a thrilling/nerve-wracking/what-am-I-doing endeavor February 22, 2012

Naps are good. I love them. Usually I love them because I get a few more hours of sleep in the day, and nothing feels better than curling up on my bed, in the sunlight, and dozing off for an hour or so.

But sometimes naps provide inspiration via dreams.

Or so I’ve been told. It’s never really happened to me unless you consider a dream of me making out with Jeff Tweedy inspirational (and in a way, it is inspirational, but also hugely disappointing once I awake).

But then something happened the other day. I was taking a nap–a really short nap, I think I had only been asleep for about 20 minutes–when an idea came to me. A good idea. An inspiration.

Well, that’s not entirely true. For a few days I had all these ideas in my head–from President Obama’s State of the Union address to a student commenting on the un-importance of writing due to SIRI to a fan letter I sent–but they were just ideas, things I was thinking about, but during my nap, it all came together: an idea, a creative endeavor.

I’m going to write a book. Non-fiction.Concerning writing and reading.

Sounds boring, doesn’t it?

But it won’t be. In my nap state, everything came together with such clarity. I knew how I wanted to write it, how I wanted it to look, and the overall purpose of it.

The feeling was exhilarating.

But then came the logistics: while I know I can write this, I also know that I’m going to need help, probably from an agent or a publishing group. And not necessarily in terms of money, but more in the ways of making connections. So, I thought. And thought. And thought. And I came to realize:

 I am nobody. It’s true. I have no real ethos for this kind of endeavor, except for a few articles I’ve written and a book that I myself have termed “incredibly shitty.” What I do have is passion and a deeply rooted sense that I can do this. But I doubt I can sell myself on this alone.

So I thought. And thought some more. And I realized:

I am somebody. And I believe in myself and this project. I can do this if I set my mind to it.

And I thought and thought some more and realized that I’m going to need a few chapters written before I start pitching my idea and trying to sell myself as a writer. So I called some friends, and they believed in me, and helped me see the connections I already do have.

So, here I go. An idea I believe in. A hope that some friends can connect me to a few important people. Some time to write a few great chapters. An overwhelming sense of fear that I’ve just added one more thing to my already busy life, but a feeling that it’ll be worth it in the end.

Because I care about the arts and I feel creative and I want to encourage creativity, and for the first time in my life, I really believe in myself and my ability.

Wish me luck.

super shitty first draft February 5, 2012

I’ve been meaning to write about this for a while, but it’s really hasn’t been on the forefront of my mind.

I finished the first draft of my novel work-in-progress. Like 2 months ago.

There it is. 179 pages, 79,405 words of ABSOLUTE  shit.

But, it’s MY shit, and that makes me proud.

I won’t even begin editing it until the summer, and to be honest, the thought of editing seems more daunting than writing it. There’s just so much to fix.

But, I’m letting it go for now. For now, I know it’s just a really shitty first draft, but that it can get better, hopefully much better. For now, I’m thinking of how I accomplished something I never in a million years thought I could or would. I learned a lot about what it means to be a writer and how difficult it can be and how I know absolutely nothing about the craft and yet, I still did it (Who told me only people with MFAs or PhDs could be writers? Ha. Shakespeare didn’t have an MFA [though let me make it clear that I was not inferring a comparison between me and Shakespeare).

But you know what I learned most of all? I really, really liked the entire process, despite the frustrations. I never saw myself as a writer and now I crave it as my career.

Maybe that’s just a pipe dream, but for now, that thought, that dream satiates me.

 

finishing up the work year December 30, 2011

I’m going to be backtracking a bit in the next few days, so I thought it would be appropriate to start with how my job almost killed me this quarter/semester.

I’m only half-kidding. I don’t know if it was the fact that I just really got used to summer relaxing, but when fall quarter/semester hit, I just felt overwhelmed. I think I made my job more difficult on myself by using the wikis so much that I felt constantly behind.

But whatever, it’s over.

And it was down to the wire for me getting my grades in on time.

(The beginning stages: organizing into piles)

(Organized)

(Grading like a mad woman)

(Everything is graded. Now organizing into separate piles)

(Swear to God I had to use my entire office to do this)

I finished with a half hour to spare, but I felt like I had run a marathon. The only highlight of this grading marathon was when a student inserted this into his essay for me:

Yes, I am that dorky.

oh, inverted world August 18, 2011

The title of this blog post is outright and unabashedly  plagiarized from The Shins 2001 album. Did I like the album? Yes. Did I love the album? No, love is too strong of a word. Did I love the title? One of the best I’ve ever seen. Does it sum up these past few weeks?

Without a doubt.

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of life, in all its forms–good and bad–tumbling and crashing and exploding in great bursts of energy and insight and awareness and quite frankly, pure terror. It’s like everything I know to be true about my life has somehow been turned upside down. Oh, it’s an inverted world I’m inhabiting. A different world. But I think, I hope, I’ll be just fine.

