A wonderful, awesome, empowering, very good day

This kind of day is altogether different from a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. 

And, truth be told, I don't often get them. Between perimenopause and mood disorder, I feel like most days I'm at 40% "meh" and 60% "fuck this."  

For 4.5 years, I've been at a local high school working with credit recovery students and most of the time, I feel like I'm sticking bandaids on carotid hemorrhages. Foster situations, sky-high absentee rates, high-as-a-kite glazed eyes, lack of motivation, non-native English speaking students who are trying to get through chemistry, reading and math levels lower than what I probably scored in third grade--it's not a place where students feel like masters of their destinies. 

At worst, it gives rings of hell. At best, purgatory. 

Yet I like being there because I do form relationships with students, which is vastly different from a normal substitute teacher situation. Some kids I have shephered since freshman year. One boy stops to chat--he is now a senior---and it will be good to see him cross the finish line in a few months. 

And it is only two days a week so I have breathing room in between. 

Still, many days feel Sisyphean. 

But not Thursday of this week. 

Because on Thursday, two sisters---one of whom never shows and the other who has been sleeping in credit recovery class---showed up after I called and left a message with their mom about not wanting them to fall behind. And both girls were ready to talk to me and ask for help. 

And on Thursday, a teacher I spoke to before school asked if I worked with C, and when I said yes, we came up with a plan for me to help C finish some work so she could pass English from last semester. In class, C did the work eagerly, and it felt like VICTORY. 

Then D, who is real hit or miss on feeling motivated, said, after I told him I would work with him on makeup English work for the aforementioned teacher if he wanted to, "I've got my English work" as I started to walk away. So he knocked out that assignment. 

And W, a mid-year graduate whose completion was delayed because he was shot, worked with me all day to wrap up his stuff so that he can get his diploma. 

Thursday felt like 100% springtime ephemerals blooming, limoncello on Capri, and the perfect light nap on my favorite couch all rolled into one. 

Horrified, yet oddly consoled

It is a wave that girds you now,

And its movement, swirling forward and up, then down,

Stirs the back of the throat, 

The excess saliva, the churn of the stomach. 

That is a normal sensation, a normal reaction

To what you witness.

Toting their weapons, the unidentifiables, no badges, no identification. 

The ones who seem to take glee in horror. 

To brandish your papers doesn't matter to them. 

They are convinced of their righteousness.

....

You feel that movement again, don't you?

You feel it now in the -3 degrees of Minneapolis, 

But it has moved before.

In January 1839 when biting cold lashed at legs and arms, armed guards

setting the pace to Oklahoma. 

That movement surged in warmer months, too. 

1921 in Logan County.

A struggle for work, for safety, for dignity, for something other than scrip.

And again in 1791 in Washington County.

In 1831 in Southhampton County.

In 1960 in Sharpville. 

In 1982 in Lubin.

In 2019 in Santiago.

In 1989 in Dongcheng.

And through all of time. 

Mostly unrecorded,

But witnessed by others on the wave,

Who were also sickened to the core. 

.... 

An antidote?

Oh no, I'm sorry; none exists. 

You must witness these things in 

The timeline on which your life rests. 

The third child turned 16 and has to wait weeks and weeks for a bday letter

 Dear M,

You should be used to this by now, right?

As the third child, you got the clothing hand-me-downs from not just your brother but your cousins, meaning some of your clothing has been well-loved three separate times before you get a chance to wear it. 

It has always been difficult for you to get a word in when your sister and brother are part of the conversation. 

Your childhood journal has the least amount of entries because I was so busy even if I did think, "I need to write this down," by the time I had a moment, I had forgotten what you did or said. 

And now, your milestone 16th birthday came and went and I am writing this letter to you weeks later. I even had to put a reminder in my phone to do it. 

You have, in many respects, raised yourself, in large part from observing your sister and brother and applying it to yourself. You've paid attention to their interactions with me and learned how to fly under the radar---not causing trouble, not having to listen to lectures. 

So what are you like at 16?

Well, you got your driving permit this past summer and have been learning how to drive, even though I'm pretty sure you won't be doing it much or at all on your own until your senior year (even used cars these days are ridiculously expensive). But you don't seem to be bothered or even a little concerned about this. 

Because your brother and sister are so busy with "real" jobs, you are now pretty much the lone worker at the neighborhood petsitting gig, which allows you to earn and save even more money. If anyone takes after his Pa in terms of saving every dollar he earns, it is you (with some competition from your cousin A). I often joke that you will buy a house and your brother will have to rent a room (he inherited from Papaw T his inability to hold a dollar in his pocket without spending it). 

Of my three kids, you are, by far, the snarkiest. 

At dinner this past August, when we were talking about what attributes each of you got from me or dad, you said, "I got my pettiness from mom," which is both hilarious and true. I can still recall when you were about 4 years old on vacation, a server at a restaurant said to you, "If you color your picture in, I'll hang it up." You smiled at her and as she walked away under your breath you mumbled, "No promises." 

You have a gentle spirit, which is why you are the animal whisperer. You have a way with cats and dogs that they seem to love. 

You also have amazing hair! You have grown it long, and I'm fairly certain it makes every girl who sees you very jealous. In your school photo this year, you are definitely giving off 80s hair band / serial killer vibes. I adore that picture of you because it makes me laugh every.single.time. 👇

The closer you get to age 18 and adulthood, the more I wonder about what you will do. You tolerate school but don't love it, and I suspect it is because of all the sitting. You have even remarked to me that you keep your grades up because you know it is expected but you are mostly bored. Now that your brother is doing early graduation, I anticipate you will follow suit. 

I have no clue what you will pursue as a career, but I can't see it being a desk job mostly because of how you feel about school. I think you'll want to do something that will allow you to be up and about. 

Even though I'm uncertain about what your future holds, I am very certain that I love you, and I am so very glad we got you as our bonus 16 years ago. We cannot imagine a life without you in it. 

Love you always,

Momma

Voting age birthday

 Dear G,

I don't know why it is that your older sister's birthdays seem to come slowly, while yours come flying out of nowhere. I suspect it is because she flew solo for almost four years before you came along. Those days dragged on forever sometimes. Once you arrived, and then your brother two years later, life has been on full throttle for me. Time hasn't stopped or even slowed down much since you arrived. 

You've experienced a lot of changes in the past year.

You finished up junior year without issues, although I think this is mostly because the first two years of high school wore you the heck out in terms of drama, and you've decided school is just for learning. You have never been a "joiner," but you had made friendships. Once those seemed to be more trouble than they were worth, you decided to forego those. You get in, you get out, you relax at home. That is your school day.

I can't say I blame you. You are sensitive guy, like your dad, and that is a wonderful thing to be...but maybe primarily as an adult. I am sure it is horrible as a teenager. Most teenage boys are in the thick of machismo---beating their chests to prove they are guys to other guys. None of them have the emotional wherewithal to accept that whatever kind of guy they are is the guy they are, and they have nothing to prove to anyone. (I suspect I need to also relay this memo to a certain Secretary of Defense who seems to think that being a man means no feelings and macho-macho all the time.)

