Where are you going? Where have you been?

This is the title of a Joyce Carol Oates' book that I haven't read, but it's a title I've always liked. I think it is a nice way I think about one's life and especially Dec 31.

On the New Year, I always post this: Happy Arbitrary Time Delineation Day! Not that the Gregorian calendar is arbitrary, but there are like 12 30+ others, including the Hebrew calendar and the Chinese calendar. Time is a construct we make so while I own calendars and follow calendars, I also believe they are bogus. 

How do I exist in this world being such a fucking buzzkill, you ask? 

I don't even know.

Time is weird. It can fly by; it can crawl by. Sometimes time feels like a fever-dream. When I reflect back on the past year, it doesn't feel real to me. I can't believe it hasn't been a year since my trip to Ecuador because it feels like 1,000 years. Although maybe by April, the year anniversary of the trip, it will feel like just the blink of an eye.

Because of the weirdness of time, it can make it difficult to reflect on it on a specific designated day, like today/tonight/tomorrow. Maybe I'm not feeling reflective? Maybe I'm just ornery and don't want to reflect when society tells me I need to?

There is a lot of pressure with the new year, just as there is with Christmas holidays. There is a pressure to create (or recreate) magic at Christmas, and there is a pressure to be resolute, to make changes, to become a new and better, stronger, more powerful version of YOU with the minute hand ticking. 

And I reject this completely, mostly because I'm allowed to since my kids don't care if I make resolutions or strive to be a better me. (They would have a shitfit, however, if I tried to not do Christmas.)

For the moment, I'm ok with who I am now. I went through my big workout and try to ward off middle-age phase after my third child was born 13 years ago. I long ago decided that getting a PhD probably isn't something I aspire to. I recently wrote a literary essay for publication that drove me insane to complete and made me question what my "writing life" is and what I want it to be. None of this required me to make a decision on Dec 31 or Jan 1. 

I don't need this day or tomorrow to be reflective. I guess some people do, and since I'm a fan of reflecting and metacognating, then kudos to those who do it tonight or tomorrow. But if you're not one of those folks, and you feel like a slug or a loser because you aren't motivated to extol your great PLANS for 2023, let it go. Just as time is a social construct, so is this expectation of growth, of change, of great personal fulfillment decided in one 24-hour period. 

You don't have to buy into it. 

Mental health holiday suckage

As I've mentioned on this blog, I wasn't diagnosed with a mood disorder until age 30, but I struggled with my mental health from age 10. 

I was always wound tight and now recognize that I had rituals that I did to ease my anxiety (although at the time I thought those were just "weird things" I did). I remember having depressive episodes and thinking about dying starting in middle school. I never seriously thought about committing suicide, but I definitely thought about death a lot. (And still do.)

Unless you've gone through a full-blown breakdown/episode, I don't think you can wrap your head around just how little control you have over your thoughts when things are bad. I have thought about this a lot with the recent suicide of Stephen tWitch Boss who, like so many people, was able to cover and pretend. But why is anyone shocked that a 10 second dance clip, or even a series of them, didn't sum up the entirety of a person's existence? 

When I reflect on the worst parts of my breakdown, I remember the brain fuzz, as if a cloud of static looped around my head and kept things clouded. I knew I was there somewhere inside my brain, but I was lost behind muck. I could not laugh or grin or find anything funny. Communication was hard. My ability to reason was skewed. My brain was sick. 

That was at my worst...but I had been "holding it together" and probably passing for ok for weeks and months before that. I don't know what flipped the switch from this to "unable to function," but it switched and it took me a couple years to get better. 

I cannot imagine all the synapse misfiring that was going on inside the crenelated corners of my brain at that time. Were the brain cells dying or just languishing from depleted chemicals (or maybe too many chemicals)? It is impossible for me to forget just how bad I felt. It was worse and longer-lasting than any physical illness I've experienced thus far. 

Ever since I went through therapy and got on medication, I have made it a point to be open about my mental health issues, even with students. Or maybe, especially with students. We all believe we run the ship, so it is especially devastating to find that you're not the captain or the first mate or even a swab. When experiencing a breakdown/episode, it feels pretty clear that you're maybe a rat somewhere down in the hold. It is a loss of empowerment that is unlike a kidney infection or the development of plantar fasciitis. To lose control of your brain is to lose control of your sense of self and your worth. That was devastating when I had three decades of life behind me and was in a relatively stable phase of life. 

This time of year is especially hard for a lot of people, including me. I absolutely, positively abhor the Christmas holiday season. I hold it together, but I'm cranky and moody and lacking energy. If you could look into my brain, you would see a brown cloud of unease there, similar to what follows Pigpen from the Peanuts gang, except it isn't dirt and dust. It is a sad, hollow mood that permeates everything. 

Why would I feel sad, some might ask. I have a family and my health and a home and a job and so much. I recognize this and am thankful. It isn't ungratefulness that makes the feeling. In some ways, it is that I put myself in the shoes of the people who don't have, who are without, this time of year. The story of Christmas in the manger even makes me terribly sad. That sounds absurd, I know. But this time of year simply makes me sad. Everything feels heavy. 

I guess I write this as a reminder to myself that feeling how I feel is ok. As much as I'd like to "think myself to a better mood," it ain't happening. I go through this every year (although I did have several years of reprieve when the kids were little). Having gone through this, I know it will end; the circle will turn, and I will feel not so glum, not so bleak. 

Until then, I muddle through, like so many people do at this time of year, knowing full well I'm not alone but feeling like the tide of good cheer and festivity is rolling over me and everyone else who can't muster themselves into good tidings. 

Not-the-usual things I'm thankful for

We are heading straight into my most UNFAVORITE time of year when everything is syrupy sentimental and consumeristic AND people state the obvious as if they are blowing minds with their astute thoughts. Things like, "I'm thankful for my family," which is totally true and also not deeply cognitive if you are over age 30. 

Anyway, I do need to count my blessings more and am determined to really think a little more carefully about it. So since it is Nov 21, here are 21 thankful. 

1---I'm thankful for a brain that thinks deeply even though it means that people who don't think deeply kind of drive me nuts. 

2--I'm thankful I was finally issued a district computer even though I asked for one in August and had given up that I would ever get one. I have learned how to live without it so it will probably sit unused but I still got it and am glad. 

3--I am thankful that I keep having periods because it will make me EVEN MORE HAPPY when I finally, someday STOP HAVING PERIODS. 

4--I am thankful that M had a recent book project that he asked me to help him with. It was actually fun to plan with him and help him color at the kitchen table. He even said, "This is fun!" and you never hear 13-year-olds say that 1. with their moms or 2. about anything involving school.

5--I am also thankful that M has finally stopped wearing shorts to school and has adopted the pants I bought him. I hate to spend money on stuff for my kids that they never use. It also made me very cold to watch him walk into school in early November in shorts. 

