PENSIEVE

Hitting the jackpot: when breaking your blogging break keeping a Travel Diary pays off

Have you ever thought of a GREAT title for a post, but then you sat down to write and it didn't seem like such a good idea?

When I mentally composed this post today yesterday, its working title was "I've got the 'Jelly Legs' and I need an icepack for my crotch".  It seemed positively brilliant at the time; then again, the "Gilligan's Island" theme song was blaring in my brain and crowding out all sense of reason and good taste, except instead of "...a threeee-hour tour, a threeee-hour tour" it was a "fiiiive-hour bike ride, a fiiiive-hour bike ride". 

Catchy, no?

Last year, when it rained our first few days here, I discovered all the island's wi-fi spots.  It's important to note, I had to PACK UP MY LAPTOP, GET IN THE CAR, AND DRIVE SOMEWHERE.  This year?  I had no intention of doing that, but when it was discovered we have access in our condo, to help me remember more than I would otherwise, I decided to bullet point a few highlights.

Shelly W., a blogger who recently discovered PENSIEVE and who shares my affection for all things Kiawah, commented about something I didn't know.  We decided to see if what she said was true, so we pedaled our way to the end of the earth Kiawah...and then kept going until I was certain the world IS flat and we were on our way to falling off into oblivion.  And I didn't care--my legs, well beyond sore, now had lost complete feeling.

I've always said Kiawah is a wonderful beach, but I wish it had more shells.  After 15 years of vacationing here, I discovered it's not that there are no shells...we just didn't know where to look--

Twenty-eight "dollars" and then some...!  My daughter's exact words:  "It WAS worth it!!" 

Thank you, Shelly!  I'll even forgive you the redneck-tank-top sun tan lines I'm now sportin' ;).

A daughter's denial and my heart might explode

She had been waiting two years, three months to eat corn on the cob. 

Two weeks before her braces were scheduled to be removed, she asked if she could eat on our red "Special Plate".  Had she not thought of it, I would have surprised her with it at her seat.  After all, from the moment braces go on, the countdown begins for them to come off, and as this date neared for her, everyone in our family anticipated her special day.

The week before, she planned her menu--nothing spectacular, but mixed among her favorites was the one thing she wouldn't--she COULDN'T--eat with braces:  corn on the cob. 

Maybe because it was tabu for so long, she couldn't wait to sink non-metallic teeth into a hot, buttery ear;  I had never seen her so excited about a meal.

While I was cooking dinner, the phone rang.  A friend in family crisis, needing care for her three young daughters, and as is often the case when urgencies occur, her husband was on his way home from a business trip, still two hours away.  Quickly debating the ways we could help her, she planned to drop off her girls at our home as she headed out of town.

After I hung up the phone, my husband and I realized that wasn't the best solution for my friend, though; it would require the logistical issue of getting her child-seat appointed van back to their house, a hassle for her husband that didn't need to be.  So...we decided we should take Rachel to her house.  Because time was critical (involving my friend getting to the airport on time), we had to take my daughter RIGHT THEN. 

Before dinner was finished.

Before we told Rachel the plan, she was trotting down the stairs, having come to the same conclusion--she thought it was crazy to bring the girls here, just so she could eat dinner first, and she offered to go there. 

I think I was the only person having a hard time with this--for everyone else it was a no brainer.

My husband headed in our friend's direction while I made a call to let her know they were on the way, and I finished cooking.  The boys joined us in eating Rachel's hand-picked menu and the Special Plate sat empty on the counter.  My heart ached a tiny bit (isn't that silly?).

Rachel got home while I was in the shower, around 9:30.  She had already re-heated the plate I fixed for her, half-way done with her dinner when I walked downstairs to the kitchen.  She was eating alone.

She looked up at me and smiled her beautiful new smile, grinning because she was eating on the Special Plate.  I asked her about the girls, and she recounted their cuteness, and again, I expressed how disappointed I was she hadn't been able to eat with us.  She shrugged it off and quickly I told her I was proud for her immediate response to their situation.  "It's not a big deal, Mom" and she meant it. 

She declined payment when the girls' father offered it, something I intuitively knew before she told me.  This was one of those times you simply DO for others without expecting a thing in return.

For a kid of mind to "consider others" so easily?  In that moment, my heart swelled like the Grinch's, almost exploding out of my chest.  For all those times I've blown it as "Mother of the Year"?  Not that I can take credit for her choices, but for a moment, I was so proud of my daughter, I wanted to shout it from the roof top.

Instead, I'll just blog it on the world wide web...not with pretense or arrogance, but because it's a precious mom-moment, it's worthy of "village" celebration :). 

Fly boy ~ Wordless Wednesday

There's an easy wonder in his eyes when he's at play, unaware of the world around him.  Cloaked instead in imagination and delight in the ordinary, his countenance reveals what he's unwilling to say, mischievous eyes radiating sunbeams of delight.  I find myself wishing I could channel his thoughts.
(Click to read more...)