I digress. 

The upshot of avoiding drama is that you're on track to graduate a semester early. You got a job in July, despite all my worrying that it wouldn't happen, and have been working close to 30 hours a week as part of your co-op, plus keeping your grades up in your other classes. Dad and I are really impressed with you!

I'm proud of the way you pack your lunch the night before work and leave your work clothes on the table so you can grab them on your way out. You do an excellent job of staying on top of your responsibilities. And when I see you at work, I see you in a different light, not as your mom but as a customer, as a stranger. It is kind of fun to see you through that lens. I think, "What a handsome young man with a nice smile." 

Your job has given you topics of conversation including the gigantic apple you were amazed to show us and the workplace gossip that you share with us. 

You got your license after a few hiccups, but I think that was anxiety rather than not knowing what you're doing. Trust me, there are plenty of people on the road doing crazy shit, and you're not one of them. I'm proud of you for being careful. Now just watch out for the bozos. 

I enjoy our movie nights together and the conversations that come from those evenings. We've covered a lot of ground, from silent films for your film class to zombie flicks (28 Weeks Later) to war films (All Quiet on the Western Front) to mind-blowers like Tenet. 

I remember several years ago when you couldn't stand the idea of becoming a young man and fought it with everything in you, and now here you are,...a young man. You still have about six more years worth of prefrontal cortex develop on tap, but you have come such a long way from your days of tantrums and unmanageable anxiety. 

I don't know what the next few years will bring in terms of college and jobs and all that. I suspect I will go into them as I have since you were little: a little afraid of how you will do, wondering if it will overwhelm you. But in every situation, my worries were unfounded. I worried about kindergarten, and you did great. Then middle school. Then high school. This isn't to say that there weren't problems and unhappiness; those are part of life. But we managed them together, and we will continue to do that. 

You are a smart guy and, more importantly, you are sensitive and open to ideas. Sure, you still like to dig in your heels about change that you can't control but you are able to take a joke about it. Like when you say you want to move to Sweden as an adult, and I remind you that you hate the idea of me renovating the kitchen because it is too much change but sure...go ahead and change entire countries. 

You are one of a kind, G, and I'm so glad you're ours.

Love you,

Momma

30 years since the hook up

Next month marks 30 years that D and I have been together as a couple. 

Our story started with dental insurance, which is where every romance begins. 

Good lord, I look pale. 

He was finishing his master's degree, and I was wrapping up my bachelor's degree. We had worked for the same company for a bit, seeing each other in the halls or kitchen. I worked part-time as a file clerk, and he worked in the IT department. I thought he was cute---tall, dark, and nerdy. Imagine a young Harold Ramis in Ghostbusters and you've seen D in his late 20s. My co-workers were dying to set us up. 

I think D and I spoke to each other once in the elevator before we "happened" to both go a going-away drinking session for a coworker in accounting who was leaving the company. We all met at a bar, and I spent most of the night chatting with the husband of one of D's coworkers. I'm not sure D said anything to me until we left and walked to our cars. Whatever he said wasn't memorable. 

What was memorable is that two days later, he called me and asked me to go for a walk at a park. I was sitting on my porch reading The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck when my parents told me I had a phone call. (Gawd, just typing that feels ancient---when I didn't have a phone strapped to my hip.)

We met at the dental office parking lot and drove together to the park. We stopped at Ear-X-Tacy, where I refused to let him buy me a Jeff Buckley LP (because then I would owe him something and we weren't having any of that). I remember nothing that we talked about. 

What I do remember is that he asked me out for the following weekend, which is the surefire way to my heart---asking me well in advance to do an activity. I have never liked being treated like a last minute "might as well" by anyone. 

The night of our first "date" date, we went to dinner at the Bristol where D proceeded to not talk much at all. It was awkward, and I remember thinking to myself, "This is probably going nowhere." We then went to see a play called "Angry Housewives," a title I didn't realize was so prescient to what our future would be. I remember when we were leaving, D placed his hand on the middle of my back, whether to keep hold of me in the crowd or steady my way I don't know, but I recall liking the feeling. Still, I didn't know if it made up for the not talking/awkward dinner. 

He drove me home and we took a walk all over the neighborhood in the dark, and like Robert Frost noted, that made all the difference. Something about the darkness allowed D to come out his shell. He told me he watched the film Orlando and enjoyed it, which is the sum total of what I remember us discussing. Oh, and he kissed me before he left. 

Hot and heaviness followed for a year until we got engaged, 29 years ago this month. We married 18 months after that. 

We will soon be having a big to-do of sorts, which I didn't specifically plan for our 30 years of togetherness, but it happens to coincide with it so I'm calling it our "celebration." Of course, it isn't a party---did you not read anything about the quiet dude I hooked myself up with 30 years ago? 

I looked back while composing this to see what else I've written here about marriage, and I've periodically, dating back to our 15th wedding anniversary, written about our relationship, mostly in good terms. It hasn't been all roses, for sure. 

But he's quiet, and I have a hard time being around people who blather on. And he doesn't like sports, which is the other reason he stole my heart besides asking me out for a date a week ahead of time. He's not a messy guy, and he looks good in a beard, and he, more or less, doesn't care what I do. He thinks I'm funny and smart. And I'm assertive enough to politely tell a solicitor we don't want any and goodbye so that D doesn't have to do it when he accidentally is too close to the glass-paneled front door when someone knocks, and he (thinks he) can't really hide. He's still tall and nerdy but now gray all over---still giving off Egon vibes 30 years on. 

May 2, 2025

A belated 21st bday letter (and the last one)

Dear N,

I know you reached the age of majority three years ago, but recently you reached yet another important milestone: 21. 

The only advice I gave to you was not to get so drunk that you got tossed out of Cardinal Stadium (which no longer exists) by the police due to public intoxication, which is what I did very soon after I turned 21. I also suffered a 5-day hangover, an act of stupidity I never, ever repeated. 

The first alcohol you bought as a 21-year-old. 

Over the years, I have tried to instill in you good things, but more importantly, I have tried to model those good things to you in how I live my own life. 

To be kind and compassionate but to also not allow others to manipulate you. 

To be honest but not cruel. 

To stand up for yourself but more importantly stand up for others who may not have the wherewithal to voice something themselves.

To never stop learning but to not allow information to steal your time or joy.

To listen to your inner voice but also learn from the mistakes and wisdom of others.

When I had you, I had a completely bonkers idea of what a mom should be for a child. In my 21 years of parenting, I have chilled out a lot, mostly because I have realized that I am mostly a guide and never a creator. Your life is not, never has been, and never will be, a reflection of my life; nor is my life a reflection on yours. We are both two individuals doing the best we can and hopefully making each other a little better during the journey. 

Several years ago, you told me that you want to have children and give them the kind of childhood you had. You want to stay home with them, and if that is what you want, I hope you are able to make it happen. But I admit a little piece of me thought, "Don't you want more for youself?"

