Not dicking around...

I really don't care too much for that expression, for more than one reason. Regardless though, it seems appropriate for today. I'm not dicking around, fucking around, messing around; take whichever "rated" version you are in the mood for today... I was grading papers today for the better part of the afternoon and I was thinking about writing as a "hobby." While my students have to write under the tyrannical oppressive classroom like atmosphere that I create and the assignments that also match that foreboding description, I, on the other hand, have free reign and total autonomy over the ideas that I choose to contemplate and then deliver. I parent in much the same way although there is a lot of laughter mixed with the dictatorial comments that I spew randomly at the three minors who cavort daily in my home. Writing certainly is cathartic although if you think TOO much about what you want to say, then you are just editing your thoughts and then one has to ask, "Does that really help my mental state?" Writing as a hobby implies a certain amount of creativity, speculation and articulation that is equivalent to the level of understanding of which your audience is capable. Use a word that you know they aren't going to recognize or "Google" at their leisure and they may miss the point entirely. By the same token, repeat the same sentiment more than once and you may lose the gnat like attention span of the current members of Generation "Y" as I have heard them referred to in recent days. When I am grading papers, whenever I am grading papers, I give much consideration to how the student arrived at the thoughts that he chooses to share on the paper in front of me. Sometimes I sit for quite awhile and try to imagine the process that brought him to "this" idea or "that" conclusion. I know that I've said this before, but writing is such an intimate activity as it brings to the surface those pieces of you that may have been repressed or just hidden away for a long time. The process of grading a paper is much like being re-introduced to the writer himself; he is showing me a part of him that I may have never considered and that act, in that second, when the words cross over from the page into my brain, I make a real connection with that student, whether he realizes it or not. And that connection, that moment of synchronicity between our minds is, for me, what makes the act of writing so personal, volatile and highly provocative. Even when people are discussing an idea, there is often a lack of depth to the dialogue because when we speak to someone else, we are immediately responding to the most current idea in a timely fashion. We tend to discourage long pauses in conversation, at least in our U.S culture. We speak instantly and sometimes we start speaking even before the other person has had an opportunity to finish speaking. Thus, a lack of depth, clearly not always, but for me, it seems to occur more often than not. Unlike in writing, where one has the opportunity to expand on some ideas and to minimize others, with editing tools... I am pontificating on the artistic merits of composition. My mom told me not long ago that I was a "good" writer; that meant a great deal to me coming from her and then she added that I should do something with my writing skills. I smiled and then laughed, adding, "Mom, I am a writing teacher." She laughed too. So as to not "dicking around," well, I can honestly add, as it relates to the notion of writing as a hobby, I don't have much time these days to do said "dicking." Time and thoughts are often limited to packing lunches, walking the Pug, doing laundry and running kids all over town in the Tahoe. I am lucky if I have a few minutes to sit and ponder an idea that initially sounded like a good writing topic but that then ultimately goes nowhere. Tomorrow night my students will give their presentations on their research papers and hopefully they will discuss the process that they took in arriving at their final product, but my experience tells me that most of them will just choose a solid section from their papers and they will summarize what they've written. Often it's boring, but every once in awhile, there is a group of students who collectively seems to enjoy the process from inception to presentation. I am hopeful that this will be the case tomorrow. I always look forward to hearing their ideas and strangely, to reading the papers, strangely only because they are the longest product of the term and they usurp quite a chunk of my non-existent "free" time in the grading of them. But in the end, I learn several things, many of which are ideas with which I am unfamiliar. I never claimed to know anything let alone everything. I feel enlightened after I read most of them and with some, I drop my head and shake it slowly wondering how a student could hand such a pathetic product in after 8 weeks, but there are almost always 2 or 3 that end up with a sub-standard grade due to apathy or "personal" issues or just plain poor planning. Regardless, I will hold them in my hands tomorrow night and until I am ready to delve into the minds of the students, those papers will sit on my dining room table, taunting me, teasing me, even trying to solicit me... well, maybe not solicit. We will make that determination after I read some of the titles of the essays. I actually wish that I had more time to "dick" around; I long for the days when I could just sit on the porch and do nothing and when I could say, "I'm so bored." I do get bored, but I never have more than a few minutes to feel that before the dog needs to go out or Ty can't find his backpack or Jake needs to go to CVS for a posterboard at 10:00 at night. Maybe "dicking" around will just have to be reserved for those few days in my life when there will be no pile of papers looming at the end of the table or when the kids no longer want me to go anywhere with them or when it's hockey season and I lose Tim anyway. Maybe "dicking" around is reserved for those times in our lives when we just put aside all grown up things and allow ourselves to just not care about that pile of bills or the dentist appointment. Ah, I got distracted. Tim just came up and rubbed my shoulders for 10 minutes - all the tension has dissipated. All of life's dilemmas can be solved much easier after a few minutes of back rubbing. At least that's my opinion. Time for bed. Time to stop "dicking" around on the computer... Goodnight.

Enough...

There are few things harder in life than watching your child make a decision that you know is simultaneously excruciating and yet, wholly necessary; ironically, it could ultimately be the best decision that he or she ever made, despite the pain that caused it to happen in the first place. Tonight, Jake quit the West High Soccer team. It was a decision that was over a year in the making, but after the first pre-season game, he knew that he could no longer endure what had become an exercise in humiliation for him. My first reaction to his decision was a mixture of anger and disappointment and this didn't bode well with him. He needed me to be instantly supportive and, after some discussion, I think we both understand from where the other was coming. But, I'm not going to lie, when I heard the decision, I was conflicted; I was relieved that he would no longer have to suffer under the tyranny that Mike Shimizu has established at West High, but I was deeply saddened to know that he would no longer play a sport that he loves so much, for his school and with his friends. A decision was made in the summer of 2011, one that affected our family in a difficult way. As a result, Jake did not participate in the voluntary soccer program at West. When he returned to join the class in the Fall as a potential player, he was denied entry by Shimizu. I tried to address the issue head on, but when dealing with a human being who sees no side but his own, it is impossible to make a point. As a result of his blatant disregard for my explanation combined with the denial of Jake's entry into the program, I wrote an email in which I both explained the situation and also where I asked that Jake be given a chance to try out, along with everyone else in a "fair" capacity. I should have known after speaking with Mike Shimizu for a mere 5 minutes that "fair" was not, nor does it continue to be a part of his vocabulary. As a result of the distribution of that email and a subsequent visit to the Athletic Director, Shimizu has since disregarded my son altogether. And, although I make my case for Jake; it is clear, based on the number of boys who have voluntarily left the program, that it is not mere coincidence that the reason why these kids no longer play, is because Mike Shimizu is the coach. Despite their love for the game and their desire to play with their friends and for their school, they left nonetheless. Certainly one might argue that any disgruntled parent can write a diatribe against a coach who doesn't "play" her kid, but, for anyone who knows Jake and, who knows me, you would be hard pressed to make that argument. Jake has done everything "right" during the past year. He regrouped, joined a club team, put in 3-4 extra goalie trainings a week and trained on his own, topping out this past summer in the best shape of his life. And all he wanted was a chance; a chance to compete for the Varsity Goalie spot this season. As a junior and as someone who did everything humanly possible to put himself in the best position possible, he deserved that chance. He even approached the coach just for an opportunity to practice with the varsity given all of the effort and work that he put in. Shimizu simply told him that that was Jake's "opinion" that he should have a chance. Despite that, Jake attended the pre-season banquet and the first pre-season game a few nights ago when he was told that he would have to compete with a freshman for the JV goalie spot. Neither Jake nor I are the kind of people to ever deny someone the right to something that they deserve, but when Jake was told that, it was the last straw. It was clear that not only had he been disregarded, but that he was never going to have a chance to move forward. That sentiment was confirmed when he approached Shimizu that night and again the following day and Shimizu did not try to encourage him to continue nor did he offer any words of comfort to a kid that just put in two soccer seasons at West and a year of additional work, just to earn a chance. When Jake approached Shimizu yesterday to be signed out of soccer, Jake simply told Shimizu that he would no longer play for a coach who he didn't respect and then he left. I would never disparage the West High Soccer program; I am, after all, an alumnus of both the school and the program, but I will take an opportunity to voice my disappointment in and criticism of a coach who runs that program. Shimizu is the type of coach who shows extreme favoritism. In addition, he discards players for a variety of reasons, many of which are not legitimate. He claims that he allows so many boys into the program so that they can be a part of something their freshman year, knowing full well that almost half of them will see no real playing time. But when it comes to earning that $250 dollars that will go to the program, well, there is no problem with that, playing time allotted or not. In addition to that, there has never been a definitive breakdown of where that money goes. Several of the boys played with uniforms that had numbers taped on last season? Shimizu demands extra time yet his only interest is in the few players who he deems "ready" to play Varsity. The ironic notion about that is, as a club soccer coach, he must know that recruiting rarely happens at the high school level any more; it happens mostly at events where club players compete or at showcases. High school soccer has become a program where kids from all walks can play yet he does not develop these kids; he is only interested in the players who he decides, without other input, meet his criteria and some of that criteria is not based on skill or ability or attitude. Mike Shimizu has been at West for 17 seasons. Even the most liberal of programs would realize that the program needs some fresh input, some coaches who are more in touch with the sport in a current framework. The boys need coaches who are role models and who they would like to be when they play and as they grow. Mike Shimizu is not one of those coaches. Clearly, one might argue that I am attacking Mike Shimizu personally, his character really and well, I don't even know him. One could make that argument, but hasn't he done the same thing with my son? As a parent, if the blend of personalities does not mix in a classroom between student and teacher, the parent has some recourse. There might be a discussion with the Principal, the counselor and some meetings to resolve the issue between the two. However, if no resolution can be reached, quite often, the student is taken out of one teacher's class and put into another's. While soccer is an extracurricular activity, high school sports are crucial for so many students; they keep them focused and disciplined while at the same time, allowing them the opportunity to feel as though they belong to something bigger, a brother or sisterhood if you will. Mike Shimizu does not foster that unity. Showing extreme favoritism does not foster unity. Rather, it has the opposite effect; those who are in favor, continue on as they always have, but those who do not, or even those who feel as though they do not, lose in more ways than one. A negative experience, a negative influence, even one time, can change the course of a student's life. The damage that can be done with a few words or a lack of leadership can devastate someone. Mike Shimizu has a responsibility to all of the boys in the soccer program, mostly to be someone who they respect and look up to, but even some of the best players who have played in the program have left, for a variety of reasons, one of which was because they no longer wanted to play for Shimizu. I've been an educator for over 20 years and I know the importance of guiding and building strong students. I've also been a coach and a tutor and I never claim to do anything right, but I lead by example and when I make a mistake, and I do, I admit it and I try to move forward. I also know what my weaknesses are and I compensate by listening to those around me who can help, support and guide me to be a better leader and role model for young people. What bothers me the most is that Mike Shimizu runs the West High Soccer program devoid of a sensitivity to the fact that he is in a position to change the lives of these boys, particularly in a positive way. It is a responsibility that he has failed to live up to, at least in the time that I have witnessed it. It is far more realistic to tell a player that he will never move up or that his chances are very slim or even to cut him than to give him false hope and then treat him poorly. What does that teach him? What kind of men are going to be produced from a program that fails to uphold the one quality that I have been lucky enough to have in the coaches of my youth, respect. If players don't respect their coaches, then there is no program. I think that Mike Everson, Zack Williams and Herb are examples of the kind of coaches who can help the boys really develop, but, in all, Mike Shimizu is not and I feel very badly for those young boys who will suffer under his so called "leadership." I'd like to think that the pen is mightier than the sword and ultimately that this writing will lead to something bigger but I doubt that. I know what will happen; people will have their opinions and that is fine, but in the end, I wrote this for Jake and for our family and to put out into the universe the notion that if something doesn't feel right and it doesn't sit well with you, even if you can't wholly identify why, then it's still fine to say it, to do something about it, to know that in your heart that you said what you needed to say and you moved on. I also feel like I can say this because I have a great son; Jake is a kind, loving, loyal young man who will grow up to be a wonderful man. It shameful that Mike Shimizu didn't recognize all of the good in Jake, the potential, the talent and it saddens me that he won't get the opportunity to continue on with his friends. But, at the end of the day, I can honestly say that while Jake has always had my love and my loyalty, with this decision and with the integrity and dignity with which he handled the situation, he will forever have my respect. Mike Shimizu should be so lucky...