It all started with almost four entire days of no kids. Luke went with his dad to Seattle and my parents and Aunt Judy took Maddie. From Saturday around noon to Tuesday, 3p.m. I had no one to be responsible for but myself. I had been looking forward to this little break for a month, and I dreamed of how absolutely wonderful it would be to have time to myself, time to write, time to play with friends. I had a lot planned and I took advantage of every minute during this time period. What I didn’t expect to happen, however, was a full blown self-awareness attack of who I am. The long days of freedom gave me time to think, to let the past few months of introspection and therapy come blasting through me with full force. Which kind of beat me up and knocked me down for a while. But, like any true fighter, I got up again, dusted myself off, and realized how thankful I am for the change, this new inverted world.

But first, the freedom without kids began with a night out with my friend Jenny. She left her kids and husband and joined me for some dinner and drinks and conversation. The coffee shop I love (LOVE!!) was having a grand opening of their new, bigger location and it was invite only, but since I’m a regular (and habitually buy their $3 coffees), I got a ticket to the party and took Jenny. It was such a cool party. We felt very VIP.

Besides meeting some new people and seeing some friends, I also got to hang out with Reese, one of my favorite people.

Reese played a set for the grand opening and even though Jenny and I missed seeing her perform, we still had a blast talking. Plus, since I got there after her set, Reese promised she’d play for me at my house. And Reese, I’m holding you to that promise. I see a party at my house in the near future with you as the headlining band.

But the greatest part of the night was hanging with Jenny, my love of a friend if ever there was.

(How is it possible that this woman has 3 kids?)

The following day, I went up to Big Sur to relax and write. Initially I had planned on just camping ,but my dad and sister annoyed me so much with their fears of me being raped or eaten by a bear while camping alone in Big Sur (silly, since in the middle of summer you’re really never alone in Big Sur. There are always a million people camping right next to you) that I started looking for a possible cabin to rent but there were none available, so I went back to my decision to just camp. But then I decided that I really wanted to spend my time away writing rather than hiking and reading and with that came the realization that I’d need electricity, so I called again and again until I lucked out and found a cabin the someone had just canceled on. Their loss. My good luck.

So away I went to Big Sur Campground and Cabins.

And checked into a cute little cabin:

And before I even started writing, I did take a walk along the river and in the river:

I think Big Sur is my favorite place on earth, and while I haven’t been to that many places on earth, I just know deep down that no other place can compare. There’s something so remote and quiet and tranquil about the area. And when looking up through the trees, surrounded by natural beauty, I just feel awe stuck.

But as the light began to fade, I went back to the cabin, plugged in my lap top and started writing. It was so quiet: no cell phone reception, no distant laughter of a neighbor, no kids calling for me, no cars driving through my neighborhood, no internet to distract me.

And maybe it was this quiet stillness that inverted my world because suddenly I kind of understood the path I’ve been on. Much of this has to do with having a good therapist, writing out a semi-autobiographical novel (I use that word loosely), and even having some pretty emotional, deep, tear-filled talks with Garth about our relationship. It also has to do, I’m sure, with having a significant amount of time without my kids, but in a matter of two minutes, I felt incredibly vulnerable.

Which is so vague. And it’s been something that I’ve been wondering about and have even written about in this blog. I know I’m not vulnerable. I know I put up walls. I know where this stems from. I know this is something I have to change. But it’s like I said in my post here when I asked my friend Melanie, “well how do I be more vulnerable?” and she gave me an amazing answer that I wrote about. Because I really don’t know what being vulnerable means.  And I’ve asked everyone:  my friends and therapist, “what do you mean by being vulnerable?” And for a while I thought it just meant being willing to get hurt or taking a risk. But I still wasn’t quite sure. After all, as a woman, a single, working mom, aren’t I already vulnerable?

But sitting in Big Sur, I realized that none of that is what being vulnerable is about. For me, at least. For me, to be vulnerable is to let someone else take care of me, to be willing to be taken care of. This is the big mystery for me. When I stare at cute married couples and wonder how they do it, what I’m really wondering is how does that woman let that man take care of her and her kids and her problems. How do you give that up? And what this is also all about is letting go of control for me. And I never thought I was a controlling person and I’m definitely not controlling in the “my way or highway” kind of way, but I have taken absolute control of my life. I don’t have to share with anyone, I rarely have to compromise, and in many subtle ways, it is my way or the highway. I have sheltered and structured my life so that no one can come in.

As I sat in the cabin, drinking a cup of tea, I started looking back on my life and I saw that since I was a little kid I was taking care of myself and then at 23 I was taking care of Maddie and now I’m taking care of Luke too. And then it hit me, who’s been taking care of me? And I don’t mean this in a feel-so-sorry-for-me kind of way because I have lots of friends and family who love me and surround me and help me, but that is not the same as letting people really into my life and letting them take care of me, hold me, care for me. I abhor having to reach out and say I can’t do something, and I always thought this was just my pride. My pride at being a kick-ass single mom, a working woman who gets shit done, a can do anything if I set my mind to it person.

