You Say Goodbye, I Say Hello

I love to put away my Christmas tree ornaments. Not in the same way that I love putting them up, but also not in the context of, "Don't let the door hit you in the butt on the way out, Christmas."
Taking down the tree is an auld lang syne: I welcome new friends to the party, I give special TLC to those in need, and I say goodbye to those who are moving on. Ornaments from years' past sing of celebrations, whisper of forgotten moments; they dance for joy and cry silent tears.
At the end, the tree stands as it began - a blank slate, ready for the new. And so am I, on this final day of the year, wiped clean and ready to be filled again with the experiences of a new year.
Happy New Year's Eve. Goodbye, and hello!

Moments

I've lost myself a little bit this year. The finding of Julia begins with a spotlight on my boys of summer - my true north.

So, maybe not one for the record books ...

Okay, it's Mother's Day, right? Day of celebrating Mom by showering her with goodies and pampering? Uh-huh.


My day starts with screaming boys threatening to kill each other, and my husband sleeping through it all. I hoist myself out of bed at 7:15 - that's what I said, 7:15 - to referee and to get children out to the grocery store to stave off any domestic violence. As we're preparing to get in the car, my husband emerges from hibernation and says, "You don't have to do that. I can go." Well, by now I'm geared up for some coffee, so we just all pile in the car to go together. I've not showered as yet, and so I ask my husband if we're going to be doing something that involves us going out for Mother's Day. He looks at me quizzically and says, "ummmm ... I don't think so. Why? Is that what you wanted to do?" I told him a meal might be nice, so now were going out to lunch. Okay, bring on the pampering ...


That is, until my mother-in-law calls. Now my "going out to dinner" has turned into "spend a day at my mother-in-law's", the day after my husband has spent twelve hours in her loving custody the day before. As is normally the case, the boys are insane, my husband is trapped at the grill, and I'm left to tend to the madness. So NOT pampering.


Five hours later, I get to come home and spend a two hour overdue writing marathon with my older son, complete with tears, scribbling, and threats, because it didn't get done with Dad earlier in the day. The house is a disaster, and the only gift I received that I didn't buy for myself was a lovely recitation that my son made, not at home, but at school with his teacher. (Beautiful, by the way: the one really bright point in my day.)


So, there it is.  My day of goodies and pampering. Greatness. I love my family desperately, but this was maybe not their finest hour. I guess there's always my anniversary in August ... anyone wants to help my husband out with that, you just go right ahead.

The Best Mother's Day Gift EVER

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Happy Birthday to my little Dude

This has been an utterly exhausting day, and tomorrow will be no easier.  But I can't say good night just yet, because something needs to be said:
Eight years ago, at this moment, I pushed, and I prayed, and I cried, and I did them all over again.  He was a challenge from even before he entered this world.  And then eight years ago, three hours from now, after an emergency trip to the OR, he showed up with a wail and a squirm, and brought with him a breathtaking joy that I feel even in this moment, exhausted and shaking with the day, but filled with hope and expectation: in a small way, just as I felt that night.  Dude, you wear me out, you fill me up, you make everything an adventure:  how I love you.  You are the light that shines in my weary world.  Happy Birthday.

Oh, and By the Way ...

On February 27th, I threw away my Christmas cards:  riddled with guilt, in the middle of the night.  So there it is.

Dipping my Toe In

I fell off the wagon in a big way.  I don't have a good excuse - and what's even more silly:  I've had a lot to say.  So, instead of trying to catch up for two months by writing the great American novel in the next week, I'm going to start small.  Tonight, a picture that I'll be expanding on later - this weekend, we Lit it up Blue at my House.  A little blue light in honor of my boy - light of my life.

Girl's Night Out, Part 1

This what time I got home. Tomorrow morning I'm going to be sleep-deprived, dehydrated, and generally a pathetic mess. And I wouldn't trade one minute of it. Girl time is good for the soul, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

A Chair Full of Love

Some pictures speak for themselves.

Modeling Good Behavior

My husband has this innovative approach to persuade my sons to nap: he lays down with them "for a minute" so that they will calm down and go to sleep. He's been utilizing this method for several years, yet it often seems that the only person getting a nap is Dad. Do I smell a fraud, here?