6--I am thankful for the early dark of November because I enjoy hibernating from now until early March. It is a restful time of year that I think far too many people don't appreciate. I try to appreciate it.

7--I am thankful for a new friend with physical and mental disabilities because he helps me notice things about how other people (and probably me before I knew him) treat people with physical and mental disabilities. 

8--I am thankful for 25 years of marriage with D. Most of the time.

9--I am thankful I spent the other day watching my dad use his new pizzelle maker I ordered for him. It makes me happy to do things to help my parents since I will never actually repay them for all the ways they helped me. 

10--I am thankful my kids have two generations of parents behind them who have supported education. I tell my kids all the time that they have a leg up on a lot of other kids simply because they lucked into having grandparents and parents who believe education is the most important thing. 

11-I am thankful for the new old-person sunglasses that fit over prescription glasses because sunshine glare is really bothering me.

12--I am thankful that I NO LONGER CARE what people think of me which means I will wear the old-person sunglasses that fit over my prescription glasses and be not just happy but THRILLED even if I look like Bono during the Zooropa years. 

13--I am thankful I am working with JCPS high schoolers at the same school two days a week. I feel like I'm developing relationships which run of the mill subbing doesn't get you.

14--I am thankful for my new paper calendar which, even though I don't believe anything different happens on January 1, does let me sort of "put to bed" the past period of time. I like those clean, new sheets of paper.

15--I'm thankful we're changing our podcast format a little bit so I can read more fun stuff I want to read and not feel so stressed.

16--I'm thankful that more clothing manufacturers are making softer clothing for those of us with sensory issues. 

17--I'm thankful I've got a pretty good "asshole-dar" and recognized a long time ago that Elon Musk is kind of a dick....when others were still fan-boying over him. 

18--I'm thankful my kids can take jokes and don't take themselves too seriously.

19--I'm thankful more companies are using less wasteful products, and that I'm paying more attention to it.

20--I'm thankful for my kids' neighborhood pet-sitting business because it has taught them the importance of earning money and caring for sometimes old and feeble animals.

21--I'm thankful that G is trying new foods, including sushi. Given his sensory issues, this is something I really wasn't sure would ever happen. 

Stupid English reading selection rules

The other day I completely lost my shit when M, who is in 7th grade, came home and told me he can't read Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card because it has a movie based on it. 

Ender's Game is a book that one of my former students when I taught 6th grade full-time recommended TO ME. He loved it. And so I read it and I loved it. And I've taught it because if a book is so good it makes a sixth grade boy tell his English teacher how much he adores it, then that says A LOT. 

I understand the rationale for teachers saying kids can't read books that have movies based on them. Some students will just watch the movie and not read the book. If it is a book that has an extensive film catalog like Harry Potter, I get it. 

But I also think this decision can mean that students don't get to self-select books that they are really interested in reading. Which begs the question: Why are we asking kids to read independently and self-select if we don't allow them to read what they want?

If books based on films was the only parameter, I might not have an issue, but these are the other "rules" for self-selected books in M's class:

• No graphic novels
• No books under 200 pages

When combined---over 200 pages, no graphic novels, no movies based on them---these rules are just plain dumb. 

First, graphic novels. 

Some kids love graphic novels and rather than disallowing them IN TOTAL, there could be limits set, such as "only 1 graphic novel selection per semester or per project." There are some really great graphic novels. Maybe a kid who would never in their lives read a 320 page book, will read a graphic novel based on that book and still get a great story.

For example, Neil Gaiman is one of my favorite authors. His book, The Graveyard Book, is 320 pages. But there is also a graphic novel that is in two parts. Same author, same story, different format. Some kids would NEVER pick up and read a 320 page chapter book but they will read two graphic novels that clock in at 368 pages. 

And by reading a graphic novel, this gives some interesting topics students can discuss, such as how do the visual images impact their reading and what particular words are illustrated to really emphasize their importance to the story and what would they have chosen to illustrate differently?

The length of a book is also big sticking point for me. 

Yes, maybe kids should have to read longer novels to practice stamina, but this should be done in the classroom where a teacher can monitor and help develop skills. (And honestly, with so much MAP testing and state testing being done on our kids, our testing really promotes SHORT reading, so we're being pretty disingenuous here.)

Whether we like it or not, our collective attention spans are much shorter these days. Even I, who don't usually mind a 350 page book, find that I sometimes tire of an author who can't say things a little more succinctly. Life is short, and I don't know that I need 1,000 pages of exposition. 

G is having to do independent reading assignments, and he is definitely not going to go for long-ass books. He is a good reader, but I don't think he is a fast reader, and kids have to finish their books in 6 weeks. The parameters his teacher set for his assignments are MUCH better and flexible, which I really appreciate.

He can read 1 graphic novel for the year and then can pick a Pulitzer Prize-winning book, a Nobel Prize author, a book with a color in its title, a book published the year you were born, a book on the Kentucky Bluegrass Awards list, etc. There are no page count requirements nor movie limitations.

To help him out, I went down and selected a ton of books from my shelves he can choose from that are relatively short. 

He read Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck, which is a whopping 107 pages.

He is going to read The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison next. That only only just barely makes the 200 page requirement. 

And I can list a lot of other books under 200 pages that are exemplary, such as 

Night by Elie Wiesel

Animal Farm by George Orwell

The Awakening by Kate Chopin

Breakfast at Tiffany's by Truman Capote

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros

The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Expury

Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston

I'll stop there. 

But back to M's situation.

Earlier in the year, the teacher assigned some independent reading and summarizing but didn't assign it to the point of completion. M began reading Dragonwings but didn't complete it because I think the assignment just fizzled (and that happens in classrooms sometimes). I suggested he finish it for this project but he didn't think he could do that. He started reading Ender's Game and then found out about the movie thing (which wasn't on the info sheet). 

I normally don't do this, but I did email the teacher and ask for what amounts to an educational dispensation so M can either 1. finish Dragonwings or 2. do Ender's Game. 

Getting kids to want to read is hard enough without making it even more cumbersome. 

Keening because my baby is thirteen(ing) (not really)

Dear M,

Well, you've gone and done it. 

You are absolutely, positively, without a doubt, not in any way, shape, or form my baby anymore. 

You are almost as tall as me and taller than both of your grandmas.

You are starting to have little teenagery pimple breakouts.

You've got the biting humor of a sarcastic teenager. 

Even though you are absolutely, positively, without a doubt, not in any way, shape, or form my baby anymore, I'm not sad because it is so wonderful to see you becoming who you are, especially now that you aren't in your "Same thing as G" phase. 

Of course, you're sort of "meh" about a lot of things which makes it well-nigh impossible for me to know what you are actually interested in. 

It's not sports. And it's not tv. I know this much to be true.

So what do I know about you:

You sometimes like to go outside and play in the creek with your neighborhood friend, B. And you have a table of other 7th grade dudes you like to joke with at lunch. 

You make up the funniest songs or sing the funniest, random snippets of words that you put to a tune all the time. 

