Lifebomb or #Lifebomb...depending.

Yesterday, while spending a fun evening with two of my favorite friends, a new term was coined. Allow me to introduce to you, the phrase "Lifebomb" (or "hashtag lifebomb" if you are so inclined to speak your hashtags). What is a lifebomb? A lifebomb is awesome. Don't let the word bomb scare you in this particular case, although I still encourage a healthy fear of that word in pretty much all other scenarios. A lifebomb is a photobomb's distant cousin.

Photobombs are famous, or infamous, perhaps. Someone jumps in behind your photo and you don't know they are there, but when you look at the picture you see that they have crept in. They have become an unexpected part of your picture. Well, a life bomb happens in the same way as a photo bomb, but instead of someone becoming an unexpected part of your photo, they become an unexpected part of your experience. They are the people that you notice in life, and for some reason get added to your story. Normally, for me, it is because they were incredibly funny, but sometimes it's someone who is unexpectedly sad, or kind, or just stands out from the crowd.

I can't tell you how many times I have been out with a friend and we have done something ridiculous (usually completely accidentally) and we end up saying, "Well, now those people have a funny story to tell their friends about us". Every time that happens, someone got Lifebombed! One time my friend Jessica and I had been visiting a friend in the hospital upon the joyous birth of her son, and when we got on the elevator to leave she was talking about how familiar the hospital room seemed. A gentleman, a stranger to us, had been in the elevator when we got on, but we just carried on our conversation about who else she visited in that hospital that would make the room seem familiar. Eventually we realized it may have been me- when I had Trevor.

Neither of us remembered if she had come to visit me, but at the same time what kind of a person would she be if she hadn't come?...and so on and so forth. We would hear the guy chuckle every now and then. When he got off she was like, "I bet that was the best elevator ride he ever had. I bet he totally wishes he was our friend." Well, it was either that or he thought we were insane. But either way. #Lifebomb! We wrote ourselves into his day. Other people do it to us all the time too. How many times have you told a story that included something funny, sad, creepy, or amazing that you witnessed a total stranger doing? They are now a part of your story. They Life Bombed you! Today I was life bombed by two grown men on a Vespa. They were driving maybe 35 and they were kind of hunched over trying to get to max speed, and it made me laugh and think of Jim Carrey and Jeff Daniels in Dumb and Dumber. I was alone in my car, but I literally said, "Lifebomb".

Some great Lifebombs from yesterday's trip to Epcot are worthy of being shared here. One of my favorites was the guy and his (not petite) girlfriend standing in front of a topiary of Rafiki holding up Simba, the way they did in the Lion King movie when he was first born and they were presenting him to the animals. The guy was like, "Here, hold my stuff, and make sure you get Simba in the picture", and he proceeded to recreate that moment hoisting his girlfriend up over his head. His arms were shaking and he couldn't hold her for long, but they did it! It was awesome. #Lifebomb

Then we Lifebombed these older ladies sitting on a bench. See, we were on a mission to stop at the Nikon photo spots around the park and take a picture with the actual sign. Trust me, it was fun. Anyway, the photo spot sign in China was behind this bench occupied by the two ladies, so we walked around behind the bench and took a group selfie behind them. We were kind of, sort of, basically in their personal bubble. They turned around and watched the whole thing, complete with our standing in Epcot foliage which we think may be a felony. I think it was the most unexpected thing they had ever seen. #lifebomb. #yourewelcomeladies


On the way to the car at the end of the night there was a girl sitting in the MIDDLE of everyone walking. She seemed to be just sitting, texting or something. We all commented about how that was a strange place to stop and sit, and Jessica thought she should pretend to trip over the girl, but as we got closer, I heard some quiet sobs and saw an iPhone in more pieces than I have EVER seen. There were at least 6 separate pieces of phone surrounding her. I have seen a cracked screen before, but literal parts were just loose all over the ground. That was memorable, and made me so happy that I have a LifeProof case. #lifebomb

So, there you have it. I hope it catches on because in the less than 24 hours since we invented it, it has basically changed my life. Feel free to make it part of your life as well! I don't own the rights or anything, and you won't regret it.

