Truth or Dare

You know the deal. We've all done it, the party game created for the sole purpose of creating discord and drama with a (sometimes excessive) dash of embarrassment. However, the idea behind the game is actually kind of solid: you either admit something difficult aloud or do something you wouldn't normally do. It's like, here's a way to push yourself to say or do that which you're trying to avoid facing, right?

So using the same principle I do with my students -- I wouldn't ask anything of them I'm not willing to do myself -- I thought I'd play a self-guided adult version of the game (but not that kind -- mind out of the gutter!).

Truth: I want more for my daughter than I've made myself. Maybe not a secret--I think every parent feels this to some degree--but the truth is, there are areas where I've settled...because it's safe or expected or easy or comfortable. For all of her three years, Grace has a heart of gold and balls of steel; I hope they guide her true to a life of risk and adventure and challenges...which will in turn lead to her writing her own story with her own unique happy ending.

Dare: Step into the spotlight and let others see the real you, whoever you may be. I hate speaking in front of a group, so literally every day when I teach, I spend part of the time wiping my sweaty palms across my hips to steady myself. Moreso, it petrifies me to think people read what I write...it's like cracking open a big fat glass of my soul and letting others drink deeply...I just hope they appreciate the flavor, even if they don't like it. Yet, I love sharing words and ideas and stories; you need to hurt if you want to heal.

Truth: No one here gets out alive (I'm pretty sure someone brilliant said that...it was Jim Morrison, by the way). Hard, cold honesty right there. So many of us are afraid of time passing, of failing, of dying. But time will pass, we will fail, and we will die. Those are absolutes (along with taxes, I suppose). So it might take 3 years (seriously, my daughter is the original Lil' Ass Kicker!), 32 years (fingers crossed), or 103 years. Be weird and wonderful and wild. Because that is what will make a difference.

Dare: It's easier said than done, even though it is so very easy to say: Just. Live. Laugh and cry, smile and frown, jump and fall. Try something new: visit with a long-distance friend, or dance in the rain while everyone is watching, or ink your baby's name forever into your skin (I'm planning behind my ear, headache-be-damned), or do whatever exactly it is you need to do to help you solve the puzzle of life. 

Seriously, just live: I dare you.

True Colors

You know that adult coloring is a thing now, right? It's everywhere: coloring books geared to grown-ups with intricate and abstract designs, Color Between the Wines events, and local studios hosting coloring parties...It. Is. Everywhere. So what kind of pseudo-wannabe-trendy hipster would I be if I didn't join in at least once?

A few of my favorite ladies joined me for a night out of coloring, sipping (BYOB...gotta show some restraint), and chatting about nothing and everything all at once.

And if I do say so myself, we (okay, fine, they) created masterpieces (and I chose a picture from the book entitled Unicorns are Jerks...apparently fine art is not my thing...what a shock!)

(And seriously, it's a wonder that these lovely ladies are willing to be seen with me!) As for my in-progress handiwork -- the judgmental unicorn won me over; what can I say?

And beautiful (from them) or tacky (from me) pictures notwithstanding, it was a fun night. We tussled over which picture to choose, which pencil to use, and how well Peeps paired with wine (as it turns out: not well, lol).

So yes, I -- a 32-year old wife, mother, and full-time professional -- spent two hours out with friends so we could color. Apparently, the trend is big right now because it's supposed to be therapeutic. Well, I'm not sure if the coloring has any bearing on the relaxation, but I am damn sure that a night with the smart, wonderful women I'm fortunate enough to call my friends is exactly what I needed...and that's why I love them. 😉

ABC of Family

Sometimes, when you just can't handle all the obstacles life tosses at you alone, it's necessary to call in the reinforcements. For me, that means calling on my big brother Jeremy.

I talk to my brother fairly regularly (though not as often as I'd like), but it's usually "just because", not for any particularly pressing matter. When I spoke to him late last week, though, I asked for the reinforcement: "Can we hang out sometime soon, just the two of us?" Every once in awhile, I just need to hang out with a blood-relative to bond over and lament our mutual difficulties. His answer was, of course, exactly what he's always said: "That's what big brothers are for."

Demonstrating that he really does know how to calm his little sister, he suggested a trip to the Appalachian Brewing Company, a place where we could indulge in conversation, bar food, and beer.

And even more impressive, our brother/sister get-together didn't have any obligatory heavy discussion topics; it was just a matter of hanging out with family and enjoying an afternoon out...with lots, and lots, and lots of disgustingly delicious fried food...nom...

Once we decided that we were going to (almost) entirely avoid any heavy issues, we talked The Walking Dead, work, and what the kiddos have been up to lately. We split poutin and blue cheese-balsamic glazed chips. And yes...yes, we did finish them completely.

Since that didn't clog the arteries enough, we also each had 10 wings, even though I brought more than half of mine home. Sweet & smokey...yum...

Food and family are tremendously cathartic for an aching heart. Don't get me wrong: Jeremy still makes it clear that he's the big brother and he'll laugh at me, be embarrassed by me, or pull rank on me whenever he can. He laughed when I nearly flattened the suicidal pheasant that ran into the road on the way to the bar, and he tried to hide his face on the way home when I used an anonymous family's driveway (like, the entire driveway) to turn around after a missed turn. 

