Who's the Boss?

The past month has been a very busy one, with various before/after school activities for each of the kids, and lots of extra hours for me at work.  As a result, the house is in a state of limbo, and I've been ignoring the crunch of...whatever that is on the floor for the past few days.  Finally, after I got my youngest started on her homework this afternoon, I was able to grab a broom and do a quick sweep of the kitchen and laundry room.

Realistic depiction.

As I swept, I felt someone trying to push past me into the laundry room.  My youngest was trying to get a folder out of her backpack.  I explained that I was sweeping, and that she needed to wait until I was finished before she walked into the room.  She left, I crossed the room to get the other side swept.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a sneaky little arm and foot hovering at the door.  Youngest was attempting a covert maneuver!  After a sharp rebuke and ANOTHER reminder that she was supposed to wait, she stomped off in a huff and I grumbled as I swept the dirt into a pile.

"Why doesn't she just listen?  I told her I was doing something.  She's so impatient.  It's like she thinks she knows better than I do!"

That's when I got a smack in the head from the Big Guy.  

My control-freak tendencies have been known to get me into trouble from time to time. The thing is, I can map out a completely logical scenario in my head without stopping to pray or listen to what God has to say.  I figure He's given me the ability to analyze and make sense of a situation, so why shouldn't I use that ability?  So I go charging ahead, mentally checking things off as I go.  Problem?  People, situations, and reactions don't necessarily follow logic.

Riiiiiight.

So here I was, grumbling about my kid who obviously thinks she's smart enough to find a way around having to listen to me and wait, while I've been exhibiting the same kind of behavior with the One who is the boss of me.  Ouch.  Not a pleasant realization, but one that was much-needed.

So the floor's clean, and so is my perspective.  Knowing the little apple didn't fall far from the tree gives me a good place to start with Youngest!

The Diffidence Dilemma

I know I'm not an easy person to maintain a relationship with.  It's difficult for people to get close to me.  I'm guarded, and if I do expend the energy to get to know someone well, it's after a long period of observation and thoughtful consideration that maybe my interest and loyalty to them will be reciprocated. In the past, there have been a lot of crash-and-burn situations that have affected my thoughts on making new friends and opening up to them, and not wearing my heart on my sleeve seems to turn people off.  My brick wall, it seems, is lit up in blue neon.

Most of the time, I'm completely happy in my little bubble, with the family members who accept me and treat me like I matter, and with the small number of friends who do likewise.  But sometimes I get a glimpse of how the folks outside that bubble might see me, and it's disconcerting.  

Standoffish.

Perfectionist.

High strung.

Rigid.

Unattainable expectations.

Emotionless.

These little glimpses tend to kick me into a wave of self-doubt, and all the old self-esteem issues I was certain I had conquered come flooding right back.  Why can't you be more expressive?  Why is it so hard for you to make friends?  Why can't you be more like this person with the vibrant personality?  Don't you realize your personality makes people run in the other direction?  Why won't you just change who you are?

It's exhausting.

Thankfully, these seasons of self-doubt tend to fade much more quickly than they did when I was a sullen teenager wondering desperately why I didn't seem to really click with anyone but my very best friend.  But, at this point in my life, it's worrisome to jump back to that very insecure mindset and question everything about who I am.  Intellectually, I understand that a lot of these things stem from my introverted personality, and that there's absolutely nothing wrong with me.  It's perfectly ok to be quiet and introspective.  But to try to explain that to my heart, which is genuinely hurt when someone dismisses me as unpleasant or undesirable...that doesn't get any easier with age and experience.  And I'm not sure what to do about it.

Who Wants a Stagnant Life?

Stability and routine are two of my most favorite things in the world.  There is a great comfort in knowing you have a system, that the system works, and that the system will go on working for the foreseeable future.  You're in the groove, got it down.  The last thing you need is someone coming along and harshing your consistency mellow.

But.

Things change.  And when they do, they DO.  Things in my life have been in a sort of flux since springtime.  It started small, with little things here and there that upset my zen routine and got me flustered.  The logical part of my brain (let's not mince words here...that means the whole thing) desperately reached out for the reason.  Why did things feel so off?  Was I doing anything differently than normal?  Was there some spiritual lesson I was supposed to learn?  I buckled down and clung to what was familiar and comfortable that much tighter, anxious for things to just get. back. to. normal.  Because that's what was SUPPOSED to happen.

This was pretty much the reaction I got.  

The thing about life is, it's not meant to be stagnant OR comfortable - especially the Christian life.  As many years as I have been on this planet, I still have a lot to learn, and a lot of maturing to do.  And the process isn't always going to be zen, uniform, or pleasant.  After a few months of things just not feeling right, not working out right, and getting absolutely nowhere trying to reason it out, I decided to just step back from everything and give it all over to God, because the path to certifiable insanity was looking shorter and shorter.  

