Thursday, August 30, 2012

Notes from the First Grade Drama Class

Young first grade girl enters the room.
"Is this drama?"
"Yes it is. Are you excited?"
"I want to be the queen? Can I?"
'The story we are acting out today doesn't have a queen."
"So, when can I be the queen?"

My normal, middle-school teacher self doesn't have the heart to break it to her. Not in real-world terms anyway.

"One day, when our story has a queen, you can have a turn."
"Yaaaaay!" she squeals.

Just like that.

Later, when we are acting out the safety tips from Officer Buckle and Gloria, I ask why we don't go swimming in an electrical storm.

This is still first grade mind you, and a young, first-grade boy raised his hand.


'An electrical storm has a bunch of lightening, and water conducts electricity, so if you are in the water and lightening hits it,  you will get electrocuted and die."

"Yes. Ahh. Yes," and I turn the page:)

I have met 600 little souls this week with names I am trying to brand into my neurons. They have lots to tell me.

Lord, give me ears to hear.

Monday, August 27, 2012

Monday's Much Needed Song of the Day: Separate Ways by Journey

We saw Journey this past weekend with the Grandpa John and of course there was no Steve Perry, but Arnel Pineda did a superb job as the lead vocalist.

His vibrato is different, but his version of Open Arms got me good and teary eyed and dreaming of Skateland.

This song, Separate Ways, is for Chloe. It's her favorite Journey song:)

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Forty Officially Sucks

I had my first, for real, panic attack.
I thought panic attacks occurred when you were panicking. I did not realize they mostly occur, when you are in denial about the fact you are panicking and therefore surprised by the fact that your heart is beating in your throat, your hands are numb, your chest is burning, and you are on the side of the road in a borrowed car with a paramedic knocking on your window trying to convince you to open the door.

That if you were having a for real panic attack, you wouldn't stop to think about all the things your husband has no idea to take care of if you die.  That you wouldn't stop to kick yourself for that blank will in your binder.

Because when you have a panic attack, you actually feel like you are dying.

I thought, that if you were panicking/dying, you wouldn't be worried as you drive away in the ambulance about said borrowed car, or that the flashers were on and the battery might die and your husband won't be able to get the car home. That you wouldn't be worried about your lack of insurance or making jokes about your vertical c-section, stretch marks, or Victoria Secrets' wonder-bra. That you wouldn't cry every time they came to do a medical test, because all you could see were dollar signs. That you would know you shouldn't answer the call from your sister who was in the process of moving to Houston.

I thought, nothing would matter except you were panicking/dying.

"What is going on in your life right now?"
"I was just talking to my mom. Telling her what's going on in my life."
"What's going on?"
"Both cars broke down. New car broke down. Middle son just started driving. I just started a new job in McKinney. My sister is moving to Houston. But this is not that major. I mean, really. If you heard my life story, this is not that big a deal."
"The son driving is enough to make me panic."

I didn't even call Chris until they finished testing me.
I didn't want to scare anyone.
I didn't want to bother anyone.
I wanted to be in control of the information and how it was disseminated.
I wanted to be in control of my behavior before I spoke to anyone.
I wanted to be in control. And I wasn't.
And this is why I had a panic attack.
Because I am not. In control.

I am not God.
Thank God.

Monday, August 20, 2012

Monday's Much needed Song of the Day

A karaoke staple for my sister and I. not exactly a party tune, but hey, that's who we are, where we come from and all that.

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Three Posts About Ryan on my FB Page

I rarely get political on here. I don't belong to a party, for the same reason I don't sign a card to be a member of a church. I am a Christian. I don't want to say, I am a Christian, a __________. Or, I am an American, a _____________.

I have voted for politicians from both parties.

This is how I make my decision.
I make a list of the issues that are most important to me. ( I pray.)
I put a t-chart on the side of the list, with candidates names at the top. (I pray.)
I place a check under the candidate that agrees with me. (I pray.)
The one with the most checks gets my vote. ( I pray some more.)

That being said, I am not a one issue-voter. I am a ten-twelve issue voter. I land on both conservative and liberal sides of different issues.

Health Care
Right to Life
Americans with Disabilities
Treatment of Minorities
Freedom of Religion
Treatment of Illegal Immigrants
Welfare Reform
Human Rights
The Environment
The Vice President

(I won't lie. The stiff, salesman hair throws me a bit, but I try not to factor that in as a negative.)

I know I should include foreign policy and the economy(unless they involve human rights), but I don't unless there is some glaring irregularity.

Jesus and I will not be discussing these votes when He shows me the movie of my life because He was not left out of the process.

Here are the first three posts I saw from some Facebook friends today. I like the variety I get on the home page. I do not feel like I am listening to a one-sided radio station and often I am amused and informed at the same time.

Ryan's Indian Affairs Votes. Get the hint:/

The line waiting to see Paul Ryan. Sunblock anyone? (Posted by a Ryan supporter.)

Pell, Schmell!

I haven't made my t-chart yet, but I can tell you that as a result of some Obama spending cuts, Chaz's budget for specialized therapies was cut in half:/(Americans with Disabilities)

I can also tell you that Mitt Romney worked (and I believe is still in the pocket) for Monsanto:///(Environment, Human Rights, Economy-glaring irregularity.)

This might be my fist presidential election to Write-In.