Challenges abound every single day, but when you can fall back on bros and brews...well, it's hard to feel too bad, isn't it?

Bluebirds & Mockingbirds

It seems like a highly personal story: two children, an older boy and younger girl, raised by a single parent who continually stresses the value of kindness and family. The girl is a tomboy with a quick temper and an even quicker response to everything. Jeremy -- the ideal older brother -- is the best friend and role model his sister could imagine. Kind of my early-life story, actually.

But more significantly, yes, even moreso than my own memories, is the story from which these details are actually drawn: Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird. For obvious (to me & my life) reasons, I've loved this book from the moment I cracked open the first page to learn exactly how Jem broke the arm that ended up just a bit shorter than the other one.

Harper Lee died today. At 89 years old, she's the author of one of the definitive novels of the 20th century and the product of one of the more questionable publishing decisions of the 21st century (I clearly have very strong feelings about Go Set a Watchman and its bumpy path to becoming a public work).

Yet for the publication of (essentially) only one book in her lifetime, Harper Lee managed to touch hearts and minds alike. Why? Because she understood. We're all just trying to understand what we're doing, to find someone else who understands us. 

It might be a shared laugh at just the wrong moment. It might be the realization that there is just one other person who is just as big a screw-up as you are. And it might be a childish innocence that leads to a casual greeting belying the significance of the moment.

But no matter what: at the end of the chapter, at the end of the book, at the end of the realization of how very real a simple story can be, you know just how much the words matter.

Harper Lee and her eloquence prove my point. It's about the words, the stories, the very life-force. We love...we live...because, at the end of each day, we find comfort in our shared joys and pains. And that...that very notion, is exactly what forms the humble, broken, and perpetually hopeful:

And once you close the book, don't forget to start fresh on a new page, a new story...a new start.

Happy tales, dear readers.

The Waking Dead

I'm all for chasing your dreams, but my own quest has become a bit (way) too literal lately. See, it seems that of all the things I seek, sleep is the most elusive. This is my most common view at night; I spend much of my time watching the fan blades blur around in the dark, even as my eyes quickly adjust to the blackness to give me a clearer view.

I have no trouble falling asleep. In fact, it's becoming increasingly common that I wake at some point, light on, book or phone in hand, face-planted into my pillows. Hence the weird and wonderful stack of stories on my bedside shelf.

No need questioning the dark nature of my nocturnal story time. I've always had trouble sleeping, and when I was in high school, I tried those nature/soothing sounds/babbling brook CDs (dating myself, I know); the only thing those discs did was make me have to pee. What did help me doze was the...raw...musical stylings drifting up from my older brother's room one floor below. My own preferences and time have merged with those days to create the current bedtime playlist I use in dire circumstances:

Eclectic, no? Love it or leave it (but if you leave it, you lose...), these are the sounds that lull me into dreamland. (Though, woe be to anyone who falls under the influence of Johnny Cash's rendition of "Hurt" for your dreams...yikes...just rip your heart out now.) My point is, I don't find ease, or comfort, or peace, in that which is traditionally soothing. I need a bit of sour with my sweet. Case in point? Couldn't sleep last night, so what'd I do? Well, I watched The Walking Dead, of course, in the midnight hours.

And after watching a phenomenal and terrifying hour delving into the survival of humanity in the darkest depths, I went back to sleep, deeply and peacefully (until 5am, that which the toddler and the dogs find a perfectly sufficient wake-up time, day off be damned).

It's hard to explain sleeplessness to someone who doesn't experience it, and I've no concrete proof of why it happens to me. I tend to think it's being a victim of over-imagination, of indulging in worries that never come to fruition. But as long as I can chase away...as long as I can defeat...the monsters, real or imagined...my methods are good enough for me.

Sweet dreams, my loves. 

Winter Winds

Much as I genuinely enjoy the beauty and chill of winter, the last several days have been trying. I mean, there's not much excitement at being kept indoors because the cold literally takes your breath away...and this is a snapshot of a warmer part of the day.🙄

So with a four-day weekend (HAPPY DANCE!!!) wrapped up in an Arctic wave, how does one fend off the cold? I recommend multiple variations of B-treats. First off? Boots. Warm (most important!), comfy (close second), and cute (shallowly significant).

Next, if you must venture out, a beanie -- cute and stylishly-slouched -- is required. Seriously, how cute am I (she says with tongue firmly in cheek)?!

And, okay, it's not technically a B, but a button-down flannel really can't be beat for comfy. What is technically another B-treat? Um, books, of course! While I have plenty of much-loved and unread options on my shelves, a trip to the local library (aka a bibliophile's Mecca) was worth the trek into the frigid air. As always, a leisurely stroll through the shelves resulted in a treasure-trove of new material.

(Quick tangent: how much do I love that my local library has labeled banned books with a red "warning" sticker, the reader's equivalent of sneaking into the adult section? Beautiful. Though I had to chuckle that The Dead Zone was the only one of Stephen a King's books labeled because...y'know...Stephen King...)

