Life in the Fast Lane: Working Mom & 3 Tweens

I can't even remember the last book I read for pleasure. Time to exercise is almost nil. My kids are eating on the go almost nightly because I don't have time to cook. My house....well, at least the laundry is kept up somewhat because we need to wear clothes!

But as busy as I am (as we are as a family) I can't really say I have complaints. Look at the beauty of it all:

My babies are all growing up!

My kids are getting BIG. Each night, my 12 year old son gives me a hug goodnight and stands on his tiptoes so that we are eye to eye. I am just over 5'9", and he is just over 5'4" in 7th grade. Each night, I stare in amazement into his eyes, remembering that not very long ago he fit in the crook of my arm.  We argue about chores, homework, and his lack of ability to remember anything unless it is attached to his body (he would forget his head if it wasn't attached, I swear!) When I can, I watch him play basketball (7 practices and 2-4 games/week) but mostly I drive him to his stuff and pick him up again. When I drop him off, he walks off towards a group of friends from junior high school that I don't know. He interacts with them in a way that is new to me. His age won't reflect it for a few more months, but he truly is a teenager now--from his pimple-dotted nose to his rolling eyes. But he is still my baby, and those nightly hugs when he looks at me, eye to eye, remind us both of what it was like when his favorite things were Blue's Clues and collecting rocks.

My middle daughter is going to be 11 this month. She is in a phase I remember well--the beginning of puberty. She is struggling to feel comfortable with her changing body and experimenting with how she looks. She wants to hide her new femininity by wearing baggy tee shirts, but experiment with it by trying new hair styles. She worries a lot (she always has) but the things she worries about have changed a little. She worries about big picture things more--like saving humanity from _____________ (fill in the blank with your favorite plague.) She started a school bakery--which means whenever we have "free" time on weekends, we are baking. She sells the products after school to her classmates and teachers, then donating the proceeds to our Parent Teacher Organization. Though she is selling sweets, she specified that she wants the funds from the bakery to be limited to the purchase of P.E. equipment. How proud am I? Very. She has an amazing heart, loves sweets, and knows how to balance out that love of sweets by exercising! She also played volleyball for the first time this year, starts basketball in a few weeks, takes tap dancing, hip hop and acting classes, got a part in a play that will be performed in January, AND started playing the trombone. When I am not driving her brother to his stuff, I am driving her to her stuff--classes, practices, rehearsals every single day. Yes, you can call me "Taxi Mom."

My youngest daughter will turn 9 just after the New Year. Much to her older sister's chagrin, she is about to pass her up, height-wise. The most frequent feedback I get about my youngest is this: "She TOWERS over EVERYONE!" Yes, she does. She is literally head and shoulders above the rest of her class, and there is only one boy taller in the grade above her. Yet, despite her height she is still just a third grader. Lately she seems to have regressed to the maturity level of a toddler. Veruca Salt comes to mind--"I want the world, I want the whole world! Don't care how...I want it now!" (Check out the original Charlie and the Chocolate Factory video here.)  When my daughter doesn't get what she wants, she throws herself into a tizzy of crying, screaming, and carrying on that really takes me back in time to the toddler years. It is a classic case of tween terror: "I'm getting so big and grown up that I need to regress for a while to the comfort of being little."  She has these fits pretty regularly and I have to send her to her room, ignore her for a while to let her know that I'm not falling for the theatrics, and she can't have what she wants (chocolate at bed time, a cell phone of her own, whatever other inappropriate for an-almost-9-year-old demand that she is making at the moment.) Every 5 minutes or so, I go to her room and remind her that if she keeps crying she will make herself sick. She sniffles some snot and then wails a little louder. I walk away until another 5 minutes have passed. (Any behavior focused teachers out there will recognize this as "neutral prompting"--teaching is an awful lot like parenting!)  Eventually, she comes to the realization that I am not going to give in and she walks out of her room like nothing ever happened. She carries on with her life, and then clings to me all night long. She is wandering out in life: playing basketball on a club team twice a week, taking dance, acting and singing classes, participating in a garden club and a Girl Scout troop...but when she gets home she needs to cuddle in close. Venturing out into the world can be scary business! She really reminds me of a toddler--you know that stage where they learn to walk and can get away from Mama, but when they get too far they come running back to hug your legs, feel safe again.

They are busy. And I am still working at my new job, learning things, and getting to know the system. These are crazy times, but I love it all. Life is good!

Random Phone Pics

All summer I've read posts on other people's blogs with random photos from their phone. I could swear I saw a couple from Tara at Me and the Mexican and maybe more from Tracy at Latinaish...but I can't find the links to those specific posts :(   If you find them, or any others, please post them below because I want to give credit where credit is due for the idea I am about to borrow!  If you want to share some random pics from your phone on your own blog, feel free to link up in the comments.

I plugged my phone into my computer and realized that I hadn't transferred any pictures in a loooong while. Here's a photographic sampling of how we spent our summer:

Rest stop on our way home from traveling to Chicago-land.

After their eye exam, they tried on un-needed glasses that they thought were 70s styles. Vision: perfect. Fashion sense: hmmmm....

At our local 4th of July parade!

My All-Star at batting practice before a big tourney

A new Costco opened near us. I thought things there were cheap there!?! Prada bag = $1016.99

Tennis lessons! A vision in orange (what you wear is just as important as how you play, right? :)

Both daughters at swim lessons. The afro is in the sunny spot :)

Both girls conquered the diving board for the first time ever! One in, one on, and bro climbing up the ladder.

The view I had for 14 years from my old desk. This is the window sill that held my family pictures. It was hard to say goodbye, but I am thrilled about my new space!

Allergy testing for my son was no fun. But he is NOT allergic to anything...YAY!

Art Camp: proud of the panda!

You're never too big to enjoy swinging at the park!

Sisters. My fave pic of the summer!

Famous! He is on the jumbo-tron!

Dog Days are Over

It's just about official in my world: SUMMER IS OVER.

At least for me.

Today I take my daughters to spend a week with my parents so that they can attend Girl Scout Camp at the same place where my sister and I spent summers when we were kids. I hope they love it as much as I did! Girl Scout camp had a huge impact on my self-esteem, my appreciation of nature, and my ability to work cooperatively. I'm excited that my daughters will have the chance to experience the same environment.

My son will be spending his last week hanging out with friends, attending his junior high orientation, and going to basketball practices for his newest traveling team. That's right: junior high. My baby is growing up (which is so very bittersweet.)

And me? I will be brainstorming ideas, trying to envision my new routine, breathing through the anxiety of my bittersweet life change: a new job. I will attend a 2-day training where my goal is to soak up as much information as I can about my new district's protocols for working with kids who have behavioral challenges. I will be trying to contribute, but HOLY COW it's hard to contribute when you don't even know how the system works yet. So far I have felt like I have some ideas, but don't know exactly how they fit in with everything else...I am still learning. I have been teaching for 14 years, but those years have been in a very different program. In a lot of ways, I am a new teacher. I keep having to tell myself that even though I'm new, I have a lot to offer. My experience is definitely related to the new job, I just have to get familiar enough with everything and believe that it will all come together.

I'm re-learning that life lesson: the more you know, the less you know. I know a lot of stuff, but I don't know how to make a copy, where the teacher's lounge is, what the bell sounds like, or even what my new school email address will be! I don't know the names of my new students, how many of them there will be, and what my every day routine will be like. The unknowns make me a little anxious.

But at the same time, I am excited. I've been looking at some strategies to use with kids that I don't think have been used before at my new school. I am excited to see how it all works out. I'll try to fill you all in soon. For now, I'm just hanging on...reminding myself to breathe....brainstorming a whole lot of possibilities.

2012 Olympic Fever!

The whole family watched the Opening Ceremony of the 2012 London Olympics, and we're tuning in daily to watch as many events as we can. Archery, Basketball, Swimming, Gymnastics...they're all so exciting to watch, but the real highlights are when my kids have the opportunity to learn about the many different nations that participate. It's such a showcase of diversity and multiculturalism! We love looking at the colors of flags and uniforms, listening to each national anthem play, and observing how the fans cheer for their teams. The touching stories that are shared in each event capture our hearts and we find ourselves rooting for athletes from around the world.  It's a fun time!

