State of Obvious

I am currently looking for a job (you hiring?  No?  too bad...).  It's an interesting experience.  Technically, I have been offered one position so far, but I had to turn it down.  Because, seriously, I can't move my family a few hundred miles south to a place with little to no housing that happens to also smell like over-cooked beans if you are going to pay me a ridiculously low salary to teach kids all day long...Oh wait, I got off track. So, I keep applying at various places and hoping for a call.  (Funny story, another school down south in the same town that already offered me a job called me for an interview...goodness.)  Otherwise, so far I've had one email saying basically 'thanks and we'll be in touch when we start interviewing' which was better than the non-response from all the others.  It's gotten me to thinking - maybe, just maybe, I don't really want a job and so I keep putting non-job vibes out into the universe.  And instead ...

Dear me, I'd like to say a few words about what this day means.  This day of birth wherein I (you?) entered the world some thirty seven years ago, asleep.  Yes, asleep.  And still trying to catch up where I left off when so rudely interrupted by a smack on the behind. I'd like to say there is some magic formula or perfect sentence that sums up what it means to advance another year older and wiser, but if anything I've learned that most days (including birthdays) go on basically like the ones before.  Sure, there are the frilly types of days mixed in: celebrations, births, surprises, and the like.  But, really it all mixes together into memory-soup and it's hard to separate the strands. The year of thirty-six was spent largely learning to become a teacher.  Interestingly enough, I learned that I already pretty much am one (a teacher) and that there is a lot more fuss and bother than actual teaching on some days.  (Freshman - need I say more? (Okay...

There is this moment when the thing we fear becomes like an animal in a cage.  We feed it, give it treats, reach into to steal a stroke, tease it, name it, watch it pace in front of the bars.  We get comfortable with it and begin to lose the tightness in our belly.  We begin to believe our feelings were not justified, that we were just being silly.  We begin to make friends with that animal in the cage and we decide to let it out, to see if it has suddenly become civilized.  Inevitably, it has not and then comes the bloody, broken mess on the floor that we have to clean up even as we know we created the mess and we don't want to see that thing we've let loose.  And we have to put it back in the cage, the struggle ensues, and we are irrevocably scarred by the experience only to begin the process again. Lately I seem to be reading, talking, thinking, talking, watching, talking about inclusion and diversity.  As if one of those things is somehow more va...

My husband and I decided that I would go to London with my sister and mom as a reward for graduating. But, then, tickets were like 1 trillion dollars, give or take. Plan B: New York City.  I bought tickets for Wicked on Broadway (I know, I was asking for it).  We had a hotel in Manhattan.  We were going to visit some amazing places. But, then, my sister had to change her plans so she could launch a rocket. So, off to Florida we went, we three.  (Cha Cha doesn't do press). In Orlando, we went to visit a magical wizard (twice, but not in a row).  We bought wands and chocolates that melted in the bag before we could get to the parking lot (and yes, we bought them on our way out).  We rode rides that spun us around and upside down.  We ate in the Three Broomsticks and drank Butterbeer (one person was too afraid to try it, but I won't name names Charlotte).     We visited a very strange swamp meet/flea market whe...

My final writing prompt for my Creative Writing Degree.  It's nice to end on a fun note. 5 Star Review!             My life has been forever and irrevocably changed by the amazing T-376 Commuter's Helmet from Narco Leptic Industries.  Never before and never again have I owed such a debt of gratitude to a five pound yellow gadget from Japan.             My husband, Hal, was born with an unfortunate and debilitating disease.  While this disease has not yet been identified by the scientific community at large (the bastards), I am confident that someday a cure will be found and he will finally be able to live a normal life.  Until then, he is forced to suffer through the pain and humiliation of his condition.  We did not discover this terrible affliction until after our first son, Hal Jr. I, was born.  Soon after our beautiful child's birth, rig...

How do you feel?  Facebook keeps asking me that like it is a living, breathing person who cares.  Silly facebook, I know you're not real.  But still. I feel overwhelmed.  I have so much to do and not enough hours in the day.  If I sleep in (which I did), I scrutinize those minutes and wonder if they are wasted.  If I watch TV, play a game, do nothing, I feel like I'm running behind. I am too busy. But not too busy for facebook to keep asking me how I'm doing. I guess that's ironic. Or it's just that I need to sometimes come up for air.  For pause.  For full stop (like this weekend when I ran around California with my sister and ate lots of In-n-Out.  It was good, the burgers and the running and especially my sister.) I felt refreshed, and then I pushed play. And now - how do I feel? Overwhelmed.  There are not enough hours in the day.  If I sleep - well, why don't we find out?