You have a quick wit about you and say things off the cuff that would take your dad two weeks to come up with and three days for me to come up with. Your brain works fast.

You are both a cat-whisperer and a dog-whisperer. It is a gentle way you have about you that animals recognize. 

Your mouth tries to keep up with your brainand isn't always successful. You talk fast, and we almost always have to ask you to repeat yourself. We blame it on you being the third child and having to quickly.sneak.in.anything.you.might.want.to.insert.in.the.conversation. 

Out of all of us, you seem to be the most high on chill. Things don't seem to bother you the way they do the rest of us. 

You really enjoy bubble wrap. 

You never wear shirts. Or socks. We have several casual family photos at birthdays, and you are always without a shirt. 

Most of all, I know that you are a great kid. A nice, quiet, hard-working, mostly easy-going 13-year-old who I am so, so glad is part of our family.

Love you,

Momma

The Foo, Smiths, Smashed Pumpkins, and a 15-year-old--birthday edition

Dear G,

Boy howdy! 

If I didn't know any better or hadn't witnessed the last couple years with my own eyes, I would think that a master race of aliens had visited our home and did a little switcheroo with the boy who used to live here. He has been replaced by a young man who is cool, able to laugh at himself, and better able to handle his emotions. 

Trying out your sister's boyfriend's sweet new ride. 

Today you are 15, an age that I might not have expected you to live to mostly because I thought I was gonna ring your neck with my bare hands many, many times during your earlier years. 

You love a Great Lake. 

Your fashion sense is...interesting.

You handsomed it up for 8th grade promotion in the spring. 

You started high school last month, and while your first days were not great, you have since gotten used to the flow, even being able to sleep on the bus going to school. You keep your earbuds at the ready and listen to a panoply of music that you are happy to share with me. You are, in fact, the official disc jockey of the car whenever we go anywhere. 

You've listened to the Foo Fighters, The Smiths, Radiohead, and are now on Smashing Pumpkins, and it is really great to know the sounds you like. Listening to it has helped me know you better as well as remind me of some really great music I'd forgotten. You are a blend of what I always called "whiny British music" that your dad always enjoyed and the grunge that I tended to lean towards. 

Your favorite class is Philosophy, and you're always telling me interesting things you learn there. Last week, you brought up the Trolley Problem and are now writing about the ethics of Mikhail Gorbachev. You have always been a deep thinker so it doesn't surprise me in the least that this is the class you most enjoy.

You continue to be a hard worker in school who doesn't procrastinate. You inherited many, many of my not-great qualities, but I admit I like that you don't put things off. (Ask your sister how crazy I make her because she tends to be less "in a hurry" than I am, and I have trouble controlling my anxiety. But I'm working on it.) I think you're like me in that you want your to-do list to be as short as possible or nonexistent.

Look at those lovely, expensive teeth. 

Since last year, you have gotten a girlfriend, and that has been a learning experience for both of us. You have tried more and different food in the last six months (which is annoying since you would NEVER try new foods when I asked). But you've also had some confusing and uncertain moments, and I'm so glad you talked to me about them. You are learning that relationships can be great, and they can be awful, and they can be confusing. 

I am incredibly proud of the young man you are and the one you will transform into during the next year. You have always followed the beat of your own drummer, from your long hair to your Steve Jobs-like commitment to wearing the same type of clothes day-in and day-out. That isn't always an easy road to walk, but you have never seemed to care what other people think (including me sometimes). That is admirable in a lot of ways and something it takes other people much longer to understand the freedom of. 

I'm glad you had a good celebration yesterday, and I hope the homework gods smile on you today and you aren't overwhelmed with work,

I love you,

Momma

I'm the teacher with the complaints

I have been at the cottage school for a decade, and sometimes I'm surprised that they've kept me around as long as they have since I am the one whose classes parents seem to have the most issues with. 

My high school classes, really.

And it's the texts I select for students to read.

I love teaching the classics but I have tried to add a little bit more modern classics to my list over the years because classic literature can be really hard for students to get, especially those who don't have the weird love of English that I do. 

For a lot of students, Wuthering Heights (1847), Great Expectations (1860),  Pride and Prejudice (1813), and anything Shakespeare is utter torture. 

So this year I am teaching Rebecca by Daphe Du Maurier (1938). Several years ago, I started teaching   The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien (1990), A Raisin in the Sun (1959), and Long Day's Journey Into Night (1939-1941). 

Because I can potentially teach the same student all four years of high school, I have to rotate books so as not to repeat. After a several years hiatus, I am teaching The Things They Carried again. 

This is a book about the Vietnam War. About young men (in their 20s) in the Vietnam War. Young men, in general, think about sex. And war is about killing and death and raping and destroying and dying. All unpleasant topics. 

(It is at this point that I like to mention that all of these things--sex, rape, war, killing, dying--are also in the Bible. Like 2 Samuel 13:1-39.)

Some parents homeschool because their kids have food allergies or because their kids are involved in activities that require more flexibility than what traditional school gives. Some parents homeschool because their kids have had socially unpleasant traditional school experiences. Some parents homeschool because they want more control over what their kids learn. Probably some homeschoolers are a combination of these. 

It was due to this last group that we determined, a couple years after I began teaching, that we needed to add a disclaimer to my English classes to warn parents that there is often content that they may find troubling and that they should review the books in advance (like before registering for my classes). The ones who complain are generally the ones who fail to do this.

While I personally think it is ridiculous to censor what kids read, especially once they reach high school, parents have the right to do whatever they want including marking out things from books or keeping certain books from their kids. However, they would save themselves a lot of headache (and me too) if they would check out the books in advance. Or if they are so concerned, read the books with their kids and have whatever discussions they feel compelled to have. That is entirely their business, and we encourage it in our disclaimer. 

The parent who has had the most recent issue with the first book of the year is concerned because I am not explicitly talking about language and sexual content with the students, which he seems to think is my responsibility since I am assigning the book to read. I, on the other hand, think it is my job to assign the book and teach the students the rhetorical devices and complexities of how the book was written (you know, the ENGLISH part of it), and it is the parents' job to discuss any particular issues their children bring to them related to curse words or sexual content if they have concerns about these things. 

If I were to discuss these things, I would be overstepping, which isn't my job, and on this point, the parent and I agree. 

I think the parent's basic argument is that I should have picked a book that this particular parent feels is a better book.

But I picked this book in February and we listed the book choices and the disclaimer in March and this parent apparently enrolled in April and now it is September. Now is not really the time to be complaining that you didn't know what was in the book. 

One of the things I discuss with students while reading The Things They Carry is ethos and pathos, two types of rhetorical devices. Ethos is what gives something credibility; why can we trust an argument that someone makes? Pathos is the emotional language someone uses in an argument that makes the reader feel a certain thing and, therefore, reinforces the argument. 