 

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Ouch! Tears!! My right arm just got cut off!!!

My new-since-October camera started spazzing out a few months ago, and although it's under warranty (thank, thank, THANK the Lord!) I haven't been willing to part with it to have it checked.  Since I want--no, make that NEED--it back before we go to the beach in a few weeks, I returned it yesterday.

Know what the Wolf Camera guy said when he tested my camera?  "Wow...I've never seen THAT problem before!"  NOT the way I wanna feel special!

It was flashing pictures like this: 

When they should've looked like this:

I'm in mourning...I've got the shakes.  Can't take part in Project Blue (not with new photos, anyway); couldn't photograph the spectacular sunrise I saw this morning; not able to track the bunnies' growth anymore.  And my other babies?  I'll just have to do a better job of taking mental pictures of the ordinary....

Super-power wishes and little boy kisses

Sometimes--but only sometimes--I wish I could freeze time.

Mostly those super-power wishes come when my babies are crossing a threshhold--first smiles and first steps, learning to read and learning to write, beginning pre-school or elementary or middle or (gasp!) high--eras begun or eras left behind...

...the milestones  that mark a life.

For a mother, they brand the heart, searing much more than impression.  The mother-child bond, impossible ever to severe completely, is stretched at each turn.  We know each move towards independence is a move away from us--as it should be.  Knowing that doesn't remove the sting of the bitter in pursuit of the sweet, though, and with each stride toward maturity, we hold collective breath, close our eyes, and push those babies a littler farther from the nest. 

My third born...second son...baby, graduated fifth grade last week. 

When younger, he was the one I was certain would return to the womb if he could; he had an insistent need to touch me and often.  I nick-named him The Kissing Bandit because he stole smooches at will, his mask, a satisfied victor's grin.  His kindergarten teachers called him "Romeo" and "Casanova" because of his genuine charm and sweetness, before he was too young to either know or care about why they chose such odd names.

Sharply contrasted to his big brother--all ego and bravado--he's unpretentious but proud of his new-found (and much older sounding) distinction as a middle schooler.  I can't help but smile to recall my post-delivery, first sight remembrance:  "He's a SMURF!" I gasped, shocked by his blue coloring.  First breath and first cry took care of that, and though he didn't score a perfect a perfect Apgar, he was perfect to me.

At 11, though he would dare admit it to himself and especially not his siblings or friends, his favorite toys don't require batteries or electrical outlets and only cost dollars, sometimes less:  little rubber bouncy balls and steely magnets.  Entertaining him in much the same way a ball of yarn might engage a kitten, these are anytime toys, easily hidden in pocket or palm, ready to pull out at boredom's invasion.

There's an easy wonder in his eyes when he's at play, unaware of the world around him.  Cloaked instead in imagination and delight in the ordinary, his countenance reveals what he's unwilling to say, mischievous eyes radiating sunbeams of delight.  I find myself wishing I could channel his thoughts.

Instinct?  Experience? tells me this will be the last year he's a Boy.  He's comfortable in his skin right now--oh, how I hope that doesn't change!  During our annual trip to the beach with family friends, he begged to play at the park, oblivious or indifferent to being the oldest there.  With an enviable abandon, he flipped and climbed and slid and conquered that playground, thrilled with is mastery of what used to be so difficult.

I look at him and watch this unaffected child who's content to build sand castles for hours, attack waves as if he's at war, and construct 1,000-piece Lego masterpieces until he gets it right.  I can't wait to see his strengths--determination, persistence, progressive thought, patience and kindness--evolve as he grows up. 

As he grows up...right before my eyes...

...because I've yet to discover just how to freeze time....

:)

Reason #117 cell phones are good

Texts from my son give me unexpected smiles:

The text?  "Mom vivacious"

The picture:

It actually had a voice message, too...I'll spare you those details...:/. 

When I texted him back and told him he cracked me up, his return reply?  "That's what I was goin' for."

Man, I love this kid....!

p.s.  He's the last teenager in America who doesn't own a cell phone...if you don't have a child this age, you cannot imagine the pressure for him to have one!  I'm not sure if there's more pressure on him from friends or US from our culture!!

 

With over 25 million page views, you've probably seen this...

...but in case you haven't, allow me to share a funny:

Which begs the question "why is there a proliferation of kids eating/biting fingers on the internet??"  Which begs further, "Why are we laughing??"

Hehe...because it's daggum funny, that's why!

 

(In case youtube isn't loading on your page, click HERE to see "Charlie bit me...!")

My preciouses

Rachel and Mussy, the babiest of the babies.

Here for WW?  You're invited to Friday's 40!  Check it out!!