Monday, August 13, 2012

Monday's Much Needed Song of the Day: Stars by Spooky Folk

This one's for my sister , CJ, who is moving to Houston.
Shine on String Bean! Bet we'll see the light from here:)
YayandBoo. We love you.

Sunday, August 12, 2012

Fevers and Dreams

Baz Luhrmann shot the scenes of my last dream. But that is all. Like he was experimenting. Maybe learning to use some new equipment. A long stream of white rooms and lots of  people working at various tasks.
Lots of people.
Me in my white t-shirt and blue jeans. My chunky flip flops falapping as I move from room to room with a baby on my hip. Not my own.
He refuses to lean into me for rest or comfort, only every now and then holds onto the neck of my shirt when I bend and he feels off-kilter.
He's very serious, this baby. Dark eyes and hair like me. But face not like me.
He's wearing a nondescript one-sie. He is super clean. He smells super good. He never cries.
At some point someone takes him from me. A favor. A break, they say, but I feel naked without him on my hip.
I see him watching me from across the room, in someone else's arms, like he is asking me when all this will be done. All the preparations, the cutting, the pasting, the hanging, the warming of food. Do we know how much time we are wasting he is asking with his stare.

I take him back. Take him outside. We sit in the grass. He looks more like a baby now. He leans back into my chest, looks up at the clouds and names the clouds in his head. That's what it looks like he is doing to me. I am sure he's a genius.

I don't ever wonder where his parents are.

At the end of the dream, there is all this footage, but no story line that anyone can make out.

But me and the baby have been here before. He's holding onto my finger and cocking his head with one eye closed.

There is a story here, he is telling me. A good one.

Of course it is. I say without saying. You're in it.

Friday, August 10, 2012

The Going Away Speech

My kids left for Galveston today with their school. Before I completely freaked out I managed to impart some wisdom.

No scriptures came to mind. I didn't think to pray. Just a few words about coming home safely.

To Caleb: "Be respectful and wise. I know how it is when you get with friends. You get cocky. Think you're invincible. Maybe you take chances. Don't . Be brave, but not stupid."

To Chloe:  "The elbow is the hardest part of your body. Use it."

It needs some refining, I know.

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Question Marks

The oldest kiddo had a followup appointment yesterday for a procedure I won't discuss in detail here.  The procedure had been performed twice and the very nice surgeon who heard of my last meltdown (which was handled very nicely by a kind young resident who pretty much did everything I asked after that) said we had to re-do it. He looked extra prepared for a hot-mommy-mess. He didn't get it.

It went something like:
Blah, blah,blah, blah blah, Just isn't the right tissue. Blah, blah, blah. Looks like it might be missing blah, blah, blah, blah,  This means he might not have a kidney. Blah, blah, blah. So we'll need to check.

In those few moments after he said this, the kiddo and I just kinda looked at each other, then back at the doctor, then back at each other, like Scooby and Scrappy Doo trying to solve a mystery.

I wanted to ask the doctor if he knew that my two little teenagers were going to the ocean on a school trip without me and if he could just stop talking and tell me later. If he knew that one of those teenagers will get his license in two weeks and while I am busy teaching an hour away, he will be driving to  dual credit classes at a local community college which I have heard has it's fair share of sexually active girls and low-level drug dealers. That I won't be home to eat lunch with them any more and that I'm kinda sad. That if he could maybe wait a few weeks before I had to stuff any more information into my brain, because there was no room for it to filter down into my heart just yet.

Because my heart is rearranging itself, what with all the pieces I am being forced to break off and just throw out into the world to fend for itself. Because hey, that's the natural order of things.

No one seems to care that I am not ready.

So, I listen. I take those those little tidbits in. Don't even write them down or anything, like the old- professional mom of a kid with a disability. Just "Okay. Okay. Okay," so he would finally shut up and leave us alone.

My son and I said very little as we gathered our things, entered the heat of the day, and walked the half mile to free parking while the cement cooked our already confused brains.
When we got in the car, Chaz looked at me and said: What's that mean?
"I don't know," I said. "I think it's just a big question mark for now."
But hey isn't everything?

Monday, August 6, 2012

Monday's Much Needed Song of the Day: Shorty, Wanna Pizza Me? by Pizza

Our friends, Val and Toby made Argentinean pizza yesterday. I had no idea there was such a thing, so  I am less food ignorant today than I was yesterday.
There was blue cheese and onion, hearts of palm with golf sauce, ham and some other yummy something, and  tomato with basil. So I had a sliver of each and fell asleep on the floor during music time. We were also the lucky recipients of a goodie bag, which we ate for lunch.

Thursday, August 2, 2012

10 Ways I Could Start My Grad School Essay

1. Well, since I'm done having babies . . . 
2. My son just started driving and I need a major distraction.
3. I really need a job, promotion, etc.
4. Since , I'm never going to be rich, I thought I'd at least try to be smart.
5. I just need to know a bunch of stuff I don't know yet.
6. I have some extra money to blow.
7. Validate me, validate me, validate me.
8. All who are wandering, have no direction.
9. I need some friends.
10. I tend to flourish in community. I need an academic one.

Okay, so number six and nine are not true. Why I am procrasti-writing this essay so many different times is beyond me. Except my penchant for self-sabotage and desire for perfection and insatiable need to be accepted  . . . .