Which, of course, was the first step God was waiting for me to take.

Things are still in that state of flux.  The people who frustrate me seem to be working overtime lately.  The inconsistencies in the professed beliefs and actions of people I know continue to confound and upset me.  People I love continue to be blinded to things I know are going to hurt them in the long run, but am powerless to prevent.  I'm still subjected to the stresses of mothering, working, and running a household.  The little things still happen, and there's still that feeling of off-ness in general.  Change is coming.  Nothing I do will stop or slow it.

My saving grace?  A deep breath, a reminder that the world will not be saved by me, but by the One who created it, and by answering His invitation.  There will always be people who do things to frustrate me.  Hypocritical people will always exist, and they're never going to make sense to me.  The people I love are free to make their own choices, and will gain what they need to from the experiences they have, both positive and negative.  Life goes on.  Change happens.  The Lord sees all and adjusts minds, attitudes, and experiences as He deems appropriate.  This is as it should be.

Keeping this in mind, my daily goal is not to over-think any situations, relationships, or encounters I will have.  Rather, I want to focus on enjoying my interactions, not entangling myself intellectually or emotionally when it's not necessary or beneficial.  Instead of transcribing the world into perfect little categories and boxes in my mind and becoming agitated when the world doesn't play along, I need to see what life brings my way and roll with it when it doesn't suit my ideology.  This is entirely new and a little frightening, but it's a challenge I believe I can meet, with a few mental reminders, and a TON of grace and prayer.  

It's Not You, It's Me.

In the summer of 1987, when I was ten years old, my family attended a small church in a small town. There were very few kids in the congregation, and we all viewed our pastor with a mixture of awe and affection.  He was a gregarious, friendly man who was genuine and fun to be around.  My sister, an equally gregarious and charming personality, had recently been allowed to sit next to him during church services until it was time for the sermon.  One Sunday, I asked if I could sit with him during services and was welcomed to do just that.  I sat through announcements, sang along with the hymns, and behaved in the quiet manner that had always come naturally to me.  After services, the pastor patted me on the shoulder as I thanked him for letting me sit with him and said, in a well-meaning tone, "Why can't you be more like your sister?"

I never sat with him again.  And I eventually came to a certain realization:

Friends, I am an introvert.

Throughout my life, many well-meaning people have tried to help me change what they see as a personality flaw.  If you'd only go out more, you'd enjoy yourself, they'd say.  Get out there and meet new people, make new friends.  They didn't understand the anxiety that flooded my mind at the expectation of being surrounded by people I didn't know and being expected to engage them on some level.  They didn't understand my intense dislike of small talk, and how pointless I found it.  They couldn't fathom why I wouldn't be comfortable in a party atmosphere with lots of people having lots of fun.  Who wouldn't want to have fun?  

The thing only the people closest to me seem to realize is, social events are not my thing.  Being around large groups of people requires so much energy and effort, it takes a few days for me to recover.  That recovery is usually spent at home with my family, and involves lots of reading and quiet time that helps me recharge.  During that period, going anywhere and/or engaging with anyone outside my immediate family is only going to happen if it's absolutely necessary.  For those who don't fully understand introversion, this can lead to hurt feelings and offense that has absolutely nothing to do with anything besides this simple fact:  It's not you, it's me.  

Being this type of personality in a world that largely values happy extroverts is a battle in itself.  Much of my life, the interaction of people who just didn't understand or value introverts led me to believe I was broken, that something had to be wrong with a person who dreaded talking on the phone, who wasn't interested in planning sleepovers with friends, or who preferred to spend the majority of her time immersed in literature rather than interacting with the people around her.  It wasn't normal.  It needed to be fixed.

The thing is, though these behaviors aren't average for our society, there is absolutely nothing wrong with introversion.  Attempting to squash introverted behaviors in favor of forced extroversion may look like improvement to everyone else, but it only succeeds in creating feelings of falseness and misery for the person working so hard to please everyone around them.  Rather than change my personality in order to please those who value extroversion over introversion, I've decided to embrace my introversion - even celebrate it.  I was made this way for a reason, and fighting against the way I'm made is counterproductive and downright silly.  Instead, I'm going to happily accept the way He made me, thankfully and without apologies.

Mental Ping Pong

 

 

My brain is the type that never turns off, not even when I'm exhausted and desperately willing it to just shut up for ten seconds so I can drop off to sleep.  I can lie awake for hours going over what happened that day, what's going to happen the next day, or some thing or other I wish I'd done differently.  During the day, as I work out whatever's going on around me, I have a steady soundtrack of music going, which is great if it's good music, but is absolute murder if I get, say, Hey Paula stuck on a loop. 

