A Balancing Act of teaching...writing...and being a family.

Balance

This summer, I have spoken a lot about balance and sustainability with Roger, my husband of 12 years. We are both writers and teachers, me for 17 years and him for 15, with big plans for what we feel we want to accomplish. And we are parents to 4 children: two sons, aged 26 and 25 who are off and on their own, and two girls, aged 10 and 7 who are still in the need of having parents who prioritize them. Our seven year-old is also a stroke survivor who has mild cerebral palsy, vision issues, cognitive delays and speech delays.

Balance is not something either one of us feels we have done well in the first 12 years of our lives. Our married lives anyway. So now, before we head into another school year, we want to have a plan.

He has just experienced a week of the Freedom Writers Institute with Erin Gruwell. A week he feels empowered him, surrounded him by people of a variety of ages and backgrounds and teaching levels, all searching for what I consider the Golden Ticket.  A way into making their teaching magical and powerful and everlasting. He immersed himself into the program so much so that we barely heard from him: he barely responded to texts; said goodnight to his children or me; and rarely checked in just to make sure we were all breathing. Sure there was a 3-hour time difference to contend with but it would have been nice to hear his voice more often anyway. And this is something he has always struggled with anyway … during the school year, he leaves for school often before the girls wake up and gets home shortly before their bedtime, most nights anyway. And summers he fills with professional development opportunities, curriculum development and overall “thinking about” school rather than recharging and reconnecting with family as the main priorities. It is something many teachers struggle with…balancing the need of your students with the needs of your family. 

He came out of this latest experience feeling he ‘found his smile’ like Billy Crystal in the City Slickers movie and that this experience surrounded him by a legion of people who made him feel like he was ‘not alone’ in his classroom anymore and that he was ready to use his new-found anger to make the changes in his inner-city school in a more powerful, aggressive, meaningful way.

I, of course, feel jealous and hurt that he had to find his smile elsewhere but he assures me that though he found his smile elsewhere, his happiness is with me. Aren’t those words sweet?

We met as teachers. In a Shakespeare workshop. What a surprise, right? Our first conversations were all about our philosophies in the classroom. One of his first statements that we laughed about was when he said, “I hope to see your room one day!” after hearing about how I described my classroom. He meant my classroom. I thought he meant my bedroom. And that symbolizes us. He is more about furthering his career and I learned from a failed marriage that I need to work on being there for the people who I treasure. Neither is wrong.

I have struggled with the balance of family and career as well, but maybe because I have had family before my career it is a different path for me. I had to go finish my teaching degree and master’s degree part time while raising my young boys, working and going through a rough soul-ripping divorce. I made sure I cooked a real meat and potatoes meal every night possible (now I’m okay with occasional cereal and sandwiches because I am around much more). I went to every one of the boys’ games and events that I could, even if it took me longer to get there and drive back than to actually stand there watching. I drove to pick them up from Ski Club –out of state—when it would have been easier to pick them up from their school after the bus dropped them off, and it would have given me time to do some of my schoolwork. Then I remarried and when we had the girls I stepped down from my full-time job and job-shared my position so I could be home to raise our children. When Kath was diagnosed I hunkered down and focused every waking moment into making sure she had what she needed---therapy-wise, attention-wise (she choked often when eating too) and then I tried to make sure my other children did not feel like ‘my other children.’ My classroom teaching was far from what I consider being an excellent educator … especially because I took forever reading and commenting on assignments, grading tests and so on. My interactions with my students were solid, I paid attention to the humans in front of me, I had good plans and ideas, but my follow through with turning back assignments was horrible because when I came home … I was Mom. I leave my school every day after school, no matter what by 3, so I can be the girls’ pick-up, I don’t stay until the students decide to leave. I have come to the realization that I will never be the Teacher I once thought I would be. I can’t be that person I dreamed of … because I cannot put my career ahead of my family. They need me even more than my students.

Even in how we handled our anniversary shows how we have grown to value different things. I worked for a week on a 5 page letter to him, re-dedicating myself to our marriage and our lives. He gave me flowers, let me nap, and cleaned the area in the garage where I need to go to reach dinner prep stuff. He had planned to make me a trellis for my garden but wasn’t able to get the saw and the wood he needed because he didn’t look for them until the day of, and after the hardware store had closed. We move differently and prioritize differently.

The man who grew his hair because I said I loved running my fingers through his long hair. The man who practiced a song for weeks to sing to me at our wedding. The man who surprised me with a horse drawn carriage from the church to our home reception ‘ran out of time’ to make me something or write me something. But he made sure he did things he thought I would treasure as a symbolism of our 12 years.

And I have decided that maybe that is our balance.

Balance. How on earth does one create a balance as a teacher---a job where one can easily get pulled into the lives of the 25-150 students in front of us…then come home and be mom and wife/father and husband in any real way? And write? And read? And keep individual dreams alive?

That is what my husband and I, as teachers and partners, are trying to understand. I contend that we need to understand what our goals are. And make a plan. I contend that we need to schedule and be merciless in that schedule and rigor … yes, in regard to our careers, but never to the detriment of our loved ones. We agree, at least until September. J

I don’t think that is possible for many of us—to really budget career and home. Yes, you see some teachers leaving when the bell rings, every day, and you know they are going home and not bringing schoolwork…but does that mean they are not attending to their students and their career in the same way? On the other hand, you see some teachers who leave late, lug home bags and lug them back…does that mean they are attending to their family?

Where is the balance?