But really what this has made me is incredibly lonely and empty inside, and that’s how I felt as I got into my car the next day to drive home: lonely and empty. Like I hadn’t been filled up in so long that I didn’t even know how dry my well had become. How absolutely exhausting it is to care, care, care for my children and my house and my pets and my students and to come home at the end of the night and not have someone to care for me. And the biggest kicker is that I’d done this to myself. Ask Garth, he’ll tell you how hard he tried to be that person, but I would never let him in. In fact, ask almost any past boyfriend, good friend, or even my family. They’ll attest to this truth. The walls I put up may have protected me from a lot of past childhood pain, but they haven’t helped me in becoming a healthy person, a woman really.

So that is what being vulnerable is for me. And when that realization hit me, I just felt so beaten up and deflated and confused and really, really just sad. So I got back from my trip, went out to dinner with my best friend Denise, and did some more writing. But everything felt surreal and hazy and confusing.

And I didn’t know what to do, so I did what I always do when I’m confused, I got the hell out of dodge.

I got my babies back, kissed them both a million times because I really did miss them,  packed up the car, and headed down to southern California to visit some good friends and family.

I stayed with my best friend Jill and her husband and son.

We spent a lot of time talking and catching up because I haven’t seen Jill since my birthday and I don’t think I’ve seen Greg, her husband, since last October. We also went to the beach, the one thing I miss about southern California. Jill decided to take me to Strands, the beach that I spent most of my summer days as a kid. It’s in Dana Point, and to get there, we would park (or take the bus) our cars on a cul-de-sac, walk across an empty field, climb through a hole in a fence, and walk down a windy, steep trail until the sand touched our feet. The great, warm ocean spread out in front of us, and there were few people there. Mostly just surfers and younger kids, like us, who didn’t mind walking back up that steep trail when our beach day was over. The only houses were up the hill, across the street, and they were pretty modest town homes.

But when Jill took me to Strands what I saw was a completely different place. Long gone is the steep cliff and windy trail. Wealth and commercialization have taken over this once sacred spot of my youth. Now, instead of walking down, you can take an inclinator. I’m not even kidding.

Yes, there are steps for people to take down as well, but it’s like California wants to keep people out of shape since most beach goers seemed to be waiting for the free ride. And the beach! The once empty beach now has million dollar homes right on the sand. There’s still public access, of course, but when I look behind me and see monstrous homes, pangs of nostalgia for an empty cliff side purl in my stomach.

Regardless of the homes and the destruction of natural beauty, we still had a wonderful time at the beach, playing in the sand and the warm, warm water and  meeting up with some old friends.

(Luke loving the soft sand)

(Jill. Oh how I love her.)

(Ryan drove down and met us at the beach. Luckily, I’ll see him in a few weeks again. We have a weekend road trip planned!)

(My good, good friend Kurt. I’ve been friends with Kurt since I was 15, and I haven’t seen him in over a year. And he’s getting married in April to a wonderful girl, and while I’m happy for him, I’m also feeling sorry for myself. Kurt’s always been my go-to guy when I need a date for a wedding, a reunion, a party. And now he’ll no longer be my date. He’ll have a better date always–his wife. But I’m feeling a bit elegiac about this. Selfish, I know.)

While we were in the O.C., I dropped Maddie off at her grandparents’ house so she could spend some time with them. They are truly the best grandparents ever, and as my unofficial in-laws (since Maddie’s dad and I never married), I feel so fortunate to have them in our lives. They have been living in Italy for the past year (for business, though they’re also having tons of fun), and we haven’t had a chance to see them since October. Maddie stayed with them for 2 days and they took her to Disneyland and she got to play with her cousin, Leah, now 8 months old.

(Maddie and Leah)

(Maddie at Disneyland with Grandma Amy and Grandpa Cliff)

Luke missed Maddie so much that I spoiled him: I took him to Toys R Us and bought him some new  toys. Toys can’t replace his sister, but they do help distract him.

After a great couple of days with Jill and friends, I packed the car up and took the kids to L.A. to spend some time with my family, and generally just enjoy relaxing.

(All my aunts! Aunt Jo, Aunt Debbie, Aunt Linda! LOVE THESE LADIES!!!)

(Cousins!)

It was especially important for us to be down in L.A. because my cousin Hana was visiting from Japan and we only get to see her once a year if we’re lucky. I still remember when she was born, but she’s 18 now, and my God, she is just gorgeous.

We had a big family BBQ that was fun.

Big props goes to my Aunt Jo who is, and always has been, the family photographer and takes amazing pictures.