Devastation

I try not to reveal too much information to identify me, for the security and privacy of my family. I'm going to make an exception to that rule today and tell you this: my beloved Pittsburgh Steelers broke my heart and left it on the turf of Jerry Jones' temple. I was so devastated that I needed a day to recoup before I could even write about it. I am still utterly disconsolate over it, and the awkward well wishes of a multitude of colleagues and students today, while sweet and well meaning, in large part merely salted the wound. I know this seems like insanity, and quite possibly, it is. What rational woman feels so passionately about a football team that is in a city half a country away?
For me, loving the Steelers was less a choice and more a condition of my upbringing. I grew up in Pittsburgh at a time when there wasn't much to sell you on the town except the Black n' Gold. I was part of a family and a community that came together to slough off the pain of a slumping steel industry and become a part of greatness. Then, the year after the Steelers third Super Bowl win against, that's right, the Dallas Cowboys, I found myself abruptly transplanted into the belly of the beast - right into Dallas, Texas. I was beginning junior high school, and my love for the Steelers was just one more thing to make me some foreign, undesirable element in the scene, along with a strange accent, an entire vocabulary of strange idioms, and a weird fashion sense. Those were the days . . .
It's been many years since my family came to Texas, and in many ways it's become my home. I met my beloved husband here, and together we founded the Circus. The accent has faded, along with many of the strange expressions. And yet, one link to the past has remained for me and my family: a passion for my beloved Steelers. This passion rests latent much of the time, appearing on the walls of my classroom and on "sports jersey day" or some other school event. But this year, this year . . . my Steelers came here, HERE, to Dallas, to play in the Super Bowl. It was an amazing experience for me and for my family. I got to take my children to see first hand the fervent loyalty of the Steeler Nation. I got to see the iconic Steelers' logo splashed everywhere in my Texas community. And finally, I got to join together with my parents, my brother, and my amazingly supportive husband to wear the Black and Gold; to talk of Roethlisberger's arm and the loss of Maurkice Pouncey and the staggering oversight of Jerome Bettis by the Hall of Fame balloting; and to watch in ecstasy and agony the game of games. The loss was crushing: I want to weep even now with my disappointment. And yet, in my sadness I am whole: I wore the Black and Gold today, and I held my head up with pride. To you, it's just a football game. To me, it's the still-strong connection with the community that shaped me. Win or lose, now and forever, I shout to the world:
GO STEELERS!

The silence before the circus . . .

Breathless Morning

When I opened my eyes at 6:00 AM, the world was holding its breath. I padded to the window to peer out onto an Earth asleep under its downy winter blanket, and I felt peace. I don't even dare go out to take a picture for fear of shattering the blessed stillness. I become part of the silent miracle for an endless moment, and I think, "At last, this is a snow day."

A light has just come on in the hall: the silence will soon yield to Act One of The Snow Circus. . . the world exhales, and we begin.

Venturing Out

I'm sure everyone will be pleased to know that I changed out of my jammies, scraped off a layer of gunk from my hair, and headed outside today. There is nothing like cabin fever to make one appreciate the simple pleasures in life, like coupon shopping. Did you know that they double the sets of coupons in the paper the weekend before the Super Bowl? Greatness. One of the fruits of our labor today will become an activity for tomorrow - valentine writing! Time for a little home-schooling . . . because enough is enough, already.

February 1. That's right - the first. Don't argue.

This is my blog for February 1. I'm well aware that the post time stamp tells you differently, but who are you going to believe?
In any event, the were the best shots I could get before everyone decided that frostbite was imminent and went indoors for . . . you guessed it: hot chocolate and a movie. That post bemoaning my family's addiction to all things digital? Well, I've decided that one might be forgiven their vices on a snow day.

Slacker

I've failed abysmally at my blog-a-day resolution. It's tempting to offer up some dramatic reason for my lapse involving my insane life, the astonishing mission to some higher purpose, or some other so-very-important activity absorbing my hours. Not the case. These socked feet have been at home for two consecutive snow days, heading rapidly toward a third. I have read three books on my Nook, made a fairly straightforward assignment for grad school into an epic of procrastination, eaten altogether too much junk, and played more Angry Birds than any human being should. And here's the kicker: I have loved every minute of it. Maybe tomorrow I'll change out of my pajamas . . . or not.