Is it making sure to maintain eye contact, that visible connection, with family during dinner around the table every night? Is it in each parent trading off the responsibilities of planning and making the dinner? Is it in limiting the after school activities of the children so there can be time for homemade meals and sit down dinners with all of us? Is it in making sure each partner gets some time to explore their writing, their teaching, do their grading and planning…in a non-guilty take-turns way?  Is it in waiting for the kids to get old enough to swap in to take over some of the chores?

What if we…our family…could find a way to balance and take turns so that we can all achieve all of our goals and desires?

Is Balance sometimes deciding that maybe…just maybe…the balance is bigger? The balance is me stepping back so he can step up to do what he feels he needs to do and me stepping up in the home areas to take care of what I feel I need to do? Is maybe balance of family and work in a family of two teachers and writers…could it maybe be about reworking the boundaries and reworking the definitions so you can see if it can work and everyone can get what they want and need?

This year, with his new-found smile and legion-backing of the Freedom Writers and his desire to change the world, and my rediscovered storytelling world and desire to be Wife/Mom/Teacher and my desire to make my place, my here and now,a better place…maybe we can balance one another out, strengthen one another, not leave the other feeling disconnected and adrift? And at the same time strengthen our family? Maybe we can both reach our goals, sustain one another and balance our family out.

Stay tuned to see what we discover.

PS He helped me edit and clarify this post. :)

August is like one long Sunday night, said someone, probably a teacher. (Snippet of my story included)

It has been a wonderful summer. We have played (Alex was in the play School House Rock Jr Live, her first experience), we have  swam, we have gardened, we have had dance classes, writing camps, and reading. We have had museum visits and traveling to DC to visit big brother Chris. Kath has gotten her leg brace (that's for another post, later). We went to Six Flags (girls earned free tickets through school because of their reading) with big brother Nick. Roger did raise the money to attend (he is there right now) the Freedom Writers Institute. We have two events still to attend with the Bus Stop Club (they pay) including a baseball game and another Six Flags trip, this time to MA. I have had many morning coffees on my beautiful front porch. We have paid off 3 more bills (it's amazing how in-debt one little family can get in a few short years and how it takes double that time to pull out of crisis, another post on that later too! It's probably not so amazing how Centered financial struggles are to how a family functions, but still very important) which will make our lives much easier--once we start getting paychecks again, but we are still going to squeak into September paycheck season on a wing and a prayer, as usual, though maybe a little harder-hitting this year (unless we win Lotto, haha). And I have found a powerful, inspirational on-line (open 24 hours a day and many write fiction) writing group to compliment my in-person (mostly non-fiction/teacher oriented writing) local one.

But it is August. For teachers that is like a month of Sundays (ie anxiety, nightmares, and feelings like time was not well spent).

And the bank accounts are depleted.
And there is a big chance my friend who has watched my girls since shortly after I started back to work after Alex was born will not be able to take care of them this year (Defcon RED has been reached).
And I have not completed all the projects on my summer list.
And I have not read all the books I wanted to read.
And I haven't gotten in shape (though the girls and I ran/walked a 5k yesterday!).

And well...my first draft isn't done.

I told myself at the start of the summer that if I didn't finally get out a first draft of the story that has been bugging me for years, that I was going to put it down and move onto my other stories, other pieces of writing. I have made a ton of progress, but I am not there yet. So to push me towards that final sprint of August  I decided to Shame Myself into sharing a bit of what I do have. Is that okay? I did, afterall, start this blog 6 and a 1/2 years ago as a Writing Blog, but it morphed into a Life-ish blog when Kath was diagnosed. Anyway...here is me, challenging myself to finish.my.damn.story. Disclaimer...still in rough rough stage.

Here it is:

I hadn’t been in the woods for a bit. At first it was because of what happened to my grandma. Even though no one found her body, it was a pretty mysterious way for a 60 year-old to disappear. When the police first came to investigate, they asked questions about grandpa’s and her marriage and they asked us if they had been arguing. It was clear that at first they expected something strange had gone on between grandma and grandpa, which anyone who knew them knew that they loved one another greatly. Grandpa would rather die than to have anything happen to her.

At first I was mad at the woods because that’s where grandma went missing, and no one would let us kids near the trails, but over time, no one stopped us. But also none of us tried to go back into the woods. Why would we? I’m not sure what they decided happened to grandma, but no one seemed to think there was anything sinister in the woods. Honestly, I was a bit embarrassed, because I couldn’t seem to remember things like I used to, like the day that grandma disappeared, I was with her, but I couldn't remember anything. My lack of memory was a bit scary, but I didn’t want anything else to be wrong with me so I pretended I was fine and went about my days as usual. I didn't tell anyone.

Shrugging off my negative thoughts again, I grabbed my backpack which I always had stuffed with my notebooks, pens and granola bars and headed towards my door. With any luck, everyone would still be sleeping and I could slip out unnoticed and be back before anyone suspected I had gone. Hopefully my parents would just think I was sleeping in.

As I began to pull the bedroom door closed behind me, my eye caught a glimpse of the picture on my wall. It reminded me of a picture from the children’s book grandma read to me a child, Goodnight Moon, even though the view was not of the quiet sleeping room, but rather it was of a gothic looking house with two huge stained glass windows. It had the same green walls and a red balloon floating in the background. Even when I was a kid, I always did a quick double check on that balloon, it always appeared to be coming through the frame and into the room, or at least moving around.

But that was crazy.

And I saw a shrink once a week to stuff that kind of crazy back in.