Cell Phones and Kidnappers...A Mother's Day Reflection

I am too accessible to my kids, and I think it is probably true of my whole generation. When we were kids we had a healthy appreciation for the fact that Mom couldn't be at our beck and call, and what's more, that she didn't really want to be. I'm not sure that my own kids have that same healthy appreciation. (They have apologized before when I didn't "get to" make them breakfast. It seems they think my doing things for them is like my Oxygen). Why the difference from my generation to theirs? Maybe it was because when we were sent out to play it was with the instructions not to set foot back in the house before dark. Perhaps it was because when Mom and Dad would go out on a date, Dad would say, "Don't call unless it is an emergency." And Mom would follow that up with, "An emergency is blood,vomit, or a bone sticking out of the skin". We just knew that whatever Mom and Dad were doing during those times, they were better done without us. It sounds a bit harsh now, but the effect at the time was that we respected that our parents were people. Actual humans who existed apart from us.

Cell phones are partly to blame, for sure. I mean, we are pretty much within reach wherever we go thanks to them. Kids aren't used to the idea that if mom is at work, or driving, or in the grocery store, or out for the evening that she also not available for them. How many times have I heard, "Mom, I called and you DIDN'T ANSWER!", said in an accusing tone like I did something wrong? Too many to count. Apparently there is no place I can be when I am not also supposed to be completely within my children's reach. The result? I feel badly when I miss a call, and I cannot completely invest in wherever I am or who I am with because a little part of my brain is always aware that my kids might "need" me. A need that is usually not one at all.

I think I would be remiss to leave the kidnappers out of the blame game, and so I shall blame them a little bit too. I can't tell my kids to go play until dark like my parents used to do. I have to have my eyes on them all of the time to make sure they aren't being lured into the wood's to help find a lost puppy, only to never be seen again. While I know that this is for my kids' safety, I think to them it is just more proof that I don't like to do anything without them.

The truth? I do like to do things without my kids. I don't ever want to BE without them for long, but on a few special occasions I want to say to them, "We are going out.Don't cry.Don't call unless its an emergency involving blood, vomit, or a an exposed bone. Have fun with Nana and know that us being apart is just as important a part of you growing up as us being together is." I do say that, not quite as blatantly. We do spend time apart. I think I just feel a lot guiltier about it than my parents used to feel, and my kids hate it a lot more than I did. In their defense, they are still little, and in my defense, I really do just love being theirs more than anything else. Still, I have to do better to be officially of the grid when we are apart. For their sake, as well as my sanity.

Stupid cell phones and kidnappers.

Playing Opossum

So, I had a strange day this past Saturday. I left around 8 in the morning to get a cup of coffee at 7-11. Normally I just make my own, but I had to get a couple of other things so I figured I would grab coffee too. Just beyond our driveway, in the very center of our little neighborhood street, lay an opossum which appeared to be dead. I am no fool, however. And knowing what I do about opossums, and really cool dogs, I know that they play dead often. I smiled and shook my head at that wily little opossum. "Well played sir, well played".

I drove to 7-11, chatted with the nice cashier that works there, got my coffee and other sundries, and drove home. That opossum was still playing dead in the middle of our street. Normally I feel bad for road kill, but I knew as soon as I felt bad for this guy he would jump up, yell "BOOM, GOTCHA!", put on his top hat and (with a wink) dance away. So I smiled at him as he lay there. "You're not gonna get me, Opossum Pretending to be Dead," I thought. That's what I named him. I went inside, cooked breakfast for the family, played Candy Crush Saga a time or ten, and then went back out to do some laundry. Would you believe that opossum was still there? Method actor? Very committed? I began to doubt it. I decided, begrudgingly, that the opossum previously known as The Opossum Pretending to be Dead, was actually just dead. Sad, I thought. We were sort of friends.