And I felt conflicted by being both honored that you have such good memories of your childhood that you want to do exactly as I did and also somewhat saddened that you don't want more. I hated that I had this little sliver of internal discord. I have thought about it a lot over the years and come to this conclusion:

The best thing I will ever do with my life, and of which I am most proud, is raising three decent humans. 

But when I think of the other things I have done, and will do, I don't know that I jump down to 2 or 3 or 4. I think I jump in terms of decimal points.

Because at 1.1 would be teaching and playing a role in other young people's lives. You know I still, at age 51, have a relationship with my own middle school teacher, Mrs. S, and I suspect with social media, I will be in some kind of contact with my own former students when they are 51. There is something wondrous about being a part of someone's life, watching them spiral out into the world, and knowing that you played a tiny part in that formation. 

At 1.2 I might put establishing a writing career. And 1.3 is managing to sustain a long-term relationship with your dad. And none of those things have anything to do with me being a mother or a stay-at-home mother for the years that I was. 

Suffice it to say, you will figure things out in your own life, and you will struggle with the choices you make and the things life throws at you. But you will continue learning, whether it be from raising your own children, or from watching me live my life. My parents are 82 and 86, and even though they have loads of experience, each new day brings them new things they've never experienced, such as having a first granddaughter who is now 21. I am still learning from my parents and will until they are gone (and likely beyond). 

So, of course, I'm not wiping my hands of you and saying "You're on your own, kid!" But it is nice to be able to step back and watch you live the way you wish. 

With you turning 21, it is also time for these letters to you to end. I went back through these birthday posts, thinking I had written them your entire life, but I could only find them dating back to when you were seven, which is when I think I finally came out a little bit from my motherhood fog. When you were seven, your brothers were four and two, and I came up for a little air. If you have your own children, you will understand this. 

You will always be my favorite girl, 

Momma

What is "real" learning?

I actually began writing this post back in December and left it partially written because it felt like a bit of a Pandora's box post---one that would open, go everywhere, make a mess and leave me to try to contain it in the limited time I have to write. 

But this morning, my husband shared an article in our local paper about the computer program the school district uses for credit recovery. The article made the program look like a bad idea, and that isn't an incorrect assessment. What it is is an incomplete assessment. So when I came here to write about something else entirely, I thought perhaps I should finish this post up.  

Let me begin by saying that this year G is taking an online physics class using the computer program mentioned in the newspaper article and that doesn't make me happy at all as a concened parent who knows her son will be attending college. If his school doesn't have a physics teacher to teach physics, though, what option does he have to take this class? As I often say, "We don't live in a perfect world, so the options we have aren't perfect." 

Photo by Samuel Bourke on Unsplash

Two days a week for the past several years, I have worked in a high school with students who have failed classes. Some of them are just behind by one or two classes, while others are behind by 8-10 classes. They are given the opportunity to catch up by doing computer classes using the newspaper-mentioned program and being a part of credit recovery, in which they have one or more class periods per day to work on these computer classes.

In order to graduate high school in the state, a student must have a minimum of 22 completed credits (not just attempted; they have to have passed the class with a D or higher). But over the course of a high school career, assuming students take and pass 7 classes a day and each class earns them .5 credits, they will graduate with 28 credits. Potentially, a student could fail six classes, not make up any of them, and still graduate from high school. Of course, the classes that make up these required 22 credits can't all be PE. There are requirements within those 22, such as 4 English classes, 4 math classes, etc. 

The students who end up in credit recovery are a mixed bag. Some of them went to elementary school with my sons and struggled with school in their earliest years. They are socially fine, but intellectually low. There are aspects of high school study they just don't understand because of the way their brains are made. 

I worked with a student last year, and I tried without success to explain Vertical Angles Theorem to her because she had failed geometry. When one method I tried didn't work, I tried a different way. It was utterly exasperating for both of us. This student worked hard and really did try, but geometry simply wasn't something she understood. 

I remember taking geometry in high school and not understanding it, or feeling like I didn't. I passed the class, probably with an A because I was grade conscious obsessive, but I only now, at age 51 and having worked for the past almost four years with students in credit recovery feel like I have a better understanding of Geometry I. Now Geometry II, with inscribed circles and other kinds of nonsense....not so much. 

Some of the students in credit recovery have horrible attendance, and that is the reason they fail classes. A student turned up the other day who had missed 80 days of school. He simply cannot make that up. As a general rule, schools don't have enough space to keep putting kids who miss school into classes semester and semester. They will age out before they actually graduate. 

Some of the students in credit recovery are ELL (English language learners). I have numerous students who I have to communicate with using Google Translate. I am a good teacher, but I cannot explain geometry using Google Translate without it taking exorbitant amounts of time away from other students who I need to assist. So I'm left with "Do I help 6+ English-fluent students with 12 of their classes or 1 ELL student with 1 class?" 

Some of the students in credit recovery have zero motivation. They might be poor readers, and that may impact their motivation, but some of them do not care. That doesn't mean they will always not care. Some of them are just really immature. Some of them lack motivation because they are foster kids, neglected kids. Some of them are in the early stages of drug addiction that they will pursue with greater ferocity once they are out of their parents' homes. Some of them have untreated ADHD or depression or anxiety and self-medicate with drugs. 

None of them, one on one, is a bad kid. 

I know that what I do is a band-aid for a diagnosis of partially severed arm. 

But we do not live in a perfect world, do we?

Classroom teachers lament credit recovery, and I can't blame them. But I also know that many of the same teachers have repeatedly high numbers of failures who end up in credit recovery, and one has to ask why. Is there anything that could be done differently within those classrooms and among those teachers to help keep students from needing credit recovery to begin with?

Some teachers lament credit recovery on principle; they don't actually teach most of the kids who end up in credit recovery, but they have an opinion anyway (which is fine; everyone is entitled to theirs). Often, these are the same teachers who think it is unfair for schools to give so much attention to at-risk students. What they fail to recognize is how unfair it is that so many of the kids who do well in school come from upper middle class, secure families to begin with. I tell my children regularly that they have a responsibility to do well because they have been given so much that they haven't actually earned. Their grandparents and parents have laid a foundation that they are benefitting from.

Some teachers say, "What does a diploma even mean if they aren't really learning anything?" and I think the follow-up questions to this are things like: "What is real learning?" Does an "A" or a "B" mean a kid has learned something that they are going to retain? Does an "A" really mean a child has mastered the concept?"

We often have nostalgia for times past, as if the same problems that plague us today aren't mostly identical to the ones from decades ago.  You cannot tell me that there weren't kids in high school in the 1960s, 70s, and 80s who somehow earned diplomas who didn't do jack. (I often suspect that these are the same people who regularly comment on social media about how crappy the district is and how easy it is to be smarter than a fifth grader.) 

If real learning was measured by someone's ability to explain it to another person, would any of us pass high school, either in the past when we actually graduated or now? 

I am a cog in the machine and cannot make any change to the system, but I strive to make the miniscule changes I can in whatever way I can the two days a week that I work with credit recovery students. 