I left L.A. on Monday with a heavy heart, not quite ready to go back home. Mostly this was because I had to teach my first class on Tuesday evening and not only was I not prepared to teach, but I didn’t feel mentally prepared to go back to work. I also wasn’t really feeling like I wanted to face some of the feelings I had wrestled with in Big Sur. Getting out of Dodge was awesome and really helped me clear my mind, or ahem, ignore it, but I had a long drive ahead of my with nothing to do but think. And I really didn’t have the energy to go there.

So I didn’t. Instead, I thought about my class. I made a scary decision toward the middle of summer, but also an incredibly good decision. I dropped a class at the community college. This is scary because community colleges are getting hit hard with budget cuts and while I’ve been safe for the past few years, I really don’t know if there will be classes for me in the Spring, so teaching 2 classes in the fall seems not only like a blessing, but also a good way to save a little money just in case I don’t get classes. On the other hand, though, I was scheduled to teach 2 classes at the community college and 4 classes at the university: that’s 6 composition classes total. I did this last fall and I about had a mental break down. Plus, I had no social life what-so-ever. My entire life revolved around grading. Even my kids were often pushed to the side as I read essay after essay. Furthermore, I got a terrible schedule this fall, and I basically was teaching Monday-Thursday from noon-8p.m That’s just ridiculous with two kids.So I gave up one class at the community college (the terrible 6-8p.m. class), and even though I’m a bit worried about money, my stress level is already down, and I feel like my work load will allow time for my kids and my social life.

But I also made another huge decision. I decided not to use a textbook in my class. I’m so tired of the high prices and they all seem so prescriptive. If I tell my students NOT to repeat their thesis in their conclusion (and you never, ever should…uless of course, your essay is going to be over, say, 30 pages long…and even then I wouldn’t advise this.) inevitable every writing textbook will tell them to repeat their thesis. And that’s just ridiculous.And it pisses me off. At the beginning of summer, when I made this decision, I felt all confident, like, “of course I can do this. I’ve been teaching writing for almost 10 years. I don’t need a textbook!”

But then, on the drive home, I had a serious panic attack. What was I thinking? What was I going to do for 18 weeks with these kids without a textbook? And why, why, why do I always wait until the last minute to plan out my semester???

So I thought and had Maddie jot down some notes about what I was thinking and I just drove. I dropped Luke off at his dad’s and I dropped Maddie off at my sister’s and I took a shower, opened my computer and got to work. I finished my syllabus, my August calendar, and had a pretty good plan of what to do for the first few weeks.

On Tuesday, I set out to campus to teach.

I walked into my class, and I took roll and went over the syllabus, and answered questions and then I did something I’ve never done before. I wrote the word “reading” on one white board and the word “writing” on another white board and told my class to get up, go to the board, and write one thing they hated about each word. This is what I got.

While I took pictures of their comments, I asked them to take 5 minutes and write–anonymously–what they feared most from this class (at least what they feared after hearing me describe the class and read the syllabus). Their responses are pretty typical: fear of failing, losing interest, missing too many classes and getting dropped (I have an attendance policy), etc.

I’ve made a list of the top 6 or 7 writing and reading dislikes as well as what they fear from the class. I think I’m going to structure my class around this. I think I’ll tackle each fear/dislike and show them how to tackle it. Well, I’ll give them tools to help them. It’s a new way for me to teach a class, but I feel like it’s much more student-focused, like I can answer their questions and fears without first imposing what I already know to be wrong with their writing in general (and not that I’m all so knowing or amazing, but after teaching the same class for 7 years, I know the general writing problems they have).

Oh, this inverted classroom, we’ll see if it works. but I guess if I fail, at least I can say I tried something new. I hope.

So my teaching methods have changed and I will stand in a classroom later today with no clear map and I will feel fear and anxiety, but I think this may be good. For me and the students.

And as I sat in therapy, and explained to my therapist all that I had realized while in Big Sur and all that I had ignored while in Southern California, he just looked at me and smiled and nodded.

“I’m on my fucking edge, Tom,” I said. “I’m on my fucking edge.”

And I was crying. And I believe this may be the very first time I cried in therapy with Tom. And he just kept smiling.

And then he said, “Good.”

And I looked at him like he was crazy and I said, “But Tom, I don’t like being on the fucking edge.”

And he said, “O.K. then stop.”

And then I realized that I couldn’t just stop. Nor did I want to. How can I have this great feeling, this great scary feeling of being alone and being unsure and knowing that I can blame no one but myself, and then go back. Go back to being sheltered? And controlling? And closed off? No, I can’t do that. Letting myself open up, allowing myself to be cared for by friends and family, now that’s really difficult. But it’s also better than the alternative.

Even if I feel unsure and fucked up and kind of off balance.

And as Tom sat there smiling, it dawned on me that he knew this about me the whole time, probably since our second meeting and that he had guided me, gently at times, roughly at others, to this point. My edge. And I kind of wanted to hit him because why couldn’t he just have told me this months ago. But then I also realized how many people in my life had been telling me this for years–how hardened and impenetrable I was–and I had ignored them. No not really ignored them. I had listened, but I didn’t understand what it meant.