My brain.  This is the short piece I started working on based on someone else's brainstorm image from class.  I am still trying to write every day, but some days my laziness is just too strong.  Like the force, only less cool.  Still, I'm writing a bit of something most days (and I am not short changing myself when that 'writing' is part of school work.  I have a LOT of it right now, and we're only two weeks in.  Last semester I got a bit lazy and paid the price with last minute rushing; this semester I want to go out nice and easy...if possible.) --- Safe Haven In the milk aisle at Costco, Elise’s four year old daughter Candy announced that she had to use the restroom again. She bobbed on her little feet, knock kneed and bubbling over with all the urgency of her four-year-old full bladder. She pulled at the hem of her pink tutu and tried not to make eye contact with her mom. Looking down at the top of her daughter’s restless blonde head, Elise tr...

Classes officially started back up this week.  At times I am just shocked to be in the homestretch of classes, but then other days I am wondering why it isn't over yet.  This semester I'll be taking six classes.  S-I-X.  I also took six last semester and did ok until the very end when I lost my brain somewhere between Thanksgiving and Neverland.  This semester I am trying to stay more organized and on top of assignments so that I'm not battling down to the last moment.  Two days in and I've almost missed one quiz already so I spent a fortune in ink printing out all the class due date schedules.  Anyhow, the first assignment for my creative writing class is to come up with a "spring loaded image."  I have the same professor as last semester, so I've actually done this before.  A spring loaded image is basically a short description of an image ripe with potential.  The example my professor uses in class is "A Wedding Cake in the Middle o...

Today I channeled my creative energy into a short essay/letter/thing which described my desire and ability to be a teaching assistant while I'm a grad student.  I feel like there is a lot riding on this essay/letter/thing - I can't afford grad school unless they accept me.  Unfortunately for me, the university I currently attend does not like to accept students who graduated from the same university into the Creative Writing Master's program.  I am hoping that the relationships I have made and the samples I submitted are argument enough to get me by.  In the meantime, cross your fingers, toes, and arms for me.  I won't be put out of my misery notified about acceptance until March.  Here is a snippet of one of my writing samples: --- Three news vans huddled like a herd of praying mantises around the bus, antennas extended.   Reporters tried not to blink at the bright light of the cameras while they rehearsed in front of a tangled knot of o...

Tonight I am filling out an app for grad school.  This is the third I have worked on, and each one has wanted really different stuff so no copy/pasting to make life easier.  This one is also the school I most want to get into and there is only 4 days until the deadline.  Procrastination always keeps my life interesting. On the upside, plans for my celebatory graduation trip are underway.  Plane tickets procurred, hotels currently under investigation, and a whole lot of dreaming going on.  But you know what they say, if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere!  Maybe even grad school. --- (A little sample of my application letter, if you please): When I was about thirteen years old, my grandmother introduced me to Tony Hillerman.   Not in person, of course, but to his novel Skinwalkers .   My grandmother was an avid reader of all sorts of fiction and non-fiction, in addition to being a highly educated and well-travelled lover ...

I was in seventh grade the first time I felt like maybe I was a writer. My language arts teacher coaxed it out of me. She was a young, pretty, newly-minted college graduate with blonde hair that fell softly to her shoulders. Funnily enough, I can’t remember her name or another other features, but I do remember that she would read to us from chapter books almost every day. At the time, I kind of felt like I was too old for story hour – but, our whole class would sit transfixed while she read books like Matilda , and The Witch of Blackbird Pond . Somehow, those stories would transport me from the classroom into a wide world completely constructed from words. It had never happened before. My teacher also read some of her own creative works. The one I remember best concerned the despondent life of a house fly. So convincing was her portrait of the measly, black fly that I spent years believing flies really did want to be swatted so they could end their miserable existence as quickly as pos...

Oh, hello again. I'm taking a creative non-fiction class right now at school.  It's pretty interesting, and I feel all the time sort of like "I've done this before."  Because, essentially, that's what blogging is.  Sometimes it's maybe not so creative, but it's usually non-fiction.  Although, I do make things up a lot.  I don't let credibility get in the way or anything. Anyhow, one of the most interesting things I've learned is that there is no right way.  Sometimes, for my class, I spew out what seems like trash.  But it ends up working.  I've also noticed that my real problem is not so much that I don't have material, but more that I'm afraid to explore it.  Disecting the goods and bads that make me is downright frightening.  But, it ends up working.  Besides the non-fiction class, I'm also taking a regular fiction class and 3 other online courses.  Plus working as a tutor.  Also, Eric keeps going out of town f...

If I only had a brain. Well, I'm working on that I suppose.   Some fifteen years ago I left school behind to be a married lady, then a mommy lady.  And I wouldn't trade those things, or change those things.  Marriage and children have been the hardest and most rewarding classes I have ever taken.  Many lessons are learned through pain (caused by my own pride, naivety, and selfishness usually), some were learned through love, some were just plain out learned.  Like, cover up the boy parts while you change diapers.  I learned that lesson quick.  A cuddle goes farther than a spank.  I learned that lesson slow.  You don't get lost, lazy moments back - I haven't learned that lesson yet, I keep failing the test. Now that I'm back in the book-learnin' type school, I am learning new things.  How to budget time, how to meet expectations, how to speak up, how to work hard and fake my way through when I don't understand (I kind of already knew ...