Yes, the students I work with use the computer program, but I explain the FOIL method of multiplying binomials, and I give them hints about multiple choice questions (watch out for "all" and "never"), and I explain Punnett squares and I try to use the face-time I have with them to teach them something because I know, probably better than anyone, how much more and better could be done. 

Post election deep thoughts (why I'm not shrieking nor obeying in advance and how novels help me make sense of all this shit)

I never voted for Donald Trump, and I never bought into the notion that because he wasn't part of government he could "fix" it, draining the swamp and all that nonsense.

I had read Jack Gance by Ward Just, after all, just one of many novels that show how despite whatever idealism a person brings to government, that will soon be beaten out of them for a more realistic (and/or corrupt) approach.  I had also lived and seen just how much the idealism that goes into entering the teaching field is quickly beaten out of you. AND I had become a parent, where the idealism of "my child will never" is destroyed within moments of leaving the safe cocoon of the hospital. 

If anything, in my mind, Donald Trump had a worse shot of fixing anything because he knew nothing about government, probably less than a fifth grader. Government is meetings and negotiations and downright fucking boring, and I never got the sense that Donald Trump could even handle that for a millisecond. 

But beyond all this, the reason I refused to ever vote for him was his behavior---making fun of disabled people, calling immigrants horrible things, telling people they come from shithole countries, his basic linguistic abuse of anyone and everyone. He embodied, and still embodies, the antithesis of everything I have ever taught my children or everything I was ever taught about being a decent human being. 

When I think about people voting for him to pack the courts or "save the babies" or close the border, I heard them compare him to biblical figures who, despite their flaws, did great things. But I saw the choice to vote for him for any of these reasons as a Faustian bargain. I still see it that way. 

Since the election, there has been great gnashing of teeth and shrieking, and perhaps those things are warranted, but they also feel like the exact same response from 2016, and it seems so extra this time. 

I am not at all suggesting that by 2020 things weren't shit because they were. Immigrant children were separated from their families, and the government was unable to locate and reunite them. The national debt grew even bigger under the Trump presidency per year than for many previous presidents.  Hundreds of thousands of people died due to COVID, but the fallout was profoundly shittier for the people who listened to Donald Trump and not their own physicians. None of this seemed like anything that would fall under the "What Would Jesus Do" heading. 

None of the people I see or read about who are carrying on are Cassandra, the Trojan princess. Unlike her, they have not been cursed with the knowledge of the future. And even if they did know the future and could speak to its accuracy 100%, no one will listen anyway. The assumption is that things will be horrible under Trump, and based on past experience, I don't doubt this, but how horrible will they be. Who knows? Will they be equally horrible for everyone? I doubt it. Or will it be like A Thousand Ships by Natalie Haynes where everyone, but especially women and children, are most ravaged?

The assumption is that if Kamala Harris had won, life would be roses, and that isn't a given either. I have been thinking about 11/22/63 by Stephen King about the assassination of JFK and what might have happened had it been foiled. The assumption is that everything would be wonderful in the future if only JFK had been able to complete his presidency, but protagonist Jake Epping visits the future to see the fruits of his work and finds that perhaps leaving history alone to play out as it did was the best option. 

Another thing I have been thinking about since the election is how much someone's political leaning matters to me. 

I recently had a falling out with someone who is very much left-leaning as I am. This person has a good heart, but I was working with this person in a professional capacity and was going crazy. I didn't understand why this person made the choices they did, why they micromanaged, why they were inefficient, how things could be in such disarray. It was stressing me out to a degree I just couldn't handle anymore and so I extricated myself in a way that hurt this person. It wasn't my desire to hurt this person, but I had just hit my proverbial wall. The relationship ended because I couldn't tolerate the manner in which this person operates; what works for them did not work for me. Should I have continued just because we are politically similar? Of course not. 

In another work situation, I am surrounded by people who are generally much more conservative than me. The working relationship is supportive, and I am not micromanaged. They value my input, and I value theirs. They are organized and consistent and communicative, all things I think are important to my professional mental health. So should I discontinue that relationship because we are politically different? Again, of course not. 

In October, before the election, some members of my family and I visited a small town in Kentucky and ate at a local restaurant. This town is largely white, and the county in which this town sits voted for Trump in the election (64/35). 

At the restaurant, I noticed that there were two black children sitting at a table. The little girl was coloring pictures, and the boy was watching a football game on an ipad. Their mother was working tables. What I noticed was how all of the other employees, who were white, took turns caring for the children. One server would sit and color with the little girl. A guy who I assumed was working back in the kitchen took her to a back office so she could watch television. Everyone was looking out for the kids and helping the mom, and that told me a lot more about this restaurant and, perhaps, the town, than who they vote for in a presidential election. 

Yes, this is simplistic, and I know there are horrible racist people in the world. But there would be horrible, racist people in the world if Kamala Harris had won. There were horrible, racist people in the world when Jesus lived. There will be horrible, racist people on the planet until there is no planet Earth. 

But I cannot listen to and watch people shriek and lament and wail because they just make me anxious. 

Whatl I can do is put good into the world in which I live. I can work with students and treat all of them with respect and kindness. I can share stories with them about history and discuss the ways in which life is complex and gray much more often than it is black or white. I can donate to causes that plant trees to help mitigate global climate change and help people have their civil rights restored (because that is a nightmare I will have to write about at some other time). I can stand up for others when they are being harassed or marginalized. I can stay the hell off social media much more than I was. 

I can refuse to submit to unkindness. I can refuse to call the police on my neighbors. I can decide when something is legal versus when something is moral...because don't we all do that anyway to some extent. 

And I can hope that MLK Jr was right and that the arc of the moral universe bends toward justice, but it will only bend if I am doing my little bit in my little corner of the world. 

Bonus baby's quinceanero (because 15 is hard)

Dear M,

When I look at photos from our family trip to Scotland just a little over a year ago, I am amazed. You seem like such a baby compared to what you are now. I think you have grown a half a foot since that time, although some of that height may be in your hair. 

Worried about mom's driving in Scotland. 

You are, I think, the snarkiest person in our house, a title I've held for a long time and don't hand over easily. Perhaps what makes it so funny is that it is so unexpected given your general reserved demeanor. You don't say much, but when you do it has a sharp bite. You regularly make us roar at the dinner table. [Your birthday picture when you raised your shirt (as a reminder of your "MY NIPPLE" video when you were two) is evidence of this---completely unexpected.]

In August, you started high school with your brother. Each morning when you guys get out of the car, it is interesting to see you walk away. After so many years of you doing "same thing as G," it is clear that you have your distinct styles and personalities. While he is walking with purpose into the building, you have a slow slink; it is a reminder of your entire personality--high on chill.

The transition to high school has been easy. You don't talk much about school, but you also don't complain. You have met or remet some people you used to know in elementary school so that has been good; plus, you seem to have a fairly easy time making friendships. 