Tim O'Brien, the author of this Pulitzer Prize-finalist story, served in Vietnam so he has lots of credibility as to what the Vietnam War was like (and this is what the entire book is about). He also writes stories and uses a great deal of pathos to help the reader feel what soldiers felt. 

One thing I explained to this parent is that my job is to prepare high schoolers for college English classes. And I don't know where my students will go to college. Some of them go to private college or Christian colleges, but some of them go to state schools. 

I went to a private Catholic college where I know some of my former students now attend, and I read books that had curse words and sex in them. I actually took a THEOLOGY course in college in which the books we were assigned had cursing and sex in them. 

My point is that keeping a high schooler away from things in the real world (like cursing and sex) doesn't prepare them for when they will be introduced to these things (and they will if they leave the house or if they currently have a cell phone and the Internet). 

I completely understand the desire to protect one's children. I completely understand the parent's argument that kids can't unsee or unthink the things they read. But I think it is better and safer to let them experience the world through books when they can discuss with parents how to address these things that confuse or scare them. Better this that to keep them so protected they have zero reference point and no concept of how to handle it when they do have to handle it in real life. 

Because they will. 

Here's to all the first-day sucks

Normally, I do a first day of school photo, but not this year. 

This year I didn't care. 

Partly because my schedule this month is insane.

But mostly because I know this is a hard year for G since he started high school. Most people dislike change, but he REALLY dislikes change. And like his mother, his anxiety just becomes a horribly shitty mood. I'm old enough now to know that I need to shut the fuck up, but he is 14 and hasn't learned or instilled this habit in himself. 

G had a fairly horrible first day. Now, was it actually fairly horrible? Not sure. If 100 people had his first day, would they agree that it was horrible? I don't know that either. G is a bit of a drama queen and has a low frustration tolerance. 

But several things worked against him:

1--He dressed like he was going on a hike in Siberia when he lives in the South in August (despite his mother urging him NOT to dress this way).

Hoodie=check
Long pants=check
T-shirt under the hoodie=check

Plus a mask (since our area is in COVID red)

2--The bus was packed and it took a long time for all the buses to arrive.

3--Another kid threw up on the bus.

So G got a little motion sick and a lot hot and frustrated. (Although I told him his first day could have been worse because he could have actually puked on the bus like the other kid.)

And then he felt overwhelmed with the 7 classes and the new building and the syllabi and the "Here is what we're going to do this semester" which to G sounds like:

HERE IS WHAT WE EXPECT YOU TO KNOW RIGHT THIS SECOND AND YOU HAVE 10 PAPERS AND THEY ARE ALL DUE IN 2 WEEKS. 

During the school days I was wondering how he was doing, which caused me anxiety. And then after school, I had to listen to him complain and be out of sorts.

There is a saying that a mother is only as happy as her unhappiest child, which means my first three days weren't as stellar as they might have been. 

I've been paid

Today I have been paid the full amount I was owed--April, May, June, and even July.

It took more emails and texts than was necessary, and I even contacted an attorney to find out what my legal options were. But before I made that move, I decided I had nothing to lose and emailed the head honcho of the company directly. It led to a not totally comfortable Zoom meeting with the head honcho and the office manager (who I had emailed a ton and who had been unable to get anything done until this point).

I'm not sure what the problem was or why it took so long to get resolved, but it stressed me the heck out and made me feel devalued. 

I don't wish them ill, but I don't want to be part of their chaos. 

And so now, I'm reshuffling and reevaluating and maybe this is good even though nobody likes to feel like the carpet has been pulled out from under them. I just figured out that this part-time work I did made up about 24% of my total income so it's not nothing. 

Maybe this empty spot will fill with something I hadn't planned but that ends up being something great. 

I don't believe that humans are puppets on a god string or that god moves things in certain ways. But I do think that humans are very good at making meaning. 

And so I will make meaning from this.

10-year-olds, abortion, child abuse, and CPS in my yard

I admittedly live a privileged life. My parents did not abuse me or neglect me in any way. I was sheltered, and I shelter my children from harmful things as much as I can within my own home. 

We don't have the news on nonstop. We don't yell at our children. We have never spanked our children. We don't do drugs or abuse alcohol and there is no domestic violence in our home. My husband and I have gotten therapy on our own and together as a couple to ensure we provided our children with love and stability. 

Within that secure foundation, though, I have thought it wise to let them experience the world. They go to public school and meet all kinds of kids. They can read whatever they want. They have phones and Internet access, and I encourage them to talk to me about what they see or hear and educate them to verify everything. They do not get in trouble or lectured for asking questions or being naturally curious. 

But their home is secure. 

This week, I got to see up close and personal what it is like for kids whose lives are very, very different from my children's. 

Without going into detail that would violate privacy, I can say that child protective services was in my yard this week. I can say that I was a witness to the sadness of a mother who chooses a man over a child (which is probably because she is abused too), a woman who loves her child as best she can but has problems of her own and is not meeting her child's needs. 

Most importantly, I saw a child who is in need of a lot of counseling because the adults who are supposed to protect her and love her are not doing it in the way it needs to be done.

With this on my mind, it makes me furious to read about the rigamarole over the 10-year-old in Ohio who got a medication abortion for 6 weeks of pregnancy that resulted from rape by an adult. Having looked at the face of a neglected and emotionally abused child this week IN MY FUCKING FRONT YARD, I take the side of that 10-year-old over a 6-week fetus that is the size of a Chiclet piece of gum.

How do I know a 6-week fetus is the size of a Chiclet? I looked it up. 

And it INFURIATES me that people are choosing something that doesn't speak and has no consciousness and cannot eat or breathe on its own OVER the life of a 10-year-old child who can walk, talk, eat, shit, and feel. 

How can we do this to living, breathing, outside-the-womb children?

My vague-posting (and employment)

A week or so ago, I posted something on social media about how being honest often means a person is subject to criticism or worse, such as lost employment. 

I suspect some people who know I can cuss like a sailor if necessary and have an opinion about most things that I am willing to share might suspect that I maybe did something on the order of this and got fired.

I mean, I did make international news several years ago over dress code bullshit, so anything is possible when it comes to my mouth. 

I have not gotten fired.

All I did was send an email before I chickened out that basically said the following:

"I am a dependable, high-quality producer, and if you value this dependable, high-quality producer you need to pay me in a more timely manner."

I don't think it is being unreasonable to expect that by July 4, I should have been paid the $725 that is owed me for APRIL. (And the remaining $2,200 owed me should come sooner rather than later.)

More or less, I don't trust this employer anymore. I don't think this employer values my work and my dependability. And if I don't trust you, there is no point continuing a relationship whether it is personal or professional. 

While I was honest (and civil) in my email, I guess the bigger point is that I stood up for myself. 

And I'm glad.

But I'm also flailing a bit, and I'm not sure why.

Because they didn't fire me. I'm just about 99.9% sure I'm firing them. I have a swimming pool full of tolerance for young people and kids, but I do not babysit adults. 

