Cupcakes and the Courthouse (SOLSC Day 9)

We teased Michael today.  We were in the car, discussing the Elliott curse -- surely bestowed upon my husband's Irish ancestors by a peeved leprechaun -- and lamenting light-heartedly about the bad luck we often seem to have.  Michael agreed with our curse conspiracy theory and added that he too had felt the harsh blow of the Elliott bad luck.  Just the other day, he had dropped his cupcake at school and then proceeded to smash it accidentally with the leg of his chair.  We teased him and said that it wasn't bad luck, it was God's way of telling him he didn't need the cupcake.  The five of us laughed and ribbed each other a bit more, making the most of our unplanned drive.

And tonight I realized that my husband and I had made the same mistake as our son.  You see, the drive today was necessitated by a traffic citation that had been oddly processed by a courthouse 90 minutes from us.  The courthouse only gives information through pre-recorded message, so the only way to resolve the traffic citation's mix up was to appear in person. The line at the courthouse ribboned out of the office doors; my husband waited in the line, 25 people ahead of him.  And after the hour long wait, we were back in the car and on our way back home, but with the LA traffic, the return trip took twice as long. 

Hence, our discussion of the Elliott curse.

But we had it all wrong.  This inconvenient, somewhat frustrating, definitely stressful citation situation was not a punishment, but a blessing.  An entire afternoon with all of us together -- the boys brought books to read and for the most part, bickering was absent.  Sunshine spilled over the Spring-worthy blue skies and the
warmth of the afternoon lulled us into a sleepy state.  We teased, but we also laughed and listened and learned.  It was exactly what we needed -- an afternoon of togetherness and a bit of peace.  Today was our smashed cupcake and I thought it was wonderful.

Saying Goodbye

Summer vacation was nothing like I thought it would be and exactly what I needed it to be. At the start, I told my husband all about these great plans I had made, the daily schedule I had devised, and all I wanted to accomplish. I even had a little acronym I wanted to use as a "title" for our summer adventures. And then, I didn't do any of it. No schedule, no accomplishment, no acronym. I have to say, it was lovely. The boys and I spent hour upon hour at the pool -- beginning most of our days there and not getting properly dressed until lunchtime. We didn't rush anywhere, we didn't pack anything, and the only schedule came from the fact that the pool opened at 8, so we knew we had to wait until then to arrive. I learned amazing things about my sons, about how their minds and hearts work. Without the demands of the school year, we were free to talk, listen, and wonder together. I watched them play together, fight together and grow even closer to each other. Of course, they had their daily hourly skirmishes and there were a number of days when I thought the top of my head might actually combust in an outward display of my frustration, but those times were worth it for the moments of magic. Diving into the deep end, sprinting through the sprinklers, pizza picnics in the park and the last hours of the evening cuddled together reading books that made us cry -- we spent those long unplanned, unnamed days in love.

Now it is time for backpacks and notebooks. Lesson plans and lunchbags. I'm glad. Too much time away makes me antsy; relaxation begins to feel like laziness. I like thinking and planning and doing. But. We are two weeks into our school year, the boys and me both, and while we are adjusting well, I think we are all having a more difficult time time saying goodbye to summer this year. Or maybe, we are having a hard time saying goodbye to each other.

I Need a Pause Button

My Spring Break is coming to a close and I am not sure how I feel.  One part of me wishes I had done more, accomplished something substantial, completed a project -- anything I could point to and say, "That's what I did with my time." Another part of me longs for even more time to do very little, to sit and watch silly sitcoms with my boys, hear their wild stories, watch them dance their goofy dances.  And there is even another part (albeit, a very small part) that wants to be back at school because it uses parts of my brain that get mushy even after only a few days off.


When Spring Break started I thought that as a teacher I am lucky because I get to feel that excitement of Spring Break nearing, that anticipation of a week of frivolity.  Most people leave the joys of Spring Break behind as they enter the world of adulthood.  But tonight I don't feel so much lucky as I do conflicted.  It is always near the ends of these breaks when I have these fantasies of taking my family off to some remote small town in the middle America, spending our days working a farm, taking long bike rides and preparing impromptu picnics while our nights are filled with reading aloud to one another from great books and maybe singing together while one of us plays an acoustic guitar.

And then I remind myself that true happiness comes from finding satisfaction not only in the pursuit of dreams, but also in the delights of the present moment -- my four year old's head on my knee, an extra hour of sleep in the morning, nowhere to be tomorrow.

A Prize Pony?!

As for me, prizes are nothing. My prize is my work.
Katharine Hepburn


In an effort to keep my students at least a tad focused next week, I launched a contest today: "It's Almost Spring Break Sestina Sweepstakes!"  We had spent the week in the rain and tears of Elizabeth Bishop's "Sestina" and I wanted them to start turning their thoughts to sunshine (easy enough in our 80 degree weather today!) and to try writing a sestina on their own.  It is not the type of assignment I would grade, but I still wanted sincere effort, so the contest was born.  They will upload their sestinas to GoogleDocs, send me the link, and I will post them on the class website. Then, they will submit their vote for favorites and the highest vote-getter wins a prize.  It took until my last class  of the day to get the question, "What's the prize?"  Upon receiving the sharp look from my quizzical eye, she followed up with, "I mean, are we talking candy or are we talking pony?" 

"Somewhere in between," I said.

Really, it was a fair question.  Don't we often want to know what our reward will be for a job well done?  We use this information to determine whether or not something is worthy of our time, attention, skills and energy.  But maybe we need to be willing to give our effort even when we don't know what the reward might be, or if there will be one at all.   And maybe the best rewards are the ones we don't even know are coming.  Unsolicited compliments from my husband.  An "out-of-the-blue" thank you note from a student who graduated years ago.  The trust of a colleague who needs to talk.  A sincere hug of appreciation from a friend.  An extra half-hour in the sunshine with my boys. 

These rewards sustain us.  They keep us moving forward, keep us willing to help and hope. 

When I was eight, a pony would have been the best prize in the world.  But as I near 38, nothing can beat the rewards my students, my co-workers, my friends and my family surprise me with each day.

Mission Statements

"Any entity that attempts to operate without a mission statement runs the risk of wandering through the world without having the ability to verify that it is on its intended course."  Missions.com


I spent the morning leading a workshop on teaching Sunday School for pre-schoolers.  We talked greeting visitors, establishing sign-in procedures, preparing the classroom environment, engaging our learners -- every aspect of the Sunday School hour.  As we neared the end of our time together, I shared with the group that even though everything we had covered was worthy, that ultimately, the single most important element of Sunday School for pre-schoolers is that in church, they feel love.  In church, they feel love.  All that we do to prepare for and deliver those Sunday School lessons will not make one bit if difference if we do not accomplish our primary goal -- in church, they feel love.

As I stated this, my confidence in the statement made me sit up straighter, made my voice more steady and made my heart full.  I knew the truth of this statement, I believed it, and I wanted to share it with others.

And then I started to wonder, could I make a statement about that for the work I do in other areas of my life? The single most important element of education for high school students is that in school, they_______.
How about for my family?  The single most important element of my family is that as a family, we ______.  These were much harder for me to complete than the Sunday School one was.  Then again, Sunday School is one hour a week -- maybe that limited time frame allows for a more focused mission.  However, shouldn't it be easier to determine the top priority for something (like family or career) that dominates our lives?

As a family, we...care about and respond to the needs of each other?

In school, they...learn how to learn?

Those seem good, but are they the essence of what we do?

As part of my school's staff and leadership team, I have discussed mission statements, vision statements, goal statements, all kinds of statements over the past year.  I like the process and feel it is worthy, but it seems no matter which statement we craft or choose, someone takes issue with it.  Someone wants it stated a different way or worries it will give us permission to ignore other needs.  I think another problem may be that we fear making these statements because they immediately make us accountable.  What happens if we do not accomplish the statement?  What happens if someone realizes we fell short of our vision, our mission, our goal?  And perhaps most scary of all, what happens if we actually have to change in order to fulfill the statements we make?

So, facing that fear, here I go:

The single most important element of Sunday School for pre-schoolers is that in church, they feel love.
The single most important element of education for high school students is that in school, they matter.
The single most important element of my family is that as a family, we take care of each other.

And I am willing to fail, willing to fall short and willing to change to make each of those statements as true as it can be.

The Summer in Pictures

A last look at Summer 2010... (click on any picture to see a slideshow of them all)

The boys loved Kids Kamp: Saddle Ridge Ranch

We had a wonderful time at the Salvadore home for the 4th

Toy Story 3 was the best!

Lucas playing in the sandbox

The water is so cold!!

Lucas and Michael wait to go into the dinosaur museum

The boys prepare to embark on their Etiwanda hike

Nicholas loves his Starbucks chocolate milk

Look at that face!

Brothers reunited after Michael's trip to Oregon

We are going to miss our mornings at the pool

Mondays were Library Days -- so many books read this summer!

If we weren't at the pool, we were at the park

Vacation's almost over -- maybe we need to rest

I Once Was a Mermaid...

The summers of my youth were seasons of imagination and belonging.  I remember playing mermaid in my Aunt Joyce's pool -- the submerged lights would color the water a sea green as we constructed elaborate tales of mermaid life.  We'd swim until the sky had turned Egyptian blue and our fingers were wrinkled as raisins.  I remember sleepovers when we would giggle into our pillows and whisper too loud, too late.  All through June and July we would sprint through front-yard sprinklers, play hide-and-go seek in the dark, catch gutter snakes at Grandma's house.  We'd find sanctuary in the station wagon during fireworks on the 4th, and on rare but wonderful occasions, hail down the ice cream truck to buy Bomb Pops and Big Sticks for a quarter.

The "we" of my summer memories is not only my two brothers and me, but also my cousins. Summer was when we could spend the most time together, free from the school schedule, free to be completely ourselves.  

Now, as I watch my sons play with their cousins, the sweetness of summers past comes back to me.  How quickly it seems we left our games behind.  How easily we let the August nights, bathed in starlight and thick with the day's heat, lose their magic.  The rest of the year, cousins were usually relegated to weekends and birthday parties, but in the summer, any day held the possibility of the ideal in playmate -- part friend, part sibling --  the connection of family, but the novelty of an outsider .  I know we had moments of irritation, times when we would bicker or be ugly to each other, but we always knew that in the end, we were loved.  Summertime with my cousins was like salve on a small wound I didn't know I had.  Even remembering it now heals parts of me I didn't know were hurting.


I do not keep in touch with my cousins as well as I should.  None of them even live in the same state as me, which makes staying close even more difficult. However, my oldest son will be taking a trip with my mom to visit with this part of my family (and celebrate my grandpa's 80th birthday!) later this week.  I wish I could be there to share in the moment, but it feels good to know I am sending my son to spend time with people who already love him.  I am learning more and more each day that this is what a family must do if it wants to stay together -- already love each other.  Before my boys arrive for an afternoon of swimming with their cousins, they already love each other.  Even though experience has told us that at some point in the day, they will yell  or cry because of what one of them says to the other, they begin their time together already loving.  And by the time the day ends, they are already loving again.  They are not afraid of the fights; they yearn for the togetherness.

I don't often wish to return to childhood, but if I did get to go back, today I think I would pick the longest day of summer and I would spend it as a mermaid, a hider, a seeker, a popsicle-eater, a snake catcher, and a moonbather -- and I'd want all my cousins there with me.

Chili Fries & Chilly Thighs

This summer, we knew that we would not be taking a big Griswold-style family vacation.  But we wanted to infuse some enthusiasm into our summer break, have something to look forward to other than heat and laziness.  We decided on Thrilling Thursdays -- a mini-adventure each Thursday to embark upon as a family, low-cost or no-cost excursions meant to be fun and maybe even educational.  We eased into the summer with the boys creating summer collages and letters that shared what they hoped summer would include.  Since then, we have visited a dinosaur museum, started Kids Kamp, went to the movies to see Toy Story 3 (the first movie theater experience for Lucas!), and hiked into the foothills of our hometown.

This week when Thrilling Thursday arrived, we had not planned our weekly activity.  But it was Thursday, and so the Thrilling was a must. The weather limited our options -- over 100 degrees eliminates strenuous outdoor activity and any indoor activities were likely going to be a) crowded or b) expensive.   In the end, we drove the boys to the nearest AM/PM and bought them each a huge Icee (at only a buck each!), then stopped by the grocery store and gathered the fixings for a junk-food-delight of a lunch -- corn dogs and chili fries.  On the way home, Lucas put his Icee between his knees to hold the big cup steady.  When I let him out of his car seat, my fingers felt the frozen flesh of his little legs.  He and his brothers giggled as I snapped my hand away with feigned shock.  We decided that this Thrilling Thursday had its own name:  Chili Fries and Chilly Thighs!

After a sinful, satisfying lunch, we napped.  Then Daddy and the boys spent hours playing video games together and we finished the evening off with the lowest form of television entertainment, but some of the best family bonding we've had -- Wipeout.  Nothing makes men and boys laugh as hard as someone being pummeled by padded equipment.  Okay, I laugh a little, too!

Thrilling Thursday this week was fun and educational, even, I have to admit, without any advance planning on my part.  I learned that the specialness of our time together does not come from the activity we are doing as much as from our attitude about being together. We loved Chili Fries & Chilly Thighs day.  Somehow, giving it a catchy name and giving ourselves over to the silliness of it all made for a day we will remember as, if not thrilling, definitely fulfilling.
 

Blue Plate Moments

N. gave me the blue plate right after college.  We each had our little apartments and not nearly enough of what we needed to make a home.  Tight budgets and even tighter spaces meant we got by on very little.  When I opened my birthday gift that year and inside was the blue plate, I did think for just a moment that it was an odd present.  A plate?  Not a set of plates, but one single blue plate with a large yellow sunflower right in the center. "I saw it and it reminded me of you," she said, which is my very favorite thing to hear when I open a gift. It made me smile and it still does.

Fifteen years later, I have moved four times, married my best friend, had three children, taught more than a thousand teenagers at two different schools, and I still have my blue sunflower plate.  I am the only one in my family who eats from it.  I never decreed this or announced it as a household rule -- in fact, I don't think I have ever mentioned it at all -- but if the blue plate is clean, I am the one who uses it. My food always looks more delicious and mealtimes have a bit more joy on the nights I use my plate, much needed when I share the dinner table with boys who sometimes behave more like monkeys than children.  It may seem silly or inconsequential, but my blue plate makes me happy. It is my little reward at the end of the day, a dollop of evening sunshine.

Sunshine is certainly something we need!  It seems each day becomes crowded with bad news, gloomy forecasts and  plans gone awry.  At school, budget woes cause worries and we wonder what else can be cut.  In class, students may be unprepared, disengaged or defiant.  At home, tempers flare, toilets break, tantrums erupt.  If we let ourselves, we can be completely filled up with what is wrong.

Instead,  I try to seek out what is right.  A freshman smiling after reading his Cisneros-inspired vignette to the class.  A senior sharing news of her college acceptance, her voice giddy with pride and anticipation.  My almost three-year old asking me to marry him and my husband taking my hand in his while we sigh from exhaustion on the couch. Right now, the quiet that allows me to hear these words in my head and the Haagen-Dazs Chocolate Sorbet waiting for me in the freezer.

I  look for the blue-plate moments.  More often than not, they are sitting right there, just waiting for me to notice them.