Learning about new cultures is one of my favorite parts of the Olympics, which is why I really enjoyed a post from MarocMama.com with recipes from around the world. Amanda is participating in Eat the World 2012 Food Olympics. Check out her post here and enjoy a look at foods from around the world!

From MarocMama.com:
The Olympic opening ceremonies are tonight!  In honor of celebrating this great world event I decided to host a food Olympics.  Below you’ll find recipes from all over the world.  Make a few and get in the Olympic spirit!!  If you would like to contribute a recipe representing your nation of origin or simply a national dish you love please join up in the linky at the bottom of the post.

READ MORE at marocmama.com

Sisterly Fights: A Home Tonsillectomy?

Image via Flickr/D.Clow - Maryland

My sister and I have these stories about fighting when we were younger. When we shared a room, Mom told us to clean it together. She would sneak out while I cleaned the whole thing, and then I'd tell Mom I was ready to have her look. When we'd get back to the room, there was my sister...playing in the middle of a heap of toys that I'd just put away. Mom would wonder why I'd called her in to check a room that clearly was not yet clean. I'd get so upset with my sister.


When we had separate rooms we'd sabotage each other's stuff. One wrong word could start a war waging. She'd do something to me that irked me, and then I would plot my retaliation. Her favorite cartoon poster came from a Fruity Pebbles cereal box, featuring the Flintstone family, and a big "Yabba Dabba Doo!" emblazoned across it in bright yellow. To this day, she has not forgiven my scribbling on that poster as revenge for whatever it is she did to me.


As teenagers, our fights centered on one area of house--the bathroom. There was only one, and we both needed it desperately. One time in particular, I was in the bathroom trying to close the door, and she was outside the bathroom in the hallway trying to get in. She pulled on the door and I pulled back. Finally, I tired of the tug-of-war and just shoved her out of the doorway as hard as I could. When her butt went through the wall, our fight came to an abrupt ending. Instead of the overwhelming need to get in the bathroom, our thoughts were consumed with, "Oh ***t! How do we tell Mom and Dad about this one?" The fear made us get the giggles and pretty soon we were laughing so hard we were crying! The butt-hole in the wall has become one of our most cherished stories, and we re-hash it regularly at family get-togethers.


I remember sisterly fights very clearly. In fact, my sister just brought up the old Yabba Dabba Doo poster while she was in town this past weekend for my daughters' dance recital. In the back of my head, I wondered what stories my own daughters would have to relive with each other in the future. 


Well, I no longer have to wonder...

Yesterday we ran a bunch of errands in between sports/hair appointments/Brownie cookouts. My youngest daughter (8) used her allowance to buy herself a big bouncy ball for $2.50. 

At bedtime, my older daughter (10) was brushing her teeth. Youngest had her new bouncy ball in hand as she walked toward the bathroom (always the scene of the crime!) Older sister decided to annoy younger sister by bouncing the ball out of her hands as she walked by. Younger sister got mad and decided to retaliate by bouncing the ball in her face. Problem?!? Toothbrush was in mouth at the time of impact.

Immediately I heard screams and looked toward the bathroom. More screams and lots of blood. I assumed a bitten lip, tongue or cheek. The amount of blood definitely warranted a trip to the ER for stitches. I tried to calm the injured one down, but I also remembered that the ball bouncer was probably upset, too. I wished I could clone myself to deal with both girls, but the bloody injury trumped the emotional injury in that moment. I yelled at my son to call his dad immediately and make him come back from the gym )he'd left just moments earlier to go work out.) As soon as I knew he was on his way, we grabbed a towel to catch the blood and tears and drove to the ER.

Luckily, there was no wait. Doctor number one checked her mouth and called doctor number two. Doctor number two checked her mouth and called doctor number three, an ear-nose-throat physician. Ear-Nose-Throat doctors and I have a long history together due to my severe allergies and hearing impairment. I wondered who they'd send down to check on my baby.

There is only one time in my life when I was so happy to see a doctor--that is when my 9lb 1oz baby boy was lodged in my cervix for the 19th straight hour, and my body couldn't open wide enough to get him out. (I wanted to marry the anesthesiologist who gave me the IV that eventually moved the labor along. My husband may even have kissed him!)  Our ER visit was another such time--I was extremely happy to have my very own doctor walk through the doorway to the room where my injured daughter and I waited. He marched right in and gave me a hug, then examined the injured throat with a lot of Tender Loving Care.  The verdict: tonsil laceration. He decided that the bleeding was slowing down enough that it didn't need stitches. The esophagus was not punctured and the airway was not yet obstructed (but I'm supposed to watch out for swelling. If it gets too bad, he may decide to take the tonsil out.) 