A consideration...

It's impossible to know what to do sometimes. You sit there, you ponder, you even discuss ideas with loved ones, yet, ultimately, you feel like you are right back where you started. I often wonder about people who say that they have "revelations" or "epiphanies," although I myself may have made such a claim on occasion, but I wonder because if you have a revelation and you change your life, your focus, your "whatever," but then, eventually, you fall... back into the pattern, the lifestyle, the addiction, can you then really call it a revelatory experience? Is "revelation" momentary or is it just a word that means we know what we need to do, but whether we succeed or not? That remains to be seen. I'm back in therapy; it's evident from the opening paragraph of this monologue, is it not? And the more I go, the more I question... myself, others, life, but, not always in a healthy way. I don't see therapy as revelatory, rather, I see it as an opportunity to examine those thoughts in a non-linear type of way. I examine them as they come; I don't plan a course of action and for those of you who really know me, you can vouch for this statement. I go in to the office, I sit, I usually begin with some anecdote that has nothing to do with anything of importance and then, it spirals into something else. An hour of therapy is a true parallel for what happens in my daily life, regardless of whether I am the cause or something else is, some bigger force that I cannot understand. As the weeks pass, I am learning new ways to "set" my mind and approaches to understanding why what I have been doing in the past to try and cope just isn't working. It's interesting to be the subject of your own examination, kind of like taking all of your clothes off and scrutinizing every aspect of your body from head to toe. Who does that? We tend to look at some things: fine lines, cellulite, our best feature, but then, we zip the jacket, pull down the hat, dim the light and move on. To say that it's hard to self examine is an understatement; it requires a level of philosphical objectivity that I just don't have and so, the therapist... I haven't written in a couple of months although there have been many topics about which I would have liked to express my point of view. I just haven't been in the right frame of mine, no pun intended. And upon revealing that I do indeed have a diagnosis of ADD, I have delved into the world of self-help books and clinical material that is intended to help me work my way through the maze that is my brain. The more I read, in this particular case, the more I really am beginning to understand my entire personality and life thus far. So much is making sense now and, in addition to that, I have become hyper aware of others who suffer, and, I use that term with trepidation, because the condition creates a kind of havoc and chaos that you really have to have explained to you. That may be through literature, by a doctor or in the deep self examination that not many people really do in their lifetimes. Think about the naked mirror thing again. We tend to concentrate on the pieces and not the whole. Brain circuitry or an examination of, is the same. I'm not a neurologist, but when I choose to do something or when I do it not of my own volition, it creates a ripple effect in the lives of those around me. It's been hard; this last year especially has been very hard. I wish I could say that having ADD is a negative thing overall, but really, it's not. Yes, there are issues that will never go away and those issues create other issues with my relationships, with my job, with my life. I say things and do things and am a certain way that makes life exponentially more difficult for those who know me and, that makes me feel badly. I am trying to address that now. I am trying not to spiral or to cry as much or to think about what I'm not instead of what I am. I'm learning to "try" to see this as an opportunity for what makes me unique, not special, but unique in the way that no two stones are alike or stars or fingerprints. Many people will say that I should concentrate on the good; think good thoughts, be happy and everything will be okay. I think that's a crock of shit but if it works for some people then I can't really criticize, but that hasn't and won't work for me. Trying to focus on what makes me unique helps me to see that for every problem or conflict that I cause or am engaged in, there are equal amounts of good in what I try to do. People with ADD tend to be inherently creative, spontaneous, impulsive, excitable and fun. They also lose things a lot, criticize, feel irrationally angry or judgemental. I guess overall, concentrating on what makes you YOU is a good thing, in a very simple kind of way. But if that concentration requires objectivity, well, that's where my mind straps on its boots and heads for the nearest exit. What is objective to me, what makes perfect sense to me, makes no sense to those around me. And, it's hard to have to constantly try to explain yourself; it's exhausting. In Greek mythology, Sisyphus' punishment was to push a boulder up a steep incline, but when he reached the top, the boulder would roll back down and he would have to start again, for all eternity. That is exactly what it feels like to have ADD. It might be exercise or a load of laundry, grading a stack of papers, keeping the car clean, but, no matter what it is, the boulder rolls back down and often it does so mid push... Recently I've learned that untreated ADD can have debilitating effects on the brain over time. So, I am now considering medication. Let me pause for those of you who are smiling and saying, "Amen!Why didn't she think of that sooner?" But truly, there is a lot to consider. My therapist told me that it will not radically change anything, but if it improves my life by percentages, well then, that's something. He also told me that I chose well in a husband and in a profession. Really, with all of the things that I've fucked up in my life, something was bound to work out... I feel like a video game sometimes, lots of flashing lights, sounds and multiple levels but, the really sad part is, out of those times, there are so many where I can't let anyone in to help me maneuver around. I've lost friends, opportunities, days with my family because I couldn't get a grasp on what was happening in my brain and so I just shut it off. There are times when, after I drop the kids off at school, I just lay in bed, for 6 hours and watch the t.v. without really watching the t.v.; I turn into someone who I don't know. And for that reason alone, I'm back in therapy. It really is a paradox, when you yearn for simplicity but you create complexity. I just want primary colors without all of the other possibilities. That would make life easier most days. But then again, would I really want to live in a world without a blending of those shades? I don't know. I truly don't know. Do the right thing. Be kind. Open yourself up to the universe. I will try... but on the days when I don't, be patient for, "This too shall pass..." Happy Veteran's Day. Thank you to all who serve or have served. A thousand blessings to you and your families!

Pass me my hat...

It is a cliche... A person who plays many roles dons the metaphorical many "hats," but, as one who lives this metaphor, this cliche daily, it certainly seems appropriate with which to begin today's foray into the life of Yvette Hawley.  I'd like to say that this entry is inspired by something joyous or comical, but, unfortunately, it is almost the polar opposite.  I experienced yet another hairpin turn on the seemingly endless climb that has become the road trip formally known as my simple, ordinary life.