 

 

With all this rumination, it comes as no surprise that I often think about work.  If you've read my past blogs, or see me on at least an intermittent basis, you know I've been working as a part-time substitute teacher after one year of working as a fifth grade teacher.  My reasons for going part-time were based on strong feelings of shortchanging my children, my husband, and my  home:  all of which I felt needed to be my priority. 

 

 

I still feel that way, and I know my prayerful decision was the right one.  Yet, the "Educator" mindset has never left.  I spend quite a lot of time on websites like Pinterest, looking for things to use in the classroom, and better ways to teach each subject.  I look for ways to integrate technology into the classroom, and literature and projects to make History come alive. 

 

 

On top of that, there are positions at my school that are opening up;  full time positions teaching a variety of grades, all students I have come to know and love as a substitute teacher.  I see friends applying for these jobs and...

 

 

I'm jealous.

 

 

A little voice in my head says, "It's been a year.  Your kids are older.  You know what to expect now.  Just jump back into teaching!"  And I want to listen to that voice SO badly.  Teaching is, without question, my calling. 

 

But then I remember the incredible amounts of time I put into it last year.  I think about the changes I saw in my own children as they felt they had to compete with my thirty-eight students for my attention.  I remember how tense I was all the time, and how kind and patient my husband had to be just to attempt to get me to relax.  And I think about the changes that have come in our district, just in the past year, and how I gave a little sigh of relief that I wouldn't have to jump through all the extra hoops I've seen my colleagues struggling with this year.

 

 

And this...

 

 

 

But they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.

Isaiah 40:31

 

 

 

Difficult as it is, I need to set aside my desire to go back now, and be patient to see how things progress in God's timing.  I can't help but think of Sarah, and how she messed things up by insisting Abraham have a child with Hagar - all because she couldn't stand to wait for God any  longer.  I need to trust that God will show me exactly when He wants me to go back to teaching and, based the promise in the verse above, I trust that He will keep me from feeling overwhelmed and anxious.  He keeps His promises.

When the Yes Man says no.

 

 

Who among us doesn't love a nice compliment?  Words and actions that express affirmation are powerful things, and they speak to the core of who we are:

 

 

"You are right."  

"What you're doing is good." 

"You are valued." 

"You are valuable." 

 

 

Sincere praises are worth a great deal.  The trick is to seek sincerity above flattery, and learn to discern between the two - both in receiving praise and giving praise.

 

 

Sometimes, in order to keep a friendship intact, we choose to overlook the things we dislike about a person and focus on the good.  There is absolutely nothing wrong with this, so long as the things you overlook don't truly matter, in the grand scheme of things.  An obsession with 90s boy bands, though certainly disturbing, can be set aside without much of an issue. 

 

 

But what if you've been overlooking things that do matter?

 

 

Look, I readily admit to not being perfect.  I have moral and ethical dilemmas, just like everyone else.  If I ever behave in a manner that is inconsistent with my faith, the last thing that's going to help me is a Yes Man.  It would certainly be easy to ignore the things I do that don't jive with what scripture says, just to preserve a friendship.  After all, who wants to be the bad guy? 

 

 

It is hard to hold fellow Christians accountable for behavior inconsistent with biblical teaching, especially if that fellow Christian is a good friend you would give a great deal not to hurt.  It is a sucky situation all around. 

 

 

But sometimes you have to step out of the Yes Man shoes, take a deep breath, and prayerfully, gently, lovingly, speak Truth.  

 

 

Open rebuke is better than hidden love.

 

Proverbs 27:5

 

 

Know that sometimes your loving rebuke will be thrown violently back at you.  Truth cuts to the quick, straight through the blanket of false happiness and comfort that accompanies self-deception desperately attempting to ward off guilt.  Sometimes lashing out is easier than introspection and change. 

 

 

But worse than the awful feeling of being rejected for speaking Truth is the feeling of a Yes Man, ignoring the white elephant in the room to keep things pleasant and light, while the elephant is slowly crushing the life out of the person who brought it in.

 

 

Sometimes the Yes Man has to say no.

 

 

 

  Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight,
O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.

 

Psalm 19:14



Claustrophobia

 

I live in one of the most beautiful places on earth.  Sitting in my  living room, I am mere minutes away from the crashing waves of the Pacific Ocean, the utterly transparent waters of the Smith River, and the damp solitude of the towering Redwoods.  This is a place to which people come to retire, to enjoy the most peaceful years of their lives among nature's finest displays.

 

But.

 

 There are times I hate it here. 