Breathing in deep I could she smell bacon. Mom was making Saturday morning breakfast. That usually meant the regular chores would not be completed. Chances of my hike just improved greatly, everyone would be in relax-mode.

I heard sounds from my brother’s room, but they stopped when I paused by his door. Latham probably woke himself up to play video games but didn’t want mom and dad to know because they would make him do his chores or homework first.

I continued down the hall to the stairs, but it was right there as I took my first step down that I finally realized what was wrong, what felt different when I first swung my legs over to get out of bed. It shook me so much that it was as though I was being pushed from behind. I grabbed the banister so I wouldn’t fall.

I wasn’t limping.

I wasn’t tight.

I didn’t struggle with pulling up my jeans or pulling my shirt over my head.

I just did it. It was as if I woke up and didn’t have CP, or at least this is what I *thought* that would feel like.

Not knowing what to make of this all I decided to just keep going and try to figure it out as I hiked. I had felt like I needed to be alone today; now it was imperative. Maybe I was really just starting to go crazy. What was it that Clarisse in Fahrenheit 451 said, "I'm 17 and crazy"? Well, I'm only 16 but maybe crazy starts sooner in the country.

I knew my father was awake because the coffee was brewing as well the bacon was sizzling, he was the coffee maker. But he wasn’t sitting at the table nor was he between me and the door. No one was tending to the bacon, so I got to the mudroom and grabbed my boots. I didn’t even want to take the time to lace up them, I didn’t want to be stopped. I grabbed the boots in my hand and slid out the screen door into the early Indian summer morning and headed towards the small, almost invisible to the eye, opening in our berry bushes.

I walked across the yard, my socks getting damp in the morning dew, but I kept going. If I made it without being noticed I could sit on the bench at the start of the trail and pull them on, unseen by anyone looking by chance through a window in the house. If I didn’t, well…I didn’t want to think about that, I already was feeling insane, being caught walking in wet socks wouldn’t make me look any saner.

I looked back once I made it to the bush divide and I thought I saw the curtain in Latham’s room shift but I turned and continued on. He’d rather play his games then come for an actual outdoor adventure. He wouldn’t want to get cold or wet or use real muscles. He also wouldn’t want to risk telling on me and having to follow me out here today. So I knew I was safe as I headed down the hill to the bench.

Maybe I was dreaming. This was all just so weird. Maybe I really was still in bed with Buffy laying across my legs pinning me to the bed, stealing my blankets. I had that weird feeling that time was moving at a strange pace so maybe I should just go with it and maybe I’d find that it was all okay. Just a dream. A pretty elaborate dream...but a dream.

I started walking the path. The leaves were so thick on the trail that I shuffled through them, making quite the noise emission as I went. I’m sure every woodland animal heard me coming from a mile away. The rustling of the leaves were such that I never even heard him until he tapped my shoulder and I screamed, turned and punched him right in the mouth. Latham's eyes flew open and he held his hand to his jaw with a shocked expression.

“What?! Why would you do that?!”

I ran to him and tried to touch him but he backed away, now starting to get angry. “I’m sorry Latham. I was just so surprised! I was in my own thoughts, the leaves were loud…I was thinking about grandma….”

His look softened as he rubbed his jaw. “Ok, but still. I had no idea you could move so fast!”

I bit my tongue because I didn’t really want to tell him about my weird feelings…feelings like the cerebral palsy I was born with had gone away when I woke up this morning. That would sound so weird and he would drag me back home to tell mom. And I felt a pull, a need, to continue on.

“Yeah, well. Don’t scare me.” I turned and continued on. I expected that he would just turn around and leave me alone, but nope, he followed me.

“So where are you off to today? You haven’t hiked in a long time,” he started to try to bring a conversation into our walk.

I didn’t really want to talk, I had been looking forward to this walk all week and now he was ruining it…making twice as much noise and trying to talk to me. I could not catch a break. I just wanted to be alone to try to figure things out. ‘It’ being the lack of muscle tightness. And ‘it’ being the cafeteria fiasco yesterday and my crazy friends. "It" being everything in my life that didn't make sense. Everyone said that your teenage years were supposed to be your best years, but if this was 'good'!? Oh boy. I just wanted some time away from everyone, time to think.

But when the albino deer stepped into the path and stared at us both, I was suddenly very glad Latham was by my side, even if he took an extra step and walked into me before noticing the deer. The way the deer stomped its front right paw, lowered its head and stared without blinking was not very deer-like. It was more aggressive than any deer I had ever seen in my woods before.

“Shoo…go along now, shoo,” I said to it. I was tired of everything getting in my way today. Now a deer?? This was just ridiculous!

“Are you trying to be scary,” said the deer, “or just dramatic?”

Now it was my turn to take a step back. How was this deer talking? If I felt like I was in a dream before, now I knew I had to be! This had to be a dream and I really was just in my bed snuggled in. That idea helped me not to panic and run away screaming.

But there was another part of me that felt almost like this was déjà vu. Especially when the man dressed all in black stepped out from the curve of trees.

“Were you really just talking to a deer? That’s kind of cute.” The deer stamped his foot again like he was angry at those words, turned and walked back down the trail a little more, then it stepped off the trail and disappeared down a ravine. A steep one judging from how quickly it disappeared from my view.

“You both need to come with me. We have been waiting a long time for you.” And with that the man swirled around and his long duster swirled with him, miraculously not catching on any brambles. It was almost like he was a hologram because I kept getting caught and had to pull thorns out of my skin, which lead me back to realizing this was now my number one reason for knowing this couldn’t really be a dream-- I was bleeding. But the insanity of the moment was too much to process so I decided to pretend anyway.

