support them.
3. Teens take it to heart when someone they respect gives up on them - and it motivates them to give up, too.
4. Adults and second chances are NOT a combination teens put together willingly. EVER. 
5. Teens are educating themselves through every means available to them -  including sexual experimentation with peers (hookups with random people they meet at parties/friends with benefits/longterm relationships). They feel like adults because of their actions, but aren't yet wired to adequately handle the psychological price of all they see, hear and do. 

Most importantly - now, more than new uniforms, dual credit classes or technology grants for the classroom materials - they need adults who care enough to see what's really happening, to listen to them, to support and reassure them in difficult times and to let them know they can still become the kind of person they want to be - and how they can accomplish it. If their parents aren't listening, they're hoping to find someone who will.

If you're a parent, LOOK. LISTEN. SAY SOMETHING.  Ask the questions, challenge the answers, negotiate the solutions when there's conflict. Don't assume anything - good or bad. YOU have the responsibility to teach your child how to live in their generation, not ours.

Don't baby them or sugarcoat the truth. Acknowledge their maturity and experience, but let them know there's more to come - better and worse - and they need to be able to be in control of their lives, not the other way around.

Oh, and what about Lil Wayne? Can he teach us a lesson or two  -  aside from how to go to jail for weapons possession? Well, yes.  He can. The reason his music connects with young people is because he listens to them, and gives them a message they want to hear:

No stress visibly

Neither does it enter me

I think positively

You can't harm me mentally

Not physically

Not spiritually

You'll never get rid of me

I am the epitome

Of "this is what you did to me"

Nothing is what you did for me

Nothing is what you give to me

I take whatever I'm visioning

Now break all the limiting

Now shake all the gimmicking

The fakery

The trickery

And I'm no quitter cause I'm a go I'm a go I'm a go getta and I'm no quitter cause I'm a go I'm a go I'm a go getta

Yeah I I'm gon get it I I'm gon get it yeah I'm gon get it yeah

Cause I'm a go I'm a go I'm a go getta

Who knew? That freshman nailed it. I was the type who could dig Lil Wayne.