But this marks a change, and I'm going to have to adapt, and that is always uncomfortable and scary. I got comfortable and, admittedly, lazy. 

Now I'm having to think about whether I'll actively seek something new or do what I've done in every professional experience for the past 13 years....hang out and let things kind of organically happen and go where they will. 

2022 like 2019

 In 2019, we went on a lot of small trips. 

Spring Break was spent in Atlanta visiting my cousins and exploring the city, which we had driven through a million times but never stayed in for anything more than a night while en route to or from Florida.

That summer, we visited Cape San Blas, a small peninsula in Florida.

That fall, we went to Michigan City, Indiana and took the train to Chicago.

This was all for the good because COVID made us very eager to go nowhere outside our state. We went to Land Between the Lakes, Cumberland Falls, and Red River Gorge until we had all been vaccinated when I felt it was probably a little more safe to go beyond the borders.

Since December 18, 2021, I've traveled quite a bit and failed to write about any of it. Until now.

The first trip was when the five of us went to Las Vegas, Nevada and Joshua, Tree, California. It was a pretty darn wonderful trip even though we were still having to mask inside (or should I say, we chose to mask inside even though lots of other people didn't). 

We spent a full day in Joshua Tree National Park and then stopped at Amboy Crater in the middle of the Mojave Desert on our way back to Las Vegas. In Vegas, we went to Meow Wolf and walked all over the strip and then drove to Hoover Dam. It was a trip that sort of wore us out but that I so enjoyed because I was seeing new terrain. It was some 1,856 miles there and back. 

The Mojave Desert at sunset as we were driving from Las Vegas to Joshua Tree.

Found a hole in a boulder where water had frozen overnight. 

Outdoor sculpture at Meow Wolf in Las Vegas. 

At the Hoover Dam

In early April, N and I went to Quito, Ecuador and the Galapagos Islands, a trip we had been planning and saving for since October 2020, when we thought innocently to ourselves, "This pandemic should be over by April 2022." 

The trip was amazing and exhausting and had I had the energy after puking some 12+ times on the ferry from San Cristobal to Santa Cruz, I would have thrown myself overboard and just drowned because motion sickness on the Pacific is no fucking joke. (I likely puked over 20 times in a 2-hour period but I decided suicide would be a good idea sometime after my 10th puke. I say this not to make suicide funny but to note that when people feel miserable, a wish to just die and get it over with is not irrational but a better option out of all bad options.)

When I finally staggered off the boat and could barely stand, the closest place to lie down was here. I spent the rest of that day in bed.

Pier at Santa Cruz, the Galapagos with another creature 

who may or may not have also been extremely seasick. One of the members of 

the tour took this pick which was only hilarious many days later. 

This was, however, the worst of my trip. Everything else was amazing and awesome, and I was so privileged to see it. It was my first but I hope not my last trip to South America and was some 3,000 miles one way. Plus, it was my girl's first international trip, and I love that she was able to do it. 

A view of Quito from Virgin of El Panecillo. 

A mural in Otavalo, Ecuador

The beach on San Cristobal, the Galapagos

The flight, somewhere over Nicaragua.

Since we've spent a lot of money on those two trips, we decided we needed to keep a summer trip short and therefore, cheaper. 

I'm not a fan of stuff but I value experience and time, and over the years, I've tried to combine both by inviting my parents and/or my MIL on our trips. Due to my dad's health problems in 2020, we asked mom and dad to come on a weekend trip with us to Tennessee in early May since it wasn't as long of a drive for them. I had learned about Pickett State Park and wanted to see it because it is a international dark sky park. It was around 170 miles away. 

As with the massive puke fest in the Galapagos, often you don't plan what happens, and we didn't plan for it to rain the entire weekend except for like 40 minutes on Friday and then another 40 minutes on Saturday of this extended weekend. We got out during those brief windows of time to explore. So much for seeing the dark sky when there was nothing but heavy rainclouds. 

Pickett State Park, Tennessee during one of those 40 minute non-rain windows. 

Big South Fork lookout trail during one of those 40 minute non-rain windows. 

The view from this lookout. 

The lovely cabin we stayed at. 

I also wanted to squeeze in another shortish trip (340 miles) and decided Kelleys Island would take us to water, which we like, and cooler temperatures, which we also like. After visiting Michigan several years ago, I sort of got it in my head to see all the Great Lakes. This took another off our list; only one left (Ontario). 

We spent 4 full days exploring Kelleys Island and seeing the African Safari zoo in Port Clinton, Ohio and Marblehead lighthouse. It felt like the beach without the heat or the salt or the jellyfish. 

Me on a ferry to Kelleys Island and not puking. It is possible. 

Herndon Gallery within walking distance of the house we rented.

Glacial grooves on Kelleys Island. 

African Safari drive where you can feed the animals who 

will stick their big heads in your car and slobber on the doors. 

We ate A LOT of ice cream at Papa T's on Kelleys Island. 

And so now, we are home and will stay home for a good long while to save up and hopefully plan for other adventures down the road to far off places. 

I know my love of travel is an addiction of sorts because I do feel this physical and mental urge to get out of my norm and get away from what I see all the time. I get a release of good-feeling hormones just looking up places I might like to go at some point, and that feeling is compounded by A LOT when I actually get to the someplace new I wanted to see. I tell myself that it is probably a better addiction than illegal drugs and sex with strangers. 

But there are costs to it. It costs time and money. It is tiring. And not everyone in our family loves travel the way I do so it forces me to not see everything I'd like to see and them to see more than what they care to see. 

These are very lowercase privilege problems. I'm thankful that I get to see as much as I've been able to see.

Graduation letter

Dear N,

Tomorrow is your commencement. I think it is kind of interesting that we call them that because so often people get weighed down by the ending of things when it comes to high school graduation. Parents, especially, feel sad and sentimental seeing their children reach this milestone. But to commence is to begin, and in all the important ways, your life is just now beginning. 

My memory is pretty poor in general, but I remember feeling excited and terrified when I graduated from high school. There were so many decisions before me: What was I going to be? What was I going to do? So many big potential life events on the horizon---Maybe marriage one day? Maybe kids one day? Gainful employment? A house and furniture and adulting?

You are embarking on a time of figuring stuff out, and you will be doing that for the rest of your life. It is a long lifetime road of not knowing what the fuck you're doing, but that is ok because no one else knows what the fuck they're doing either. Your dad and I certainly don't know what we're doing as we navigate having a legal adult in the house who is also our child. Some people hide their not knowing better than others but, trust me, this is the human condition. 

For about the next ten years, you're going to be in a state of confusion and discomfort if you're anything like most people (or maybe just me). As a new 18-year-old, you are really in the wormy stage of adulthood babyhood; you've barely got your eyes open and you haven't figured out what your hands are for. Your twenties are exciting and new and mind-blowing and weird; it's like the later babyhood and toddlerhood of adulthood. You learn to belly-scoot, then crawl, then Frankenstein-monster walk. In your thirties, you'll run. In your forties, you'll run and give the finger to anyone who looks at your cross-eyed because you don't care what they think anymore. I'll update you on the fifties once I get there. 