You continue to be the cat whisperer and are even willing to pause your dinner to go pet S or S when they flop on the floor. This fall break you got to do something you enjoy---power-washing. I still need to pay you for that (oops). You are always willing to be helpful to me, your grandparents, or really anyone. That is a good quality to have. 

What stuns me about you turning 15 is that in one year I will begin teaching you to drive, a fact that seems impossible. How is my baby getting so big and hitting all these milestones so quickly? It took forever, it seems, to get N to hers. G's have come quicker, and yours have spun me in circles with their speed. 

You were and are my unexpected joy, and I continue to watch you peel back the layers of your personality and become who you are. I'm glad you are my bonus baby.

Love,

Mama

Young and sweet, only 17

 Dear G,

This past week you turned 17.

I've said this before, but I have a harder time believing yours and M's milestones than I do N's. I'm not entirely sure why. I suspect it is because I had three and a half years with just her, when time moved so slowly. Once you and your brother came along, time started moving at lightspeed. 

Plus, N hit her adult size by middle school, while you and your brother continue the normal slow-grow of maleness, in which one week you are tiny, the next you tower above me, and within six months I need a small crane to give you a proper hug. (I have been the smallest  one in the family for awhile now, at least in terms of stature.)

So where is your life in this moment?

Well, you've had a bumpy and busy six months or so. 

You experienced an unpleasant falling out with some friends in the spring, which is good training since these things can and do happen no matter your age. You worked your first job this past summer, which provided you not only a paycheck but the experience of tedium which all jobs have at least some of the time. You took the permit test and have spent about seven hours behind the wheel, which I think has further cemented your desire to one day move to Europe and use their great public transportation system. 

You are taking eight classes this school year, including an AP, a dual-credit, and an online one, and you are very focused on school being for learning, not for socializing. You are your father's son, for sure. 

One thing that has surprised me is your desire to try some new clothing, which might not seem like a big deal but totally is. You come from at least two generations of persnickety clothes-wearers (me and your Nana), and while I will not be sad when I no longer have to be involved with your clothes purchases, I am proud of you for trying new styles and textures. 

We continue to have movie weekends, and it is fun to hear you pronounce virtually of them as being in your Top 10. Fortunately, we have raised you to be willing to laugh at yourself so when we poke fun of you for saying this, you are (mostly) willing to enjoy the joke. 

Even harder for me to believe is the reality that in less than a year you will be an official adult. I don't think either one of us is really prepared for that, but as I've learned, you move at your own pace in your own time. You have come such a long way since the days when you threw temper tantrums--I am thankful every day for the doctors, nurses, and therapists who have helped (and continue to help) you become comfortable in your own skin. 

You have always been sensitive and empathic, and while these are wonderful qualities, they can make it hard to live in this world.  I hope if you've internalized anything in these 17 years, it is that your dad and I love you so much and that we want to help you become the best version of yourself you can be. While the struggles you've experienced haven't always been about happy events and conversations, these have led us to understand you better, you to understand yourself better, and all of us to more firmly solidify our bond. 

Enjoy your new games and your key lime pie!

Momma

Let's bludgeon the phrase "You got this!"

I hate the phrase "You got this!"

I hate the exclamation point on the end of the phrase.

I hate the toxic positivity that this phrase expresses. (Everytime I see it, I imagine the person saying it with bulging eyes, a weird grin, and maybe holding pom-poms and waving them like a lunatic.)

I hate that people use this phrase all willy-nilly, whether someone is starting a new job, wallpapering their bedroom, making a recipe they've never tried before, or getting ready to undergo chemotherapy for a life-threatening cancer. 

It is back-to-school time so I'm seeing "You got this!" all over the place, and it's driving me insane. 

Yes, yes, I realize the intention when people use this phrase is to offer support, but it is just a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad phrase (to borrow from a writer who recognized and used a great phrase when she thought of it). 

Here is the thing:

You don't know whether the person you're saying "You got this!" to actually has "got this." 

Maybe they are a freaking hot mess of unmitigated garbage as they prepare for their job or chemo or wallpapering extravaganza. I know from watching a parent go through chemo that there is no "I've got this" going on in their heads. Cancer has got them, although the hope is that that isn't a permanent condition. "You got this!" sounds insincere and trite. 

Starting a new job is terrifying, and to be told "You got this!" may make the person feel like they "should" feel confident, which makes them feel even more scared and nervous. 

Moving into a dorm and starting college is, likewise, scary as hell. "You got this!" presumes that everything will be fine, but maybe everything won't be fine. Maybe the kid will hate dorm life and their roommates, hate their professors, and change their major 17 times before finally dropping out to do something that actually fulfills them. 

To me, blasting "You got this!" as a comment on every new thing that someone is dealing with is careless and downright unkind. 

And it's also really lazy.

"You got this!" to the person who is getting a new job instead of saying "It is so nerve-racking to start a new position, but I know you are smart and a hard worker, and any job would be lucky to have you."

"You got this!" to the person who is wallpapering their bedroom instead of saying, "Man, I did that once and glued my legs together, but I think you are probably a better direction follower than I am. Good luck!"

"You got this!" to the person starting chemo instead of saying, "I really hate that you are having to deal with this, and I am sending you hugs and wishes for comfort and peace."

So I would like to bludgeon that stupid phrase to death, bury it under a rock, and forget about it forevermore. 

Helping my kids embrace their "fuck thats"

If you ask my mother, she would probably tell you that even as a young child, I was very in tune with my "fuck thats." (Suffice it to say, I wasn't always the easiest kid to handle.) 

I had (and have) strong opinions and wasn't (and am not) scared to tell anyone what those opinions are. I don't try to knock people over the head with what I think, but if a discussion or debate comes up, I'm not a shrinking violet. 

When I was a kid I hated going to church and made zero effort to try to shut my mouth about it. I let Mom, Dad, my brother, the priest, god, and the devil know how I felt. But I kept going until I was 24 years old (which is about when I learned not only to say my "fuck thats" but also act on them). 

As a teenager, I hated messing with my hair so while other girls had their long locks, I got mine cut at a barber shop. I said "fuck that" to looking like every other teenage girl. 

Despite coming out the way I was, when I had my own children, for a short time I thought of myself as an artist, rendering in clay what my children would become. I would shape, mold, and produce these amazing kids.

I quickly learned that 1. I don't know what I'm doing and 2. they are who they are from the moment they are born and while I can do some things to guide them and provide them a solid basis on which to form, I am not the artist that creates a child. 

At the same time, I also began to resent the idea that my child was an extension of me, both for myself and my kids. Just as I was a person beyond being a mother, my children are not little Carries or little Ds running around. They may have similar things in common with us because they share our genetic code, but they are not us. To not see them for who they are is as wrong as people seeing me only as a person who has produced children. 

N loves to shop, and I despise shopping. It isn't an activity we do together. But we both love reading, so we talk books.

G loves to play video games, and I have zero interest in them. It isn't an activity we do together. But we both like films, so we watch them together. 