 

It rains.  A LOT.  Granted, I am used to this, having grown up in a neighboring county with very similar weather, but I've always detested the rain, and the drippy blanket of fog that always seems to hover until lunchtime, even on our sunniest days.  Most of the time, the skies are a milky gray color, puddling over any hint of blue.  And it's cold.  Lap blankets and thick sweaters are kept close at hand until at least June, maybe later, depending upon our unpredictable weather patterns.

 

It's more than just the weather, though.  Each year it seems like the crime rate here climbs higher and higher.  Things that made the news of record once in a great while have now become commonplace.  The rampant use of meth is apparent in the sallow-faced, rail-thin people stumbling around the supermarkets and sidewalks in town. 

 

This place is depressing.  It is difficult to see the beauty around me when I feel invisible tendrils of something nefarious slowly winding around me.  Even today, the muddled watercolor gray skies seem to have leaked their colorlessness over everything, leaving the sometimes vibrant greens and golds of my yard looking lifeless and dull. 

 

I want to go somewhere else, somewhere bright and warm and cheerful for once.  I want to see the sun more than three months of a good year.  I want to go somewhere alive.

 

 

Fool for School

**Disclaimer!  If my homeschooling friends are reading this blog, keep in  mind that I am in no way slamming homeschooling.  I have met so many homeschooling families in recent years and have heard very good things about homeschooling.  My  purpose is to show the other side of the coin;  the benefits of public school as my family knows them.  Any offense taken is your own responsibility. 

 

 

In case you're new here, I'll let you in on a not-so-secret thing about me:  I love education.   Reading has been an integral part of my life from the day I learned how to do it, and since then I've been on a quest to gather as much knowledge about subjects that interest me as I possibly can.  My Netflix queue is full of documentaries, historical dramas, historical fiction, you get the idea.  If I can learn from it, it's there.

 

As I mentioned earlier, if you know me at all, you know this about me.  Couple this with my love of imparting that knowledge, especially to children, and you get the question that has been posed to me several times lately, "You love to teach. You've got three kids AND you're a Christian family.  Why aren't you homeschooling?"  After mulling over the reason why I keep getting asked about it, I decided to share the reasons I send my children to public school.

 

 

God hasn't called me to homeschool.

 

I know, I know.  Some folks see that as blasphemy right there.  But the truth is, some of us are called to be a part of the public school community, sending our children there daily and maybe even working there.  When you think of it from a believer's point of view, public schools are a mission field - not for outright proselytizing, but for living what you believe and demonstrating Christianity in action.  My children are getting a good, solid foundation for their faith through our church and through our home life, and they get the opportunity to "put their money where their mouths are", so to speak, by practicing what they've learned about how God says to treat others and deal with others in a very real way on a daily basis.

 

 

 

 

Our public elementary school is excellent.

 

We are blessed to live within walking distance of, in my opinion, the very best school in our county.  The quality of education at this school is terrific.  Should we run into any issues with behavior or academics, teachers and administration welcome me in for a discussion of possible solutions and how to make them happen.  The key to being happy with a public school is to be an involved parent.  The environment at our school is friendly and open to parents, encouraging them to be present as much as they wish. 

 

Additionally, our teachers REALLY know the topics for their grade level.  Given my love of research and learning, I could easily read up on each subject myself, but I am confident in the abilities of our instructors.  Having seen firsthand how kids internalize information differently depending upon who is teaching, I like the idea that they get to learn from various teachers, gathering information in various voices that emphasize things I might not, were I teaching them myself.

 

 

 

My kids are learning how to work with people who aren't like them.

 

The coolest thing about our public school experience has been watching my kids learn how to deal with different personalities, most of which they wouldn't be exposed to if they weren't in public school.  And I'm not talking hoodlums!  The public school system affords kids the opportunity to be friends with other kids from all sorts of different backgrounds - socioeconomic, ethnic, religious, educational, etc.  I want them to meet people who aren't like them, get to know them, and learn how to effectively work with them. 

 

And yes, this means they are going to run into people they don't like, or who don't like them.  Admittedly, I cringe when they come home with stories of how Mary Mean Girl made snide remarks about their choice of outfit, or how Jerry Jerk Boy said a rude word to them on the playground.  But mean girls and boys don't necessarily change when they become grown-ups.  Goodness knows I've met my fair share of mean girls who grew up to be mean mommies.  It's unpleasant to watch and to know your child is experiencing mean-ness, but it teaches them valuable lessons as well;  lessons about their own inner strength, their inability to change another person, acting on the teaching that we ought to love our enemies, and the general lesson that jerks are everywhere, but life goes on.

 

 

 

Finally, my kids are happy and thriving in public school!

 

As the saying goes, if it ain't broke, don't fix it!  My children are absolutely thriving at their public school, developing their hearts and minds at an excellent pace with very pleasing results.  There is absolutely no reason to switch things up on them when they are doing so well in an environment they love with educators they admire and respect.  Whatever educational path you choose, if those are your results, just keep doing what you're doing!



 

 

Just one of those days.

 

 

 

I am frustrated.  It feels lately like a  bunch of little things that usually would just bother me have conspired to work together to create an avalanche of irksome things with the sole purpose of making me feel like I'm going to lose it.

 

 

There's the usual day to day stuff that comes with running a household, being a mother, and working often in a public school.  Bothersome, but eh.  I can deal.  But wait!  How about some encounters with frenemies?  Parental drama?  Too-short bangs?  Extra responsibilities?  A PTSO with a membership total of exactly ZERO and a board of officers whose number could fit into a thimble? 

 

 

Yeah. 

 

 

Usually, I can organize a logical plan of attack in my  head and "fix" thing with a methodical approach.  It's not working this time.  What I really need is a giant cup of coffee, a good british miniseries, and an entire day to shut my door against people and frustrations and life.

Pride and Prejudice

They're out there, and they are legion.  So convinced of their awesomeness, they are eager to bestow it upon the unwashed masses (that's how they view you and me).  Their opinions are presented as gospel truth, and those who question it or, God help them, disagree, are immediately denounced as unintelligent, simple, and in need of correction. 

 

Pride.

 

 

Let me say, there is absolutely nothing wrong with being proud of a job well done, or of something that's taken a lot of effort to accomplish.  That's a pride that's earned.  No, the kind of pride I'm talking about is the grandiosity that comes from a person so utterly convinced they are smarter, holier, right-er, or...well, just about any -er you can think of.  THAT pride makes the person expressing it look pompous and arrogant, and it makes the person on the receiving end of it feel inadequate and small. 

 

 

Now comes my battle cry:  What does the bible say about it?   Thankfully, this is one of the topics the bible addresses repeatedly and thoroughly.

 

 

Do you see a man who is wise in his own eyes?  There is more hope for a fool than for him.

                                                                              Proverbs 26:12

 

 

Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.

                                                                              Phillipians 2:3

 

 

Live in harmony with one another.  Do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly. Never be wise in your own sight.

                                                                              Romans 12:16

 

 

These three verses particularly resonate with me.  As Christians, we are specifically called to be humble, not arrogant.  We are directed not to act like, or believe we are better, smarter, or any -er than anyone else.  And we are specifically told not to create rivalries between ourselves and others - that includes homeschooling vs. public schooling, denomination vs. denomination, or at-home parent vs. working parent. 

 

Humility is underscored and given as a directive.

 

Even the  most humble among us struggle with pride in some form or other.  We're not perfect, but we have to at least try. 

 

 

 

  



Never confuse movement with action - Ernest Hemingway

This is me...

 

 

Hoo boy, it's been a while since I've even opened this blog, and probably even longer since someone has actually read it.  If anyone's still out there (hello?), I'm in the process of revamping this thing to make it more relevant to my daily life and all the fun stuff that goes along with it.  Props to my best buddy for launching her new blog, giving me the motivation to breathe some life back into this poor place!

 

Fickle is as Fickle Does

If you've been reading this blog for very long (or, say, at all), you've probably realized I'm not much of a social person.  Given my own way, I'd stay holed up in my comfy house reading a good book, meandering in the back yard, or interacting with my kids.  The thought of being "out there" with lots of people, even people I know, makes me anxious, even if I do force myself to go and end up having a wonderful time.  My comfort zone consists of family and a small number of very close friends.

Finding those close friends, however, has always been a challenge.  Early on, I learned that girls are fickle creatures, and friendship with other girls usually involves cattiness and drama.  Growing up, I had one very good, very close female friend.  Most of my other friends were guys, and I preferred the straightforward nature of those friendships. 

These days, I'm somewhere in the middle.  Overall, I think I'd still rather hang out with a group of guys than a group of girls, though my closest friends in the world are women.  Even as adults and mothers, though, there has been a fair amount of cattiness and silly, juvenile behavior that drives me absolutely crazy.  Maybe it's silly, but I'm surprised to see grown women holding on to the stupidity that drove the high school cliques back in the day.  Are we women really that shallow, that we need to be the center of attention, or draw that attention to things we don't like about others?  Why is it so difficult to focus on being the best mother and person we can possibly be and let everyone else do the same? 

Crawling my way back into blogging

So it's been a long time since I've been here.  Ages.  I haven't even logged into Blogger to check on the blogs I subscribe to, because life has been so incredibly hectic and unpredictable. 

The teaching gig was fun, but I opted out for next year.  Life was going at such a breakneck pace, I felt like I was being pushed down my own path by a barreling locomotive.  While I think I did a fairly good job at teaching, I know without a doubt that the quality of my mothering and wife-ing suffered tremendously, and when it comes right down to it, the mothering and wife-ing are what mean the very most to me, so I decided they must come first.  Maybe someday I'll return to the world of elementary academia.  If I do, I'll go with the knowledge that I had a good, solid first year (which is quite an accomplishment in itself), and with the knowledge that I am welcome to return when I'm ready. 

For now, the goal is to transition back into a life that's not going 900 miles an hour, to a focus on my family and my home that doesn't make me hyperventilate because there are piles and piles of things that still need to be done, there are children desperate for attention, and what DID I plan to make for dinner?  Breathing is the name of the game. 

Remember me?



Hi there!  It's been a VERY long time since I've had a chance to write.  Our Bummer Summer came to an end shortly after my last post, and with it came extreme changes all around.  The biggest change occured four days before school was to start, when I got a facebook message from our school district superintendent saying something about a job at my kids' school.  Later that day, our school principal telephoned with a proposition:  Due to lots and lots of newly enrolled kids at our school, they had an immediate opening for a 5th grade teacher and they were offering the job to me.  In fact, they wanted me over anyone else. 

After a long, agonizing day full of prayer and angst-ridden thought, I met the principal at school and agreed to take the position.  He led me to a classroom full of dusty books and old furniture.  My task in the next four days was to clear it all out, get everything set up, and be prepared to teach 38 students. 

The next three months of my life were a high-pressured, stressful blur.  I lost track of the amount of times I wanted to chuck my teacher's editions into a puddle and go home. 

Since then, things have eased up a bit, but I'm still in a constant state of unrest.  There's never enough time to get things done on the homefront, and I hate coming back after a full day of work to a house that's got laundry piled up, a dining room table sprinkled with crumbs, and floors that desperately need vacuuming.  I'm feeling uneasy about the way the kids' behavior has changed (not for the better...), and feeling overall that I'm sacrificing my home and family life for the good of my students.  Don't get me wrong, I love my students and I cheer (inwardly AND outwardly) when they succeed, but it feels more than a little hypocritical to focus so much on other people's kids while leaving so little for my own.

The plan for next year is still up in the air.  Due to budget stuff, I fully expect to get a pink slip (layoff notice) and the end of the year.  Part time work would be ideal, but we'll just have to wait and see what happens.  I feel very strongly that God placed me in this position for a reason, but if He wants me to stay on, He hasn't shown me just yet. 

And, of course, life goes on in the meantime.  Apart from the joys and frustrations of the new job, there are dysfunctional relatives popping out of the woodwork, frenemies and girl drama to contend with, family issues, dance classes, local theater practices several times a week, and who knows WHAT else waiting in the wings. 

Summer Bummer

It has been one bummer of a summer.

Things looked promising at the beginning.  Once the hectic schedule of the school year was over, we all enjoyed sleeping in, going for hikes, grilling dinner, making s'mores at the fire pit in the back yard, and lots of other things we only really get to do in the summertime.  There were even a few nice, warm days (that's above 70 degrees here in Del Norte) that allowed the kids to wear the creases out of the new shorts I'd got them and allowed me to bare my ghost-white calves with a pair of capri pants.

Then the bummers started to happen. And they started to snowball.

We got a call saying my husband's grandpa, who had terminal cancer, was nearing the end.  Husband left for a good chunk of time to be able to talk to Grandpa and say his goodbyes.  Shortly after coming back, Husband got another call saying Grandpa had passed away.  He left for another chunk of time to attend the memorial service (and give the eulogy) and help organize some of Grandpa's possessions.  It was a very sad time, compounded by the fact that Husband was away so much and I was on my own with three children who had become very bored with summer and who didn't know how to express their grief over their great-grandfather's passing in ways other than arguments and outbursts.

That was the worst part of summer.  After that, it was a plethora of little things.  Hit Girl came down with a cold, prompting her to wake up several times a night and come into our room to wake us.  I managed to shut the garage door on the hood of our new minivan and scratch it terribly.  Did I mention the garage door was bent so badly it wouldn't work and the motor in the opener caught fire?  Just this last week, Pollyana's constant summer buddy, who was here visiting family in our neighborhood, left her with head lice as a parting gift.  Two hours after discovering this, the washing machine's motor ground to a halt.

So yeah, at this point I'm hoping for a vacation from our vacation.  Our family schedule during school is completely crazy, but its predictability looks pretty nice right about now.

Temper, temper!

I have a terrible temper.

Most people don't believe this about me.  Generally I'm a pretty sunshiny, Pollyanna type of person who skips around surrounded by chirping birds, crowned by rainbows in a sky where the only clouds have sequined outlines of silver.  My little world is a happy place and I stay there as much as possible.  But I don't always stay there. Oh, no.  Sometimes unpleasantness creeps in, embedding itself under my skin, irritating more and more with every breath until it becomes so difficult to ignore that my happy little world dissolves into a cacophony of dissonance, thunderbolts and lightning storms that leaves me gritting my teeth and digging my fingernails into my palms. 

Now don't think I'm easily angered.  I do my best to let things roll off my back and focus on the big picture, asking myself "In the grand scheme of things, will this really matter?"  So when the steam starts coming out of my ears, be assured it's been building for quite a while, which might explain the level of reaction when it finally comes. 

So I find myself wondering...is this healthy?  Is it normal?  I never really had a positive example of how to handle anger when I was a kid and, more than anything, I want to avoid the constant violent outbursts that punctuated life in those days.  Then I come across this:

But now you must put them all away: anger, wrath, malice, slander, and obscene talk from your mouth.
—Colossians 3:8
 
and things start to fall into place.  While I have a bit of pride over the fact that I am fairly slow to anger, the reality is, that's not good enough.   Temper, anger, whatever you want to call it - it's not from God.  It's a very real example of how easy it is to slip into the "me" mentality when my goal is to always be looking up.  If I give in to the foot-stomping and muttering, I'm grasping tools that, instead of helping me out of the pit of temper I'm in, will tear and bite into the ground to create a chasm of misery.  Looking at things that way, the answer to my question is obviously no, this is not healthy and this is not good.
 
It's never easy for me to admit I'm wrong, especially when I know I'm right.  My angry thoughts may well be justified.  Let's face it, people in general are not kind, they are not altruistic and they often hurt others in order to benefit themselves.  Anger is a natural reaction.  But it takes something more, something otherworldly, to refuse to let that take hold, to push it aside in favor of humility and obedience and maybe even forgiveness.  A work in progress, I'm nowhere near mastering any of that.  But I can do pretty much anything with God's help, so I'm going to keep trying.

The 4th in the 'Norte



Fireworks over
Battery Point Lighthouse



The 4th of July in Crescent City is a big deal.  Summertime is the only time of year when we're not completely inundated with rain, so this holiday is the perfect one to highlight the beauty and unique features of our area while celebrating the birth of our country.  There are myriad trails that twist through lush redwood trees growing so tall you can only see a hint of blue sky peeking out from above the canopy of branches.  The ground below, pillowed with dried leaves and pieces of bark, springs up with each footstep.  Fallen tree trunks provide hiding places for all manner of forest creatures and excellent climbing challenges for kids of all ages.  Much as the rain during the other 3/4 of the year depresses me and makes me long for a different climate, summertime reminds me why I could never leave this place completely. 



July 4th, 1915 on Front Street



The amount of activities going on the 4th is astounding for such a small town.  The entire schedule is printed in the local paper, and it's possible to be involved in something from before breakfast until the wee hours of the night.  The one thing I never miss is the parade, which seems to be getting longer each year.  It begins at 10 am and goes until noon this year.  All but one member of my family are part of it and numerous friends and their children are also participating, so the enthusiasm that brings should hopefully overshadow the length.  Two hours is a looooong time.

After tomorrow, Crescent City will return to the sleepy little town it usually is, minus the rather colorful populous that makes the newspaper and the news of record on a regular basis.  Enjoy your 4th and be safe!

The girl is crafty like ice is cold!



Four. Feet.

 I just got back from a wonderful afternoon crafting with three of my favorite people.  While I worked on the neverending crochet shrug (FOUR FEET of the same stitch over and over and over), Rainbow Bekah and Easily Amused Jamie made flowers and hair bands and all manner of cute creations I couldn't make from scratch if my life depended on it (The lovely Miss Mandy spent her time holding the cutest. baby. ever.). 



Yay!



After my hand went numb from single crocheting an hour of my life away, Bekah took pity on my flowerlessness and showed me how to make a fabric flower clip of my very own.  Not too shabby for a beginner, eh?  Now I'm desperate to go through my fabric scraps and see what flowers I can create.  My girls are eager to help, and I'm sure this will end up being a project for the three of us.

Currently holding a pocketbook, comb, brush, receipts,
hand lotion, sanitizer and one small blue racecar.



The sewing machine is intimidating me less and less, and I have two projects to show for my determination to show it who's boss.  The first is the Amy Butler Birdie Sling.  Since making this one, I've ditched my teensy handbag and embraced the gigantic shopping tote-sized purse I made from the pattern.  Sure, it's huge.  Maybe a little ostentatious.  But boy, can I fit a lot of stuff in it!

The second is a dress I lovingly refer to as Pollyanna's First Mumu (for blogging purposes, I've renamed my children The Professor, Pollyanna and Hit Girl. More on that in another post).  The pattern is for your basic pillowcase dress, of which you can find any variation on the web.  Just google. 



Not to be confused with the
sound a cow makes.

Because she's 7 and taller than the toddlers pillowcase dresses are designed to fit, I let Pollyanna pick out any fabric she wanted off the clearance rack so we could make the dress as long as we wanted. True to form, she chose a very loud flowery rayon type material that resulted in a flowy, parachutey look that she loves.  I'm still forming an opinion on whether I like how it turned out, but being enamored with anything Mama makes, Pollyanna is thrilled and has vowed to wear it as often as I'll let her. 



Obviously, I'm still a fledgling crafter, but each time I make something I feel that much better about my skills.  Maybe someday I'll create my own tutorial or be featured on one of those fantastic craft lists all the creative bloggers make!

Father's Day

Father's Day is one of those holidays I've never seen a point in celebrating.  My earliest memory of Father's Day is in second grade, when I presented my mother, a struggling single parent, with a card that said "Happy Father's Day to the best dad I know" - a wry twist of humor that sends a pang to my stomach even now.  At that point, my biological father had been absent for a little over three years. He'd abandoned his children in favor of a life and another child with someone he'd been seeing at the same time as my mother.  A couple years after that, he ended up in prison for a violent crime, and that's where he was when I gave that homemade card to my mother.  The following years saw him re-enter prison shortly after he was released, and saw me with a new stepfather who didn't do much to earn the title of father, apart from being a male presence in our home. 

Growing up without a strong male role model was tough.  I had grandfathers I loved dearly, but didn't really feel particularly close to them.  Male teachers were few and far between, but those I did have, I had a great respect for and did my best to impress them with my academics.  Kind as those teachers were, the space left by the absence of a decent father never has been filled. 

Thankfully, I had the good sense to marry a kind, family-oriented man who is extremely involved in our childrens' lives.  The knowledge that my children are growing up with a fantastic role model who obviously loves and cares for them gives me a bit of peace about my own fragmented upbringing.  I can deal with the aftermath of failed fathers knowing they'll never have to.  And that, my friends, is a happy ending.

Take Me to the River...

Way back in the spring of my senior year of high school, I was baptised.  Growing up in the Southern Baptist church, there was no infant baptism.  Parents were encouraged to dedicate their children to God, which had the family standing in front of the church as the pastor prayed for them all, and specifically that the child being dedicated would grow to lead a life pleasing to God.  But there was no water involved, apart from the tears of emotionally overwhelmed grandparents.  I don't think my siblings and I were ever dedicated, but I saw many other kids in our church dedicated over the years.

As a child, I was a non-swimmer.  Even now, at thirty-four years old, I can only manage to swim a few feet before panic sets in and I need to touch bottom with my feet in order to calm down.  One really bad experience with the water left me afraid to ever submerge my face, which meant baptism was out of the question, no matter how much I felt I wanted to do it.  Discussions with my pastor about the possibility of performing a baptism that kept my face out of the water were fruitless.  Unless I went completely under, he said, it wasn't an actual baptism.  I still fail to see the logic in this (did he suspect the symbolic washing away of sin would leave my face vulnerable to bad, bad things?), but that's the way it was.  Finally, my senior year of high school I decided it was time to suck it up and get baptised.  I'd been doing daily bible study and was interested in truly living the type of life Jesus outlined in the New Testament, and in order to be obedient, this was the next step. 

My timing could have been a little better.  The baptism took place in March, after our sanctuary had burned down as a result of arson (still unsolved, by the way).  Because we didn't have access to a baptismal and this was before the days of portable hot tubs, we waited until the rain stopped for a few days and trooped to the banks of the Mad River.  Looking back, this was downright crazy. The water was freezing and the river was swift and high.  I'm not sure whose idea this was, but they probably weren't firing on all cylinders.  Anyway, my turn came and I waded out, breathless because of the coldness of the water.  I still remember the sensation of icy wetness over my face before being hauled back above the surface, gasping for air and plunking my way to shore to scattered applause.

I'd like to say I took things seriously enough to have a solid Christian experience from that point on, but as most young adults tend to do, I became self-involved and relied heavily upon my own logic to get through daily situations.  That particular issue has been a cyclical struggle ever since.  But I managed to get it together partway into my college years and do my best to be mindful of the way I'm supposed to be living and who I'm supposed to be relying on for even the little things (hint: not myself).  I figure if I counted on Him to get me through the two seconds underwater that felt like much, much more, I can certainly count on Him to get me through the harder stuff that doesn't terrify me half as much.