We're not in Kansas Anymore, Toto.

Best laid plans.

I was going to catch up on my writing here today. Since school started I've been in this whirlwind of get the kids out the door-work a full day-get the kids to their activities-feed the dog-fall into bed. So no time for writing. Or even walking the poor dog.

So that was my plan for today, after going to the grocery store and doing some laundry and visiting with some family who is in town for a last visit with my grandma, who is now going downhill unfortunately fast. Big plans.

All of which fell apart when I awoke this morning and started throwing up into a toilet I hadn't had time to clean lately. (filed under, Too late, the things you notice.) So instead I spent my day moving slowly from bed to couch, or sitting on the kitchen floor tying my kid's soccer shoes on his feet while another mom waited in the driveway to take him to his game.

Generally, I am a planner. I like to have things laid out. I like to have menus planned to help organize my crazy week, I like lesson plans laid out, I like everything I need to accomplish in my day in my iPhone calendar and on a To Do List. It's how I survive.

But sometimes things go wrong. I try not to be one of those people who can't handle a monkey wrench being thrown into their plans. I try and keep my kids from being those people, too, but teaching them how to move to plan B, and how to make a plan B on the fly. And that sometimes it's okay to give up and move on. I keep my car stashed with extra bottles water, camp chairs, and ziploc bags. I have a bag that lives in the car that it labeled "things which may come in handy" which includes scissors, tape, a sharpie, silver change, some zip ties, a whistle and a multi-purpose tool. That's part of my planning - I plan for worst case scenario. Or at least I try to.

I don't always stay on top of things like I'd wish I could. I try, but I often fail. And because I know I'm not perfect, sometimes I plan not to make plans. Sometimes, I plan to wing it. I would much rather plan to wing it than be forced to wing it. So if I know I'm going into a situation where I don't have a lot of control, (Hi, I'm a control freak) I tell myself, be prepared to change course here. Take a breath, let it go. Keep moving.

But sometimes, whether you plan to wing it or not, plans go awry. Sometimes, nature kicks you in the gut and says, "Hey lady, you ain't getting out of bed today. You lose." And I'm not afraid to call for reinforcements. I'm a single parent while my husband is working in California, and today my mom was busy with out of town company. So I called on my friends.

I have awesome friends. They fed my kids, they drove them to soccer, they brought me milk and Gatorade from the store.

Tomorrow I'll be better. Tomorrow I can get back to my plans, and get ready for my week. Until of course, everything comes to a screeching halt for my grandmother. And then we'll just have to see.

 

 

My faith in teachers.

I had some pretty crappy teachers as a kid. I had some good ones, too, people I have gone back to visit over the years. But unfortunately, as happens, the scars holder deeper memories. Part of why my parents decided to move south in 1984 was for better schools, and I hope to this day they realize that decision saved me; it was the best parenting decision they ever made, perhaps second only to allowing me the freedom to choose a college as far away as I was could comfortably go, which I'm sure was past their own comfort zone, nevermind the price tag. "If you love something set it free" works. But I digress. 

After we moved I fared much better, but then I was in middle school - a pretty difficult time for any kid - and again, I had good experiences and bad experiences. But the bad ones, save for one science teacher who tried to break me (Fuck you Linda Beaman) really weren't that bad, I learned to rise above. The best thing I learned in middle school was somebody is always in worse shape than you, get over it.

It wasn't until I got to high school that I came to know teachers who really cared about the students. They cared not just about if we were successful in school, but in life after school. They cared about making sure we had tools for the real world. Some of these teachers did things that were unconventional, and probably against some chart of rules developed by suits who hadn't taught kids since the 50's, but they did them anyway, because they knew they had to break through. They were unafraid, because their goals were different than the suits - they weren't just trying to get us through with the best test scores, they were on the front lines watching the generations of kids change. These teachers knew that socially, those high school kids were exploding - sex and drugs and too much money and not enough attention from busy parents were driving my generation. The good ones understood you couldn't just stand up there and lecture, you had to make them learn.

It's a passion, teaching. It's about being creative. It's being flexible, it's being willing to try things differently, instead of just doing the same old thing and hoping it sticks.

I logged onto Facebook this morning to discover one of the good ones is gone. Not everybody loved him, he could be kind of gruff. He was a yeller. He didn't follow the rules, he broke them on purpose. He didn't pander to parents, and he didn't give a shit how much money you had (or didn't have,) it bought you nothing in his classroom. He didn't cut you any slack, unless you showed the courage to ask for help. Then he bent over backwards to help you, while still pushing you to do your best, then do better than that. Shut up, do it again. Don't stop.