Now I do. I had to get there on my own. So then I wanted to hug and kiss Tom out of gratefulness, but that would be wildly inappropriate, and I’m also a little peeved because I’m still on this fucking edge and I’m not sure where to go from here. And maybe I won’t go anywhere. Maybe I’ll just reside here for a short while and see how it feels. I won’t, I hope. creep back from the edge.

My world may be inverted, and I may have to finally deal with this overwhelming sense of loneliness, but it’s definitely more interesting and more unfamiliar and ultimately more untouched than anything I’ve ever had in my past.

I think I can deal with that.

detox June 21, 2011

It’s been exactly one week since I finished work, and while I look forward to this day from the beginning of Fall quarter, by the time the real deal rolls around, days of no work, I actually become a little manic.

I wake every morning and literally have nothing that needs to be done. Sure, I have a summer to-do list that includes cleaning out closets and stuff, but basically that can be put aside if I want. I have no essays to read, no emails to answer, no meetings, no where that I must be,

The sudden stillness of my life is at first very irksome.

The day spans ahead of me and time ticks by more slowly than I ever thought possible. I find myself counting down the hours until lunch, then dinner, then bedtime. My children look at me expectantly and I think to myself, “what the hell do stay-at-home moms do all day?” We go to the park, visit friends, take adventures, and then the day is only half over.

By the time Fall quarter comes, I’m completely used to this lifestyle and can’t imagine how I will ever go back to work. But for now, it’s like I’m in detox. I shake a little; I don’t know what to do with myself; I feel all out of sorts.

It’ll take a good two more weeks before I settle into the routine of being a “mother-of-leisure” (as my friend Andy calls me), but until then, we’ve managed to have some great moments this week: moments that I’m thankful for.

:::::

What to do with two kids and hours of sunlight left? Beach days! And lots of them. The kids run free and I read in the sun: it’s a win-win for all parties.

(I love this look: Luke’s roaring like a tiger.)

:::::

I’ve been spending my days getting crafty. With so much free time and so many people to thank for all the help provided to me and my babies throughout the school year, I’ve got some serious gifting to do. The first up? Luke’s preschool teacher who’s leaving for L.A. We’ll miss her TONS, but know she’s going to be super happy. I made a bag for her in less than a day. It felt great to put needle and thread together. I’ve missed this.

:::::

When you finish a grading marathon at the end of the quarter, you should celebrate. So me and some fellow colleagues got together, drank wine, ate chocolate, and enjoyed not feeling guilty for drinking instead of working because, once again, WE HAVE NO WORK.

:::::

If I get to have a small get together then so should the kids. Which is what we’ve been doing a lot here this week: having friends over to play, watching movies, eating home cooked dinners, and relaxing.

:::::

With the nights staying light until almost 9p.m., it feels good to walk downtown for just an hour or so to check out some live music. This week, my friend Reese was playing at a local coffee shop and I went down to see her play.

I’ve known Reese since I was in grad school, and I just love her. She’s hilarious, kind, thoughtful, and such a good singer:

(This video is terrible quality, but you can hear how good Reese’s voice is)

:::::

I’ve finally had time to catch up on all the news that I’ve missed in the past week, and to read about New York possibly passing a same-sex marriage bill makes my heart swell with happiness. But what makes me even happier is Republican New York Senator Roy McDonald’s comment:

“You get to the point where you evolve in your life where everything isn’t black and white, good and bad, and you try to do the right thing. You might not like that. You might be very cynical about that. Well, fuck it, I don’t care what you think. I’m trying to do the right thing. I’m tired of Republican-Democrat politics. They can take the job and shove it. I come from a blue-collar background. I’m trying to do the right thing, and that’s where I’m going with this.”

Finally, a Republican I can get behind. I LOVE THIS!!!!!

:::::

I think I may finally be winning my fight against poison oak. I’m not even going to upload a picture of how bad it got. It’s that disgusting. Let me tell you, poison oak is no joke. I have never, ever, ever–in my entire life–been so uncomfortable and itchy and my God, this shit is just plain all-consuming.

So I went to the doctor, got a shot of cortisone in my ass, got on a regiment of steroids, started scrubbing with Zanfel (the absolute best poison oak medicine in the world. the only thing that has stopped the itching. Of course, it’s $50 for 1 ounce, and I’ve gone through three tubes, but I don’t even care. The relief is worth every penny.)

My legs look terrible, but I’m hoping by next week all will be back to normal.

:::::

Finally, because I really can’t not do anything all summer long, I’ve paired up with a fellow instructor to study incorporating wiki pages in the classroom. Neal, my colleague, was the one who instructed me on wiki page usage in Winter quarter. In Spring, I started using them myself and loved the results. Now we’re planning a study, meeting, and we’re even going to blog about our adventure (which will actually work as a sort of virtual meeting place instead of trying to meet all summer long). The study will–hopefully, if everything works out well–last all next year and even have the potential for long-term usage, but for now, for this summer, we will just plan and get everything in order.