M loves.... I'm not sure, exactly. We're still working on activities we do together, but he enjoys being snarky, and I love his snarkiness. 

Recently N and G have been in situations where they have felt like someone is trying to make them into something they aren't or get them to do something that doesn't align with their desires. 

For the past several years, the popular thing is for college students to do "study abroad" for an entire semester or multiple semesters. It can be a cool opportunity, but N doesn't want to do it, yet she feels some pressure from classmates and even some teachers to do it. So we talked about why she shouldn't feel badly that this isn't something she is interested in doing. 

She would rather travel after college when she can feels like she can have total fun and not worry about fitting in schoolwork between visiting new places. Doing a semester abroad is her "fuck that," and it is totally fine if she doesn't do it. 

I had encouraged G to join Beta Club or National Honor Society this year since before long he will apply to college and for scholarships. I figured these groups are the least time-consuming things he could probably get involved in at his high school. He thought about it for a couple days and asked if I was going to make him join one of these organizations. 

"I'm not going to make you do anything beyond go to school and work to the best of your ability which is A and B work," I responded.

Forcing him to join an organization that he has zero interest in doing (his "fuck that") would cause both of us endless grief, so why do it? I was president of my school's NHS when I was a senior, but he isn't me. Would it possibly be beneficial to him to join? Maybe, probably. But would it be beneficial for him to be forced to join when he absolutely doesn't want to? No. 

It has occurred to me on occasion that when my kids ask me a question, and I respond with "I don't care" they may take it as "My mom actually doesn't care," but I try to help them understand that things like what clothes they wear or hairstyles they have or interests they pursue (provided they are legal) doesn't matter to me as long as they are doing what they like and not hurting others in the process. I didn't care about field hockey one iota but I supported N when she played (and complained about it too if for no other reason than to emphasize how much I freaking loved that kid because I did "the sports thing" to support her). 

I think they have learned that mom "not caring" about a lot of trivial things means that I do care about who they are an awful lot. 

I'm ready for the long pause that is menopause

I had two glasses of wine earlier and tipsy-texted a friend to bitch about work-related people things, so I'm in an oversharing mood. The buzz is gone, but I read an article in The Washington Post about the changes that one's brain undergoes during the years before, during, and after menopause and felt a need to write about all the hormonal nonsense that I've been undergoing for the past....hmmmm....six years. 

While I wouldn't say perimenopause is too much trouble, it is just enough trouble to have me wondering the following:

                                                Photo by Tengyart on Unsplash

Could I be dying of colon cancer? (due to bowel changes that started around age 44, which were followed soon after by a colonoscopy which found my colon to be a perfect specimen.)

Could I be dying of colon cancer? (because I can no longer drink coffee because it brings on full-blown um....unhappy bowels. Started two years ago--age 48. It is the only food/drink that I have an issue with.)

I don't worry about these too much because most women around their periods have bowel changes, so whenever my GAD starts to fly straight off the handle, I remind myself that it probably isn't a terminal diagnosis. 

Could I be in the early stages of dementia? (because I cannot remember anything, cannot remember the names of things, cannot remember why I walked upstairs/downstairs/into a room, call things by the wrong name even when my brain tells me I'm saying the correct word.)

The only reason the aforementioned one doesn't worry me too much is because of what happened to my brain when I was pregnant, age 30. I told a classroom of 6th grade students that if one particular boy didn't do well on the spelling test I was going to kick his butt, except I DIDN'T SAY BUTT. When they looked at me stunned, I said it AGAIN, EXCEPT I DIDN'T SAY BUTT. 

It was then that I realized I had not once, but twice, told a room full of kids that I was gonna kick a kid's ass. While this might be par for the course in 2024, it was not the usual in 2003. 

This anecdote is my personal experience with hormones fucking with my brain at a young age, and therefore, anything is possible now. 

Do I have a fever? (because I get hot for no apparent reason or for exerting myself in only the slightest possible way that would not make anyone under normal circumstances hot.)

Did I tinkle a little in the bed? (because I wake up and am lightly damp. I don't have full-blown hot flashes that douse me in wetness but dampness that wakes me up. Sticking one foot outside the bed cools me down.)

Why the hell do I want to have sex so much? (I'm confused; my husband is WAY confused. This hasn't occurred since 2006 when I desperately wanted to have a second child and D complained we were having sex too much. What dude complains about this? I have yet to let him live this down 17 years later.)

Why am I completely wide-the-fuck awake right now? (I walked 18,000 steps today, didn't have any caffeine, and took a Unisom, but I'm wide awake and have read 9 chapters in my Kindle at 3:00 am.)

How many days has it been since I took my antidepressant? (Oh, wait. I did take it. Today and everyday. Right on time.  I'm just on the verge of running away to the woods so I only have to deal with my own shit...not everyone else's. It's hormones....right.)

So all this....no big deal really....but I think I thought it would start later, like around age 50. Six years or so in and I'm sort of ready to be done. Turn the spigot off now. 

I feel like everyone talks nonstop about periods and pregnancy, and then that's it. Radio silence. So maybe that's why I'm writing this, to let someone know what this perimenopausal stuff is like for me. Maybe they won't feel like they are constantly, maybe on the verge of cancer or dementia or fever or generally falling apart. 

Entering your third decade

Dear N,

This morning I mentioned your father's cereal eating habits over the last 26 years, and I phrased it like this:

"The first decade, he ate Raisin Bran. The second decade of our marriage, he ate muesli. We're in the third decade and he's eating Maple Pecan cereal. Who knows what the fourth decade will entail?"

It surprised me that he and I will, before long, enter our fourth decade of marriage, which prompted you to ask whether you are entering your third decade of life. And the answer is YES. 

How crazy for both of us!

I know three decades seems old to you, but I've got three MORE decades of life experience on you; to me, you are still wet behind the ears. I say this, though, knowing that to Nana, I am still wet behind the ears since she has three and a half more decades of experience than I do. It's all relative. 

It sometimes drives you crazy when I make "suggestions" for you to consider in terms of your life, your education, your path forward. It drove me crazy when Nana did the same to me, like when she said "Maybe you should be a teacher" when I was in undergraduate studies. I didn't want to be a teacher. Or I didn't want to be a teacher then. It was only after graduating and working for a while in a dull job that I reconsidered. 

Yesterday, I spoke to our financial advisor, and he asked about you. When I told him I had suggested grant writing as something for you to consider, he laughed and said something on the order of, "There are lies and then there is grant writing." This made me laugh. I know you want to write fantasy, so maybe grant writing will fit into that plan. 

You will do many things in your life. You may decide that something I've suggested is a good fit; you may not. But I would be violating the "mother code" if I didn't share some of what I've learned in those three decades of life I have on you. Plus, sometimes even though we know ourselves best, we also have blindspots or things we need someone to point out to us. 

I hope you know that whatever you do is ok with me (I mean legal whatever you do). You are bright and kind and overall a good, decent person. What more could a parent ask for? 