This has been the fall of self-doubt.  A constant theme in my life, I know.  I started out the semester riddled with all kinds of worries - am I choosing the right path, what will I do with an English degree when I'm done, why are books more expensive than groceries for a month, what if I fail, what if this class is too hard, and on and on.  To add to this pile of worry, Eric moved to a new position at work and part of the new job is travel.  He's going to be gone most of October, a little of November, and a little of December.  Plus he'll be traveling at least once a quarter from here on out.  Juggling school and children and their school and football and homework and their homework and church and cleaning house and cooking and life in general - well, I'm not used to being so alone in my own house.  Oh, I've taken the kids on vacation alone.  A couple summers ago we even left Eric behind for over a month as we drove cross country.  But, th...

Or: What I'd like to say but can't really say (although I can't figure out just why I am not supposed to) I remember now why we chose to homeschool last year.  It was a frustrating experience, one we doubted pretty much the whole way through, but at least we knew what was going on.  We knew what our son was facing, where he was struggling, what he was missing.  We could tailor the week to his needs (and ours).  We could tightly control our expectations because - after all - we set the bar he was required to meet. Eighth grade for my dear boy - well, it's been hard this last week or so.  Progress reports came out.  If you sit and think you'll realize that those two statements aren't random, they're very related. I've seen my boy cry these last two nights, glittering tears that cling to impossibly long lashes.  He is crushed, you see.  Crushed by the pressure of keeping up, crushed by falling behind.  He is barely treading water in some cla...

I wonder if they offer a class about self doubt.  I most certainly have become an expert in the field, I could probably teach it.  Assorted topics of study: How to Second Guess With Your Eyes Closed Graduation: Changing Your Major to Keep it from Happening All the A's in the World Don't Make Up for a Solid Lack of Confidence And so on. Why is it that two semesters in to my glorious return, I'm still terrified?  Why is it that I drop and redrop and reschedule until my course list is almost unrecognizable?  Why do I long to do nothing more than dig a hole and hide in it? I mean, I wanted this.  Right? So much of life is dealing with your decisions and learning to accept that even the right ones sometimes feel scary. On the up side of things, check out Miss Sass A Frass in an outfit of her own choosing on a hot summer afternoon.  

So, school started back up.  For me and the kids.  Josh started 8th grade, if you're curious (but probably you aren't, too bad, stop reading or something.  No wait, I lied!  Don't go!  Fudge.) he is not being home schooled this year.  Instead he is off to his first year of middle school.  So far - well, the first few days went alright.  Tonight was his first night of homework.  Yeah, that was about as fun as you might imagine. Carly started first grade.  She says she loves it (I have my doubts, but she insists).  She has homework too, that makes me want to poke people. I started school on Monday also.  So we're pretty much the most tired, cranky, unhappy lot on the block. To make up for the Debbie Downerness of this post, I present the first bit of some scribbles I've been working on.  I'd love some feedback, especially of the constructive honest yet kind type. p.s. this is my original work and therefore protected ...

I'm wearing my "Feminist cap" at the moment.  Don't be afraid, it is for an English class wherein we examine works of literature using different types of theories .  Special theories .  We've used a Marxist theory and a Deconstructionist theory and now we're being Feminists.  Don't worry, I haven't burned my bra or anything. Some of the parts of these theories are complete hogwash.  That's right, hogwash.  In particular, right now I object to the idea that a woman can't be defined by her womanness .  (That's not a word according to the squiggly red line that lets me know I spelled it wrong.)  There are things that make me a woman.  Physical things that they tell you about in Health class.  Physical things I was born with.  Physical things that often annoy me and get in the way of my life.  Ohhh snap. There are other things that make me a woman.  My softer side.  (Sometimes dormant, I admit).  My talky side....

aka Another Helpful List keys tapping   wheels rolling     isolation       over-crowded         intimidation           concentration             people watching               introspection                dead-air time to fill                  papers due               excuse making             confidence building           ego shredding         contradiction      ...

It was one of those Fridays, you know?  I was almost late for my first class (I made it with 1 minute to spare). I almost fell asleep in my third class (I'm not sure how my professor expected me to stay awake while he talked about geometry in space.  I know that other people might find that really exciting, I do not). I ate a delicious calzone for lunch, but only after spilling a whole pop on the ground (that was fun). But then it was time to come home. And now I'm here, in my chair, on the interweb. And even though it was one of those Fridays, I feel lucky. How 'bout you?