About an hour later, my mother in law came over to get the kids for some play time at her house. By now someone had moved Dead Opossum Previously Known as Opossum Pretending to be Dead into the edge of the neighbor's grass. As my mother in law closed the door with my kids securely inside she said, "What do you think that is dead in the grass there?" I told her it was an opossum, and I had noticed it dead in the street earlier that day. She was relieved that it wasn't the neighbor's little dog, as was I. Then she said to me, "It needs to be buried". She didn't tell ME to bury it DIRECTLY, but she said it like the Godfather, so I got her point. I responded that the city sends people around to get the road kill, and her answer to me was, "Yeah, but that's expensive." I speak mother in law. You may not, so please, allow me to translate. What that meant was, "YOU, should grab a shovel, go scoop up that stiff, dead, smelly opossum, dig a nice hole for it, and bury it to save the TOWN money". So many thoughts were running through my head at once. Firstly, I did not even create this road kill, nor is it on my property. Second, do I actually have some obligation to save the town money? Also, do my taxes cover this, because if so, they I am have already paid for this and can't save the money that I have already paid, can I?

Somewhere, amid all of my confusing thoughts is when I decided that my mother in law might hate me. We have always had a good relationship. She's an awesome lady, loves her grandchildren, raised a good man for me to marry. I didn't even know that we were having issues in our relationship...until then. I don't think anyone can say that their mother in law hates them, with any certainty, unless they have had it suggested to them that they bury road kill to save the town money. That may be mother-daugther-in-law rock bottom. I have been asking around. I was thinking about starting a club of people who have also had their in-laws suggest they bury random road kill. To date I have found no one else to join me. It's lonely at the top, they say. Apparently, it is also lonely at rock, roadkill, bottom. Strange day indeed. Don't worry, by late afternoon, Dead Opossum Previously Known as Opossum Pretending to be Dead was gone. Presumably taken away by Animal Control's Roadkill Division, or maybe just buried by that other person out there who's mother-in-law has lots of great ideas for how they should spend their Saturday. If it be the latter, call me. We can start a club.

:)

Life Is Full of Problems

If there is one thing that teaching Math has taught me, it is that life is full of problems. :) It has also shown me that we have to solve our problems ourselves, but that in the best situation we have someone to help us through the tough ones. Today in Math, I heard myself talking to my students and my words almost made me have to sit myself down for a moment, and take a deep breath. I very seldom cause my own epiphanies, but in this case I kind of did.

The kids were were wimping out on their math problems. Maybe if you aren't a teacher, you aren't familiar with this phenomenon, but most parents who have helped their kids with math will relate. In fact, most people who ever hated a math problem will relate. It is the thing that happens when kids are asked to do a math problem that doesn't jump up and write the answer on the paper for them. You know the kind- maybe two step problems, or (AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH) the dreaded word problem. Anyway, we had gone over the new concepts together, and had done a few practice problems as a class. It was time for them to do some without my guidance. I had just barely gotten the words out of my mouth, "Go ahead and try the next three on your own", when six hands flew up and an additional three kids blurted out, "I don't get it."

That's when I said it. The words that echoed in my being. "Stop being afraid of the struggle. Stop giving up when things look like they will take more than two seconds to finish. You haven't even tried yet. I am here to help when you get part way through and get stuck, but I am not here to do every single thing for you. Do you know when you learn? That's right. When you you struggle. When you wrestle with something difficult; when you work through the questions, and the confusion and fight to "get it" anyway---that is the kind of learning that stays with you forever. You want so badly for it to be easy, or for me to rescue you when it might be getting hard, and that is why you don't believe that you can do it. Do it once. Then you will know you can do it the next time." I was talking fast. I was feeling frustrated and passionate. I'm pretty sure most of my 11 year old audience tuned me out once they realized the point of my little talk was that they weren't getting answers, but still...I had said something profound. Even if I was the only one who heard it.

Now, mind you, I was just talking about a math problem, but hearing that message in my own mind- those words carried a much greater weight. What powerful words for life! What a truth. We don't want to face struggles. I don't want them in my life, and I don't want them for anyone I know or love. Why would any of us hope for things to ever be hard? Struggling is uncomfortable, and scary, and it would be so much nicer for someone who knows the next step to just take over life for us until we get through the rough patches. But when WE do it. When we work through our questions, and confusion, and fear, and press on despite those things, then we see what we are capable of. We get through one thing, and then we begin to trust that we can get through more things. Before long, we grow. We learn. And little by little we become that strong person that we wanted to have rescue us in the first place.