 

Most indulgently, I also recommend some booze. Does it keep you warm? Well, technically, no...but we're fickle creatures,  so we'll take what we can get. It's not just soda in that glass...😉 And if you're curious or forgetful or have never been around me: rum. It's always rum.

Finally, and most importantly...buddies. Time's not usually worth having unless you're spending it with those you love, even (or maybe especially) if your weekend bestie is a toddler with an Elvis-lip.

Wind chills and ice spots and flurries aside...this weekend has been pretty darn warm. Not a bad way to spend four days.

You're Joking, Right?!

I always find myself telling stories about my work: the students, the discussions, the colleagues...all of it. When you work in a building housing a few thousand people who circulate around every 50 minutes, you're bound to get some ammo in the narrative arsenal. Just a few examples?

We dismissed early today due to weather conditions. Our (actually quite wonderful) building principal announced the news at the end of 3rd period, clarifying the schedule and ensuring that we'd end the day AND ring the final bell at the same time. A senior student, standing directly behind me, voiced the obvious retort: "No shit." She profusely apologized for the language, only to explain that...really? Wasn't it obvious? You're joking, right?!

As we meandered through the rest of the day, an impossibility of being productive once the early release was announced, my students grew far more interested in idle chitchat than anything resembling work. It's what led to my story of a student offering religious pamphlets in exchange for each day I taught a lesson on Dante's Inferno. They're retort: you're joking, right?!

Nope, not joking. Nor am I joking when I tell you that, in an exercise to teach the steps of literary analysis, a group of honors (we use the term loosely, lol) English 11 students perused Green Eggs and Ham to find a...less-than-savory...interpretation. I'll allow you to extrapolate, but it led to the following label on my 3-year-old daughter's (shudder!) book:

You're joking, right?! Once again...nope. I could keep the stories rolling for hours (days?) when it comes to sharing the weird and wonderful experiences in my classroom. 

But you know what else I could share?  I could tell you about the kids who stop in to visit every morning just to say "hi". I could tell you about the kids who print memes for me to add to my classroom collection. And I could tell you about how funny, and kind, and witty are the adolescents in my classroom. You might doubt me. You might question my sincerity. To which I'd say...you're joking, right?!

These students are our future, and thank God for that.

Snow Drifts

Anyone who's ever talked to me or met me or seen me knows that I tend towards the darker, the non-traditional. So it's no surprise that, while I love sun and surf and sand (Key West is still the dream), my favorite season is winter.

I love the sparkling snow crystals, the perpetual nip in the air, the nagging desire to be warm and cozy inside while the wind gusts harshly outside. 

I think a lot of people are discouraged by the desolation of winter: it's a time of darkness, of death, of stillness. It can, like anything, be ugly...dirty...difficult, reveling in the isolation it brings.

But sometimes there's beauty in the stillness, in the seclusion. Would the brilliant red flowers be so bold, so pronounced, without the dreary backdrop?

And even when the colors don't pop across your eyes, isn't there something to be said for a sky drawn in pastels rather than the boldest markers?

Flushed cheeks are a sign of some of life's greatest joys: laughter, satisfaction (of various types), health, warmth...and it can be conjured by a simple evening stroll with the biting winter wind as an accompanist.

I look forward to the promise of new beginnings in spring, but until then, I'll enjoy the hidden warmth that winter brings to tide us over until the last snows melt. 

Stay warm, loves.

When I Grow Up

I got an awesome email from a former student (a current senior) today thanking me and letting me know that she got into her #1 college choice...woohoo!

I've also been hit with a deluge of current and past students stopping in to get my advice on course selection for next year. We talk about goals after high school and potential college majors and just about any other possible consideration for determining the rest of their damn lives when they're only 16 or 17 years old. And while it's both flattering and frightening that they seek my input, I feel a bit like a fraud. See, while I talk through the choices with my amazing students (they are the greatest joy in my job), I come to realize: I'm still not entirely sure what I want to be when (if?) I grow up.

I really do love my job (most days). I really do love my family and friends (all of the days). But I still wonder: what more can I do, what more can I be? And I've decided...I want to be Grace, my 3-year old.

Hear me out, okay? I don't actually want to be her literally (me as a mother? *shudder*). But I want to be like her. Grace is vibrant and joyful and ready for anything life tosses her way. For instance? Sidewalk sledding. She wanted nothing more than to fly down our snow-covered walkways, nary a doubt in her mind at the authenticity of the venture.

She creates joy and excitement in the most mundane activities (despite our Lab's reluctance).

And even if it's just bopping through the living room, she knows she's a rock star every minute of every day. Yes, that is a dog-shaped guitar on which she's jamming.

My greatest accomplishment on a given day? Making myself a pseudo-homemade dinner...with extra dipping sauces...nomnomnom...

So students are planning how they'll rule the world and Grace is kicking ass on every (large or small) challenge she faces in her toddler life and I? Well, I revel in the joy of a simple dinner...or a brave & bold toddler who's yet to learn about fear...or the teenagers who don't know (but I do!) that they really will rule the world (so much better than my generation has managed). And until they do? I'll keep planning what exactly I want to do when I grow up.

Dream big, sweethearts. 😉