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

Dear Dad,

My dear dad retires from the workforce in a few short days. In fact, Friday, Valentine's Day, 2014 is his last day at the office. Forever. I am not going to lie, I am more than a little bit jealous. I wish I could say the same. I have had the experience of an extended vacation before, thanks to summer break. I know how my life is when I am not bound by having to be gone all day almost every day. I make my bed every day. My kids have a chore list, and a reward system. I pay bills early, and have a detailed schedule for my life. I exercise every day. I take time to sit and color, read, and play Operation with my kids. I am really, really good at not working. So, naturally, I am jealous that my dad is about to basically get summer forever. I know that he will be good at not working too, once he gets used to it. He is good at everything that he does.

I have just a few words for my dad, in honor of this milestone achievement called retirement.

First,Dad, thank you. You were an amazing provider, and I never knew want or need growing up. I never prayed that a miracle would put clothes on my back, or food on my table. I didn't need a miracle because I had you. Thank you for working hard, and well.

Thank you for how you showed me that hard work was important, and family was more important. You did this in the way that you came home on your short little lunch break for a Tuna sandwich from Mom. I have had them. They aren't worth coming home for, but Mom sure is. And I learned from watching you do that, that we were more important than anything.

Thank you for whistling as you walked from the car into the house every day. You didn't come in mad. You didn't come in talking on your cell phone (once they were finally invented) or carrying the burdens of the day. You came home and you were home, and happy to be there. You set the whole attitude for our family by your peaceful, and contented demeanor, and the joyful tune you whistled. I couldn't wait to hear that whistle. I think whistling is what a happy heart sounds like when it reaches the face. :)

Thanks for all of the days that you got out of the car and put your briefcase down on the edge of the driveway and started shooting baskets with me. Didn't even change your shoes. Just played. I was a kid, and so I had the bliss of ignorance on my side. It never even occurred to me that you might want to go sit down and rest. But now that I have a job, and a family, I know that you probably did. So, thanks for choosing me, time and time again. You were busy, and important, and I honestly never knew it because to me you were just 100% Dad. There is no greater compliment I can give.

Thanks for being a Civil Engineer. It is my favorite kind of engineer. Maybe because I think all people should be civil, and it sounded like we were just calling you nice, but all my life I had a built in joke when people would ask me what you do for a living. Such a nice little bonus. :)

I hope you enjoy retirement, Dad. I respect you so much for being able to retire at such a young age, where you still have lots of adventure in your soul and spring in your step. I wish you prime tee times, short hikes, peaceful canoeing, long walks on the beach, and always a joyful whistle as the background music for every scene in your life. I am proud of you, and I still want to be just like you when I grow up. I love you. I appreciate you. I celebrate you, and if you need tips on what to do with your time once you retire, remember these three important words..."Come to Florida."

“The man is a success who has lived well, laughed often, and loved much; who has gained the respect of intelligent men and the love of children; who has filled his niche and accomplished his task; who leaves the world better than he found it, whether by an improved poppy, a perfect poem, or a rescued soul; who never lacked appreciation of earth's beauty or failed to express it; who looked for the best in others and gave the best he had." -Robert Louis Stevenson

Slacker Mom

Last week a friend of mine posted a link to a blog about how its OK to not be "Super Mommy" during the Christmas season. I usually DON'T read the articles that people post, but this one had a few comments, "Thanks, I really needed that..." etc. So, naturally, I was like. "If they needed it, I might need it too," and off I went to read the article.

Well, the article was by a mom of toddlers, and it was about how you don't have to "do it all" this season. It was about giving yourself a break, and instead of trying to get every holiday activity done, just pick one to do each day. (At this point, I was thinking, "One EACH DAY? Are they kidding?") It went on to say, and I paraphrase, maybe today you get the lights hung because they are soothing to your babes, but you don't do the lights, AND the baking, AND the puzzles. "WHO would try to do lights, and baking and puzzles, just, like, on a Tuesday night?" I wondered.

The very well written, and endearing blog went on to talk about how at the end of the day, the kids want time with a happy Mommy. They don't want time with a stressed out, angry, end of her rope Mommy, who got multiple holiday activities checked off the to do list. They want to remember smiling, and laughing, and they want to remember the lovely FEELING they got being with Mom. (At this point I was like, "You know that's right. Preach." And that's when it hit me. I just might be doing ok!

I mostly feel bad about how NOT "Super Mommy" I am. We do fun holiday activities once BREAK starts, but when school is in session, I just don't have time. I am the mom who signs up to bring water bottles to the Christmas party because I know I won't have time to bake. My Elf on the Shelf really is an elf on...a shelf. He hides, he peeks, he listens. He does not zip line through an obstacle course in the living room. I know he could. I have Pinterest. When we decorate sugar cookies for Christmas, we do so after I slice the roll of dough I bought from the store. That is, if I am in a baking mood. Other times, we buy the plain sugar cookies from the grocery store bakery, and decorate those. It works for us. The kids are loving our traditions and the time we spend, but in the back of my mind, I know I am not winning Mom of the Year for being most likely to recreate Martha Stewart's holiday table setting. In short, I know my Elf could be taking bubble baths in marshmallows, and having a torrid affair with Barbie, rather than sitting on top of the TV. And so, I feel inadequate.