The Babysitter

I'm deeply saddened and more than a little embarrassed to admit that this is a picture of my children watching their fourth movie of the weekend. I'd like to say that such a thing rarely happens, but that would be a lie. We do spend many hours, too many hours, in front of the screen: Angry Birds on the iPhone, Wii in the family room, movies in the bedrooms, laptops all over the house. I tell myself that it's not so bad, but I know I'm deluding myself. Time to seriously rethink our screen time schedule and find some moderation.

A Tiny Break

NO ONE should be hunched in front of a computer for as many hours as I have been in the last 3 days. But, I found the time to venture out into the rare gift of a sunny, glorious January afternoon and take the Circus on tour. And so, in the final clutches of long-overdue sleep, I share with you the good deed that shone a light on my weary world.

Invasion of the Flat Dudes

My house runneth over with these guys. Earlier this year, my older son read the story of the famous flat traveler and created one to send off into the great, wide world. However, not being one to let things go quite so easily, he decided to create a flat companion at home. He liked it so much, he created another. And another. Like hobbies tend to do here in the Circus, it soon spiraled into overkill. At the peak of Flat-o-mania, we had well over 25 flat friends lurking about: napping under couches, building with Lego's, having a snack in the pantry. Anyone who deserved an apology received a flat peace offering - his brother has an entire flat football team. Visitors to the Circus often leave with a flat party favor. After a while, our flat wardrobes escalated from simple solids to T-shirts emblazoned with our favorite movie robot (oh, yes - some things never change) or the backwards "F" of our favorite monster burrito shop. The madness has subsided a bit, but occasionally the urge to wax flat re-emerges: like magic, a new friend will appear for breakfast, or a homework buddy will stand vigil over the math worksheet, and we welcome him into the fold.

One minute mantra post: this week, I have 175 pages to read, two interviews to conduct, approximately 30 pages of written essay assignment to complete, cookies to bake, a booth to run, and a family to remember is the reason for it all . . . "I can do anything for just one year; I can do anything for just one year . . ." Sing it with me, people . . .

Have Backpack, Will Travel

Contrary to what you might think, this is not merely a backpack. No, no - this is a traveling circus. In this humble bag lives, on any given day, 6 months of graduate work, 2,000 grades, 5,000 emails, 10,000 words of professional development notes, blog entries, Facebook posts, ARD packets, private evaluation packets, daily schedules, and a menagerie of drawings, books, pencils, flash drives, earrings, and other flotsam of the show. I can juggle, walk the tightrope, swing from the ceiling, and emcee it all from wherever I land. Don't mock the backpack - it's magic.

Sick Sunday

We've had sickness floating around our house for several weeks: first some unnamed bug, then strep, now influenza. That amounts to way too many days off of work and school, too many trips to the doctor, and too many fights over taking medicine. The silver lining, however, is that our house, unlike many, is much more peaceful on sick days. Boys get along better, play is more subdued, and everyone submits to a hug from Mom just a bit easier. Everyone is doing fine, but the Mommy in me can't help but go check just one more time before bed. Sleep tight, my babies, and be well.

Saturday Celebration

Well, they gave us some moments of panic; but, in the end, they brought it home. GO STEELERS! On to New England (unless something truly SHOCKING occurs tomorrow). Please notice that I am raising my boys right. My Cowboys-loving husband doesn't stand a chance.

Circus Music

Many years ago, when our family of four was a family of two, we discovered online music sharing with Napster.  I loved the song "Forever Young".  Not the one by Rod Stewart; the other one.  At the time, I was not clear on who that "other" was, exactly, and searching for information online was not quite as seamless as the Google magic of today.  In any event, I was simply desperate to hear this song, so desperate that I was willing to resort to dubious measures.  I started digging, and found not only my song (sung by Alphaville, by the way), but another gift buried in the mountains of insane music:  a shared passion with my husband.  That first night, we spent over six hours looking, listening, talking, and simply enjoying our time together.  Over the years, we have shared endless afternoons and deep nights engrossed in music new and old, although the times have become fewer as other joys and other obligations have absorbed our time. 