All commencements come with advice so here is some of mine:

1--Go to therapy sooner rather than later should you ever feel you need it. It can be extremely helpful to have a totally objective person help you deal with things without the baggage that friends and family bring. A strong person knows when they need help and seeks it out. 

2--Don't assume you know the answer; instead ask questions. Your brilliant mom made some big assumptions in college without seeking answers from people who knew more than I did. While I am happy with the life I have, I often wonder if my trajectory would have been different had I not assumed but asked. 

3--Don't worry about people who peak now or in college or at anytime that is different than you. And truly, what does peaking mean anyway? A girl you were in playgroup with as a toddler is the youngest American woman to climb Mount Everest which is amazing, but do you want to climb mountains? Some people do big, huge things in the world, like Alexander the Great, and are remembered in history books. The rest, the other 99.9%, live their lives quietly. Henry David Thoreau said "the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation," and I think that is probably true. The goal, I suppose, is to avoid a life of desperation but quiet isn't so bad. 

4--Henry David Thoreau also said, "I have lived some thirty years on this planet, and I have yet to hear the first syllable of valuable or even earnest advice from my seniors." And that is another piece of my advice to you: Ignore my advice if it seems irrelevant or like bullshit. Do what you want and don't worry too much about what anyone else thinks.  I can't live your life. I'm not you. You have an entirely different experience from me so be truest to yourself and live by your values. Do no harm to yourself or others if you can help it. 

5--DO NOT throw away your retainer. Seriously, despite what Henry David said, this advice should be heeded. Your middle-aged mouth will be glad you listened to your mom. 

Tomorrow you'll wear your cords and your stole and it will feel like the most important thing you've done. And it is. For now. But this, my dear, is truly only the beginning.

Love,

Mom

Multifarious: working with seniors, the a-word, boiling rage

I. Working with seniors

Since mid-April I have been working at a local high school two days a week to help seniors who need course recovery in order to meet graduation requirements. 

I have been, more or less, their mom on these days. When they are with me, they work. If they don't work, I nudge and harass and cheerlead and tell them to NOT SCROLL DOWN on the course recovery work because they will get overwhelmed. Or I explain things to them. Or I help pace them if they lose focus and have them check in with me. 

It has been mostly rewarding work, especially when a kid who has been coming to work with me finishes up her/his assignments, and we know they'll be able to cross the stage later this month. 

There are some, though, who won't walk the stage. They may not be able to finish course recovery this summer. Some of them will be back for another senior year. Or they will drop out. 

I think seniors overestimate their "adultness" once they hit that magical 18 on the birthday cake. I think sometimes teachers overestimate it, too, although I suspect this has more to do with teacher burnout than the kids to be honest. A lot of the kids are mature and responsible, but there are some who need a lot of hand-holding for a variety of reasons. And there are a lot of adults who would do a hell of a lot better with some more hand-holding. 

Even kids who are mature and responsible, who can keep track of their homework and club meetings and sports/work schedules, make bone-headed decisions. Or don't think of all the ramifications of a decision, and it's because their brains aren't done cooking yet. 

N is a bright kid whom I trust with a lot of things, but there are times I legit think to myself, "What is wrong with your brain?"

And the answer is: nothing. It is just an 18-year-old brain.

II. The a-word

The Roe v. Wade leak was all over the news last week, and I've spent a lot of time thinking about the prospect of things changing. How would that affect my daughter? How would that affect by sons?

I could be wrong, but I don't think I've ever seen anyone say they are pro-abortion. I don't think anyone likes abortion. I don't like abortion. In a perfect world, no woman would ever feel she needed an abortion. But we don't live in a perfect world. 

We live in a world where we give a shit ton of lip service to the notion that we value life. We do nothing of the sort. One million lives lost to COVID is proof of that. Our systems have not, as a general rule, valued poor life. Or black life. Or immigrant life. They do not right now. We do not value infant life because if we did we would make childcare leave more feasible and for longer. We would have ENOUGH FORMULA. We would fund universal preschool to help all children start out more closely to a level playing field. We wouldn't have such ridiculous drug laws that have put so many men in prison away from their families. 

I have never had an abortion, but I have had an unplanned pregnancy (while on birth control). All things were "right" for me. I was in my mid-30s, had been in a long and healthy marriage, had no debts or drug addiction or anything that would endanger my security and ability to pay the bills. I had two children and could afford them so there wasn't a concern that I couldn't afford another one. Despite these things, my unplanned pregnancy was scary and overwhelming AND I WAS IN THE BEST POSSIBLE CIRCUMSTANCES. 

So I will not pass judgment on any woman who is in different or worse circumstances who cannot, whatever her reason, sustain a pregnancy. And I think it is absolutely wrong for any government entity at any level to tell a person what she can or can't do with her body. We didn't mandate vaccines; we do not take organs from dead bodies that did not, prior to death, give permission. We need to keep our laws off women's bodies as well.

III. Boiling rage

Maybe the rage relates to what I just wrote about, or maybe it is perimenopausal hormone stuff? Or maybe it is the ceaseless exhaustion that comes with being a mom to three and a wife to one and none of them seem able at times to do much of anything for themselves, without me specifically directing them on what.to.do. They rely on me because I made it my priority for so long to be relied upon (the downside of the SAHM thing). 

Or maybe it is the confluence, the place where all these intersect. The place where I would like to just run away and be responsible only for myself and my wants and needs and not have to have others in my brain.

Maybe it is that our tax people told us we had to pay something like $7,000 in taxes, which we paid, but we only owed $900, which is great, except now we are waiting for the government to return out money and it is freaking me out because we had termites ($800) and the boys keep getting ingrown toenails which means $200 surgeries all the damn time. Maybe it is that I have been so busy since I got home from Ecuador that I haven't had a minute to collect my thoughts and just be. Maybe I miss quarantine just a little bit when life was a fuck-ton slower. 

Maybe I need to take another half-dose of Lexapro. 

As we approach graduation

We have several weeks until N graduates from high school. While she may be counting down, I am neither counting down nor wishing time to stop and keep us frozen in amber to avoid seeing her move onto the next stage of her life. I am going about the days as I always have.

In general, I have a difficult time stomaching sentimentalism and cliches. I have a difficult time with the public proclaiming of how wonderful kids are and how proud we are of them. Primarily, this is because it is all curated. It is all, in its own way, lies. Or if not lies, then abstentions. 

But this is the season of that sort of thing, I guess. 

People have begun asking me "How are you?" in relation to having a senior so close to graduation, and I emphatically say, "I am fine."

Because I am.

Maybe I would be a little sad if I didn't have six more years of middle and high school with her two younger brothers, but by the time they get through, I will be oh-so-ready to be the fuck done with all this. 