But that article, the one that my friend's friends "needed to read" was basically telling people to chill. It was kind of saying, cut corners, and make life easier on yourself because your kids won't care about the details. They will care about the time spent making memories with Mom. In a small way, it was saying, be less Room Mom and more Slacker Mom. And THAT my friends, is what I needed to hear. I am doing OK. When Taryn's teacher sent the email today asking us to sign up for what we could provide for the Christmas party, I had a big smile on my face as I quickly responded, "water bottles." Because nothing says Christmas like water.

Memories

My most treasured possessions are my memories.

I have memories of people that come to my head at the strangest times. My college roommate from 20 years ago will pop into my head when I hear, "Where Do Broken Hearts Go" or Hootie and the Blowfish. My suite mates come to mind when I see Kool-Aid and tiny fridges, thus reminding me that the "Kool Aid" in their tiny fridge was not Kool Aid at all. I think of my friend Sam whenever Trevor pedals his bike with training wheels, and my dearly departed Grandma Helen always comes to mind when I open a new can of cashews. Grandpa Nick is in every jazz song, and high school friend Katrina whenever I see Space Jam. I think of my friend Kelly when I see spider webs, and every time I put the recycling out. (?strange but true?) If I see an ugly dog I think of my dog Mugsy, and then I think of my old Pastor, JD, who was there with me when I found out Mugsy died, and talked so kindly to me about the death of a pet. After that I think of his lovely wife Vikki, and their two daughters who were like family to us during a big part of our childhood. "Silver Bells" makes me think of my former science teaching partner, Dana, and every time I do Taryn's hair in a "fuddy duddy" I think of my high school friend Erica, and softball games. I think of one of my middle or high school science teachers, Mr. Snow (I think) every time I do drawings for the class on my board, and Mr. Griffin whenever I have to talk to my students about being kind. Sometimes I even say, "that was a killer statement. Stamp that out, " just like I used to hate when he did. I think of my highschool PE teacher ALMOST every night when I put Trevor to bed because I always tell him to "Cuddle down". "Cover down," was a command we heard at the start of every PE class, and it is so close to what I tell Trevor, how could I not think of Mr. Plummer?

I could go on, and on and on with name after name, and the funny, sweet, happy memories that I have. Or occasionally, sad memories. But even those are a treasure. A lesson or a reminder that changed me just enough for me to remember it. These people would never know that I think of them. Other than occasional Facebook "likes" we have been relatively out of touch for sometimes 20 years! Even so, the smallest thing sparks my mind to remember them, and for a moment it takes me back. I see their face, a little snapshot of a moment we shared, and smile. Some of these people have passed away, some too soon, and some after long and blessed lives. The memories though, those live on. That's what I thank God for, most often. For the smells, sounds, and sights all around me that take me back to people and places that I sometimes think I have all but forgotten, but that through my memories are with me for always.

Dave the Fish

A year and a half ago when Taryn got her fish tank for her birthday, she named some fish. Now, forty fish later we just don't bother. I honestly think she looks forward to them dying because she likes to go to the pet store and get new ones. Anyway, we feed them, and care for the tank. Have the water tested regularly, and it is always perfect. But still, fish after unnamed fish dies.

Last night, Taryn felt sick. She had been in and out of the bathroom thinking she might have to throw up, and finally lay down in bed. "Stay". She told me. I thought she meant until she fell asleep, so as soon as her eyes were closed for a few minutes I would stand up to leave, and the moment I would she would open her eyes and say, "sit". It was kind of creepy. A few times I tried to escape, and each time she knew.

After about an hour of sitting on the edge of her bed staring at the lone unnamed fish in her huge fish tank, I named him Dave. I stood up to feed Dave, since I had nothing else to do, and of course Taryn opened her eyes and glared at me. I told her, "I am just feeding your fish. I named him Dave." She didn't feel good, so she didn't care about anything, including what I named the fish. She told me to name it whatever I wanted to. I sat back down for a while waiting for her to sleep, and enjoyed watching Dave explore the plants and sunken ship, and just...keep...swimming. He was kind of cute-ish. By the time I left the room another 20 minutes later, I kind of liked Dave. I hate pet fish. I think they are pointless to have and are basically the same as flushing money down the toilet. But the little zebra fish, Dave, and I had a moment...or an hour and twenty minutes worth of moments. It was as special as human/pet fish in a tank interactions can be.

This morning, Taryn woke up feeling better, and informed me that Dave was not acceptable for the fish to be called. "I know I said you could name it whatever you wanted, Mom", she said, "but it can't be Dave". ("Can't be Dave?", I thought. "I don't think I can handle this. Dave IS Dave"). "It has to be Dave THE FISH, she said." Phew. Dave the fish was what I called Dave already, so I was fine with make "The Fish" officially part of his name. Disaster in my mind avoided.

So, unnamed fish is now "Dave the Fish". I should be pleased, but I just can't help but think that Dave the fish is doomed to die any moment. I mean, when we didn't notice him, or talk to him, or care about him...he was probably going to live forever. But now we NAMED him, and had a CONVERSATION about him. That is pretty much the kiss of death for little old Dave the Fish. I feel bad. And, quite frankly, I am already pretty depressed about the future passing of the unnamed fish named Dave the Fish who hasn't died yet.

What have we done?