I hope you also know that I have never thought of you as a reflection of me. You are your own wonderful person. I am also pretty freaking awesome, so I don't need to ride on your youthful coattails or find joy only in what you do. That can be a heavy weight for a young person to carry; the weight of responsibility they feel their parents are forcing on them--the weight to make a certain grade, have a certain job, earn a certain amount of money, live in a certain house, marry a certain type of person. Parents don't do their children favors when they forget that just because something would be their preference doesn't mean it is their children's preference. 

Your 20th year will be full of new things, including entering your junior year of college (mind-boggling). I hope you enjoy them, have fun, learn a few things, make friends and connections, do what makes you content. I love you through it all.

Momma

Musings on the year

Today, after five or six days of only walking in our neighborhood (and being cooped up happily in our house otherwise), I told D I had to see something else. And so beasts of burden it was. It felt appropriate....this cow giving me the side-eye. I feel a little bloated and bovine after slubbing around for days on end and eating entirely too much dairy. 

It is New Year's Eve or Arbitrary Time Delineation Day Eve as I like to call it. Where most people toast in the falseness of a new year, but more importantly, an all new and improved possibility of themselves, a them it is probably not possible to be at least within the mere span of 12 months and certainly not on day two or even the first 30 days of January. 

As much as I dislike all the rubbish around this day and tomorrow, I find myself reflecting on this past calendar year because it has continued what has been several years of milestone-ish events and nausea-inducing whirlwinds (if I think too much about it). 

My dad's open heart surgery in 2019 followed by mom's second breast cancer thereafter (or maybe hers was right before...who can remember). 

COVID in March 2020, followed that summer by Dad's cancer, chemo, radiation, and more surgery and radiation in 2021. 

N turning 18 in early 2022, the two of us going to the Galapagos two months later and that trip followed by her graduation from high school. 

G starting high school.

Our family trip to Scotland this past summer as a celebration of 25 years of marriage (as of late 2022) and me turning 50 (in 2023). 

And now M has applied to the same high school where G attends, so I'm apprehensive about that and anticipating the strangeness of my baby being in 9th grade. 

Around Christmas 2020, I really thought we were going to lose Dad and so I told myself that anything beyond that moment was gravy. Time with him beyond that instant was something unexpected and so I should pay special attention to it. 

As much as I do not like to use terminology like this, the realization felt holy to me and still does. It centered around my dad at that time, but it has expanded to include most everything I do. (Of course, things like earning money have to be done when and how they have to be done.)

I've always been reflective, even since childhood. I was one of those "mature beyond her years" kids, which I think mostly means you're well on your way to needing therapy and a solid antidepressant regimen. But that reflective moment felt deeper than others. 

As much as 2020 was a complete shitshow in so many ways, every year since then has been an effort in me considering time and what I do with mine. Do I want to be busy? Do I want to sit with my thoughts? Do I want to have a relationship with this person or that person? Who gets my valuable and limited time?

Although her poem is tiled The Summer Day, Mary Oliver's line, "what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" has been on my mind almost always since that Christmas 2020. 

Even in the bleak early winter as I roamed through the woods today, on the new year's eve, I found myself thinking how right Oliver's poetic lines have been for me these past years:

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

Same thing as G birthday-wise

Dear M,

My bonus baby is 14 now, and it is hard for me to believe. 

You've changed a lot in the past year, mostly height wise because you are now officially TALLER THAN ME. I'm now the shortest person in the house, which is strange. 

I watch you saunter toward the car during school pickup and am astounded by how different you are from even a year ago. Taller, deeper voice, snarkier comments (which mostly make us laugh). 

You are the hardest of my children for me to figure out. For so many years, whenever I would ask your opinion, you would respond, "Same thing as G." So that's what you got: the same thing. We didn't know what you, M, actually liked.

Now, you have left that line behind, but when we ask you what you like or want, you mostly respond, "I don't know," which is harder for me to comprehend than your previous standard response. 

Like your dad, you struggle with making decisions. You are pretty happy with whatever as long as someone else makes the call. 

So how would I describe you at 14?

• You are a pet whisperer: you have a special way with animals that makes them like you. 
• You like doing work, having recently discovered an affinity for power-washing. (When I think about what job or career you might pursue, I always wonder if it will be something that blends desk-work with being up and about.) 
• You do not like watching movies; it is a miracle if we can get you to watch one with us. 
• You are definitely more like your Pa because he loves to save money and so do you! (G takes after Papaw T who couldn't keep $5 in his pocket without it burning a hole.) 
• You recently told us that your nickname with friends is Benson. It makes me happy to know you have a group of friends who have given you a nickname. 
• You never wear a shirt if you can help it, which makes for some awkward family photos.

I love the dry humor you bring to the table (literally, every night at dinner) and the look you give whenever Dad pulls up a photo on his phone of you as a chunky toddler. That is what I see when I look at you, even though you're now a couple inches above me. 

Hope this year is a good one!

Love you,

Momma

You made it to 16

Dear G,

You just recently turned 16, and I have to admit, I'm a little surprised. Given our struggles when you were younger, I wondered if I wouldn't throttle you long before you reached this milestone. Sometimes I am amazed that the person who towers over me now and has a pretty mature emotional outlook used to be the kid who couldn't control his feelings at all.

I'm not going to say I haven't learned anything from mothering your sister and brother, but being your mom has taught me the most (so far, anyway) because of your struggles. 

One thing I've learned from you is that kids are who they are and there is a lot of awesomeness to be proud of. You have always been a unique thinker, a sensitive person, and those are wonderful traits; we simply had to get your brain settled down enough so that those things could take center stage rather than anxiety. Unfortunately, anxiety feeds off anxiety, so your feelings set my feelings off, and that was never a great combination or experience for either of us. 

Being your mom has made me realize how critical it is to get as much help as soon as possible for kids who struggle so that their struggle doesn't have to become a lifetime one or one that cripples them. I'm thankful we had the resources to do that. I'm thankful we were open to the advice and help of professionals. Our only concern was helping you be happy and comfortable in who you are. 

You've gone through a lot of changes in the past year. You started high school and have done excellent in your classes; you adjusted like a champ. You had a girlfriend and experienced a breakup, which you also handled admirably. 

Because you've always had a very strong identity, I have sometimes felt like I knew exactly what you would do, but yet, as you get older, you increasingly surprise me. Like going to next week's event up in Indiana, which you originally said you didn't want to do (which didn't surprise me), and then changed your mind (which did).  I think it will be a fun experience for you, and I can't wait for you to tell us about it afterwards. 

I like to think that pushing you a little out of your comfort zone throughout your life has given you a sense that you can move out of it on your own even without our prodding. You did great on our family trip to Scotland and surprised me there, too, with loving haggis and climbing up to the Old Man of Storr, which I thought for sure you would complain about both. 

Another thing that has surprised me is your newfound desire to watch movies, which either you, me, and Dad or you and Dad have been doing at least once every weekend since June. It is so funny to see you discover films that we love (like Inception) or to hear you and your dad go on and on about Stanley Kubrick or space travel after watching 2001: A Space Odyssey. 