Tonight, as the boys clamored over mice trapping (please refer to yesterday's post), my husband and I whiled away the evening populating the playlist for this blog.  We debated over song choices, pored over years of playlists, and picked songs that spoke to us ("Carry on My Wayward Son"), songs that made us laugh ("Justified and Ancient" by the KLF), and songs that are, quite simply, greatness ("Fat Bottomed Girls").  We laughed and talked over each other; we yelled out through the house and put off a whole evening's worth of urgent whatnot, and in the midst of an ordinary evening, we had Date Night.  So tonight instead of a visual, the Circus offers you an audio.  We hope you enjoy our labor of love.  And, if you're interested, we added "Forever Young" by Alphaville. 

My Nemesis

My older son adores this game. He can set up the pieces in about 30 seconds and then send the poor mice to their doom for hours. A child engaged in productive play - sounds like Nirvana, right? Not always. For example, this little gem was only recently returned after a day of time-out. Why? Because someone decided to wake up at an hour most unholy for an early morning mouse hunt. I'm not sure what first awakened me, but I realized exactly what game was afoot when I heard the tiny "plink plink" of a steel marble headed down a zig-zag ramp from across the house. The game didn't start out in his room, mind you; this child, whose idea of whispering can be heard in the house next door, tiptoed through the house and retrieved this game, took it in to his room, and performed the whirlwind setup all without making a whisper of ruckus. When I went to investigate, I was greeted with a chipper, "Hi, Mom! Look at my mousetrap! I got up at 5:02 to make it!" So, after a review of appropriate wake up time (NOT before 6:00 AM, for goodness sake!), we began what was a very long day of listening to an endless litany of, "When do I get back the game, Mom? I promise that I'll get some sleep. Can I play the game if I get up at 5:59? Can I build the trap then get back in the bed? What if . . ."


I think I'm beginning to hate this game.

Task Avoidance

I have two different professional development sessions to present tomorrow, a grant proposal due Friday, 5 350+word essays analyzing two master's course reading assignments due next Tuesday, 50 students preparing for a benchmark test next week, a staggering mountain of laundry sitting in my hallway, and about 100,000 papers to grade. So of course I am updating my status, researching the X-factors for my Steelers' upcoming playoff game (side note: Steelers' head coach Mike Tomlin looks shockingly like actor Omar Epps from the Fox series House), watching Bill Cosby's Himself ("Thank you, toilet . . ."), and otherwise finding any possible way to put off any real work.  Stay tuned over the next five days for more signs that I am off task!

Making Your Outlook Calendar Work for You on Prezi

A Secret

Today is my brother's 46th birthday. It's a secret. Not really by intention: this is a secret of passing time, not dark design. My brother died many years ago, and it was of course a painful loss for my family; a pain compounded by the shame and guilt that comes with a young life lost to addiction. In the years before his death, we suffered a slow dying of the son, the brother we loved and remembered. It made the final end all the more agonizing for the secret, shameful relief. Too few words were said in the years following - too few words for the sea of emotions. And then, somehow, that pain recedes. Not gone, never gone: simply swallowed up by the events and the emotions of the present. Then, on these days, you unpack those emotions: the grief, the guilt, the loss, the love; and you air them out and give them a look. You try them on to see how they fit. For me, this day draws me to my mother, who endured that unspeakable loss and still manages to be an extraordinary person; and to my children, who I watch love each other the way I loved, and still love. I saved this story for the last event of my day, so that I could honor my brother with the peace that long eluded him in his life. Tomorrow, this moment will again be overwhelmed by the mundane, a secret once again; but, in this quiet night, his memory is my companion, and now yours.
Happy Birthday, Ben.

Back to School : Grad course #6

My constant companions for the next five weeks. Feel free to email me at 2 AM; I'll be awake.

A Flake in the Hand

You know how you have a to-do list as long as your arm and you just have to chuck it out of the window? Today was one of those moments: one minute, it's a dreary, rainy Sunday, and the next, it's magic. In an instant a freezing drizzle transforms into fat, wet flakes of Southern snow and the papers, the laundry, the homework all becomes inconsequential. I mean, really - who can concentrate on such trivia? It's SNOWING! The day has become sock mittens and catching flakes on your tongue and steamy mug of hot
chocolate. The to-do list can wait.

Lazy Day After

I spent altogether too much time on this couch today, and it was worth every wasted second. Tomorrow, I'll be productive!