Maybe I would be a little sad if I hadn't savored the time with her when she was young. 

But I blogged about it and I journaled about it and I took photos of it and I took videos of it, and I was there for all of it. 

Why would I need or want to stay there forever?

If I put on the rose-colored glasses of sentimentality, I would forget that those times when she was young were not all wonderful.

The times of having to help do projects in elementary school. Ugh.

The times of being woken up in the middle of the night. 

The times I got puked on.

The times I had to go to so many freaking preschool birthday parties. Geez Louise.

The times I played Barbies until I thought my brain would pop out of my ears from sheer boredom. 

Maybe I've read too many Buddhism books, but all, including my children's childhoods and teenage years, is impermanence. 

And I am far more comfortable embracing this fact than feeling the sticky fingers of sentimentalism encroach on me. 

I think for many parents their overwhelming feelings about watching their child graduate have almost nothing to do with the child; it is about the parent. About losing control (as if they had it to begin with). It is about their own death looking them in the face for a moment. They are often sandwiched, as I am now, between parents who are aging, either planting feet into their 80s or already knee-deep, and children who are no longer under our thumbs. 

It is a strange and uncomfortable place.

Well, this got dark.

But that darkness is why sentimentality is allowed to swoop in. It feels better, I suppose. It is warm and fuzzy and maybe makes people feel better temporarily. 

I don't like its texture, though, any more than I like the uncomfortable of knowing the circle of life keeps turning. The clock hands have moved me to a position I remember my parents being at when I was 18. The hands for them are closer to midnight. The seconds continue to tick by.

The most comfortable place is the here and now. This day. This moment. Not the countdown of days until graduation. Not the wallow of time gone past. 

A teacher drama that has lasted all year

I think the vast majority of teachers do great work--they are dedicated and committed and possibly even a little bit crazy to put so much of themselves into their profession. 

(I say this as someone who, 18 years after leaving the classroom full-time, has not gotten to a point where I feel I can dedicate myself to it in any way, shape, or form the way I did before my children entered my life). 

And perhaps, like so many teachers, this particular teacher who is driving me nuts has just had a fucked up last two years, and his motivation has tanked. Who could blame him?

But for the sake of argument, let's assume I have a case for really not thinking this teacher knows what's up. 

The first time I emailed this teacher was on August 25 when both boys had him for related arts. This was approximately 10 days after school began and both boys had a slew of zeroes. 

I'm like, "How can they possibly be fucking up this badly this soon?

So I emailed the teacher to see what was going on. 

He replied that he had just entered asignments into IC. Unfortunately, he entered in zeroes for everything instead of just entering assignments (which you can totally do; you don't have to put a score at all to hold places for assignments. The kids' other teachers do it all the time without entering any score). 

The second time I emailed this teacher was in late September when M got COVID. 

M got a 25/50 on an assignment. Here is what I emailed the teacher:

I saw that M got a 25/50 on a resume assignment. Since he has COVID and had to quarantine 4 days last week (and won't be back until October 4), I wanted to ask what he misunderstood about the assignment. I looked at the instructions on Google Classroom and didn't see where it said he needed to do two resumes. 

The teacher said he had reviewed the requirements in class and that he could go over it again with M when he returned.

I had issues with this because 

1. M had missed 4 days of school that week and was going to be out for another week (at least) due to being positive for COVID. I didn't know what day the teacher went over this in class; if it was Tuesday-Friday, M wasn't there. Also, by the time M got back to school, this assignment was going to feel like ancient history.

2. The teacher said, ""I wrote a list out of requirements and told students to write something in each category, " but the teacher didn't post this on Google Classroom (or even take a picture of what he wrote on the board). This was early in the year when every kid was missing days for quarantining/contract tracing. I couldn't help but think that not only was M missing stuff; so was every kid who was out. 

October was quiet, but I emailed the teacher again in November when M was given a "C" for a final grade. 

My problem wasn't that he got a C; my problem was that his grades were an 83.33 and a 99.07 (for mastery and progression). There was no conceivable way those averaged together would end up as a C. 

When I emailed the teacher and asked him why M got a C, the teacher replied "You're right; M didn't deserve that." 

I didn't like this language. M should get what he earned. The teacher using that phrasing made me wonder if he was just handing out arbitrary grades. (This came after this teacher was suddenly gone from the school and didn't return until like 3 weeks ago. I assume some kind of internal investigation of some kind happened.)

And then G, whose grades were a 100% and a 99.07%, was given a B by this teacher. 

It was at this point that I emailed the counselors and said something along the lines of WTF?

Unfortunately, G was placed in this teacher's class again this grading period, even though he already took this related arts class earlier this year. He didn't like this teacher before because of all the grading stuff (and he just thinks the teacher is a jerk), and having him again is not a good thing.

G took a test in the class and didn't finish it. Because the test was on Google Forms, if you haven't answered all the required questions you can't submit it. G didn't submit it which was stupid, and he has been informed in a gentle way that it was stupid. When I asked G why he didn't tell the teacher that he wasn't finished, he said, "It wouldn't have mattered." 

Did I mention G thinks the teacher is a jerk and is really over being in this class?

(Having spoken with this teacher in person this week, I can attest that he totally threw shade on G. This is the first time ever that a teacher has thrown shade on G. I'm not saying it isn't deserved. What I'm saying is that G may take after his mother and not suffer bullshit without letting someone know that they don't have a lot of patience with it. G isn't an outright dick; he's just not being especially friendly.)

Then G was doing some online assignments and was scoring 50s and 70s on things. He says the teacher told students if they get a green check, they get a 100 percent. The teacher told me something different when I went in for a conference this week. I watched G do two of the modules to see if there is a quiz of some kind and shows them exactly what they scored on it. For these two modules at least, there was NOTHING of the kind. I have no idea why he got a ten points higher on one than the other, nor does he. 

It was already established in November that I couldn't trust this teacher, but I can't trust G because he has a jaded attitude. 

G has gotten "the lecture" that he has to do everything to the absolute best of his ability because if G screws up, the teacher can say it is G's fault. And based on my experience with this teacher this year, I'm not 100 percent sure that it is. 

Apparently, I am intimidating (according to my family)

It has come to my attention that I am intimidating. 

While I don't know that this is a fact, it is an opinion that several members of my family---like all of them who live with me---agree on.

And it took me by surprise. 

I guess if I get out of my own head for a minute, I can see how they might be right. 

I am not intimidating to myself. And I don't think I'm intimidating to people once they talk to me a little bit, although maybe that's entirely wrong. I hope that my humor breaks any ice.

But I can see how a person who doesn't know me might be a little taken aback by my inability to not express an opinion. I'm very "out there" with what I think. As a general rule, I'm not going to just sit back and take it from anyone. 

I usually think I'm pretty self-aware, but my family's recent discussion of my intimidating personality threw me for a loop. How much else do I not perceive about myself?