You have always been a bright, thoughtful, conscientious kid, but you are adding maturity to that which only makes you better. We are excited to watch you grow and change even more in the next 12 months. 

Love you,

Momma

Reasons why I don't ever want to become a vampire

I recently finished John Polidori's The Vampyre and am now on to a different kind of vampire tale, but even if I wasn't, I've long believed that being a vampire would be the worst fate imaginable. 

It's not the blood or the taking of life. Those aren't my issues with vampirehood.

The problem is the fucking monotony and the absolute ennui that would ensue after living for hundreds and hundreds or, dear god, thousands of years.

Humans keep humaning in their pathetic and/or atrocious ways.

Like their insistence on measuring girls' clothing lengths. Word on the street is that N's former high school was checking girls shorts today, and this news has put me in the foulest of foul moods. 

(Because didn't we just go through this in the before times which weren't that long ago?)

Unless I'm seeing a penis, testicles, nipples, a vulva, gluteal cleft or extensive mammary action, I don't care what a person wears, and I cannot wrap my head around why seeing shoulders and thighs is such a problem for so many people. 

But guess what being a vampire would mean? 

I WOULD NEVER ESCAPE THE BULLSHIT THAT IS DRESS CODES FOR WOMEN AND GIRLS.

I would never escape buses dropping my kid off on the wrong side of a 5-lane parkway again.

I would never escape having to call and find out if this can be remedied.

I would never escape being interrupted by texts or by my children who don't see me busily working at my desk in what used to be the living room. 

I would never escape hormonal mood swings that may cause me hurt someone (or them to hurt me) before menopause is here. 

I would never escape the depression that is shopping at Walmart. 

I would never escape doing work that doesn't actually get utilized in a purposeful way.

I would never escape litter that tracks itself all over the house and is especially irritating in summer when I have bare feet.

I would never escape the hellscape that we're managing to turn the Earth into. 

Despite how funny Laszlo, Nandor, and Colin Robinson make it seem, being a vampire and having my life extended only to witness humanity effing things up sounds unbearable. 

Second-guessing life choices...sort of/not really

It's that time of year again--the time when teachers post their "back-to-school" photos or comments stating that this is their 18th year in the classroom or their 12th year at School X and 24th year teaching in general.

This is also the time of year when I think to myself, "This MIGHT HAVE BEEN my ____ year."

[For the record, had I not taken an extended break from full-time work, I would be starting my 23rd year.]

Mostly, seeing these posts makes me feel bad because it means that in 4 years I could RETIRE from teaching, and that probably isn't the best attitude to have, especially since I haven't worked full-time as a teacher in 19 years. The only reason I have regret is because I would want to be almost done with a job that I haven't wanted to do full-time in the first place. 

And this just seems....dumb (in addition to confusing). 

So it is also at this time of year when I have to do what a lot of people do: I have to give myself a good talking to in response to stuff I see on social media. 

The talking to goes like this:

First, you didn't want to try to be the mom you wanted to be and the teacher you wanted to be because you felt pretty certain it would drive you crazy to not give yourself fully to either one. That is water LONG under the bridge so would you puhlease get over it. 

Second, you created this weird life of sorta teaching, sorta writing, sorta editing and have a bunch of hobbies and interests and you would have to give ALL of that up if you went back full-time. You spent time with your kids while they were growing up, and now you're spending time with your parents who are growing old. 

[To soothe your ego, here is a reminder of the things you've done: 13 years as a freelance writer, 11 years at the cottage school, 7 years as a substitute teacher, edited several books for people who have been published, editor at online literary magazine, soon-to-be published in an anthology. There do you feel better now?]

Third, you ABHOR meetings. The best part of the teaching you do is that you can avoid these. Same with your writing work. Minimal meetings is key. 

After the lecture I feel better and am able to go about my life doing what I have chosen to do. 

Until next August when we do this again.

If someone did to our free time what we do to kids' free time

Imagine an adult working a job. Maybe this job is 25 hours a week, maybe 40. It doesn't really matter. When this adult is not at work, she or he is experiencing what is called "free time," the time they can use however they wish. 

Most adults, because they are adults and have responsibilities, must spend part of that time doing stuff that keeps them alive: cooking, shopping, cleaning. 

But the rest of the time is theirs to read, play video games, sleep on the couch, watch Golden Girls, play sports, smoke pot, whatever. 

Now imagine if someone said to this adult:

"You must do something productive with your free time even if you don't want to. You have to join a rotary club or a politically-minded group. You have to go to book club three nights a week. You can no longer just enjoy your free time as you want. You have to engage in something that will 'improve' you in some way."

How pissed would you be?

I expect most adults would be furious. How dare someone tell them what to do with their free time?

And yet, it seems to me that parents often do this with their own kids. 

I think the reasons for this are complicated:

First, it can be hard for parents to understand that their children are not smaller/younger mockups of them: "I played football and love football, and therefore I want my child to play and love football." And maybe the parent encourages (pushes) the child into something that the child maybe feels meh about. 

Parents have also bought into this notion that if their kid hasn't set the world on fire by the time they are 17, it's over for them. Like kids have to pack in all these experiences before they go off to college (or to get into college), and if they don't....god help them. If our kids aren't little mockups of us, they are moldable blobs of clay that we are shaping into the next big success or the next awesome scholarship recipient. (The media, colleges, and high schools promote this and feed on the anxiety.)

[Personally, I think if you peak at 17 you're in for a rather disappointing life. I had a good high school experience but FFS, it wasn't the be-all and end-all.]

Of course, there are some kids who legit want to be involved in everything. I was that kid in high school. The paragraph next to my senior photograph is probably six inches long with all the stuff I was involved in. But by the time I got into college, I didn't want to join shit because I was freaking tired from the previous four years. It just wore me out rather than making me a bigger, stronger, faster version of myself (like the Six Million Dollar Woman). 

I'm so much more than I was in college, and I want to scream it from the rooftops to quit putting unnecessary pressure on young people. 

It seems pretty important to let kids be kids, even if it means they don't join stuff, if all they do is go to school, pass their classes, and come home (like my sons do). If G and M wanted to join something, I would encourage them, and sometimes I ask if they'd be interested in something I may hear about at their school, but when they say "no," I don't insist. 

D was never a joiner in school and sometimes I think he regrets it. And maybe one day my sons will regret it, but it is THEIR LIFE and, honestly, their problem. I would rather them be mad at themselves one day because they didn't get involved than be resentful of me because I made them do stuff they didn't want to do. And, lord knows, I don't need a fight. 

It's hard enough to get them to do the basic stuff like wash their hair and wear deodorant and reply back to their grandparents' text messages. If they don't want to do judo or be in the chess club or play with the orchestra, that's fine. 

The kids who are joiners will join, and you won't have to twist their arms to do it. The kids who don't want to join may not want to join now (on your time table), but they may do it one day when they are inclined. And then there are some who will never join anything and will be perfectly fine with it, even if it makes their parent's eye twitch.