What does summer mean?

Summer means that I can think about my family foremost...and not my students, state ed, grading and the assorted groups I advise.

Summer means I can clean my frat-house-like house.

Summer means that I can teach two weeks of a teen writing camp and one week of a young writers camp. Imagine teaching to students who WANT to be there and who want to write!

Summer means that I get to have luxurious cups of coffee that I can drink while hot.

Summer means being able to go to the bathroom when I actually need to.

Summer means I can refill my brain with stories and words that I use during the school year faster than I can refill.

Summer means I can reconnect with my family.

Summer means I can sit without moving.

But mostly for me, this summer especially means that I am giving myself an ultimatum. This summer I must get at least a shitty first draft out of the story I have been gnawing at the edges for in one form or another for the past several years.

I have danced around writing Swinger Of Birches. I have set it aside to care for everyone and everything else and I have pushed back my writing as though it were that luxurious cup of coffee.

This summer is it. I will write or burst. And now I have written it down and posted it, not just said it to my writing group. The pressure is on.

Feet to fire.

Summer means ...giving myself an ultimatum. Write this story or finally move on to another writing piece.

Traffic Circles

Sometimes I feel like life is a giant traffic circle.

I think you can almost figure out how one handles life by how they approach a traffic circle. Or at least how they handle life at this particular phase of their life anyway.

One day about a month ago I was at a traffic circle on Fuller Road in Albany. The people in front of me, about 4 cars ahead, were stopped because there were cars whipping around, no one was doing a long enough pause at their red yield station to allow another car at another station a chance to pull in...the take-turn method was clearly not working with this particular group of vehicle users, our part of the circle was stuck waiting for a chance to break in. So the man behind me began to beep his horn, angrily. I put my hands up so the car in front of me knew it was not me beeping and I decided to try to ignore the man, so I could give attention to what was going on in front of me.

When it came my turn, again people were speeding around, faster than traffic circle speed limits. This time I could see a young driver approaching and he was obviously struggling with his speed and which lane and so on, so I waited. I am a teacher after all, I can wait for a young person to figure out something painfully obvious to me. I began to prepare for my turn to pull out when the male driver behind me (the one who was beeping seconds before) just about lost his mind and suddenly appeared on my left, almost grazed my car in his effort to get around me, nearly hit the young driver and gunned it so he could make a right turn around me...I was going straight into the circle.

My daughter Alex was in the car with me. Had this man hit my car and injured her I am pretty sure I would be in jail right now because the anger that welled up was so intense and primal.

He did not hit me, nor did he hit the young driver. He pulled way and off into the sunset. I am pretty sure he thought he taught us all what to do in a traffic circle. You go.

I have since been reading posts about traffic circles on Facebook (funny how that happens, you experience something and you notice people talking about the same subject) and I have been watching how people handle them in various towns where they have sprung up.

It seems to be there are very specific ways people deal with traffic circles.

And I imagine this is how they handle life, especially the people they interact with. I have found that the way I handle traffic circles is how I handle people and I am proud of it. I can sleep at night knowing that the three seconds I could have used to get ahead of that slow driver were not necessary nor worth putting everyone else's lives at risk. I waste more time than that checking Facebook for goodness sake!

There are the people who pretend there is no traffic circle. They don't slow down. They don't look to the sides to see who is coming. Everyone else must watch out for them or rue their choice. I imagine these people are the ones who see inconvenience in most parts of life and are angry that they have to even deal with other humans. I wonder how they would deal with my students who struggle and need more time. I wonder how they would take the extra seconds it takes to re-explain something to my Kath. If they don't have patience for something so minor, like waiting their turn for a traffic circle, what kind of patience do they show to other parts of humanity throughout their day? How many other times during the day do they only think of how things affect them and just push their own agenda through?

There are people who come to a complete stop even if no one except them (and me behind them) are on this strip of road. Maybe they had a bad experience before so they just.stop.and.won't.move.for.a.long.moment. Are these the people for whom life moves way too fast? Are they my struggling students, my grieving friends who just need a second to remember where they are and where they are going? I imagine those times when I realized I drove upstate to Long Island when my mom was dying and I had no idea how I did it and I don't remember much of the actual driving. Are they dealing with something I cannot even imagine?

There are the people who pause, foot on break, coasting and testing the waters, gauging the pace of the other cars, ready to stop when that one person speeds up or doesn't use their indicator. There are people who know that there are all different types of people going through all different issues.

At one point in my life I would have been the first driver and just said, "You don't have a red light, you have a red yield, go. Go! Hurry! We are going to miss our chance. UGH. Why didn't you just go, dammit. Now I'm going to be late...."

Then life happened. And I'd like to think I grew up.

Now I look at the drivers. I look to see if they see me, if they are looking where they are going. If they slow down, unsure, I don't make them more anxious, I give them space. And I don't drive up next to them sneering at them if they do something jerky.

I'll get to where I need to. And I will try to do it without making anyone else more anxious, angry or unsettled. I picture my friends in the other cars. I have patience for them, why not have patience for someone else's friend? I picture my mom or my dad in the other cars. I have patience for them, why not for someone else's mom or dad? I picture my students and I picture my kids. I have patience for them, why not have patience for someone else's kids?