I am facing struggles today. I don't know anyone who isn't. That simple fact keeps me humble, and trying to be kind. It keeps me grateful for my "someones" to lean on: my God, my family, my friends. At the same time it keeps me hoping to be that "someone" for others. We aren't doing something wrong if we are facing a hard time. That just means we are alive. Life's students, facing another word problem, of sorts. It won't do any good to try to avoid the struggle. We must face what lies before us, but we do need each other. Just like my students need me when they get right smack in the middle of a problem and can't go on. We don't need someone to take the pencil for us and do the work, but rather to be there just to refocus us, and ask us the right questions, and inspire us to take the next step when we are ready.

One step at a time...just like in Math. Before long, that problem we were just afraid of will be behind us, and we can tackle the next one.

"The marvelous richness of human experience would lose something of rewarding joy if there were no limitations to overcome. The hilltop hour would not be half so wonderful if there were no dark valleys to traverse."
-Helen Keller

Morning People- I'm skeptical

Preemptive apology to all morning people. There is nothing wrong with you. It's me. You're smart enough, good enough, and gosh darn it, people like you.

I never thought I had trust issues. I took people at their word, and at face value. I believed that they were who they claimed to be, and I was pleased to meet them. Then I met a morning person. All chipper, and sing-songy with a big bright smile. I had a couple of thoughts bounce through my absolutely-NOT-a-morning-person brain. First, this person is definitely hiding something. It is big, and bad, and if anyone finds out what it is then it will have a negative, life-altering, impact. Second, this person is taking something, and needed a prescription to get it. There is just no possible way that there could be actual, genuine, real adult people who want to laugh, and say words before 8:00 in the morning.

If a morning person is a real species, then fine. I can "accept" that (with a large helping of skepticism). I do, however, have a few things that I would like this creature to know. First, I find you to be overwhelming and uncalled for. Please don't impose your ridiculous happiness on me before I am ready for it. If I walk by and smile without speaking, count your blessings, that is me practicing good manners. And for the love of all that is good, don't ask me questions. I don't want to talk to you. It's not personal. I don't want to talk to anyone. In fact, I find the thoughts in my own head annoying. If you want me to hate you, then by all means, tell me that I look tired. What have you got to lose? Not anything really since you are already at the bottom of my list just for existing. Understand this, I don't just look tired; I am tired. More than that, I am a slight bit angry. Every morning, regular people are angry. The alarm is noise pollution -jolting us out of a peaceful slumber. The shower is offensively wet, and cold to our previously cozy bodies. The toothbrush is violently rushing around our mouths, with an invigorating, minty taste that defies the effort that our bodies are making to stay as close to asleep as possible, while still moving.

I know how this sounds- harsh, and unhappy. The truth is that we are not either of those things. We just don't feel our normal, optimistic, relationship loving selves until a little bit later than you. Don't feel bad for us. Truth be told, when we see you we think that if we were you (no offense) we would want to jump off a cliff. We aren't envious of you. We think that you are lost souls. Hypocrites even. Trying way too hard to fool the world. We are perfectly content to be cordially quiet, doing what life requires of us until we legitimately feel awake, and ready for company. If you can respect us for that, and reign in your enthusiasm for a bit, then we can try to trust that you are more than just pretenders. We will believe that your smile is real, and we will try to appreciate you. You know what would help us go a long way toward appreciating you? Since you are up, and "grabbing the bull by the horns", maybe put on a pot of coffee for the rest of us?


Early morning cheerfulness can be extremely obnoxious.
William Feather

Perspective

I am in a constant effort to pursue a healthy perspective on life. Maybe its because I teach kids who, by their very design, lack perspective. Countless times my students run to me in absolute distress because someone cut them in line, or took their swing. I know that it is a normal stage in their development, and that many of them have the bliss of ignorance as to what an ACTUAL big deal is; and so I try to help them work out their issue and start to develop perspective.

