Girl Everlasting...

In school, I am reading Tuck Everlasting with my students. It's a tale of a family who happens upon a spring that bestows upon them eternal life. They keep the secret for eighty-seven years until a young girl, Winnie, discovers them and learns of their immortality. The father, Angus Tuck, tries to impress upon Winnie that eternal life is not all it's cracked up to be...If I knowed how to climb back on the wheel, I'd do it in a minute. You can't have living without dying, so you can't call it living, what we got. We just are, we just be, like rocks beside the road. 

I don't think any of us out there hope to just "be". To just take up space until our space is filled by another. But so many of us do, don't we?

We wait...
...for the work week to be over
...to make more money
...for the storm to pass
...for the cold to break
...for heartbreak to heal
...for the child to sleep
...for her to love you
...to see if he'll leave
...for the perfect moment to take that leap

But what if we've already done it? What if we've already been and lived and seen and done? What if we let go of the waiting and acknowledged the living?

And I don't consider my life to be of any great importance or interest but I've...

....kicked my legs high while the band marched on
...moved my tassel, twice,  and started a new adventure
...fallen in heart-stopping, bone-crushing love....quite a few times
...felt the sun on my face from distant countries
...opened the box and pulled out the ring
...shopped for a wedding dress with my mother
...seen two pink lines
...watched my body swell with life...twice
...fallen in heart-stopping, bone-crushing love...with a child
....broken bread with friends and family who know my real story
...let down my guard
...built up walls
...gave up and gave in
...admitted I couldn't do it all
...found him
...accepted and acknowledged
...loved

Don't waste your time waiting for what is to come....it is already here.

Pause My Life...

There's never enough time is there?

Time for smelling the roses and whatnot. So, I've started thinking, lately, how I'd like to pause those sweeter moments in life and really dissect them. Observe them with a magnifying glass and leave my mark upon them. Let the recipient know that I, was in fact, here. I saw it all and savored it well.


My girls are growing like weeds before my eyes. I was holding hands with Pink the other day and noticed that she is no longer a baby. She is a little lady, standing tall, talking about life with me in terms I can understand. If I could have paused her then...right there...I would have. And I would have looked at her hands, how they fit tenderly in mine. I would have bent down and memorized every freckle left over from a summer truly enjoyed. I would have memorized her voice, just as it is now. Tiny and unfettered, yet showing signs of the girl she is to become. She is so beautiful.

And I would pause my little Tink as she excitedly recounted her day at school as the Big Bad Wolf. Pause. Right there. Blond hair wild and voice, high and mighty, like a sprite. I would breathe in her light, the brightness that begins at her toes and escapes from her blue eyes, like nighttime escaping the sunrise. She is so full of life.

And I would pause my Boy. My love for him has exploded over the last year. Sometimes I feel my heart can barely contain it. Pause. Right there in Mexico. I would pause him and really feel his hands on mine. His eyes dancing with laughter. I would feel the weight of him and memorize the lines on his face. He is such a gift.

And then I would hit play and watch their lives unfold before me and intertwine with mine. Thankful.

Sweet Summertime...

After a much needed respite from the daily grind, the blog has returned!

How do I appropriately sum up all that this summer was to me? The time I had with Pink and Tink? The time with Boy?

Poetry perhaps...

I pulled back the covers from your sleepy eyes and laid my eyes on a tangled mess of blonde delight...
Mommy is home for the summer...
gloriously drowning in...nap time...pool time...library time...
slathering sunscreen...
donning bikinis...
eating mass quantities of Cheez-its...
reading books...your tiny bodies still fitting in the crook of my arm....thankfully...
Hannah Montana...
Scooby-Doo...
EZ bake oven...
locusts and crickets and summer growing warmer in front of us...
slides and big girl swings...
Lady Antebellum and Tim McGraw...
Coppertoned bums...
Pink! You learned to swim!
Tink! Remember how we marveled at the moon...in the daytime?
Daddy picked you up for Myrtle Beach and Mommy....

got a hot pink mani-pedi...
Mexico looms...
there you are Boy...
side by side in row 19...
the east coast dissolves behind us...
the bellhop opens 534...
paradise revealed...
romance and room service...
pina coladas and pool bar Juan...
Cleveland Tommy...
my legs artfully wrapped around your waist...
floating in silence...
effortless certainty that you are the love of my life...
dinner and dancing and drinks and gut busting laughter...
Secrets Idol...
freckles...
oceans away from the rest of the world...
Riviera Maya

New Beginnings...

Today marks the end of my tenth year in the classroom.

A decade.

On the front bulletin board there are class pictures from the last ten years. A chronicle of the aging process in plain view for all to see. In two of the photographs I am pregnant with my daughters. In one, my long red hair reaches far below the eye of the camera. In one I have my father's last name and in nine I have his. Crows feet increase. Weight is gained and lost. In all there are nearly thirty students surrounding me. The oldest are now twenty-two.

There is one box left beside my desk, filled with odds and ends. Summertime looms and I can feel this incredibly satisfying sense of closure to this particular school year. A decade I have taught. That's something. But more than that, it's what I see in the distance that excites and energizes me.

I daresay I've grown up. Not in the "I'll never laugh like a kid again kind of way", but in the "I'm in charge of my of life kind of way."

Being a mom and watching my daughters grow...
Being a girlfriend and building a life with Boy...
Being a daughter and understanding what that means from a mother's point of view...
Being a teacher and seeing the kids for what they are going to be, not necessarily what they are right now...

So many things to look forward to...

Momentarily I will turn the lights out on the last ten years of my life, and use the light within me as the next decade's guide...

As the Year...

draws to a close, I find myself with less time to write and tons of ideas rolling through my brain. I will get up an official post this weekend, but thought you might find this nugget of humor from Tink amusing.