I’m super excited about this.

:::::

So I’m working a little, but not too much. I’m relaxing a bit and getting more used to long summer days ahead of me.

Within a few weeks, I will be in full “mother-of leisure” mode and will have made significant progress in getting the work, work, work drug out of my system.

Detoxing can be such a bitch sometimes.

birthday parties, books, baseball April 12, 2011

THANKFUL FOR:

My collaborative learning group because, well, I’ve learned SO MUCH. This last meeting, we all passed around assignments that work for us in the classroom and it was like hitting the jackpot! I have at least 8 new assignments that I can implement into my classes. Also, there’s always food and I’m always hungry by the time I get to the meeting, so food is definitely something to be thankful for.

::

Luke’s birthday was on Friday, and it’s hard to believe he’s 3 years old. I constantly ask myself the tired phrase of most mothers, “where did the time go?” I miss the days when he was just a tiny infant, snuggled up against me in his sling, as I carried him from place to place. But I love watching him learn and grow and become, really, a tiny little man. And hearing him say, “good night, mama, I love you,” before he falls asleep every night makes my heart feel like it’s going to burst from my chest. Three months ago he couldn’t say those words, couldn’t put them in a sentence. Now he can. Tomorrow he’ll say something just as wonderful. And that’s the beauty of watching your kids grow up, I think. That’s also the beauty of Luke. Because as much as he’s the destroyer of his house and like to break anything he can get his hands on, he’s also the sweetest, kindest, most cuddly little guy I’ve ever known. I think his heart may be twice the size of others. He carries more love in it then most people I know.

Since it was his birthday, he got whatever he wanted, which included pancakes with ice-cream for breakfast and a park picnic with my sister, her kids, and my mom.

::

Luke’s birthday party was the next day, a day when friends and family and a whole bunch of little kids came to have a very simple, park party. To be honest, I’ve been so busy that I didn’t have time to plan anything elaborate or even send out homemade birthday cards like I’ve done every year previously. This year I sent out a hastily written email to friends asking them to join us at the park. I ordered pizza, bought a cake, strung up some balloons, and bought a pretty cheap pinata (Of a ball. Because really, I have a serious problem with people/character-shaped pinatas. I mean, who really thinks it’s a good idea to have kids beat, oh, say, Dora the Explorer until she breaks a part? Seems to me that kids hitting a small, Latino-American inspired character until she basically dies is wrong on so many levels.). Despite my doubts about how much fun this simple party would be, it seems everyone had a blast, especially Luke.

::

Hail on an evening when it seemed cold, sure, but not cold enough to hail. Hail that lasted  for almost 15 minutes. Hail that gathered on our roof so it looked like it had snowed. Hail that sent Maddie running outside to gather it, play in it, and pretend, even if just for a few minutes, that she lived somewhere in the mountains where it snows all the time.

::

A family dinner night that included my mom and dad, me and the kids, my sister and her family, plus my two uncles, Michael and Tommy (who is visiting from Japan). It was a great dinner, and my sister opened her house and cooked for all of us. It was nice to see my mom and her two brothers together and the evening got even better when the entire family played an impromptu game of baseball. Surprisingly my mom did the best out of all of us. Somewhat surprisingly, I actually had a few great hits. Even the little kids hit the ball (with some help). Maddie, unfortunately, will never be a baseball player. Especially since she closes her eyes as soon as the ball comes toward her. Thankfully, she great at other things.

::

Usually I’m so busy during the week that I rarely get good, quality time with friends, but this week I got to do it twice!

My good friend Jason came over on a Saturday afternoon and we just sat at the table and talked about our lives. Then Monday night, my friend Andy and I shared a bottle of wine and we just talked about our lives. Both times, I felt this great connection to my friend and him to me. It’s such a wonderful part of my life to have deep conversations with those friends that know me well. I’m grateful I had a chance to slow down, connect, and enjoy their friendship; it’s not something to ever take for granted.

::

Finally, a few weeks ago, I was getting my usual morning cup of coffee at my favorite coffee shop/bookstore when I picked up a book just lying around and purchased it. It was Michael Ondaatje book, The English Patient. I, of course, had seen the movie years ago, but I never knew it was a book, and I have no idea what made me buy the book (especially since I made myself a promise not to buy one more book until I finish reading the ones I already own. But actually I’ve already broken that promise several times. I guess this makes my argument null and void). A few nights ago, I picked it up and started reading.