I've spent my entire adult life knowing I wanted to be a teacher, but not really knowing why. In every job I've ever had, I have drifted toward the teaching, counseling and confidence-boosting of the people around me. It is maybe an inate trait. But it is also because of people like Mr House. And Max Brown. Teachers who gave me chances, and held me responsible. It is because of my cousins in Joplin, Missouri, who are now trying to not only teach, but locate the families who need more than an education to survive. It is because of the early childhood/special ed teacher in the Everman school district outside Ft. Worth, Texas, where families didn't come to parent/teacher conferences not because they don't care or can't be bothered, but because they're afraid they will be discovered and shipped back to hell on earth. She taught them as best she could, as if they were her own broken babies. From her I learned the good, and the bad: You can't save them all. You can only help them change their path.

My faith in teachers has shifted as an adult. As a child I thought teachers were evil, egomaniacal overlords who's job it was to break the thinker in you and make you get back in line. And then I met people who knew their job was to MAKE you think. Their influence has been great and evident in my parenting, my job choices, my empathatic nature, and I bow to them on this next leg of my life journey.

 

* I started to call this post "my faith in the education system." But I do not actually have faith in the education system, I instead have faith in people who choose it. These things are not the same.

 

Friday Wine Goodness: Welcome to Kansas, Trader Joe's.

  
 
And the people said, "Awww, yeah."

So yeah, I finally made it over to Trader Joe's and for a Friday afternoon at 2pm, it was insanely crowded. I'm glad I wasn't here to try and go in the first few days it opened. Us Midwesterners, we like to swarm new things. The good news all the freaky people who just wanted to try it will go back to HenHouse soon, and the rest of us can get our Two Buck Chuck without the hassle. But this was pretty cute - happy wine! (Note my fav - the La Crema in the background is only 16.99 here. Normally it's over 20.)

* Actually, it's welcome to Missouri, if you want to buy wine. The TJs on the Kansas side is grocery only, because Kansas is a little backward. Don't get me started.

 

What a long, strange trip it's been.

 Well, it's August now. I feel like I went straight from June to August, since July was spent driving across the country and relaxing at the beach. We got home late last week, and promptly threw an epic backyard party for our friends who were staying in our house, visiting from New Zealand. Now they are gone, too, and I spent the day washing sheets and towels and re-making beds and trying to avoid going outside, as it's 108 degrees. Record-breaking heat, the news says, and I don't doubt it, since it feels like you're standing under a hair dryer.

As much as I loved being at the beach, it's not always roses in a city the size of San Diego. I forget sometimes how insulated we are in the suburbs of the Midwest. Last week, as I was walking out of the nail salon admiring my freshly painted toes and sipping on the last of my Chai Tea Latte, I passed a homeless man eating from old California Pizza Kitchen boxes that he had pulled out of the trash right in front of the restaurant. The box and the pizza was crawling with ants, he was eating it anyway. He didn't seem to notice. My heart broke.

Perspective can be a bitch, sometimes. But I have it.

I am glad vacation is over, and happy to be home, despite the heat. It's been a good summer. I am refreshed enough, I have drank plenty of wine with old friends, I have done as much yoga as I could fit into my schedule (and that my stupid bum knees and shoulder will allow.) Since my return I have spent some quality time hanging out with my grandma, in what appears to be her last summer with us. I both wish for that and loathe the thought of it, drifting between not wanting to see her go and not wanting her to suffer.

I do wish that I were there again in San Diego, for BlogHer. I originally tried to make it work, when San Diego was announced as the city hosting the conference, to fanagle my vacation so that I would just stay for the conference. But in the end I couldn't justify the extra week, and I wouldn't have gotten to see my lovely friends from New Zealand. Another time.

Besides, now that I'm home and the house is quiet, I'm realizing that school starts a mere two weeks from today. I need to get organized. I need to start planning out my classroom and my lesson plans, I need to make sure the boys have shoes that fit and clothes that aren't torn or stained. And I need to make other plans, too, and here is where the other shoe drops.

My husband recently started a new job, back in California. North this time, in Silicon Valley. Right now, he is commuting, flyying out on Monday mornings and returning late Friday nights. We don't know yet if we are going to move out there or not, for now we are just playing it cool, making sure that the opportunity is what we think we signed up for, seeing how it goes. But it's likely that sometime in 2012, we will move back to California. The bottom line is that I'm functioning as a single mom with a full time job right now, or at least, when school starts in two weeks. I've never had this kind of day to day, hour to hour inflexibility in a job before. Thank God for my mother, who has become just as familiar with the Orthodontist's office as I am.

I'm excited and ready for the adventure, but I am also apprehensive and disappointed, now that I have this new teaching job I've wanted for so long. I worry about the boys, they are getting to an age where it's harder to start over and make new friends. They are just as excited and also apprehensive as I am, so far. But they miss daddy. We need to be a family.

So that's our big news. It's going to be an interesting year.