I suppose that my ability to be intimidating (or to come off that way) is something I need to be a little more aware of, although I think my family gets the "unabridged version" of me that other people don't get. 

Do most people who meet me cower in fear or feel threatened by me? I don't think so.

Does my husband? Yes, that might be accurate. 

Does he expect me to bend him to my will? Of course. He's been letting me do that for almost 25 married years. 

And my two oldest kids have been scared to tell me they have boyfriends/girlfriends when I have been pretty open about "I don't care who you date. Race, religion, gender, whatever. As long as the person treats you with respect, I'm good." 

I think my family's view of me being intimidating is because I lose my absolute shit when they don't do something I've asked them to do 800 times. 

And what woman out there doesn't know EXACTLY what I'm talking about. 

Like all people who need outside input, I called on the hive mind of Facebook to ask people who know me. Some know me only online or knew me way back when or work with me or still talk to me every week or month. 

And I think the general consensus is that MY FAMILY IS WRONG.

Really, that's all I needed confirmation of. 

In all seriousness, it did do me good to step outside of what I thought I knew about myself and actually try to be objective. And getting feedback from others was helpful in that it helps me understand what aspects of who I am may come off as intimidating. 

I have always taken pride in being smart. Making sure I know what I'm talking about. Being well-read and prepared. I have always had high expectations of myself but this can, I'm sure, make others feel a little uncertain about what I will be like. Will I be judgmental? Am I exacting to the point of being unbearable?

I do have high expectations, but I have also learned to be much less judgmental over the years. I strive to put myself in other people's shoes and see the other side. 

Expect my family's side. They don't know what they're talking about.

Just kidding.

Firsts and lasts in 18 years (Happy Birthday)

Dear N,

We are right on the cusp of your 18th birthday; a little under 24 hours to be exact. This time 18 years ago, I was hoping to have a natural birth. I was also so in need of medication for anxiety that I was pretty certain I would not actually bring home a live baby. 

Did I ever tell you the story of how I asked, when your dad and I bought your crib furniture, if I could return the items if the baby....you....died?

Thank your lucky stars I got medicated some 7 months after your birth.

My life changed in so many ways when you were born.

It was the last time I worked full-time.

It was the first time I felt completely unable to cope with the responsibility set before me (you did not come with a manual or a lifetime supply of "chill pills for mom.").

It was the first event that sparked a series of other events that led me to understand I had long had mental health issues.

You, however, were an easy baby, and thank goodness, because I doubt I could have handled anything else.

When I look at you now, I remember conversations I had with Daddy about what you might look like or be like when you "grew up," and now here you are....actually all the fuck grown up. (Sorry for the cussing, but, my god, HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?)

I could not be more proud of the young woman you are, and it has nothing to do with your smarts or your grades or your accomplishments. 

It has everything to do with your genuine niceness. You are simply a good person. You've never been a "mean" girl. You've not isolated others with snobbery. You've taken the lead on the high road more times than I can count. 

You are trustworthy and honest. You are reliable. People know you will do what you say you will do. 

When Daddy and I brought you home that first night, a night I remember distinctly because I DID NOT KNOW WHAT THE FUCK TO DO, I could not imagine that I would be typing this 18 years later. I could not imagine that you would be as awesome as you are. I hoped you would be awesome, but I didn't know what you might become. 

Did.not.know.what.the.fuck.I.was.doing.

I don't say it anywhere near often enough, but I am so proud of you. Not for what you've done, but for who you are. 

Your birthday always reminds me of firsts and lasts that I experienced around your birth. It was a big transitional period for me, and it took me years to adjust. Fortunately, you're not the worse for it. 

Since you didn't get a Sweet 16 due to COVID, and you didn't get a 17th party also due to COVID, I hope you have a fun time this weekend thoroughly enjoying yourself. 

You will always, always, always be my most favorite daughter and the first of my three greatest life blessings.

I love you,

Mom

So much upper middle class complaining

Complaining is the human condition. I, myself, could win an Olympic gold medal in complaining. 

But even when I complain, I am almost always well aware that I have it far, far better than lots of other people. I make an intentional point to remind myself of this as soon as I notice myself complaining. 

I think part of this is because I read widely, and that helps put me in other people's shoes. I also think being a substitute teacher and working with every kind of kid in this city--the riches, the poorest, the smartest, the dumbest, the most motivated and the least--helps keep it real. 

When I complained today to a friend because I had an interview scheduled for a magazine article and the person didn't answer when I called at our scheduled time, I said while complaining, "And I know this is minor because I can clean my bathrooms while I wait for this person to return my call. This is a cushy job I can do from home that pays well." 

Social media is the worst when it comes to complaining, and I admit I'm just as bad as anyone else about using it as my personal venting arena. When I do complain, I try to at least make it funny and acknowledge my own bullshit ridiculousness. 

Like how I hate it when people complain about teachers and act like kids are teachers' problems from 9-3 but then when I have to take my cats to the vet for their shots, I'm all, "THESE FUCKING CATS ARE YA'LLS PROBLEM NOW."

What sticks in my craw is when people, mostly in my neighborhood, use our neighborhood FB page to bitch about the dumbest stuff. While I can see their point, it just gets excessive and makes me think some of these people need to get hobbies.

Like the older gentleman who updates regularly on how late the mail is. One week, I think he posted every day about the mail not coming. This was a couple weeks ago when everyone and their grandma was sick with Omicron. On about day 4, he said he had finally gotten through to someone at the local PO and that our periodicals wouldn't be delivered for awhile.

And my response to this is YOU ARE BITCHING EVERY DAY BECAUSE YOU DON'T HAVE YOUR TIME MAGAZINE????

I mean, I get it. Yes, it is lowercase frustrating. And it would be uppercase frustrating if you are waiting on a Social Security check or medication. But a magazine? 

C'mon, man. 

I went to our HOA meeting on Monday that lasted from 6:30-9:00 (which is bullshit), and lots of people were complaining about their water and sewer bill. 

Our family's most recent bill was $222. This is for two months and covers WATER and SEWER. If I divide this amount by 60 days, it comes to $3.74 per day to have clean water and no raw sewage in our house or yard. Per person that is 75 cents a day.

I AM FUCKING THRILLED TO PAY UNDER $4 A DAY FOR CLEAN WATER AND NO POOP OR URINE IN MY HOUSE, thank you very much. 

For $4 a day, my family is avoiding cholera and dysentery and typhoid and god knows what else. 

That is a freaking bargain in my book. 

And the thing about people in my neighborhood complaining is that some of them spend more than $4 a day on coffee. (Or their Time magazine)

They live in houses that cost upwards of $350,000. 

And they are complaining about spending 75 cents a day for clean running water and no raw sewage. 

I'm reading a book right now about a boy and his brother who spent something like 15 years living in a refugee camp in Kenya because of nonstop war in their home of Somalia. 

And that is all I need to do to thank heavens that I am able to pay under $4 a day for clean running water and no raw sewage.