What if how we handled a traffic circle was how we handled everyone in all our interactions; what if we just gave one another a second to breathe, think and go at their pace? Imagine that world? That's where I want to live. And that's where I want this next generation and especially my children to live. Don't you?

Stuck in Neutral

Everyday I accomplish a huge laundry list of what needs to be done, from making lunches to making dinner, to making time and saving energy for homework and reading to making sure bedtime is quality time sharing and relaxing. I also pay bills and juggle an insufficient amount of money due to a financial crisis that rocked our world and almost took our house a few times. I also teach at a full time job, advise and support 6 student groups after school every day, with one group alternating weeks with another because I don't have enough days in the week for them to have their own day.

And I have my 4 children with different challenges and struggles. Not the least of which is my youngest who struggles with learning because of her pre-birth stroke, cerebral palsy, vision issues, speech delays, and cognitive delays. And in our home, I am the main person at home for all of her typing her therapies to her life, as well as reading any and all research I can.

I say all of this because I sit here the last Friday of my spring break and I have not accomplished my Big Ticket items on my To-Do List. I know I am not alone. I know many parents, usually moms, who feel this, this 'stuck in neutral' feeling.

This week, during my vacation...I did not correct my huge backlog of assignments from my students. I have not written more than 500 words on my story. I have not cleaned my house. I have not learned all about gluten-free eating so I can try a new way to help Kath's learning, through diet. I have not organized the spring and summer clothes of my girls and me so that the next 9 weeks of school won't be of my over-dressing them, especially Kath who struggles with regulating her temperature and needs appropriate clothing, every day. I didn't start Easter preparations, baskets, baking and main meals even though this year I have a vegetarian and will need a different way to prep this special day and meal. I didn't visit my father on Long Island. We didn't go to the Butterfly Garden or Ben and Jerry's.

And every time I try to get any of this done I buzz into not being able to concentrate. I can't sit and read without falling asleep. I can't sit and write without remembering I need to do this, that and the other thing. My brain won't stay on the assignments and tests I need need need to get done, a month ago. I can't finish one job without beginning three others.

I feel like I don't know how to sit and think deep thoughts anymore. I am stuck in neutral, revving my brain and accomplishing things that aren't even on my list, but so unable to cross off the things that will make me feel in control. That will make life easier for my girls. Things that show I am making some kind of progress. I know others feel this way too.

I did have a good time this week with my girls, after weeks of illness and antibiotics, a broken nose and an ambulance ride. We had brunches as well as dinners. I did watch movies at home with them, 'Frozen' and Alex's dance competition video. I did fall asleep with Kath in my arms many a night this break. I did rewatch Walking Dead with my husband. I did read part of a free choice book. I did meet up with my writing group for brunch. The girls and I did go to Fort Ticonderoga for the day and then meandered home getting roadside ice cream as well as dinner at Chiles. We did clean up the front yard and Roger started to turn over the garden. The front porch is set. I did have an overdue dentist and periodontist appointment. I went to a Paint and Sip with friends from school and created a piece of art I am proud of.

But I sit here this Friday before Easter weekend, excited that my oldest will be home but realizing that his room is so blocked we can't even reach the bed, despite the fact that we had a path a couple of months ago, things got thrown in. I look around and realize how unorganized things are for Alex's birthday next week. My skin feels too tight...I wanted to take today to do one more day trip, but things got thrown in...there are piles of papers everywhere...my schoolwork, bills not filed, Roger's toppled schoolwork and undescribed papers litter the stairway. And Alex is still working on a project that should have been finished at the beginning of the week.

My frustration is that I want to do so much. I want to be there for my girls and their school, dance track and such. I want to be there for reading and resting time. I want to advise these students groups but the second I look away from the housework...the piles grow. The second I look away from my school bag it multiplies. The second I look away from the bills, the late charges start adding up. The second I take my eyes off Kath she falls behind because she needs constant supervision and guidance in academics and physical activities. I know I am not alone in these feelings of inadequacies.

I see an improvement in that last year I could never have done so many groups and clubs. But I still sit for long whiles at my computer, mostly frustrated, that I can't pluck and tease out the story in my head. I can't seem to write my blog. I can't seem to get words out of my head and that is always a sure sign of my struggles. It's like a clog in the drain, nothing substantial can pass it. And it makes me doubt myself and my dream goal of writing and publishing my story.

Revving in neutral, working on reminding myself how to switch to drive. I guess I should be relieved that I haven't slipped into reverse...and I know I'm not alone in going through this. And as Robert Frost said, "The best way out is always through."

So much to go through, gotta get out of neutral. And I know, others feel this way too.




 

100 Day Challenge

Listening to the radio today I heard about this 100 day challenge ...do something mindfully and purposefully...for 100 days. And reflect on how it changes you. Considering my post yesterday about wanting to 'sit and write something soul dimensional'...and how I also signed myself up to do a 2014 km in 2014 and how I...well, I seem to have a lot of things I want to accomplish. But I am either lacking enough determination and focus or I don't have enough drive...or horrors...I don't think my goals and dreams are important enough to give them my time and energy.

I seem to have no problems with registering my children up for activities when they express their interest and desire to try something and usually I end up being their coach. I have signed Alex up for soccer and was the coach (I dragged my oldest son into that with me), we have assorted dance classes going right now...tap and jazz, ballet and mini comp team for Alex as well as kinderdance for Kath. (I have no coaching involvement with this, I know nothing about dance!) Hippotherapy for Kath--an hour drive there, a half hour session, an hour drive home that I gladly make for her benefit. I have co-coached Odyssey of the Mind for the past two years. I was a Daisy leader. I am signing myself up to be a 4H leader with a friend. This year I was asked to be: the advisor for the high school Key Club (didn't even know what Key Club did!); to co-advise A World of Difference (an anti-bullying group that includes training and presenting in various classes); to be an advisor for a new group called Unified Sports that is about having students with disabilities play on a high school team with 'regular' eduction students.