January 7, 2011

This is my birthday post, although it is officially the day after. Like any day, some of today's moments were less than ideal. But, in this moment, I see only smiles. Tonight, I danced - to me, the purest expression of joy. I laughed - so much laughter, my muscles ache with happiness. I sang - poorly, and loudly, and proudly. I watched a friend stand up and shine with talent and confidence, and I screeched along with her in celebration. Tonight, I gave and received love, and I am complete. Happy Birthday to me.

The Choice

This week the bombshell that isn't - the 'landmark study' linking childhood vaccines to autism has been proven (again) to be fraudulent. For many, this is news. For me, it's absolution. When my first son was first identified on the spectrum, I was pregnant with my second son. Well-meaning (and not so well-meaning) friends, family, and fellow new mothers fed me one cautionary tale after another - articles, books, virulent websites - on how vaccines had possibly damaged my first son and would do the same to my next one. Did they know how much pain it caused me, that guilt and fear? Probably not. But I wrestled with them both as I did my own exhaustive research, then made my choice. I had my second son follow the same vaccination regimen as the first, and was openly challenged by many. Everywhere I turned, it seemed that Jenny McCarthy, autism support groups, and 'mothers-in-the-know' of one type or another were decrying my choice, despite the mountain of science that declared the connection nonexistent. Who WAS this Dr. Wakefield guy, anyway? I explained my decision to one and all, whether they deserved an explanation and, at times, whether they asked for an explanation or not. Because in the darkest part of the night, I would lie awake haunted by doubts and fear.
My second son had his shots, and he developed normally. I put this battle aside, until now, and lived to fight another battle on another day. But millions of mothers lived in unnecessary fear, and priceless time and resources have been invested in battling paper soldiers. Tomorrow is my birthday, and when I blow out my candles, my wish will be for victory in the real battle.

The Ghosts of Christmas Past

These cards are the final echoes of Christmas 2010. Every year the cards linger long after other trappings of the holidays have retreated into the shadows of closets, toy boxes, and attic corners. They shuffle back and forth between table, counter, desk, holding a silent vigil for the Christmas spirit. I find myself in a sort of emotional stand-off between my inner selves: I long to free my counter space of holiday flotsam; yet, I am consumed with guilt for my lack of sentimentality. I resolve to make a scrapbook, a collage, a placemat - anything to stave off that dark desire to trash the whole business. Five years I have resolved, only to succumb on some gloomy day in February when my winter purging instincts overwhelm me. Surely, this year will be different.
And so they sit. . . for now . . . ask me again on March first.

Hurry Up And Wait

My resolution to blog every day held for exactly two days. Inspiring. In any event, I'm jumping back on the wagon as I sit here in yet another waiting room and fill out yet another set of paperwork. Much of what we do in the Circus involves hurry up and wait. "Your child is in crisis - you need to intervene NOW. Oh, and by the way, the waiting list is three months long." "You must put your child on a 15-year waiting list for adult transitional care, and you have only 14 days left to reply before you lose your spot." "We have to decide today what modifications your child will need on a test he will take two and a half years from now."
And so we rush, and then we wait. Today, I'm waiting while my littlest man builds and talks and taps away, all under the appraising eye of yet another professional. When we leave today, we'll wait another 3 to 5 weeks for results, then rush off to the next wait. And it will be worth every minute . . . right?

My Demons

This stack of ungraded papers has stalked me my entire winter holiday. It represents some of the personality gremlins that have followed me all of my life: distractibility, procrastination, and a low threshold for frustration. I spent two weeks trying not to think about them, having a fit of guilt every time I saw the crate. Then I've spent three times as long as necessary grading them because everything else in my house suddenly seems more urgent. To top it off, I have a raging headache from quizzes that keep insisting that sand dissolves and salt floats. (Funny the first time; not so much the fifteenth.)
And so, at the bright, shiny start of a new year, I vow to battle my demons. Anyone experienced in bad habit exorcism, please apply.

Welcome 2011

My friend Janelle completed the amazing task of documenting 2010 through a picture-a-day blog. I am so impressed with her diligence that my New Year's resolution is to do the same. And so, I begin with our New Year's Day trip to IHOP. There's nothing like pancakes to greet the new year!