Two weeks ago, I went back to work. I am still teaching, but I also took on a second job, for many reasons, none of which were superseded by our financial struggles. However, instead of applying for work as a teacher or in the field of Education, I decided to go back to my simple roots: food service. I attended orientation, trained for a week and then I was off on my own... one of the things that I discovered on this new journey, no less than an epiphany after my shift yesterday, is that I am no longer the same person that I was at 25, physically and mentally.  But, at 44, one of the things that I have learned is that if something is not working, it is okay to let it go and not feel guilty or ashamed or even sad about having to move on.  I type that, but honestly, I don't wholly feel that.  I don't like to let myself down or, more importantly, I don't like to let others down.  I took a job that would be physically challenging but not mentally taxing.  I figured I would just go to work, complete my shift and come home; there would be no papers to grade, no lessons to plan and no research to do.  Boy was I wrong, well, not on the mentally taxing part, but I have been absolutely exhausted by the endless challenges associated with doing a job that I was not prepared for, again, physically prepared for.  What I've realized in the past couple of weeks is that I cannot just take a job to make money; I am now at a stage in my life where I have to choose something that is appropriate for me and the amount of time that I have to give and that includes the time away from my kids and my husband that I would have to sacrifice in order to do that.  And so, I have decided to leave this position after only two weeks.  No regrets, just the simple understanding that it isn't right for me, in all ways, at this stage of my life.

Donning the proverbial "mom" hat implies many things, none of which are more important than being the caretaker of someone else's well being.  Caring for children and helping them grow is a career for which I was wholly unprepared but for which I have also discovered the very best qualities about myself.  As I watch them, help them and guide them along their journey, I find that my own travels are that much richer.  Nothing surpasses watching your children become healthy, successful and good individuals and my only hope when I wear this hat is that I am doing justice to the role.  We shall see...

As a teacher, the hat that I wear has a wide brim with many small ridges.  A teacher is a parent, a counselor, a coach, a spiritual advisor, a cheerleader, a psychologist, a salesperson and, like I've said before, a chameleon.  Every year is different, every term, every week and with new students coming and going, sometimes it is extremely challenging to get to know them and their needs before it is time to shift into a new semester.  I think that is really the most interesting and difficult characteristic of teaching at a community college: the brevity of the terms.  It takes me two weeks just to learn their names, another 3 to learn who they are and just as I really get to know them; it is time for finals week.  Ironically, I do experience euphoria at the end of the term because I feel like I've fulfilled my promise that I made one day one, that I would help them become better writers, readers and thinkers, yet I am sad to see it end.  Maybe as an adjunct faculty member, this rings more true because I don't have the administrative commitments that my full time colleagues do, but maybe it also rings true because teaching is in my blood; it is who I am and it is my personal legend.  Thank you Paolo Coelho.  As a side note, if you haven't read The Alchemist, do yourself a favor and pick it up.

As a food server, the hat is smaller, tighter, uncomfortable at times, pulling at my head, shifting position and shape, asking me to conform to its size rather than the other way around.  Customer service is not a field for everyone; it is demanding and it expects conformity and uniformity without exception.  There are standards and if you do not follow those, you are reprimanded on a regular basis, by both superiors and by customers.  In this most recent fitting of the hat, I rediscovered something that I'd lost; servers are some of the most loyal, down to earth and welcoming people that I've ever had the opportunity to know.  And there is a great deal of sadness associated with the knowledge that I can leave a position like this at any time while many of them will continue to do that job because they have to; it is their livelihood.  I feel for them, even after only two weeks.  What troubles me the most is that these particular individuals are expected to do the job of three people with pay that does not reflect that.  In room dining is a backbreaking service area where the servers work non-stop to deliver an impeccable experience for the guests and simultaneously to adhere to a rigid set of rules and standards that allow very little room for movement.  The heart of a resort, the internal workers, work harder than anyone I've ever seen to make a guest's experience unique and wonderful.  It is a thankless job, but, for many, it is a job.  These people are the ones who wash the laundry and make the meals, who bring you drinks and clean your rooms, they take out the trash and deliver the meals, they pour your champagne and watch your children, they wash the dishes and park your cars and, believe it or not, they really do care about what kind of an experience you have while there.  But their pay does not reflect that and, to me, that is shameful.  Vacationers spend a lot of money to be pampered and rightfully so, but the people who provide the services are not compensated accordingly, well, maybe except for management.  They work 8 hour shifts and they do hard physical labor, most who are paid a minimal wage.  They drive hours or take buses to get there and they often have to park far away and take a shuttle in, which adds even more time to their commutes.  And they don't complain.  With the exception of in room dining, I think the housekeepers are the hardest working people I have ever seen and there are so many components to housekeeping that I never realized.  So, I am going to throw in, the next time you save for a vacation, especially at an upscale resort or really, at any hotel, tip your housekeepers MORE than you thought you would and tip the service attendants MORE than you thought you would because most likely that 20% service charge is NOT going to them; more than likely, they are getting about 8% of that which works out to little more than $12 dollars an hour.  Do the math, could you live off of that?  This is not a diatribe against the resort industry, but when a guest tells me to "Get out and shut the door" I think to myself, it's not really worth $12 an hour.  But, I have that luxury, that choice.  Most of them don't.  So I write this for them; those who warmly welcomed me into the fold, who smile and work hard day after day for not enough money and who are genuinely some of the kindest, nicest people I have ever known.  I feel badly for leaving, not because of the job; I will get another job, but because even after only a couple of weeks, I will miss them.  It saddens me just to write that.

Life is one big hat rack and sometimes the hats fit and more often, they don't.  Sometimes they go out of style and more often, they get discarded in favor of something new, something better.  I saw a kid, about 15, the other day, wearing what looked like a Fedora and I smiled thinking that some styles always come back in, regardless of how much time has passed.  For me though, some styles are now outdated and don't fit anymore regardless of how much I'd like to don them and, that's okay.  For my well worn hats are loved and they have changed me in ways that I never expected, both internally and externally.

I always tell my students that I may not remember their names if they come back to visit, but in some small way they have left an imprint on my heart, on my soul and that is the truth.  There are people and experiences in life that expand our capacity to love and every time I try something new or meet a new person, that again rings true.  And while this new venture has come to a close, I will hang my food serving hat in the closet with a combination of sadness and relief, knowing that I tried one more time to see if it still fit and realizing that while it may have been outdated and a little tight, that I could still, on some level, wear it proudly.  I hope my co-workers felt the same way and I wish them all well. 

I think it might be time to try on a new style, maybe a beret or a sombrero and to smile in the process because it may not look right, but the fit may be perfect...

A Grocery list...

I like my margaritas on the rocks without salt and I only like mild salsa, preferably fresh and not super spicy.  I like fresh barbecued white corn on the cob and I like dark chocolate with just a smidge of peanut butter.  I like to sleep with all of the windows open, especially on the coldest nights and then I pile on tons of blankets so that I can snuggle underneath.  I like to make coffee in my old reliable Mr. Coffee instead of the new Keurig that my family got me for mother's day (don't tell them).  I like to eat cereal with a  fork so that I don't ingest so much milk with every single spoonful and I like to kiss my dog on his furry little forehead.  I like to say hello and Good morning to total strangers and I like it when they say either one back.  I like to buy school supplies, for MYSELF and I like to label everything so that my kids don't take them.  I like to buy paperback books from the Salvation army and I like to only put enough gas in the car to get me through the day.  I like to buy gifts for people who I don't know well but who invite me to their homes or parties; wine is always a good choice, oh, and flowers. I like to be told that I'm loved close to someone's heart and I like to be hugged multiple times a day.  I like to have sex and I like to make chocolate chip cookies from a package.  I really like the smell of bacon cooking in the morning, especially when someone else makes it.  I like the feel of the water against my skin as I am swimming and I like to buy brand new running shoes.  I like when the plane takes off and when it lands and I like the feeling of cruising down the highway when there isn't a lot of traffic.  I like to see my kids smile and I really like to see them challenge themselves.  I like to hear the pug snoring away happily asleep on our bed.  I like to look out of our bedroom window and see the pool in the backyard and I like that our house is the only in our neighborhood with a palm tree shooting up into the sky.  I like the movie Ratatouille and I like that Ty is sitting here next to me, naked, eating Lay's potato chips while he watches it.  I like to buy shoes from Payless and I like that I don't have to spend a lot of money to get things that I enjoy wearing.  I like to run and I like Bikram yoga.  I like donuts and I like ice cream with a lot of texture and flavor.  I like going to church and I really like to pray.  I like my colleagues, my students and my job which, never feels like work.  I like soccer, water polo and Miss Nancy at Family Fun Time.  I like parks, the beach and driving to Lake Tahoe.  I like eating a medium rare New York steak and I like knowing that I have people who I can count on when things are difficult.  I like bowling, going to the movies and Heavy Metal songs from the 80's.  I like ponytails, Converse high tops and high heeled shoes.  I like how swim trunks hang just on the hipbones of really toned surfers and I like to watch them wipeout on really big and gnarly waves.  I like to put on my headphones and dance around the bathroom, practicing my "moves" with no one looking and I really like to dance with Ty, who also likes to practice his "moves."  I like when friends call or text for no reason and I like that my children are close to their grandparents.  I like to watch people succeed and I especially like the feeling that sometimes I help them to be that way.  I like the triumph of the human spirit and stories of people overcoming major obstacles.  I like documentary films and vintage clothing.  I like to coach and tutor.  I like coats and cold weather.  I like kindness and equality.  I like spiders.  I like to water the plants myself.  I like Ty's stuffed giraffe "Raf" who he continues to carry around with him, even after all these years.  I like waffles and whipped cream.  I like Jack Daniel's and Vodka, but not together.  I like lilies and sunflowers.  I like Spain.  I like the ocean.  I like novels with unpredictable endings.  I like classical music and Gustavo Dudamel and the Dodgers.  I like Xavi and Barcelona.  I like compliments and honesty.  I like The Walking Dead and Newsroom and House Hunters.  I like to go to the Farmer's market and I really like shopping at Whole Foods.  I like baths with super hot water and I like to take a shower before I go to bed at night.  I like black nail polish.  I like tattoos.  I like earrings on my son Jake.  I like camping and sleeping outside under the stars.  I really like the rain.  I like to walk on the soft sand when it has been warmed by the sun and I like to play beach volleyball just for fun.  I like to run in races and I really like to run with Team TRY.  I like New York and San Francisco and I really liked driving to Vancouver with Lulu.  I like life.

I don't like... pretentious people and overspending.  I don't like hypocrisy and prejudice.  I don't like jalapenos.  I don't like Country music.  I don't like just laying around.  I don't like weakness and bullying and I really don't like lying.  I don't like it when drivers change lanes without signaling first.  I don't like it when Tim falls asleep without saying Goodnight.  I don't like dirt.  I don't like flies or those HUGE black bee things that seem to buzz only in my yard.  I don't like not following through.  I don't like that I am really slow in the pool and I don't like making excuses.  I don't like ignorance and sweating while I sleep.  I don't like it when people snore.  I don't like impatience and racism.  I don't like sales tax.  I don't like stepping in dog shit.  I don't like fines for overdue library books and I really don't like speeding tickets.  I don't like it when my kids are arguing and I really don't like it when I am part of that argument.  I don't like it when people are cheap or when all they do is complain about money.  I don't like the idea that I have to live up to someone else's expectations.  I don't like Fox News.  I don't like hair ribbons.  I don't like overpricing.  I don't like it when people type "u" instead of "you." I don't like inane comments about topics that are important.  I don't like stupidity.  I don't like it when people judge others.  I don't like to take the blame.  I don't like really soft pillows. I don't like roller blades.  I don't like losing.  I don't like poor losers either.  I don't like incompetence.  I don't like time limits.  I don't like trash in the ocean.  I don't like sharks.  I don't like it when the water gets cold before I'm done in the shower.  I don't like finishing a book that I have absolutely loved reading.  I don't like it when people say "I hate to read."  I don't like it when my dog sneezes right in my face.  I don't like it when the pedicurist scrubs the bottom of my ticklish foot.  I don't like cooked vegetables as much as raw vegetables.  I don't like how expensive movies are.  I don't like the color Puce.  I don't like designs on fingernails.  I don't like lip rings.  I don't like carpet in my home.  I don't like wasting food.  I don't like intolerance and I certainly don't like people telling me what to do.  I don't like wasting time or predicting the end.  I don't like knowing what's coming next.

As life moves quickly, I am reminded of how my tastes change, in food, in people, in life, but, there is one absolute truth with which I identify the aforementioned things and that is, quite simply, that life is filled with moments, both tasteful and, often, distasteful and sometimes, it is rather refreshing to sit and down and list them, for no other reason than it's a fun exercise.  And, it's also cathartic because you can't hide from the information that you share with others.  Make your own list...

To blog or not to blog?

I think that, by far, the most fascinating thing about blogging is... that people read it and, that they have opinions about it, but moreso than the opinions is the "wanting" to read it.  Someone told me recently that I should not or, people in general should not write their thoughts down for other people to see. I have actually used that same line when referring to text messages written by teenagers, but when I think about this forum and the intent behind the blog, it wouldn't make sense if I didn't share those thoughts, even if that means putting myself in a vulnerable position.  Maybe I won't get a full time job or I will lose some friends, but, if at the end of the day, I can look myself in the face and know that I was honest, then I am wholly alright with that.  Words can certainly cut, but, in my humble opinion, they can also heal.

My blog is just an incessant means of venting about the rights and wrongs in my world; therefore, it is not really up for judgement by you or by anyone.  It's the same with my life.  You may think that you have an opinion about something that I've done or said, but unless that opinion has some ultimate purpose or unless it is given in a manner that is intended to "show" me my mistake or other incompetence, then your words have no more meaning than mine.  My life is not up for criticism here; you read what I write because you are interested in my perspective.  If you weren't, you'd be on some other site and, frankly, either way is okay with me.  I read the comments that people write to me and I love them all, good, bad, critical and I laugh at some of the conclusions drawn by people who don't know me.  There is one reader who lives in Europe, but who will not identify specifically where, probably for fear that I will show up in person and, what?  Clobber her?  I only know that she is female because she told me so and even then, I may be the tiniest bit skeptical.  Irregardless, she reads this blog "faithfully," in her words and she has MUCH to say about what she'd like to read.  It makes me laugh harder when I read that line because if she dictates what I write about then it is no longer my blog and it is forced instead of being off the cuff which is how I operate, pretty much the whole time.

I am a people person, always have been, but in the past couple of years, writing has helped me to be more introspective about the public and individuals, generally speaking.  I listen to the voice in my head and the words just begin to come out.  Sometimes an incident will release the flood gates and other times it is just a feeling.  Like today, I was thinking about my students and they just finished a writing assignment and I watch as some of them write so freely, like it is second nature while others painfully write each word as if spilling their own blood on the paper.  Writing is so very personal in nature; that is what makes it so beautiful.
I like to listen like I enjoy reading.  I listen, digest the information, consider it and then come to a conclusion.  I have gotten much more efficient at "sizing" people up and sometimes after I meet someone for the first time, I sit down and think about what kind of a "character" he or she would be in the novel that I'm probably never going to write.  Oh, she's the antagonist, oh man, she's the heroine or maybe, he's the bus driver... whatever it is, I listen to that description that has to come out.  A good writing teacher will tell you that the more that you read, the better your writing.  As a writer teacher, I concur, but I also think that the best writers that I've had in class, write from a place of multiple perspectives.  A great critical thinker/writer considers all sides of an issue, a theme or a conflict before sitting down to analyze it.  He ponders it all in relation to a specific focus that will become a thesis, but, he also considers how that idea fits into the big picture.  I've read some fantastic essays over the years, written with care and certitude, with alacrity and verbiosity.  I've read essays that just plain knocked my socks off... While most of know that writing is cathartic, sometimes it can be so daunting to sit down and stare at the paper, trying to come up with something valuable to say.  The thing is, when someone tells you to write what you know, basically that's all it is, write your "self."  Write your perspective.  Garnish accordingly...

We moved this weekend, yet AGAIN and now I must go and unpack the garage.  Sigh... I'd like to just take my kids to the movies and stuff my face with popcorn.  We all got a lot of sun this weekend so "sun" activities are out for today.  As an aside, I told Ty that he has to read and practice math every day this summer and his sweet reply was "Mom, I don't need to read during the summer.  I read a lot in Kindergarten."  He didn't respond to the Math part.  I could say the same thing about writing, couldn't I?  Then again, if I did, what would you have been doing for the past 4 minutes instead of reading this...

As we used to "say" in our notes in school or letters that no one sends any longer... write back soon. 

A parting gift...

There are a lot of good teachers out there; hell, there are a lot of great teachers out there.  I've had some and so have my siblings, friends and neighbors.  And now, my own children are experiencing the ups and downs of the educational system and those who stand in front of the class.  I've been teaching for 20 years and I've worked hard to be a good teacher and, don't let anyone tell you differently; it takes work and a constant desire to improve.  Some have it and some don't.  Some get by and some absolutely excel in this profession.  Every once in awhile, you get to see that excellence first hand; maybe it was when you were a student or maybe, like it has been for me, you get to witness it through the eyes of your own child.

I guess I knew from the second year of preschool that Ty needed Preppie Kindergarten, that he wasn't ready yet for the demands that the standards place on children entering school at age 5.  At one point I was actually encouraging the decision based on what I had seen my other two children experience, Jake in particular.  He certainly could have benefitted from "the gift of time."  Really, what child wouldn't?  So, when Ty was evaluated and the teacher said, "He needs Preppie K,"  I gladly agreed.  Fortunately for Ty and for our family, that teacher turned out to be his teacher, for the next two years...  Tomorrow will mark the 180th day of Kindergarten and the end of the second year that has made up the course of Ty's entrance into public school and, sadly, it marks his departure from Room 1, his little school family and his teacher, Laura Giannecchini...

I was thinking about all of the teachers that my boys have had over the last years and there have been many.  Jake just finished 10th grade and Nick just finished 7th grade and while I can recall many instances and memories that were filled with wonder, joy and great moments, none of them has had a teacher like Mrs. G.  I suppose it would be very simple to say that she is great or that she is creative or that the kids love her and while all of those things are true, there are other qualities that she has and a manner in which she presents herself, that make her the best teacher that I've ever seen, bar none, at any grade level.  And while some will say, well, it depends on the grade level, I would argue that by saying that greatness comes from the person and not the position.  In this case, a teacher of exception could teach any grade level and still excel and while Kindergarten is her passion and where she belongs, she could teach any class and the students would thrive.

She and Mrs. Newell, a colleague, collaborated to create the Preppie K program and it is clear that so many of the activities and assignments and the language that they use demonstrate the knowledge and preparation that comes from really understanding your subject matter; in this case, the children.  I have come into the classroom to find the children discussing the mechanics of a catapult and then practicing with one that was made by a parent of a child in the class.  I have seen the students sewing, using real needles, concentrating, listening, focusing on the task at hand.  I've witnessed them hammering real nails into real boards and then measuring those boards using different measurements and tools.  I've seen the children remind one another of what is acceptable and what isn't and I have seen them respond in an instant when Laura asks them to.  The expectation is that although they are young, they are capable and she treats them that way; she never doubts their capacity to learn and understand.  She doesn't ask why they can't comprehend what a parallelogram is, but instead, she shows them and knows that one day, they will remember it and they will look for those shapes in the world around them.  I've seen the children do lesson after lesson that teaches them about the real world and their role in it and she always emphasizes the importance of their individual role.  She treats them as though what they say and do and feel matter and in turn, they know that they do matter.
So many metaphors are used to describe the "blossoming" relationship between a quality teacher and her students and I wish that I could think of something that would do justice to the wonderful work that Mrs. G. does will all of her students, but there just aren't enough metaphors. 

Ty did not like preschool.  He did not want to go to Preppie K either and there were days this year that he did not want to go to Kindergarten.  At school, he tends to worry and to not be as self confident as he is in other parts of his life and there were days when he would cry and when she would have to take him from me.  On those days, I knew that he'd be fine.  From the beginning I knew that he'd be fine because no matter what happened during school on those days or how tired or cranky he was when I picked him up, he always said the same thing, that he loves Mrs. Giannecchini.  Maybe that is the real difference between a good teacher and a great one; it is simply that everything that they do or say comes from a genuine place of care for each child in the room.  And with 30 in the room, that is no small feat.  I have been in the classroom many times these past two years and I have never seen Laura different on any given day.  She is ever smiling, kindness in her voice, consistent in her assertions, in her explanations, in her discipline.  She does everything that all of the best parenting books tell us to do, but most of us don't, either that or we do a few things and then fail to do the others.  I noticed that no matter how hectic things were or how much was going on, she never failed to act with care in each instance.  A child running to her with an injury, a parent walking into the room to ask a questions, two children arguing over some markers.  She just "took care of it" and moved on to the next thing as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world to have to multi-task your way through a 5 hour day, 5 days a week with such importance placed on each and every thing that you do and every word that you say...

One of the most difficult things that I've encountered in being a parent is sending my child off to school, at the mercy of a stranger.  Yeah, they have to have a teaching credential and be certified, but I'm not going to lie; my kids have still had some very poor quality teachers.  That is not easy for me to say, but in looking back and evaluating their attitudes, performance and student reactions to their methods and personalities, yes, they were definitely below par.  Some should consider retirement, even in their forties... But the easiest thing to do, something that most of us never consider until that day comes when we pack up the back pack for the first time and make the lunch, is to send your child off to a place that is warm and safe and to a teacher who you know truly loves your kid.

That is the real difference.  Mrs. Giannecchini loves our kids.  She would do anything to help them and she has.  Ty has blossomed these past two years and my only regret after tomorrow will be knowing that every teacher that he has from next year on, will never be as good as she is.  Maybe that is unfair and I'm sure he will have many good teachers, but for him, this first experience has made him love school and has made him want to go and want to learn.  Can there be anything better?
I once told Laura that she should be teaching teachers and while she said that she had thought about that and how much she would love to share ideas with colleagues, ultimately, she is right where she belongs.  The kindergarteners, the seedlings, the little ones need her, more than anything and more than anyone else.  They are loved and Mrs. G. so are you.  We will miss you every single day and our hearts are filled with gratitude for the experience that you've given Ty these past two years.  I hope that it all comes back to you many times over.  You are, without a doubt,  the Best Teacher ever.  Thank you!

The Hawleys

Avoid the jab...

If you know me, you probably wouldn't think that I like to avoid conflict; the thing is, I do like to avoid it.  I will engage if necessary or if provoked, but I do not seek it out nor do I enjoy the battle or the aftermath.  I think maybe it is because I take things very personally and I feel things very deeply.  I have a difficult time just letting things "roll off my back" because I tend to analyze the hell out of them.  Certainly this can be a helpful trait when preparing for a lawsuit or purchasing a home, but insofar as relationships go, extreme analysis can often be the kiss of death.  Combine that with my acute lack of attention to detail and my inability to sometimes pay attention at all and well, let's just say, I never had too many BFF's.  I'm better one on one and although I have many friends; I try hard to maintain a quality relationship with each of them.  I feel like I am failing miserably in this arena, especially as of late, but I do try.  When they are important to me, I try.  I just wish that I could let more things go as quickly as some people can. 

As an intuitive person, and I am, combined with being sensitive, I find it interesting when people say, "Oh you don't let anything bother you" or "I wish I could let things go that fast."  Ironically, I must put up a pretty good front, but, if I were to analyze my own actions, what I'd truthfully say is, I really don't give a shit about what people think of me UNLESS they are someone whose opinions and beliefs I value and then of course, it hurts.  Constructive criticism is misleading I think, well, let's just agree that it can be.  It's like a backhanded compliment.  Oh your hair looks really nice, BUT and all we hear is what follows the "but."  To be effectively constructively critical, damn that was a mouthful, I think that you must understand the role that the person plays in your life and how that person's criticism is a direct reflection of the role that they play.  Once you understand it, then you are less likely to judge them for evaluating your words or actions or your life.  By examining the individual roles that each of my friends play in my life, I can understand where the criticism comes from and because I value their perspective I can then listen objectively.  At least that is what I think.  But, when someone offers up criticism, even if you think that person is close to you, sometimes it is an insult bound by bubble wrap.  And, if you are anything like me, you whip out a knife, pop that mother fucking bubble wrap and go straight to the heart of the matter.  Being impulsive, this certainly has its drawbacks as I have jumped to conclusions in which I was completely wrong.  When that happens, I try to rectify the problem.  But when it happens and I realize that it was not constructive nor even criticism, but a blatant attack or a jab, then, I shift into warrior mode and, I take no prisoners.

Part of the reason why I despise self help books and I have discussed this before, is the notion that there are blanket solutions to problems.  And while I realize that Psychology is a science, I also realize that it is a buffet and there are bits and pieces that compliment my particular personality, my learning style, my needs and my perception about people and life.  Self help books independently speak to certain issues, one at a time, but that doesn't help me because my brain is a tornado of issues all the time, sprinkled with half truths, splintered analysis, emotional distress and a mind that never seems to shut down.  I will admit, it is hard to be objective when you lost the objectivity playing piece in the game.  It's there, but it's hiding, amidst the rubble, the problems, the feelings, the other friends' opinions and my own impetus for wanting to "live in the moment."  That in itself creates issues.  Self help books speak to the masses but not to the individual, at least that is how I see it.  There is no end all to life's problems and whenever I pass that aisle in the bookstore I think I'd like to sit down and cut and paste pieces from several books to get the "right" answer to whatever question brought me over there in the first place.

The thing is, I don't aim for inner peace.  I think that pain, sorrow, disappointment and suffering bond us together as human beings just as much as, if not more, love, growth, joy and celebration.  When I empathize with the deep sorrow that another human being is experiencing, I feel myself grow as a person and my empathy for others deepens through that exchange.  When I celebrate a friend's birthday or anniversary or the birth of a child, those events too shape me in a way that allows me to feel joy for others.  Ultimately though, we work through life as we move toward death and because we don't know when that is coming, well, certainly some do unfortunately, we hold on to and strive for the moments of peace.  But in the end, when we all suffer loss and we face death, even before our own, we are bound together in a way that celebratory events don't provide.  At the most basic level, we are nothing more than the worst moments that we all share.  When a child is taken or a woman is raped or a family is killed in an accident, it reaches into the depth of what makes us human.  And I don't feel any stronger connection to people than I do when I offer my love and service and care in their darkest moments.  Anyone can be happy for a moment, but it takes a person a lifetime to really, truly understand why a person is afraid or lonely or sad.  It takes wisdom and time and an experience that most of us, myself included, will never understand.  It's why we cry when we watch the stories on CNN or we see the devastation that is wrought by a young man in a small town and the endless despair that follows it.  Life is beautiful, yes, it can be, but life is ugly and painful and isolating and I think that it is when we recognize those moments and face them head on, with the help of other people, that we begin to form a human bond that nothing can break.  When I turn to you and say, I know what you are going through and I mean it then, I can say that I am at peace.

I'm not a jealous person, never have been.  I don't wonder whether or not my husband is looking at other women or, by virtue of that, off in a hotel room fucking one.  I don't wish I lived in someone else's house with someone else's life.  I don't covet other people's cars or money or vacation homes.  Sure, I'd like to have some things that I don't have, but I don't think by taking something from you that it gives me more and so I am not jealous.  I get better by learning from and by watching others get better.  Good begets good in this case.  So when someone tells me that they are jealous of something that I am doing or the way I am through their petty words and bubble wrapped intention, I whip out my knife and start popping... People who say they have a thick skin probably do, but they also probably got that thickness through years of piled up scar tissue.  The jabs, insults or careless remarks hurt the worst when they were first hurled and then, after time, they began to seem less harmful, innocuous even as the tissue built up.  So, by the time that they tell you that they have thick skin, it's from years of practice.  Little jabs hurt the most, at least to me, when they come out of context.  If my brother makes some little comment, I may let it go because he is my brother and he always makes little comments.  So in a way, I expect that and I'm ready for it.  But when someone says something that is intended to cause insult or harm and it is out of context, clearly it is because they are working through their own issues.  Remember that saying, well, I'm not going to say it exactly right, but something like, "The worst cooks always yell the loudest that their food isn't done right..."  that is my point today.  Those who would hurl a stone without provocation, without context and with mal intent, well, they are not friends of mine, no matter the history.  And while there may be moments of regret later on, I will hold fast to the notion that I wish them no harm or ill will and that I will always hope the best for them.  I will no longer speak of them, but if I do, it will not be with malice.  I just wish, deep down, that either I didn't take things so personally or that more people, again ironically, because I don't follow my own advice, would sincerely think before they speak.

Having rambled incoherently, I will say that the last few years have brought more love and friendship into my life than I had ever expected.  I have become part of a society of people that push forward the causes that matter in life and I am eternally grateful for the inclusion.  I wish more people would take the opportunities as they come instead of waiting until there is no time left to consider them.  And to the friends who have taken the time to support my endeavors, without prejudice or judgment, may I say, from the depths of this conflicted heart, that you have my endless gratitude and loyalty.  Surely, if there was ever a moment when you felt that I overstepped the boundaries of our relationship, I would welcome your comments openly and I would try hard not to over-analyze.  I said try, no one is perfect.

Lastly, sometimes it takes a lifetime to realize that some relationships are not what they once were and while that is fine, that it is not acceptable to hold on to something that no longer works if I myself am not willing to put in the time to make it work.  If my sensitivity to someone's words seems excessive, it is probably because I should have distanced myself long before it got to that point, either that, or I should have addressed the issues sooner.  Mountain out of a molehill or just a long goodbye, either way, I should probably lessen my cold medication intake... goodnight.

Not qualified...

I am in the swirling mist of a job search and don't think for ONE second that it doesn't bother me that my kid found a part time job with his very first application.  I could qualify that by saying, "Oh, it's a little part time job and I wouldn't want to do that anyway" but, that's not my point.  In the past two weeks I have filled out 56 applications.  Now, many of you already know that I am a teacher, but apparently, that is all I am qualified to do and even then, even now, when the city in which I live and in which I used to teach full time is hiring, I cannot even APPLY because I need a certification that is required that was not previously required when I was teaching full time in the district.  So, in case you aren't following... I am not qualified to work at JCPenny's nor am I qualified to teach where I used to teach.  Under/Over/Sideways qualified, doesn't matter.  One of my only options is to fill out one of those annoying forms that pop up on my computer from an online university that will graciously allow me to earn another degree while racking up more debt.  My only real option would be to collect Unemployment, but here's the thing, I WANT a full time job, I am able, I can work, I've been applying and while I will continue to teach at El Camino part time because I love it and I wish I could get a full time job there, I will work anywhere.  I've applied to all different kinds of customer service jobs:  the airport, hotels, telecommunications, service representatives, secretarial... Let me say, there is nothing quite as frustrating, at least not any more than in this moment, to realize that you aren't cyber qualified to fold clothes, answer phones or greet people... even with a Master's degree.

Next term, I am going to tell my students that they had better starting working backwards, forget what they love, forget their hopes and dreams and all that mattered to them as a child.  Pick a career based on incremental raises, good health insurance and availability.  I mean seriously, who would want to be an English teacher right?  Yeah okay, remember that the next time you are filling out an application and you have to write a cover letter.  Better fold your hands together and say a prayer for that educator who is currently waiting for her unemployment benefits in the mail.  I remember thinking when I resigned from my full time position, one that I loved, that there would always be jobs for teachers and, in a way there are, but there are not enough to accommodate all of us who thought similarly to how I thought then.  And, because I am now 44, I have become THAT teacher who the youngsters are looking at going why doesn't she move the hell over and let me have that job.  I am much newer, much shinier, much more qualified than she is.  Well, let me tell you something honey...

I was not a good teacher when I began.  I had a Bachelor's degree, a much smaller ass, a good work ethic and an even better attitude.  I was smart, willing to work hard and even more willing to learn, but, I didn't know what the hell I was doing.  Traditional student teaching prepared me for the day to day, "What if's" and, I had excellent master teachers, but, and this is a big but, no pun intended, one of my mentors flat out told me not to expect any sort of mastery or consistency in my teaching until I had taught the same subject for a good 5 years in a row.  She told me to really work on varying my lessons, my instructional techniques and she encouraged me to get my Master's degree right away.  In those first three years, I learned so much, maybe more than I've learned in the last 17 all together.  When I wasn't granted tenure after the third year and I was told that I was a "B" teacher and the school was looking for an "A" teacher, I took it hard.  I'm not going to lie, it was a real blow to my ego and to my self confidence.  I thought long and hard about teaching and about what had been asked of me those past three years and then I found another job.  For the next 5 years, my expectations about teaching and the love that I saw from many of my own teachers over the years, came to fruition.  I learned to love my job.  Those 5 years gave me a sense of fulfillment and growth, in ways that are hard for me to articulate.  I flourished during that time and I also had my first child.

I thought at several times during my career that I would go back to graduate school once more and pursue a Ph.d in English.  I still think about it sometimes, but now it is in more of an abstract kind of way.  With our oldest considering college in 2 years and two more to get through the day to day trials of school and life, I need to focus on maintaining a consistent income.  Hence, the full time job search.  While I know that a Ph.d will only mean something personal to me at this point, I also know that my priorities since having Jake have obviously shifted, as well they should.  I'd rather send Ty to private school than go back to school myself.  I'd rather do both, but that's wishful thinking.  For now, I have to work with what I have and what I have is a work ethic and a quick learning curve.  Now I just need a chance...

At 44, I have a limited scope of years left in which to begin a new career, but I also know that experience is equivalent to education in my field, seemingly, certainly one has to have a degree to teach.  Honestly, it is a combination of the two and while I know that many schools are looking for a workhorse, I also know that there are schools out there who are looking for me.  El Camino has been so good to me and I hold it and my colleagues in the highest of esteem.  I hope that things will work out for me there and in the mean time, I will continue to push forward, filling out online applications and being rejected.  At this point, it would be nice and gentler on my self confidence if I could just get an interview.  Me and thousands of other people in this country. 

I still pray for patience and I pray for a better life for all children in this country and in the world and I know, somehow that I am being tested and that I am being shown how to fight for my family, how to care for it and that I can take care of them all if I have to.  I just haven't been shown the direct route to do that.  I picture God somewhere whispering to me, Yvette just press Ctrl + Alt + Ineedajob.com, but not in so many words.  The message is there; I just need to decipher it.  I hope he's smiling as he is whispering it and not pointing at the screen laughing at my folly. 

Jake just walked in, handed me his birth certificate and said, "Hey Mom, is this my birth certificate?"  Holy hell... maybe I should go back to school and forget about paying for college.  Maybe we'll be competing for the same job soon... let me know if you hear of anything will you? 

Happiness is overrated...

so is optimism, looking forward to things, seeing the glass as half full, looking at life through rose colored glasses and all of that other shit that keeps people floating down a river of flotsam dreams and teal colored hopes.  If happiness were a beautiful, spotless, perfectly formed bubble that a child had formed, I would pop that mother fucker and walk away laughing... does this even require an explanation?  Am I the only person who puts her Ipod on, looks the bathroom door and dances for 30 minutes until I'm sweating just so I can drone out the laughter and joy that my family is experiencing without me?  I mean, I do that, but usually it is to drown out the sounds of those little bastards fighting one another.  By the way, someone told me that if I want to write a book that I have to blog a whole lot more.  It's hard when you have nothing to say but bad things or even just good things for that matter. Who wants to read that shit?   But, Ty is watching Madagascar 3 right now and there is about 10 minutes left so that leaves me about 10 minutes, 30 seconds before my second shift begins.  Ty wants to play Battleship but there is only one cartridge thing or whatever the hell you call it so we made a makeshift one out of a little box with holes... never mind, Jake called it "ghetto" which I don't like but he also constantly describes things as "Gucci" so what the hell does he know.  Ty is naked too which is standard fare around our house in the summer.  Not for me, God forbid, but for the little one.  The other two were like that when they were little too, but that habit tends to fall by the wayside, for obvious reasons.  Although Ty is constantly telling me, habits aside, that his penis is sticking straight up.  I have written about that before; I just continue to tell him that it is supposed to do that; it means that it is working.  He accepts this as reasonable and he lets it go at that.

I don't generally think of myself as an unhappy person but there are times when I am happy in my unhappiness, in my misery.  There are times when it feels good to feel bad.  Know what I mean?  In this instance, it is not a release of stress or anything like that.  I mean, who doesn't love a good cry now and then.  No, I mean, it feels good to honk at someone on the road or kick the leg of the couch or scream into a pillow or make fun of some stupid character on television.  It feels good to not feel good.  And, I don't know if I am the only one who feels that way.  I doubt that many people like to admit that or I wonder even if that feel that way at all.  Like yesterday for example, we went out to lunch as a family and the meal was great and the server was very good, efficient, friendly, the food came out on time, but, about halfway through the meal, she did it, she went WAY overboard with the friendly.  It began to ooze from her pores and at one point I looked at Tim and winced when she started to talk about the different types of chicken in the kitchen.  Now, I will be the first to admit, I am not the friendliest of people and I often have a bad attitude, but, conversely, the opposite of that is the Uberhappy, life is wonderful and everything is so beautiful and I love everyone and... Oh God, I can feel my temples begin to pound.  I mean, happiness has its place, just like sadness and anger and irritation, but just like some people hate it when I am angry or extremely sad, I hate it when people have sunshine shooting out of their asses.  If this is their nature, I would never say anything directly to them or embarrass them, like the server yesterday, I smiled at her, asked her questions about the chickens; she was really impressed by those cooks I guess and then we tipped her 20%.  She was a good server, but she didn't know when too much of a good thing is clearly too damn much.  By the time the meal ended, I was in a worse mood than before, all because of her extreme happiness.  Clearly this is a reflection on me, but I cannot be the only one who feels that way.

I flip people off when I'm driving and if someone cuts me off, I yell, whether they can hear me or not.  If someone cuts in front of me in line, I politely say something or if I am shortchanged, I tell the cashier.  I don't have to be mean about it, but this whole forced happy thing is starting to really chap my ass.  I don't need 6 people behind the counter screaming "WELCOME TO PANDA" every time I go in the fucking door or, if it is obvious that I don't want to join the "club" or get a free "club" card because I've said "No thank you, I don't want a club card" and it is repeated, "but it's free" then please respect that.  I don't want someone to ask me three times if they can help me find something when it is obvious that I am looking and browsing and I don't need assistance.  I now say, "Thank you, but if I need something, I'll ask."  I mean for crying out loud, do I have the word NEEDY tattooed on my forehead.  It's like sex I suppose.  The therapist told me, if Tim wants to have sex and you don't, try to think about how it will make him happy or make his day or how it will put him in a better mood and because you love him, then it will put you in a better mood.  I tried to look at it like that and that works sometimes.  I mean I do love Tim and I love sex so there you go, but the thing is, sometimes I just don't want to.  I just don't want to go through the motions.  Maybe it is because I'm a woman or a psycho or both, but sometimes I just can't.  That's just not me; I don't fake it... har har. 

I gave a final exam today and it was clear that several students are not going to pass the class, yet there they were, staring at me, hoping through some sort of scientific process that the grade will automatically get transferred from their hopes into the computer.  I remember thinking once that the process of grading someone's work is infinitely unfair, even when you have criteria, even when that criteria is objective; there is a supposed amount of power that comes with telling someone that they are or aren't "good" enough based on a curriculum or a class that you helped design.  It is a huge responsibility.  I know deep down that I am a fair person and that the standards are fair and that, if they fail, it is most likely due to some lapse on their part.  However, there is still that moment when I am entering grades and I think about what each of their faces looked like and I realize that I can change the course of their future, even if it is just slight.  I have the power to alter the trajectory and I can, in essence, make them happy.  And then I sit back and evaluate the situation, the work, the student, the whole process and I know that I can't do that if it isn't warranted and so, I try to soften the blow.  Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't.  But as the years have gone on, I have gotten much more efficient at delivering the news so that it is not unexpected or really, all that painful.  At least it seems that way to me; the students may tell you otherwise.

I told them today, before class ended, that all I ever wanted to do, besides when I was 8 or 9 for a brief stint and I considered being a brain surgeon, a hairdresser and a flight attendant, was be a teacher.  I wanted my life to be about sharing information that I love and that my enthusiasm for that subject matter would somehow seep into their collective consciousness.  I also love that I get to start over every term too; it is exciting and new and always a challenge.  So, happiness in a nutshell.  Maybe not totally overrated, but in tandem with sadness, anger and a need for swift justice, especially when someone tailgates you on the freeway... I'm done.  Fuck off.

Parenting 101 x WTF

I often feel as though I am sitting in the middle of a human tornado, body parts flying, noises emitting from every possible surface in the house and a constant hum in my ears that tells me it may be time to hop in the car and get the hell out.  More often than not though, I don't do that, because by the time I get back to the house, more chaos has ensued and, secretly, although I will never verbally confirm this, I really enjoy the chaos. 

The boys and Tim think I'm in a bad mood and while that may be true some of the time, most of the time, I am internally relishing the arguments, the wrestling, the beach ball making its way through mid air toward the television.  I love the smell of pasta cooking and fresh laundry on my bed, even if the pug is rolling around in it, having just emerged from the shower soaking wet.  I anticipate the sounds of the kids getting into the car after school and the few minutes that I get them alone without the intrusion of electronics on their brains, when we can actually have a conversation on the way home.  I swear, Jake is getting a permanent hunch in his shoulders from staring into his cell phone for long periods of time.  But I'm told, this is the new "hunchback" of the electronic generation:  Iphones, Ipads, Ipods, I need to read a damn book every once in awhile.

I knew it was coming; I used to teach high school so I knew it, but I still wasn't ready for it.  I have a full blown teenage boy in the house.  Attitude, "swag," lack of interest that isn't anything "girlfriend, soccer or friend" related, again, I knew it was coming, but it has not been what I expected.  Jake is a good hearted and kind boy and I see that in him still, but what I don't like, what I abhor to tell you the God's honest truth is the constant verbal sparring in which he engages me on a daily basis.  And the interesting thing is, it doesn't matter WHAT we are discussing, there are moments when he disagrees with me just so he can.  Even when his argument is riddled with inconsistencies or is just downright incoherent; he will hold to that argument as if it were a liferaft and he was one word away from drowning.  Then again, he'd probably rather drown than admit that he was mistaken.  The other funny thing is, sometimes I think he just doesn't realize the stupidity of what he is trying to say; I say trying only because often, it makes no sense.  That isn't easy for me to write because Jake is extremely verbal and very bright.  He uses vocabulary in a meaningful way in appropriate contexts more often than I would expect a 16 year old to do.  However, what doesn't fit is his inability to comprehend the other side of the argument.  He just argues his point and flat out disagrees with me, no matter what I say, how I say it or how loud I scream at him while wagging my finger in his face.  He doesn't comprehend it because he chooses NOT to and while deep down I realize that this confrontation stage is the beginning of his major PULL toward the independence that he is convinced he will have at 18, I also realize that it is the beginning of the end of my journey of parenting him.  And, frankly, it saddens me.  I know that I will always be his mother, but the relationship has and will continue to change and, as hard as it is, I cannot fight that, for his sake.  I have been the most important female figure in his life and on some level, I'm sure that he will see me as a semblance of that person who once "knew" what the hell she was talking about, but, more than that, I have to accept that that role is limited in scope and that now, soon, in the future, someone will usurp my role.  I know that and on some level, I do accept that.  I guess what I will have a difficult time with, is letting go of the fact that I won't be the person that Jake comes to when he needs something; that is a role that I have enjoyed.  He trusts me and I believe, despite his snarky remarks, that he trusts my judgment, but, let's face it, he is still my son and I am still his mother and that in and of itself leads to conflict.  Parenting a budding man, well, physically anyway, emotionally and psychologically he's still 3... sorry Jake, is not easy, but I cannot begin to compare it to the emotional roller coaster that I would be experiencing if there were a teenage girl in the house. 

Having grown up with my brothers, Rich and Steve, I was well prepared for what was in store for having teenage boys in the house, but the relationship is clearly different.  Having to discipline a teenage boy for not following the rules is very different than drinking beers as a teenager with your dopey brothers.  What I have a hard time with is how Jake will turn to the "men" in his life often, now, before he comes to me.  I understand it and it makes sense, but, I don't like it.  It hurts on a level that only a woman, a mother can understand.  He is my little boy and deep down, he is the same as he was when he was on all fours, ten months old, crawling all over the floor, laughing, drooling, looking to me for guidance and more laughter.  Maybe we are supposed to have our children when we are young because as we grow and mature, we find it more difficult to let go and start over.  I think about a few years from now when I am in my GASP fifties and the kind of transition that will begin to take place as the kids move toward their own lives, their own homes, careers, potential spouses and I suddenly can't breathe.  I can't remember those days of holding Jake in my arms and dressing him for Halloween and waving to him as he ran off to baseball practice.  Suddenly I've become obsolete.  I lay in bed at night thinking these thoughts and they make me very sad sometimes.  But you know, I think it is a good thing.  Parenting is not all roses and lollipops.  It is painful and hard, brutally honest and heartbreaking; parenting is putting all of your love and hope and dreams into these little people who grow as they will, forming their own opinions, having their own experiences and that moment, that one second that you know is coming, when you have to unclasp your hand, reminds you that parenting really isn't forever.  They will always be our children, but they will not always need us as parents.  As they change, so does the relationship.  I am learning to accept that.  Maybe by the time Ty is 18, I will have conquered these mixed emotions.  But for now, I will look forward to Jake's hugs and his telling me goodnight, I will look forward to Nick still asking me to "tuck him in" and I will cherish the fleeting moments that I have left when Ty lets me put my arms around him and kiss his cheeks.  But I know that the day is coming when he will wipe those kisses away...

I can honestly say that if I knew then what I know now, that I would never have opted not to have children.  Yeah, it's easy to say that now, because I love them and all that, but what I mean is, if I had any idea what kind of daily challenges were in store for me, the love, the tears, the boredom, the chaos, I DEFINITELY would have had 2 or 3 more.  Now if you'll excuse me, I hear the sound of dissent in the bedroom...

Choose...

To some, a choice is simply putting two options side by side and then, deciding which one is "best."  That seems relatively simple, but, as my 6 year old often schools me in life's BIG lessons, he tells me, "I just can't decide Mom.  It's hard."  Acute wisdom in a 52 pound body... It is hard, even when the action is simplistic: two options, three, four - Which path to take?  Which road?  Robert Frost put it so eloquently years ago, "Two roads diverged in a wood..." and although his poem touches on our decisions in life and how they affect us, what made me think of this topic was the idea of having to make a choice that you may not want to make, maybe, in some cases, not having a choice at all.

I forfeited my guaranteed entry to run the New York marathon this year; the deadline was midnight last night to pay the entry fee once more to run the race that was cancelled last November.  And, as much as I wanted to and I still do, I am unable to take on the challenge this year.  I did not want to admit that and a year ago, I wouldn't have.  But, this past month, I realized that I was going to have to make a choice between events to do and races to run.  It was an extremely difficult choice this time around particularly because my sister is going back to run NY as her first marathon and Cyndi is going back to run for Coach Scott and all of those who are able to return are going back to help celebrate one of the greatest cities on the planet.  I knew all this, I've known it and, I still had to bow out.  Fortunately, I know that somewhere this weekend, there will be someone shouting and happy that he or she gets to go, in my place and I hope for that person that it is every bit as meaningful as my experience was. 

My youngest brother and I are not speaking.  He asked me to stay out of his business and as much as I have wanted to talk to him, especially on my birthday, I have not.  My brother is an alcoholic, a binge drinker who has struggled with addiction in some form or another for most of his adult life.  Sadly, maybe because he has a good heart, it is difficult for our family to watch him struggle, especially when he refuses to acknowledge that what he does hurts other people.  As much as I think he knows that I want him to be well, I also think that he needs someone to blame because it is often too much to take on that kind of accountability when the bottles are just down the street at the liquor store.  I almost called him today, just to see how he is because I miss him.  He is friend as much as he is my brother and I love him very much.  I had to make a choice to not hold it against him but I also had to choose to not call him or speak to him until he is ready, if he ever is ready. 

Choosing often implies sacrifice, even if in the most minuscule way.  You choose to act a certain way, to say something, to do something, to be something and regret appears when the choice is not well thought out, not always, but often.  Choose a college, choose a spouse, choose a job, choose a family - whether or not to have one, choose a church, choose a president... it never ends, and with each choice comes the knowledge, that knowledge that there was always another way to go.  Should have and could have become staples in the vocabulary of decision making or decision "not" making.

I gave up my class at Santa Monica College 9 weeks into a 17 week semester.  I chose to jeopardize my future at an institution that gave me a chance and then turned that chance into an opportunity and I did it with the knowledge that in all likelihood, I would not be invited back.  I understood what I was doing and what it might mean and while I felt that it was the best choice for me and I stand by that, I also feel a deep sense of disappointment in myself for not finishing what I started and for taking an opportunity and turning my back on it.  I have to live with that.

I read a lot.  Lately, I've been reading research articles on the brain and pieces of non-fiction that have to do with historical events and biographical subjects.  While I read, I am ever aware that what I am reading is a direct reflection of what is going on in my life at the time.  Sometimes I go through periods of fantasy and science fiction, other times it is romance and historical fiction and often, the material is work related.  Right now my reading choices reflect my need for truth.  I want to know "things" that are happening in the world, in my body, in societies that I can only imagine.  While technology offers me instant access to all subjects worldly, reading allows me to absorb the material at my leisure; it does not inundate me with information, rather it enables me to tread as broadly or as deeply as I choose.  I make the choice to read every day and, there are days when I would rather go straight to sleep, or watch television or hang out with the kids, but I know that the years of choosing to crack open that book or to scan an article will continue to enrich my life in a way that choosing something else won't, well, maybe except spending time with my kids...

I have lately been on Jake like flies on shit, about his grades, about his future and about his choices.  While I tell him that it is his life and I respect his opinions as a human being, which I do, I also expect him to acknowledge that the choices that he is making now, as a teenager will either afford him more choices as a young adult or they will limit his choices as a graduating 18 year old.  As his mother, I want him to have those choices.  It is his life and when he turns 18, I will no longer have the kind of hold on him that I do now, but, strangely, I think that the kind of relationship that has developed between us allows for a negotiation process that I never had with my parents.  Maybe it is generational or maybe it depends on the family, but I am enjoying the moments of "deliberation" because I can see that it makes Jake feel like he is being heard, and he is, when I give him the chance to explain his side of it.  I also think that a lesson self-taught is one that is more ingrained than one that is mother-taught, but don't quote me.  My son, who I absolutely adore, is going to be faced with some life-changing decisions in the next few years.  Having sex, choosing a college, using alcohol or drugs, getting a job, spending money, letting go of and/or making friends, playing soccer - all of these "issues" and more will be in the forefront of the process of his growth as an adolescent and as an adult.  The thing is; I choose to trust my son.  I tell him this often and I tell him that I will trust him until he gives me a reason not to, but even if that trust is broken, I will be here for him and I will always defend his choices because he is my son.  While that may be faulty circular reasoning, I know that it comes from a place of absolute love.  I hope that he is learning to choose based on solid reasoning and that in the challenging moments of his life, he will make solid decisions.  Scratch that, I don't hope he will, I know he will.

I look around at my "teacher" friends, who, like me, now have all of their kids in school and they have held on to their tenure and to their jobs.  Early on, when Jake was 2 1/2 and Nick was born, I resigned my teaching position at a school that I loved, from a job that I loved, with colleagues who I loved in order to stay home with my boys.  I have not, for one day, regretted that choice.  Even now, teaching part time and not being able to step right back into a full time job, I don't regret that choice, I mean, how could I?  But there are moments when I think about what keeping that job would mean for my family now; the financial stability that would provide for them and I would be lying if I didn't say that every once in a while I wish that I could have done both.  I mean, my friends, the aforementioned ones, they did it; they are doing it.  I think early on I knew what it might mean, but I also know myself and I cannot give myself wholly to one thing without sacrificing something else.  Many people can juggle many things and do a wonderful job at all of them. Unfortunately, I can only do that in my mind.  And so I chose...

I am training now for my first "tri" activity, a 1/2 ironman that I will do in October of this year.  I woke up on Tuesday morning of this week and I chose.  I didn't want to; I wanted to sleep.  But, I dragged myself out of bed and I got in the car, drove to the pool and I chose to swim.  Last April, our T2 Ragnar team finished the race from Anaheim to Coronado.  I thought, at that time, having gotten into probably the best shape that I'd been in for quite some time, that it was the continuation of a lifelong commitment to training.  I had been feeling so great and running the strongest that I had in a long time.  I promised myself that when I got home, I would continue with that training.  I didn't and I allowed myself to sink back into that place of self indulgence and excuses.  I knew I was doing it; I chose it.  On some level, I didn't want to work that hard anymore, I just wanted to coast, like I did when my metabolism was at its kick-ass most efficient, but I soon learned that wasn't going to happen and a month turned into six turned into a year and 25 pounds later, I am starting over.  I look at myself in the mirror and while I don't feel as good as I did a year ago, I still like what I see.  I put my body through literal hell and it still works with me and not against me.  It wakes me up and pulls me through the pool and it lets me run alongside Ty at the park, it lets me dance with Nick in the kitchen and it allows me to train for events that I never imagined at 44 I would be able to do.  So now, I choose to give back to my body by eating better, by training harder and by being kinder to myself than ever before.  And when October comes, I will run into the water with a smile on my face knowing that I am saving lives and that I have reinvented mine once again.

I am fairly convinced that I could do another job, have another career, make more money doing something other than teaching, but I choose to continue to teach.  Every term, there are a couple of student who verbally thank me, or hug me, or write me a note that tells me that what I've said or done has made them a better reader, a better thinker or a better writer.  And while I don't anticipate these outpourings nor do I wait for them, I am always moved by them.  When I was young, I don't remember exactly how old, but when I was maybe an adolescent, I felt like I was supposed to do something meaningful with my life.  Maybe everybody feels like that, that's why we say it's a "calling," but that's not exactly what I mean here.  I felt like my life had specific purpose and because I am a God fearing person, I felt that I had some innate ability to do something special.  I didn't know what that was and maybe I still don't, but I feel as though God gave me a gift with people, a sensitivity to their needs and a desire to help them.  I feel such a strong need to give.  And while I will probably never have the money to do the kind of giving that I would like to, I realized that by choosing to use what skills and talents I have, that even an average kid from Torrance can make a real contribution to the global and even the local efforts of organizations that are changing the way that people live.  You don't have to have money or endless resources, you just have to make a choice to do what you can in whatever capacity that is.  I mean, I have a group of friends who constantly support my fundraising efforts because, financially, they can.  I have other friends who offer to train me, for free, who offer to get up with me in the morning, at the crack of dawn and I have yet others who support me emotionally by giving me a cyber pat on the back or a hug when they see more or by shooting me a message that often brings me to tears.  I choose to give because I know, deep in my heart, that I am supposed to and I am trying to pass that message along to my children.  I know I will succeed.

Lastly, well, my brain is shutting down now, so lastly for here, I choose to share these thoughts with you, not for your approval nor for your judgment, but, for your consideration.  If you are a part of my life, it's because I chose you and I want you to know that was a choice that I will always defend.  Don't worry about choosing wisely my friends, just make a choice and stand behind it...