And couldn’t stop but then also didn’t want to stop. I didn’t want the story to end. It was honestly one of the most beautifully written books I’ve ever read. I’ve been reading a lot of contemporary fiction and for the most part, it’s good: great plots, thoughtful and interesting characters, deep ideas. But all these contemporary books seem to lack one thing: poetic prose (except for Per Petterson’s Out Stealing Horses. This book had it all as well). The prose, the rich language of The English Patient, wrapped around me like I was submerged in fragrant bath water. My words don’t do it justice. It was just eloquent and beautiful and I feel in love. Deeply in love. So in love that I believe I’ll start reading it again.

So to end this busy, thankful week, a quote from The English Patient, one of the best I’ve ever read:

“We die containing a richness of lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we have plunged into and swum up as if rivers of wisdom, characters we have climbed into as if trees, fears we have hidden as if in caves. I wish for all this to be marked on my body when I am dead. I believe in such cartography–to be marked by nature, not to label ourselves on a map like the names of rich men and women on buildings. We are communal histories, communal books. We are not owed or monogamous in our taste or experience. All I desired was to walk upon such an earth that had no maps.”

collaborative group March 10, 2011

Tonight, just like many other nights since January, I met with my critical thinking collaborative learning group. But tonight, instead of being excited, I really didn’t want to go. I have tons of work to do and I was exhausted. Like really exhausted. Like I could have crawled into bed at 6 and gone straight to sleep.

But I made a commitment to my group, so, of course, I went. Grumpily.*

And we did discuss really intelligent concepts and so I felt better and a bit more awake because my brain started to work, making connections.

But then my group really awoke me with a birthday cake, candles, and by singing “happy birthday” to me. It was so sweet and thoughtful and such an honor.

I looked at our group of instructors, almost all who have kids and teach a lot of courses, and thought about how much they become–to me–more of just a collaborative research group. I almost feel like they’re becoming some sort of family, which in some ways in weird because I don’t know some of them very well at all.

Yet it feels really natural to call them family. We care about each other. We promote each other. We listen to each other. We work together for a common goal.

The end point of this group is to define, interpret, and spread awareness about critical thinking across the disciplines. To create a cross-disciplinary conversation.

But making new friends and feeling like I have a university family is an outcome I didn’t expect. An outcome I’m quite thankful for tonight.

*I think I just made this word up. Can you act grumpily? Or are you just grumpy? If I made this up, I am totally fine with any Palin-directed jokes you are making. I deserve it. But I’m really, really tired (in my defense).

bird by bird March 2, 2011

I am overwhelmed with essays to grade, and to make matters worse, students need their essays back quickly since the quarter is ending. The thing is, I haven’t even been procrastinating. I just badly planned out my syllabus and had all four of my classes turn in essays within two days.

And when staring at a stack of essays, honestly reaching over 3 feet in height, I feel so behind that I don’t even know where to begin. Then the stress starts. Then the anxiety sets in.

So today, while staring at this looming pile, I grabbed the book, Bird by Bird, by Anne Lamott. I use a few of her essays in my composition classes, and I pulled out my favorite essay, “Short Assignments.” While I’m not writing a paper, I am looking at a huge undertaking of grading. And so I read her wise words as she retold the story of her little brother as a child coming home from school in a panic because he had a report due the next day on birds. When Lamott’s brother told their father that he had procrastinated for so long and cried in earnest at his feelings of helplessness with having to write the entire report in one night, his father gave him the encouragement that he could tackle the assignment and do it “bird by bird.”

This then became the title of Lamott’s book, and while the book’s goal is how to be a good writer, it also teaches important life lessons. Life cannot be tackled all at once, and either can any change in lifestyle or habit. It’s taken me a year to feel better about who I am, and I know I’m still not nearly finished on improving my self-esteem. But little steps, right?

So I looked at my stack of essays and grabbed a handful to bring home. Tonight, I accomplished reading and grading what I set out to do. I didn’t feel overwhelmed and was even more happy with my decision to leave the big pile of essays in my office–I don’t even want to think about such a large stack. But a small stack? That I can handle. I’m thankful for Anne Lamott’s little bit of knowledge and insight today. It made for a much smoother and less stressful day.

Bird by bird, baby.

lifting my spirits March 1, 2011

Maybe it’s just the end of the quarter, but I have been feeling so uninspired as an instructor. I often feel like I’m doing a dog and pony show in front of the class just to keep students somewhat entertained and interested. I’m hounded by student complaints that my class is just a G.E. and shouldn’t be so demanding. They want to concentrate on their major courses and to them, my class is just a a lame hurdle to jump over.

I apologize for getting on a soap box, but dammit, I fully believe that my class, as a G.E. writing and critical thinking course, is the most important class these students will take, because, dammit, they need to know how to write clearly and think critically, as so many people in this world do neither. My class teaches skills that will transcend any major course they take and further them in their professional lives more than they can even imagine.

But they don’t see it that way, and so by this time in the quarter, I’m walking a fine line between losing my shit and lashing out at them and trying to sweeten their learning by contemplating bringing  everyone donuts. And both options are stupid and ridiculous.