Now we are at home with instructions for recovery from a tonsillectomy: acetaminophen, popsicles, ice pack on the throat, don't cough too hard, don't blow your nose too hard, and rest. 

Some day, they will look back on this and laugh. Some day. Until then, we'll enforce a no bouncy ball during toothbrushing rule and make sure that there is only one person at a time in the vicinity of the bathroom. Home tonsillectomies are no fun. Seriously, if there were a sisterly fight competition, my daughters would have my sister and I beat! I hope that this is the only fight of its kind, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it is only the beginning...(pray for me...)

Do you have famous stories of sibling fights? 

Yes, This Baby is Mine

Happy Mother's Day! In honor of this day, I am featuring a guest post from one of the feistiest, funniest,  most thoughtful and thought-provoking mom bloggers I know: Martha, from Momsoap. Thank you so very much, Martha, for sharing your experiences of being a mom on this Mother's Day.

Photo courtesy of Momsoap.com

If you look at our features, my daughter looks exactly like me, not her dad. But most people don't notice it until they get to know us. Most people don't look past the color of our skin.

I'm white. My daughter is, as she puts it, "light brown." Her father is Nigerian, so he is very dark. I'm as waspy as they come, full-on European background and raised in west Texas.

But since becoming the parent to a biracial child, I've become accustomed to  the once hurtful, now simply, banal, question, "Is that your daughter?" Or, "Is she adopted?"

Yes, yes she is my daughter. And no. No, she is not adopted.

I carried her around for nine months. Spent 19 1/2 hours in painful labor, pushed her out and nursed her for a long, long time. She is fully mine.

I made her with him. And we are different colors. The conception doesn't seem to fully register with many people until they see us all together. Or get a glimpse of my daughter's dad, who is now my ex.

Over the past four years, I've been asked if my daughter is adopted; had strangers insinuate that I'm the nanny; poked fun at, until they realize I'm not joking, that she really is mine; and just been stared at in general.

All because my daughter and I have different skin colors.

If you look at us up close, I mean, stop, and look past our skin, we look very much alike. I've been told that my daughter is just a mini version of me, with brown skin and curly brownish/black hair. She is mine, through and through. It's difficult for me to see how people don't see it.

Yet, over and over again, we get questioned.

Once, we were at a funeral of a distant relative. My own flesh and blood looked me in the eye and said, "How long have you had her?"

As I bounced my baby in her Mei Tei, I thought it was a strange way of asking me how old she was, confused, I responded, "She's almost a year old." At that point, I had not yet learned to see how we looked to people outside my own frame of reference.

I had a baby. She was mine.

It never occurred to me that people would question my parentage. Until it started happening.

He went on to tell me that he and his wife as missionaries in third world countries had adopted some biracial children. Too.

Too. It was that word that sent my mind quickly to what he had assumed.

I laughed. "Oh, she's not adopted!"

Stammering for a moment he finally managed to spit out, "Uh, uh, OH! You mean your husband is African American?!"

Once he realized that I had indeed procreated with a man from another race, I thought it best not to bother correcting his assumption that we were also married (we were never married) and move into the realm of a hell-bound sinner who had sex outside of marriage. After all, I was at the funeral of Bible-thumping west Texas Christian. There was no point in asking for a prayer session to bless me away from the eternity of hellfire.

Not to mention, possibly confirming for him the stereotype that white women who sleep with black men are sluts. Yes, another small town Texas stereotype that I battled as a youngster when I began exploring men of different cultures, and had long forgotten after living for nine years in Detroit where mixed race couples were much more common, but still not without stereotypes.

Motherhood to a Biracial Child

Now that it's been a few years into motherhood of a biracial daughter, and I've worked out the basics -- like how to comb her unbelievably thick hair; how often to moisturize her skin; and managing to mostly ignore that mini punch to the gut when someone asks me if she's mine --  I realize that I am in a wonderfully amazing position here in between the racial discussions in our society.

Something I learned from a mentor years ago, and I'll share with you here today, is we do a great job with racial discussions here in the United States. We do the most important thing when it comes to relieving racial tension. We talk about it.

We may not always agree. But we talk. It's the most important thing. To not be afraid to talk about race and ethnicity. Because it's all around us.

And as a white woman, who grew up around lots of racism and negative stereotypes about people with brown skins, I know how and when to measure very subtle racism. I also know how to address to my own people, which is an important part of the talks.

And best of all, I have come to realize that there is an important place for the biracial family in the midst of racial conflicts.

We see both sides. We really do.

Since having my daughter I am truly and honestly able to look quickly past the exterior and see a whole person, no matter what color the skin, what kind of clothes they are wearing, and what side of town they live on.

Many people believe that we are already living in a post-racial society because we have a black president. Because we got rid of Jim Crow laws and because everyone has the right to vote.

But we are far from a post-racial society. There is still racism in our culture. And it's time we talk and try to see the other side. All of us. Because eventually, if you don't already, you will probably have someone in your family who has different color skin than yours. And they probably won't be adopted.

___

Photo Courtesy of Momsoap.com

Martha Wood lives in Austin, Texas where she is a single, self-employed, work at home mom. She runs a small social media business, and blogs as a freelancer. She also authors her own blog at http://www.momsoap.com where she writes about racism, attachment parenting, and just general motherhood.

Bittersweet Life Changes

Image Credit: Flickr/wirehead2501

One of the hardest things I've ever had to do in my classroom happened this week. I had to tell my students that I'm leaving next year.  I'm not sure I can even write about it yet, to be honest.  But here's the whole story of how it happened:

Just over three years ago I went back to school in order to become certified in Special Education. There was a need in my own classroom--students with disabilities just weren't being served very well. It was no one's fault, just a fact of life. I couldn't expect a special education teacher to leave their school building, drive between 5-20 miles from their own classroom, and serve the kids in my program. But I wanted those kids to have more/better help. So I went back to school. Besides going back to school for the kids, it was also a move to cover myself: for many years our enrollment was so low that I worried there wouldn't be enough students to sustain the program. I got pink slips every year for 11 years. I worried about paying bills and feeding my family. Special Education jobs are available in schools all across the country, and I thought that if I had my degree in Special Education I'd be able to get a job quickly if our program ever closed.

I completed all of my degree except the student teaching requirement. Because I have been the only teacher on site in our alternative program, I was not allowed to student teach in my own classroom. I needed to gain experience in a certified special education classroom. To do that, I'd have to find a substitute for my own classroom, which is not an easy task! I work with kids who have lots of difficulties in life, and sometimes they aren't friendly to substitute teachers.  A special education teacher in the traditional high school in our district was interested in alternative education and he agreed to switch places with me for 8 weeks. He could learn about alternative education while I finished my degree. It was a win-win as far as I could tell! But then things changed, and he took a job in our district's middle school. The role-swapping was off. I felt like all of my hard work in school was going to be for nothing.

I called the State Department of Education and every education university around to see if there was some way to student teach in my own classroom, but all they said was that if I wanted to student teach in my own classroom I'd have to quit my job and find a new one that was designated as special education. Right about that time an ad appeared for the school district where my children attend. One of our area high schools was hiring special education teachers. I got together my application materials, weighed the pros and cons, and decided.........not to apply. I love my job. I love the kids. I love the freedom I have to develop curriculum and build a community of learners. We grow together, learn together, and get to be a close-knit family. I didn't submit my application. That was May 23, 2011. I figured that I'd finish school someday...something would happen if it was meant to happen.

Well, something did happen. My boss from the community college that sponsors our program informed me that I could apply for a professional development grant, get a leave of absence, and finish my degree. He said that the college was willing to search for and hire a substitute for my classroom. I was going to be able to finish school!

While we searched for a substitute and I negotiated a reduction in pay/partial leave of absence, I continued commuting to work each day--40 miles there, 40 miles back. On one particularly snowy day, I carefully drove 30mph, taking a full 2-hours to drive to work; but I still skidded into the ditch. It was very scary! Thank goodness I was okay (another teacher stopped and picked me up--I will never forget it. Thanks Vicki\y!) But it really changed my joyful commute into a white-knuckled event.

On top of that, my oldest baby brought home his junior high registration information (*sob* junior high? where did the time go?) He informed me that they schedule things so that he can play all of the sports he likes: football, basketball and track! But all of their games and meets are right after school. I realized immediately that commuting 40 miles to get there would mean that I probably wouldn't see any of his games. It broke my heart. Soon after, some news stories played on TV predicting that gas prices will skyrocket this summer. My husband asked, "Will we really be able to afford your commute when gas goes up to $5/gallon?" He encouraged me to apply for  jobs closer to home. So I started to look at what was available. There were openings at both local high schools. I looked at their online application system and discovered that all of the materials I'd uploaded in May of 2011 were still there; all I had to do was click the "submit" button.

In a whirlwind of uncertainty, I clicked it. And then I realized what I'd done. Crazy. Unthinking. Impulsive! I hadn't even changed the date on my cover letter; it was still dated May 23, 2011! My sister and brother-in-law are both in the human resources field, and have told me time and time again that they weed out applicants by looking for little things like the incorrect date on a cover letter. I assumed that they wouldn't give me a second glance; but I was totally wrong. A couple of weeks later, my classroom aide called me to say that she'd just received a reference call: was I keeping a secret from her? My heart dropped. I didn't think they'd call! I explained to her that I'd applied because of gas prices, junior high sports, etc. but wasn't sure I wanted to give up what I have. She is an amazing person; she is my former student, who graduated from our alternative program, and then came back to work with me as a colleague. She gave me a wonderful reference and then worried about it being too good, if you know what I mean. After she got her call, I knew I had to warn my other references. I was shocked; the incorrect date didn't matter.

Sometimes, it just seems like things are meant to be. That everything happens for a reason.

For the next week or so, I felt like I was being stalked. All of my references got called, but I myself didn't get a call. I wondered if I would hear anything from the school that already knew a lot about me from the people I worked with. Finally, though, I did get a call: from a different school than the one that had been calling my references! They requested an interview and I scheduled it, because this school is literally five minutes from my house. Soon after, the school that had talked to my references also called for an interview. The same day I took my comprehensive exams, I had the first interview. Three days later, I had another one. I have to tell you, I hate job interviews. I get so anxious and nervous that I forget who I really am, and what I know. I had to do a lot of positive self-talk and relaxation exercises to prepare for these interviews. I told myself that I just needed to BE ME...and if it was meant to be, it would be. If they didn't like me after I'd been open, honest, and 100% myself, then it wasn't a good fit and I'd just stay in my alternative program. You know what? I did it! I was 100% myself in both interviews and was so proud of myself for not being a big bundle of nerves the whole time. The second interview really went well. I loved the interview team and the way they interacted with each other. Their questions for me were so thoughtful. After years of working with only one other person, it was interesting to think about being a part of a well-functioning team.

When the first post-interview call came, it was a test to see if I could really believe what I'd told myself. The first school said that although I'd done really, really well they were hiring someone else. To be honest, I was sooooo relieved. But at the same time, I felt the sting of rejection. I kept reminding myself that I did what I'd set out to do, and if they didn't want to hire me then it wasn't meant to be. Meanwhile, I kept waiting to hear from the other school--the one I'd really enjoyed interviewing at. I waited....and waited. Finally, I got a call--but it didn't really appease me in the least because it was really cryptic. They hadn't filled the position yet, but they didn't want to offer me the position yet either. There might be something they wanted to offer, but they weren't sure yet. They couldn't tell me anything else until later in the week. "Hang on," is what she said. So I was hanging.

Every day, my current principal would ask me if I'd heard anything. Every day I'd say, "Not yet..." Pins and needles, nerve-wracking, crazy unknowing, uncertainty-----> STRESS. It was a stressful 2 weeks before I heard anything. All that time I was going through an inner turmoil, weighing pros and cons. What if I stay? What if I go? If there is a job offer, what's it going to be for, anyway? I love what I do...will I love it there, too? So many questions.

Finally, right after I finished presenting at the IAAE State Conference, I received a job offer. All of my internal lists of pros and cons flashed by as the voice on the line said, "Do you need time to think about it?" and I realized that I'd thought about it enough: no more pink slips, no more white-knuckled winter driving, no more worries about the price of gas, and no more heartbreaking absences from my kids' after school events. All that soul-searching led to one possible answer: I accepted the job.