As  I sat down to dry and dress Tink after last night's bath, I let out an exhausted sigh to which she replied:

What's wrong Momma? 
 My legs are sore, that's all
Sometimes my giney gets sore (this is code for vagina)
Literally laughing out loud, I ask why it gets sore.
Well, you don't know cuz you don't have a giney Mommy. 

Ahhh...How could I possibly understand then given that I am a glorified Barbie doll?

Good lord I love that child.

Cole...

It is about this time of year that I forget why I became a teacher. The rowdy pre-pubescent children that invade my classroom daily, make me pine for my own little ladies.  Why do I choose to spend time with twenty-eight smelly twelve year olds when my two lovely preschoolers keep asking why Mommy has to go to work.

I work because, well, I have to. That's a given. But I teach because I think I'm good at it...or I used to be at least. The last decade has hardened my view of education. It is so grievously flawed. It's impossible to realize unless you actually practice the profession. Parents wave excitedly as they send their children off to AWARD WINNING BLUE RIBBON SCHOOLS!!!  Not realizing, however, that winning those awards is akin to securing the presidential nomination. It takes a lot of money and politicking and not nearly enough of the character and integrity it should. Wealthy schools win the awards. My school district just secured the title of NATIONAL SCHOOL DISTRICT OF CHARACTER! This is the same school, where just weeks ago, sixth grade students stood around and took pictures with their phones of an overweight fourth grade girl who had fallen between the seats of the bus. The pictures were sent to nearly every member of the student body in minutes. The punishment. Detention for a few. The reward? Toting the title of a nationally recognized school of character.

There are plenty of moments though that remind me of how important it is that I keep trying. Trying to reach the kids and help them to positively impact the lives of others.

A few years ago I had a young boy named Cole. Cole came into sixth grade a tiny pipsqueak of a thing. He had lost his mother to cancer the summer before and his best friend Nathan also suffered from the same disease. Needless to say, Cole was fragile and his father impressed upon me time and again that he needed a loving female figure in his life.

The first essay he wrote for me was about his mother, how her passing had crushed him. He envied everyone's familial situations. And who could blame him for that? Cole would cry at the drop of the hat and I was certain he would not make it through the year. How could I possibly help him? I would sit in my car and cry; college did not prepare you for these kinds of situations.  So I did the only thing I knew how to do. I talked to him. About anything and everything. I would sit on the floor next to his desk, while the other students were working, and we would just talk. At first he didn't say much, but as the year progressed he opened up more and more. Our daily chat sessions turned into debates and wagers, mostly centered around football.  

Cole and I made bets for every Steeler game, the loser having to bring in lunch for the victor. We exchanged turkey sandwiches time and again while Monday morning quarterbacking about our black and gold.When the Steelers made it to the Super Bowl that year, I called him at home and we hooted and  hollered over the phone. He was forever jumping up and down in front of me, begging me to assess his work or "look at this picture I drew!"  Occasionally he would confide in me; worries and whatnot. But mostly he smiled and we enjoyed each other's company for the duration of sixth grade. The bell rang on the final day and I didn't see him for four years, until last week.

The high school choir came to sing songs about character and there was Cole, grown into a man, belting out tunes in the front row. I could scarcely believe how tall he was, and watched in admiration from the back row of the auditorium. When the final note had been sung, he leapt from the stage and ran towards me, picking me up like a sack of potatoes. Without a care in the world he buried his face in my neck, swung me around and said "I've waited so long to see you."

He was doing so well. Singing in the choir, fronting his own band and sheepishly admitting that he did indeed have a girlfriend. I put my hands on his face, like mother's do, and told him how grown up he was, how proud I was of him. He gave me one last squeeze and promised, as he ran back to the stage, to visit soon. As I walked back to homeroom with my rowdy class of tweens, they all wanted to know who he was. Why was he hugging me? Was he a student of mine?

Very simply, he is why I love what I do.

Breakable...

Have you ever thought about what protects our hearts?

Just a cage of rib bones and other various parts

So it's fairly simple to cut right through the mess,

And to stop the muscle that makes us confess

They met in law school and, to follow the age old cliche', it was love at first sight. I vividly remember viewing their relationship as if through a frosted windowpane, eager to join them inside by the fire. They had a love that was timeless; one that many envied. Including myself. After a while they started to almost resemble one another and their first names became one in conversation. AmyandAllan.

And we are so fragile,

And our cracking bones make noise,

And we are just,

Breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys

He had crooked glasses and, upon drinking too much rum, attached his Ipod to his shorts and scrubbed the house into limp submission. Rage Against the Machine was his poison. We giggled and pointed. It didn't fit his look. He was a bookish nerd with a death metal soul. He smoked; cigarette dangling from his fingers. He walked with a deliberate shuffle. Eager to get on with life.

And you fasten my seat belt because it is the law

In your two ton death trap I finally saw

A piece of love in your face that bathed me in regret

Then you drove me to places I'll never forget

They married in November of 2001 on a day that denied the coming of winter. The sun shone and the air was warm against our strapless shoulders. We danced and drank and they looked at each other and no one else. They were the essence of love. On a vacation with us a few years later they created life. The scandal. Were they just in the next room?

And we are so fragile,
And our cracking bones make noise,

And we are just,

Breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys

And then fate, deciding he was needed for other endeavors, took him. In a blinding flash of light she was now solo. The essence of love snuffed out. If we try hard enough can we still remember the timbre of his voice? If you stare long enough at a picture, can you travel there? If life takes your love, does it still exist somewhere?

It does. It will. We will all make sure of that.

To Allan Wertz

September 8, 2009

Husband

Father

Friend