Today I was feeling especially low and dreaded going into class to–once again–teach what I think is essential and important knowledge to a largely unresponsive student body. I feel like it’s a battle I’m losing and have begun to rethink all my teaching pedagogues.

But then, I got to school and opened my email to this message from a former student:

I wanted to begin by first off thanking you. Hopefully you recall having me as a student last winter quarter. Your class prompted me into becoming a more critical thinker, which has helped me mature into a more responsible and thought-provoking individual. This ability has inevitably expanded my understanding of society, thus causing me to question much of what I once believed to be important. I am currently a second year business major, still undecided upon what career avenue I wish to pursue. Lately I have developed a strong interest in reading and writing. This is why I am writing you. I have a few questions regarding the practicality of switching majors this late in my college career. I was wondering if there was a time you were available during office hours so I can discuss with you some of my questions and concerns concerning the english school. I would really appreciate your input on this matter before I make a decision. I hope this finds you well.

I can’t even begin to express how thankful I am for this email and how much it lifted my spirits. It was like all the doubts and concerns and frustrations I have are all worth it when an email like this comes my way. I must admit, it doesn’t happen very often, but to know that one former student sees the relevance in my class and the actual importance of a general education course, well, it just makes me feel like I have a purpose, and a worthy one at that.

And to get back on my soap box for just a minute, I end with a quote from Cardinal Newman from his book, Idea of a University because he says it better than I can:

Today I have confined myself to saying that that training of the intellect, which is best for the individual himself, best enables him to discharge his duties to society. The Philosopher, indeed, and the man of the world differ in their very notion, but the methods, by which they are respectively formed, are pretty much the same. The Philosopher has the same command of matters of thought, which the true citizen and gentleman has of matters of business and conduct. If then a practical end must be assigned to a University course, I say it is that of training good members of society. Its art is the art of social life, and its end is fitness for the world. It neither confines its views to particular professions on the one hand, nor creates heroes or inspires genius on the other. Works indeed of genius fall under no art; heroic minds come under no rule; a University is not a birthplace of poets or of immortal authors, of founders of schools, leaders of colonies, or conquerors of nations. It does not promise a generation of Aristotles or Newtons, of Napoleons or Washingtons, of Raphaels or Shakespeares, though such miracles of nature it has before now contained within its precincts. Nor is it content on the other hand with forming the critic or the experimentalist, the economist or the engineer, though such too it includes within its scope. But a University training is the great ordinary means to a great but ordinary end; it aims at raising the intellectual tone of society, at cultivating the public mind, at purifying the national taste, at supplying true principles to popular enthusiasm and fixed aims to {178} popular aspiration, at giving enlargement and sobriety to the ideas of the age, at facilitating the exercise of political power, and refining the intercourse of private life. It is the education which gives a man a clear conscious view of his own opinions and judgments, a truth in developing them, an eloquence in expressing them, and a force in urging them. It teaches him to see things as they are, to go right to the point, to disentangle a skein of thought, to detect what is sophistical, and to discard what is irrelevant. It prepares him to fill any post with credit, and to master any subject with facility. It shows him how to accommodate himself to others, how to throw himself into their state of mind, how to bring before them his own, how to influence them, how to come to an understanding with them, how to bear with them. He is at home in any society, he has common ground with every class; he knows when to speak and when to be silent; he is able to converse, he is able to listen; he can ask a question pertinently, and gain a lesson seasonably, when he has nothing to impart himself; he is ever ready, yet never in the way; he is a pleasant companion, and a comrade you can depend upon; he knows when to be serious and when to trifle, and he has a sure tact which enables him to trifle with gracefulness and to be serious with effect. He has the repose of a mind which lives in itself, while it lives in the world, and which has resources for its happiness at home when it cannot go abroad. He has a gift which serves him in public, and supports him in retirement, without which good fortune is but vulgar, and with which failure and disappointment have a charm. The art which tends to make a man all this, is in the object which it pursues as useful as the art of wealth or the art of health, though it is less susceptible of method, and less tangible, less certain, less complete in its result.

Tuesday follows a monday schedule February 22, 2011

The university tries so hard to be clever and fair regarding holidays, and after a few failed attempts in the past to give students a Thursday holiday instead of a Friday or Monday for President’s weekend (because, after all, we also have another Monday holiday this quarter, and it wouldn’t be fair for only MWF classes to suffer), the university just decided to give everyone Monday off and then make all Tuesday classes follow a Monday schedule.

I know, what?

It takes a moment to wrap your mind around this, but basically, today, Tuesday, the university acted like it was Monday and any instructor and student who teaches/takes a Monday class had to show up to their Monday class. Except it’s Tuesday. Weird.

Anyway, what this means is I get an extended weekend. Since I don’t teach at the university on Mondays anyway, I didn’t have to teach today. Sure, I had to teach at the community college, but I was only there for about an hour, and so really, it was almost like I had another entire day off.

To grade. But whatever, I’m just thankful to have had another day off.