I am very, very sad to say goodbye to my current students. I still believe in each and every one of them and I want to see each of them walk across the stage at their graduation ceremonies. I will be available to them on Facebook, by cell phone, email, and will keep in touch just the same way I've kept in touch with almost all of my former students. I told them all of this on Monday in class, and I swear to you it was the hardest thing I've ever done as a teacher. I feel like I'm letting them down, but at the same time I know that I am doing what is right for my family.

I will continue to work with the same kinds of kids in my new position. I hope that they are as wonderful as the hundreds of kids I've taught over the past 14 years at New Directions. For sure, my new students will have a tough act to follow.

Some of the best #AltEd kids ever, at the state capitol in Des Moines

Wordless Wednesday: Consequences of Motherhood

Image via Zazzle

What we lose in memory, we seem to gain in shoe size....

Image Credit: lFlickr/lauratitian

and there is proportionate loss and gain for each additional child.




(Since becoming a mom, I have a smaller memory, bigger feet...and a LOT of love!)

Raising Confident Mixed Girls

I have two daughters and try to keep up with their rapidly changing interests. Thankfully, a few things remain constant: music, dance, and art. They love to create things. They love to make movies of themselves on our computer, to take pictures of themselves, and to paint and draw themselves.

They love playing with Barbies and Barbie online (despite some of my reservations about Mattel)

The Fab Girl Barbie Anna is so GLAM!!!

My oldest daughter loves to draw and make things out of clay.

Dad and daughter on a sunny day in clay: Father's day gift 2011 and an assortment of gifts for me.

My youngest loves to paint and loves Rihanna.

Smiling in the Rain w/Purple Umbrella-ella-ella 

And here they are with one of their many vlogs (video logs). They sing, they dance, and they show you a lot of their personality. (Look out Fanshen, Heidi and Jennifer--they could be your future replacements on MixedChicksChat!)

I sometimes worry a lot about whether or not they are growing up to be confident young women. Then I see things like this and I stop worrying (at least for a little while....I'm a mom--it's my job to worry!)

Summer and the Mother's Curse

As a teacher, I really do get the best of both worlds. During the summer I am a stay-at-home mom and during the school year I work. After many years of this split life, I can tell you that while there are pluses and minuses to both lifestyles, one thing is constant: KIDS. As a mom/teacher, there is never any break from them. Little kids, big kids, tweens and teens: I am surrounded 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. I love my job, and I love my kids. But sometimes, I think I am losing my mind!

What is it about kids? Sometimes they say the most insightful, soulful things... and sometimes you wonder if there are any neurons actually firing in those brains.  Do you know what I mean? At times I feel completely and utterly insane! This summer I actually heard myself tell my children, "No one in this house should touch anyone else ever again!" Who says that? and actually means it? ME!!! That's who.

Whenever I thoroughly and completely begin to doubt my sanity, I think of  Bill Cosby's stand-up-routine-turned-movie: "Himself." A few weeks ago my husband checked the DVD out of the library for me in order to remind me that my our life is blessedly, laughably normal.


This clip from Cosby's routine beautifully illustrates the nature of my summer "vacation" (Yes, I had a conniption at least once a day. And my children are still not allowed to touch each other. ;-)

We are now one week into the school year. Summer is over and my days are now more reminiscent of Beavis and Butthead episodes (click the link for a glimpse of what life is like with teens in my classroom. I'm serious. Beavis and Butthead are alive and well in my classroom!)

Meanwhile, at home we are still having what I think of as "Cosby moments." Just the other night I told my daughter step by step what she needed to do to take a shower: get a towel, hang it on the towel rack, take off your clothes, turn on the water, get in the shower, and wash yourself.

However, I forgot to remind her to use soap. Did she use soap despite my lack of instruction? Of course not. Is it BRAIN DAMAGE??? Don't answer that.

All I can say is that I hope Bill Cosby is right when he says the mother's curse really does work. Many years from now I envision my daughter looking down into the innocent eyes of a wet but dirty child who is saying, "Well you didn't say I had to use soap!"