I think it is frustrating though, how many adults I come across who also lack perspective, and with no discernible good reason. They should not be going through "a stage". Haven't we all seen it? Someone angry with a cashier because their $.30 coupon got declined, or setting up a meeting with the principal because their child did not get put into the same 3rd grade class as his or her friends. I feel like a lot of the Facebook posts that I read from people who are enraged about some injustice, are many times really just a lack of perspective. Like I tell my kids, "Someone got the worst possible news of their life today, and it wasn't you. We can work this out."

I was doodling the other day, and I wanted to share what I came up with. Kind of The Serenity Prayer's long lost cousin, twice removed, The Perspective Prayer.

Please give me the eyes to see things objectively.
Even when it is hard.
Really teach me to appreciate how blessed my life is.
Switch my focus from my problems to my opportunities.
Provide chances for me to see what burdens others carry-that I may make them lighter.
Every time something goes wrong, help me to...
Choose the BIG PICTURE over the zoom lens of my life.
Teach me how great my riches are in my family...
In my friends. And when things are...
Very challenging, may I remember that...
Even then, life is good.


“We can complain because rose bushes have thorns, or rejoice because thorn bushes have roses.”
― Abraham Lincoln

Kitty

When Taryn was 7 months old, or "zero years old" as she likes to say, she got her first stuffed animal for Christmas from my Aunt Pam. It was a beautiful plush cat, with fur as fluffy and white as freshly driven snow, and lovely marble blue eyes. I promptly named this cat "Kitty" because I am so creative. At her young age, Taryn didn't have a particular inclination toward Kitty, but I chose to put it in her stroller with her when we would go out and about, or to give it to her on car rides. Soon, she got used to Kitty being around, and before long she actually started to prefer him being there to not. He went everywhere she went: to Nana's house, to bed, the doctor's office, and even the dreaded dentist. When she would fall asleep, she would rub kitty on the front right paw sweetly, as the softness of his puffy paw calmed her and reassured her that she was not alone. During more nervous times, like on the way to the dentist, she would rub kitty on that same paw faster, almost feverishly, as she quietly cried and tried to extract any bit of comfort from him that she could.

My memories of Taryn's childhood thus far, both happy and sad, are "Kittyful", and I think I am almost as attached to that little stuffed kitten as Taryn is. When I think of the day that Taryn doesn't need Kitty anymore, it makes my heart swell with emotions. So, too, does the memory of her little 3 year old face peeking over the edge of the washing machine to say goodbye to Kitty when he had to get a "bath". The pout on her lips, and the question, "Will he be ok?", still melt my heart with my memory of it just as it did that very day.

Kitty looks different now. His snow colored fur is still snow colored, but now it resembles the snow a few days after the storm, after having been exposed to the salt and sand trucks, and then pushed aside by the plow. His once fluffy fur is unfluffable now, no matter how hard we try. Instead, it sits smoothly against his body, and his seams show all over because of it. Kitty's once clear, marble blue eyes are now so scratched that I am sure that he can scarcely see a thing anymore. In true Velveteen Rabbit fashion, being loved has taken a toll on Kitty. He has been there, and he has been faithful. He has never failed her, not even once. But love has a way of revealing things, doesn't it? Whether it be people or stuffed animals, the more we give ourselves to being loved legitimately, the more our beautiful facade fades and we show our seams. Kitty shows the scars of having been loved. He gave his fluff, his cleanliness, his whiskers, and his sparkling eyes, just a little bit each day, whenever they were required. As he did, my little girl learned to be brave, and peaceful, and to feel safer.

Sometimes when I see Kitty sitting on the bed next to the pristine, newer stuffed animals that overpopulate the area, I want to cry. I remember him the way he once was, and I see how he has aged. I appreciate him so much, for what he has meant to my little girl, and I wish that I could have kept him from getting so common looking, and maybe even a little bit pitiful. I feel sorry for him, as I tug on his limbs and test whether they are starting to come loose, and wish that her love hadn't taken so much out of him.

But then bedtime comes, and Taryn throws all of the other, perfect animals on the floor and holds Kitty in her arms. No stuffed animal has ever looked as beautiful as Kitty does in that moment, and I know that all of those other animals must wish for just one moment to have a little girl love them like that.

Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.”
― Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit