July to October

Since returning to Louisville from Colorado, life has been a whirlwind.

Truth be told, the only reason I'm writing right now is that I am procrastinating. I need to plan the rest of my week with my students, I'm woefully behind in my coursework at U of L and Charlotte needs to be packed up for her journey tomorrow to Virginia.

Funny, too, how so much has changed and evolved and been grappled with in that time. Why is it so hard to write when stuff is actually HAPPENING?

It's taken me a while to adjust emotionally to my new internet habits, which means me+teaching=no internet all day long. Not even personal email. Which is a huge change from being involved full-time in website creation and surfing all day every day. Weird.

So, how's the teaching? Well... what was the general mood of the 120 12 year olds that walked through my classroom with their raging hormones and simultaneous desires to rebel and please? The answer to that question holds the quality of my day in its hot little hands. I take it class by class with varying degrees of success. I'm an okay teacher. Not great. And, I'm horrifically bad at all the tracking and analyzing. But, I have a feeling I'll get better at it.

Here are the things I love about teaching:
- The days when things just chink along and the kids understand what the heck you're talking about and they participate and you reach a couple of kids you haven't been able to... like today, this one student unlocked the key to coming up with things to freewrite about - and he's so proud of himself. You can just SEE it in his eyes and his demeanor. I'm proud of him.

- The way they want to tell you about all the minutae of their lives and really believe that it's probably the most interesting thing you've heard all day. I find their innocent self-centeredness just so sweet. It's not the same brand as 16 or 18 year old self-regard, it's this mixture of approval seeking and trying out their identities that is just phenomenal to watch and nurture.

- There are some of them that get so excited about things they write or think that they burst out of their chairs to get your attention. I have to get them to sit back down so everybody doesn't bum rush me, but I'm always happy to see it happening. Same with "blurting" when kids don't raise their hands. I have to make sure that I keep it to a reasonable level, but I love it when they have a thought and they just have to share it.


There are things that drive me insane, but I'm not going to blog about those. At least, not today.

And, there are a lot of things that have changed in the way the pirate tribe functions that I'd like to address, but not today. For now, let me say that this is the most changeable job I've ever had. The kids are like a moving target. And, I struggle to keep up. But, I think I might love it.

....yeah. I might.

The Gift.

We took a trip to Colorado for a gift.

We barely Fit in my Honda Fit

We crossed the Great Plains

and navigated tall mountains.

We contemplated our place in the universe

and were blessed by one another

We saw glorious sights

and told stories before bed

We discovered towns we loved and want to visit together over and over again.

We met up with some of our favorite people

But, most of all, we loved one another and shared our wonder of the world around us.

...which was the gift we were looking for.

"Yeah, I consider myself a road man for the lords of karma."
- Hunter S. Thompson from a Salon.com interview in 2003

The MamaTrip

My three year old is driving me crazy.

Overemotional.
Tattletale.
Crybaby.
Clingy.
Cheeky.
Sassy.

It's gone from the occasional sassy that's somewhat cute, to full-blown obnoxious. "CB, don't touch the sanitary napkin trashcan!" said in a theater bathroom elicits a melt-down of epic proportions. Simple requests for picking up after herself are met with deaf ears and cheeky glances (so you know she does hear you). Everything is a reason for her to melt-down. H took her chair, she doesn't WANT to pick up her room, R won't let her use the computer, she can't have more milk.

So, I went dictator on her tiny little person.

Not ACCEPTABLE! Not COOL! Not HAPPENING! Time OUT! No STORIES!

I heard echoes of my father's authoritarian approach and my mother's hysteria. And, after I put her to bed, I cried my eyes out from exhaustion and frustration at having to be a hard-case. It's the hardest part of parenting, I think. The part where you have to draw a hard line and then figure out your strategy and stay consistent despite exhaustion and wanting to just give in to get a little peace and quiet.

You want it to be effective without harming their burgeoning personalities. You want them to understand appropriate from inappropriate and differentiate between respect and disrespect without breaking their spirits.

And, in the process, sometimes this little person breaks your spirit and your heart all at once...

Then, in the morning, you go in to wake up this child, still bracing for terrific frustration, your shoulders standing sentry at your ears, your abdomen taut, body in battle formation.

What you find is an angel there, where the demon went to sleep. And the angel is loving and snuggly and kissing you all over the face, telling you she loves you. The angel is docile and sweet and simply gorgeous and your heart overflows, and the walls of frustration melt into rainbows like you were on some kind of massive acid trip.

And, that's how I'd sum up motherhood, at least today.

A really effed up acid trip... but it's happy acid...the kind you'd drop again next week.

(Not So) Anonymous Love

This morning, as I am wont to do, I cruised over to LOM to check out the scenery. Today, it was my favorite strand of lovely that dear Meg has such a gift for finding: Random Acts of Art. This particular brand of random gifting was executed by Lenka + Michael.

I read the letters, absorbing their kind and generous anonymity. It made me want to send all the people I love (and a few strangers) anonymous letters. So, I thought I'd start with a theoretical anonymous letter to my lover.

Good morning, my love,

I wish that I could write you an anonymous letter that would brighten your day. That would make you feel seen and happy.

http://www.mysteriousletters.blogspot.com/

What a lovely idea. I love random letters and random connections and small missives of kindness that don't mean much except as a blip of strange-goodness in an otherwise ordinary life.

If I sent you a random letter, I would compliment your awesome car (I would make a small mention of how the hubcaps and Budda really make the vehicle special) and the expressive nature of your face. I would admire your efficiency with yard and housework and would notice how you grasp life with both hands to live it fully. I would say that your outside activities indicate that your inside is full of depth and passion and interesting-ness. I would tell you that your subscription to the New Yorker and devotion to newspapers make me think that you are probably well-read and have a lot to say. I would say that your recycling bin tells me that you are concerned about the world around you, but not so much that you would be annoying. I would tell you I like that. I would also tell you that I like the fact you like good beer and wine, and I would probably assume that you like good food and drink in general. I would say that sometime we should get a good beer and follow it up with good wine and maybe some cheese and fruit. I would say that I think we are probably meant to be in one another's lives and it would be a shame not to meet and see if it were true. I would sign the letter with my phone number and then I would keep my phone in my pocket until you called. Because, I would never stop believing you would call me.

And, i would be right about all of it.

I adore you. Madly. Completely. With my whole soul.
You are beautiful.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
tricia

Such a gift to give. To express that another can be seen clearly and appreciatively by the world. To elaborate upon the connectedness of our shared humanity. What a lovely way to pass an hour, a day or a life! This reminds me of another quote that a friend had recently as his Facebook status:

"I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved all those people, that they were mine and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers. It was like waking from a dream of separateness. . . ."
-Thomas Merton

Another Bedtime Story

What is it that is so intimate about bedtime? I suppose it's what differentiates friends from family in some ways. If I've shared my daily bedtime and waking with you, whether as a lover, a sister, a daughter, a roommate or a mother, you have innately been a part of my family.

R, H and CB have been sharing a lot of bedtime lately. All of them are enthusiastic about sleeping upstairs together. Sometimes CB is on a futon next to H or R's bed. Sometimes the three of them cram into the double bed that serves as a place to lounge, or a place to wrestle. Oftentimes, it isn't even CB's idea to sleep upstairs. In the tone and tenor of her question "Mama, can I sleep upstairs tonight?" you can hear the intonation of a whispered boys voice. Sometimes you overhear the boys planting the idea in her head in the other room.

I resisted this at first, being rigid as I am with bedtime. I've always seen bedtime as sacrosanct. It's the demarcation line between Tricia the Mother and Tricia the Person. But, as C has pointed out to me, this is a sweet time of bonding they're experiencing. We should embrace that they want to be together. So, I have begun to flex my flexibility on the subject.

Tucking CB into bed upstairs last night, I was getting ready to read to her. Both boys bounded from bed and came flying across the room and into the double bed. C lay at the foot of the bed, all my loves crammed into the tiny space. I read the book with voices, R provided color commentary about the quality of the plot, H provided vocal reading of the signs in the story. C and I provided love filled glances at one another, not quite believing our luck. These three beautiful children who have informed us that they are brothers and sister.

After the reading was done and all the children were kissed and tucked into bed, C and I met in our own room with starry eyes and full hearts. So beautiful, we said to each other over and over.

The most amazing thing, beyond the magic of our blossoming family, is that this family is a growth from a point of origin, and that point of origin is our strong, passionate love for one another. I am truly blessed to live in a house filled with such an abundance of love. My heart overflows.

Sweet Dreams

H - "I think you'll make a great teacher, Tricia."
Me -"Really? You're just saying that. Are you kidding with me?"
H -"No! I really think you'll be good. I wish you were going to be my teacher, that would be awesome."
Me-"That would be awesome, I would love that. But, you know, it would be hard because you'd be my favorite kid in the classroom."
H -"Yeah, we wouldn't want to tell anyone."
Me -"Yeah."
H -"And, then I'd be like, 'Tricia, why didn't you eat any of that pizza last night....I mean, Miss Meeley, do you like pizza?'"
Me -"And I'd be like "H, you have to stop leaving your dirty socks all over the house... I mean...your dad told me you do that."
H -"And I'd be like (whispers) "I live with her!'"
Me -"Yeah, and then they'd all know."
Me -"I love you, H. You're the coolest kid."
H - (smiling)"I know."

Welcome Back, Tricia

I have been admitted into the Master of Arts in Teaching (MAT) program at the University of Louisville. If I can get a job with the public school district, I'll be teaching Middle School Language Arts in the fall.



I will learn everything (cough, cough) I need to know in six short weeks of summer classes before I take the helm of a classroom.

I am very excited, but terrified. I think that this is healthy.