And this week I saw a post from a friend on Facebook who said that her mom used to tell her something along the lines of, "It's okay to say 'yes' until you realize that being a creative person takes time and energy and if you give it all away, you can't expect to still be able to create."

Wham...I, of course, have heard this before...about spreading oneself too thin, about being something to everyone but nothing to yourself, about needing to put the oxygen mask over your own face first (I even wrote a blog about that myself), but somehow it never quite hit me this way before.

So Alex has decided that for her 100 days she is going to make sure she exercises and writes every single day. Kath has decided she wants to play outside, read and exercise and well, she wants to roate through all of her things. Roger even mentioned that maybe he will throw one thing away every day (hey, it's a start! :D). I thought..."Oh, I want to write. Oh, I want to walk my 6000-10,000 steps a day. Oh, I want to read."

But most importantly...for the next 100 days I want to make sure that I start to do the things that are for me. I do think they will also benefit others, but I have to first do them for me. For at least this 100 days.

Are you in?

Sit and Write Soul Dimensional Stuff, dammit....

I have been trying to find a way to juggle writing my novel and well...life. And not doing so well with it. Mostly because sitting down to write seems to be a luxury...something that I should only be able to do after I have finished all of my other chores. Since I never finish or get caught up I never seem to have time to sit and write. See? Even that phrase "sit and write" sounds like a 'rest' -- something that many people only get to do after all chores are done.

And chores are never done. I am never caught up with my school work. I am never caught up on house work. I am never caught up on my piles of organization. Heck, I can't even catch up on putting my laundry away. And I keep getting volunteered for new committees, or I raise my own hand before I even know what that traitorous hand is doing...and I am getting crankier and crankier.

Because writing is the part of me that makes sense.

Pretty much the only part. And without it, I shimmer and shake and have trouble making sense of what keeps flying past my side-view mirror.

Writing is the only place where I feel okay with the struggles, where wrestling with the words helps me understand what my feelings are behind the letters themselves. The letters on paper are soul-dimensional.

I have thrown this one story idea around for years...the idea of a young female protagonist character who has a disability in this world but in a parallel world, where classic lit characters live (I have been working on this much longer than Percy Jackson and 'Once Upon a Time'), her struggles are seen as her strengths. I want Kath, my stroke survivor extraordinaire, to find strong characters in literature who she can look up to. I want Alex, her amazing old-soul big sister, to see her strengths reflected in her daily actions and find connections in a world beyond the playground of kids who don't value the same core vitalities she does. I have this story that is has been rattling in my head...but again it has to wait until I have Time. (Except in November when I participate in National Novel Writing Month...when I write and write and write and allow myself that time to fall behind in everything else and I say things aloud like, "Sorry, I have to write....")

I post a lot of facebook. Mostly because I get to write in 15 minute spurts...and post and share and people respond and it's very exciting for a wanna-be writer. I have also had people complain (to me and god only knows what they say behind my face) that I 'certainly do post a lot," "I know your whole life" (haha, you think? Think again!) And I have allowed them to make me feel bad about my writing, about sharing, about me.

Right now I am not grading papers and doing school work. I am writing this. For every time I 'sit' and write...I have to move something major over. Time grading. Time playing with my kids. Time talking to my husband. Time reading, time spent with friends...okay...so maybe it kind of sounds silly but when one is already over-extended and weary, taking time from any activity feels stressful...and selfish.

Earbuds in, sitting at the kitchen table while hubby and one child watch football (ad plays on the ipad) and the other girl sits at the table with me doing her homework. That is happening right now. And I have guilt because I am not talking. Guilt because I will still need to do all that paperwork in those school bags. Guilt because education is a swirl of inequity these days and I feel I have to stand up for my students...yet here I am writing for me. For me.

Then as I write, I think about  the few things that happened this week.

One, I got a piece of mail from the massage school I applied to a year and a half ago, and it reminded me of how close I was to leaving this teaching path not too long ago and how I would now be almost done with my massage degree, had I followed that path. Seeing that paper made me unsure of my choice. I questioned, "Had I made a difference in teaching this year and a half? Had I made anyone's life better for being their teacher?"

(I sure as hell had not written my book.)

Second, I had feedback ---from more than a couple of friends on Facebook (whew!)--- about how my writing helped them. How much they looked forward to reading my posts. How *they* didn't feel so alone and adrift after reading me.

Not my fiction novel. Not the story that haunts my dreams, but the writing I actually wade into every day in my 15 minute spurts. The writing where I share reflections of the girls and life and maybe even education.

(But I'm still not any closer to completing my book.)

Third, I read a post from the writer Anne Lamott that really moved me. She wrote about being 'in the process' of shifts in her life and she also talked about how when she started to write about what was going on in her life she "realized with the Sitch (an issue that she is struggling with) that many, many women have it, and I am now in healing process with it. I've begun a journal. So it's no longer in some darker corner of the cave: it's been brought forth, into some light, where the movement of grace can have a Go at it. And--I don't know if you can believe this--but I have hope now, WOW, and even a sort of excitement. I will share more as I can. But in the meantime, we can still stick together, right, even without all the details? Are you in?" 

And she made me realize that just as these friends on Facebook shared with me that my writing has helped them, it has of course, helped me. I wrote one day about a financial problem and almost deleted the post, I was pretty embarrassed at our financial struggle. Then suddenly others were sharing and 'liking' and discussing how hard life was sometimes, how money struggles made things harder than possible sometimes, but those of us who have dealt with health issues, put the money topic in another folder of our lives. 

It was all liberating and embracing. And suddenly not as embarrassing.

And maybe that is a really good reason to 'sit and write.' To take those issues 'out of the dark corner of a cave and bring them into light and allow the movement of Grace and Hope have a Go at it.'

Finally, I also was told a dear family member is undergoing testing for what could be a very major health issue.  In that blink of a moment my make-believe list of 'what should be done first before writing' seemed awful silly and shallow.

So. What if I've been so focused on trying to 'sit and write' the fiction story and maybe I need to just write and stop trying to figure it all out?

Maybe it will just work itself out...if I just sit and write. If I just sit and write that soul dimensional stuff, dammit.

And the lessons keep coming.

Lessons sometimes come when I am not really ready...like when I am driving. Lessons I teach and am taught.

1) Tonight Kath told me that she doesn't get the ball during scooter ball as much as everyone else. She said her scooter was too slow. Then she said her pants were too long. For a second I seriously considered letting her think those were the reasons. Then I thought about how today my students and I talked about student athletes who are admitted into colleges when they can't even read above a 4th grade reading level, how we really aren't doing them any favors, but setting them up for failures. So I had to say, "Kath, it's not that your scooter is slow or your pants are too long. Your body works so hard to just do what it does do that riding a scooter on top of all that is that much harder. You may never be fast at riding a scooter but you are good at other things." She answered, "Like what?" I asked her what she thought she was good at. She hardly paused before she started to list, "Hopscotch, skipping, dancing...and on and on." I told her she was also one of the best huggers I knew (she made sure she hugged my writing group to near asphyxiation tonight after that) and that she is always concerned about her friends. And then it was ok. Even though I had that sour taste in my stomach that comes when I have to make something understandable to her that I think is so unfair.

2) She talked about how she read in a book that the stars are always out, out in space, they don't go to sleep when the sun is up and that some people don't know that.

3) After my writing group meeting I asked her if she had a good time joining me and she said, "Yes, but I didn't get to do my writing." (we spent the whole meeting talking)

4) On our way home Kath pointed to the stars and told me that stars are really angels of the people in heaven looking down on us, watching over us...she saw it in a movie (It's A Wonderful Life.) She knows my mom is in heaven and our sitter's mom died last week, so this is something she is trying make sense of.

So I made her face the deal about 'slow' scooters, but she seems to know and believe in space and angels...and that seems okay. As long as she knows science is real I have no problem with angels and the comfort they bring. I believe in them too. I seem surrounded some days by them esp when I am struggling to get through a day of making sense where none can be found. Strokes suck, but their survivors are pretty awesome.

And the lessons keep coming.

Lessons sometimes come when I am not really ready...like when I am driving. Lessons I teach and am taught.

1) Tonight Kath told me that she doesn't get the ball during scooter ball as much as everyone else. She said her scooter was too slow. Then she said her pants were too long. For a second I seriously considered letting her think those were the reasons. Then I thought about how today my students and I talked about student athletes who are admitted into colleges when they can't even read above a 4th grade reading level, how we really aren't doing them any favors, but setting them up for failures. So I had to say, "Kath, it's not that your scooter is slow or your pants are too long. Your body works so hard to just do what it does do that riding a scooter on top of all that is that much harder. You may never be fast at riding a scooter but you are good at other things." She answered, "Like what?" I asked her what she thought she was good at. She hardly paused before she started to list, "Hopscotch, skipping, dancing...and on and on." I told her she was also one of the best huggers I knew (she made sure she hugged my writing group to near asphyxiation tonight after that) and that she is always concerned about her friends. And then it was ok. Even though I had that sour taste in my stomach that comes when I have to make something understandable to her that I think is so unfair.

2) She talked about how she read in a book that the stars are always out, out in space, they don't go to sleep when the sun is up and that some people don't know that.

3) After my writing group meeting I asked her if she had a good time joining me and she said, "Yes, but I didn't get to do my writing." (we spent the whole meeting talking)

4) On our way home Kath pointed to the stars and told me that stars are really angels of the people in heaven looking down on us, watching over us...she saw it in a movie (It's A Wonderful Life.) She knows my mom is in heaven and our sitter's mom died last week, so this is something she is trying make sense of.

So I made her face the deal about 'slow' scooters, but she seems to know and believe in space and angels...and that seems okay. As long as she knows science is real I have no problem with angels and the comfort they bring. I believe in them too. I seem surrounded some days by them esp when I am struggling to get through a day of making sense where none can be found. Strokes suck, but their survivors are pretty awesome.

Keep. Give Away. Pass. Walk Away.

As the year ends and the reflections begin I found myself hearing two very varying views on… books. And they seemed to represent different views of Life. 

One person, a used book store owner, said he worried that with the technology world we live in, we were creating a world where all books would be on technology instead of hand held, paper bound hard copies of books. He wondered aloud if a challenged book could eventually be eliminated with a simple click of a button. In true Ray Bradbury fashion. He also worried about what we would pass along to the next generation...not textured books...but cold technology?

The other person is a mother of four and she said she wasn’t buying books anymore because she didn’t see any sense in holding onto something that might not ever be read, or might only be used once and then it would just take up space. They are avid library users.

Both of these views about the value of book ownership made me think about why I hold onto books, and why I hold onto so much…other stuff.

We have books in every single room of our house. My girls walk around with, and usually they each have, books in their schoolbags…free-choice, unassigned books. They bring books in the car for almost every car ride. Even Kath, who cannot read more than an easy reader, carries around Young Adult books, because to her that is what she aspires to be, a reader. 

I love love love literature. I love to hold books, I love the texture of the pages and cover. I love to smell books. I love to turn pages and hear the sounds books make as you go from one breath of the story to the next. I love the way words look on paper.

Santa gave all four of my children Nooks this Christmas. Although I love ‘real’ books, I also love to READ and sometimes I can’t get to the book store fast enough and I need a quick fix…and the ease of downloading a book and voila! being able to immerse myself right into a story world…is well, kind of intoxicating. And I like to pass on that type of intoxication! Apparently so does Santa! :D

But we also bought my kids and their cousins old books, because in my world, nothing replaces a ‘real’ book. We went to the Book Barn, a local used book store, and looked for the oldest, smelliest, (not mildew, but that earthy old smell), most interesting, classic literature books and bought those books for the kids and inscribed each book with our thoughts as to why we chose those books…aside from the smell and feel. It was fun. And the kids loved it, (even the kids whose mom won’t buy any more books :) unless they are just really good at gift receiving etiquette :).

When I look at books they are a bit like a scrapbook of my life. “I read that book when I was….” “I read this book when….” I remember times, places, life events through the books I read.

Aside from books I wondered, looking around my house with my mind’s eye, why my house is filled with pictures, music, movies, … and why it’s important to me to keep it that way. We even have twine strung across the wide passageway to the playroom where we clothes-pin up assignments and art projects the girls bring home.

Why do some people save books, pictures, knickknacks, writings, DVDs, music cds, recipes, kids artwork when it obviously does clutter up the living space?

I think I am the kind of person that has memories trapped in every object I have been given, bought or gifted. My mom gave me all of her Christmas village pieces a few years before she died. I keep.

I saved up –at a time I could barely pay my rent and food- and bought the boys a big plastic play castle for the backyard. I keep. 

I finally have started to give away clothes my kids wore when they were babies (they are now 26, 24, 9 and 7). Although I am keeping some- the ones I have specific memories I want to hold onto. 

I walk away from buying or accepting many things I find unnecessary, especially as I get older. Do I Need, or do I Want, I find myself asking myself. My needs are becoming simpler.

I keep and want the things in my life that tell stories…the books that I grew up with and that inspire me to keep going, or that contain stories that revive my soul or motivate me to be a part of the solution. I keep the pictures of everything and anything that we have done and lived through. I keep the music that I enjoy or that gives me a peek into my past that I am okay peeking in on. I keep all my journals and writings, they show my place in this world. Evidence that I exist, my story.  I’m not big on movies so they aren’t as important to me, but I do keep many movies the boys watched and now the girls enjoy. And my husband loves TV shows and movies of all sorts, he likes to relax, find the humor and find a way to unplug. All of the Things I keep tell some story. Invoke some memories or feelings. 

Do the things we save…keep…give away and pass on tell something about what we treasure? About what ignites our souls?

What if we had three metaphorical boxes to put all parts of our life into? The Keep box. The Give Away box. The Pass On/Over/Through box? 

Where would I put the people in my life? Who will I keep? And why? Not just because I ‘have to’ to keep them…but why? How close will I keep them, how much time will I allow them to take, how much space in my head and heart?

Where will I place my job? The house? The furniture? The after-school activities I sign up and pay for our children to be in…and away from us? The breaks/vacations? The music? The TV shows? The exercise? 

There was a meme I saw on Facebook that said “There are 940 Saturdays between your child’s birth and when s/he leaves for college."

So again I ask, with a slightly different twist…

What do I keep and hold onto for 2014? What do I let go? What do I allow to pass us by? What helps our kids find their way…to find what to treasure…to learn to let go of what needs to let go…? What will help me reach my life goal of completing my book?

This seems to be what I am focusing on this year as I make my resolutions, as I re-start my jar of Things-Worth Remembering, as I begin the metaphorical road of 2014. What will I Keep? What will I Give Away? What will I Pass On? What will I Walk Away from? Can I make my life reflect what is important to my core? What ignites my soul? This year I will think of those metaphorical boxes as I wade through the year.

My top ten goals which will hopefully help me weed through to reach the core, important things I treasure:

        1)  Be in the moment. Put down the phone. Put Facebook and Instagram down and be in the moment.

        2)  Read. A lot. 

        3) Write. Much More.

        4) Laugh. Belly laughs.

        5) Find and make time to cook good meals that feed our souls and bodies.

  6) Treat my body better.

        7) Save up money for the future I want to live…want vs need. Never again allow the debt to overtake once we are caught up this year. :)

        8)  Stay organized in home, school, finances.

9      9) Let go of the things I have no control over and focus on the good, the abundant and the positive.

Last but not least…

1      10) Be courageous in what I stand for and in what I want.

  

I plan to Keep these goals. I plan to Give Away my fear and hesitations on what I know I can do. I plan to Pass on and along the good, the motivating and the positives. I plan to Walk Away from the stagnant, shallow breathing parts of my life.

Happy New Year to you. Here’s to a good solid 2014!