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Live-blogging my sub day ~ CONCLUSION ~

While I've got the kids working, I thought it'd be fun to live-blog my day; if I'm getting eaten alive and regurgitated, I'd want it memorialized (blogger to the end!).  What can I say?  I've got a computer, the internet, and it's impossible to "write" write, so I might as well "play" write.

First period.  Free.  Works out nicely so I could steady my footing and plan the day.

Second period.  7th graders.  For fun, I had them answer roll call with their favorite candy.  There was a hint of "good things" to come.  Typically, I don't think roll is actually called, but I want to know their names (easy, since I already know most of this grade).  We're working through a study of cells and their function.  Uneventful class.

I should've known that wouldn't last long....

Homeroom.  School is intense for six hours a day, homeroom should be a respite.  At the beginning of class, several of the guys exchanged dollar bills for change.  Miss Phillips has a snack stash in her room, so I assumed it was for that.

What happens when you "assume" anything (factor in these are 8th graders...)?  Y e a h ...exactly.

This falls under the heading "WHAT WAS I THINKING???!"

When one of the students came back to my desk to get more change, I investigated further.  They were playing cards...and brilliant deducer that I am, I connected the dots.  "Y'all are playing poker???  FOR MONEY?????" 

Ai yi yi......they weren't too happy when I put an end to that (although for half a second I thought about joining the game and cleaning their clocks) (I kid, I KID...I never can remember whether a full house beats two pair)  (am I an ingenue or a grifter?)

Third period.  8th grade.  This class came with a bit of "reputation"...I knew some of the jokers from past experience.  I thought I'd outsmart 'em.  One of their class projects is a wall-sized weather mural, complete with types of clouds, layers of sky, fronts--all labeled.  Only a few students can work on the mural at a time, so I asked the class who were typically the "most-disruptive-for-subs" students (please realize delivery of that question made it unobjectionable--they knew I wasn't name callin').

I chose two guys to work on the mural and thought that would keep them occupied and out of mischief.   

It did keep them occupied.  But for one, it was little more than an invitation to trouble.

The rest of the class was working on creating a 25-question study guide they'd exchange later in the week.  While I was answering a question, I heard a commotion in the back.  A student was grimacing in obvious pain, reaching for something in the back of his shirt and on his arm.

Hot glue.  Hot glue that was supposed to be used for labeling the weather mural--not maiming and torturing classmates.

This is NOT something you want to do under my watch (even if technically I missed it).

I knew my reaction mattered...it mattered for the rest of the day today, it mattered for tomorrow, and it mattered for my future "subbing" reputation.

My response?

I sent the offender to the office immediately; and while I didn't launch into my "I'm not here to be your friend..." speech, I did sternly and calmly express a "righteous indignation" on behalf of the student who was burned.  And, yes...I diatribed it can SO be a verb! "...Trust me, y'all WANT me to sub for you and I'm not about to put up with this kind of junk..." 

You could've heard a pin drop. 

They went back to work.  Q u i e t l y. 

Fourth period. 7th grade.  Eventful in that they FINISHED their study guides and we were able to review answers before the bell rang.  Except for Jimmy, who had the singular distinction of NOT EVEN STARTING HIS GUIDE until I came and looked over his shoulder; he BEGAN work on his outside the class, while I confirmed answers inside.

You don't want to mess with me.  Remember...I can stop a moving car with my bare hands.

Fifth period.  8th grade.  I can't remember...that was hours ago, right?  If I can't remember, that means it went well.  100% attendance, probably about 94% cooperation. 

Sixth period.  7th grade.  This is the class my son Thomas is in.  It's a large class, these kids know me, THAT works to my disadvantage.  Chatty, challenging, but still uneventful.  Aside from half of them leaning back in their chairs (a personal pet peeve), nothing eventful.

Seventh period.  Eventful.  Very...  to be continued....

The last period of the day came with a reputation...not the good kind.  Eighth graders, rambunctious boys...full of life and themselves. 

Because I HATE the thought of my own children being automatically pegged, and because typically I err on the side of favorable expectation.

Ooops, Blog, Interrupted.  CLICK HERE for the conclusion.  Sort of.

"They'll eat you up and spit you out"

It doesn't take Jedi mind tricks to persuade me; you might just say I'm easily influenced if I think your perspective has merit.

This weekend, we entertained some of our oldest friends from South Carolina.  It has been years since we spent substantive time together, and in that twinkling their children have matured into amazing young people, the oldest mere days away from high school graduation.  We've known these children since they were in utero and I enjoyed the eye rolls when I reminded Sam I used to change his diapers. 

Nothing like telling an 18 year old you've seen him naked.

You can imagine a visit like this includes a lot of stories; undivided, uninterrupted time lends itself to a fair amount of catching up (I wonder how many words were spilled in the brief time we shared).

One of the remarks Theresa shared clung to me like lint on black:  "Substituting at the kids' school this year is one of the best things I've ever done."  I asked her to elaborate and without batting an eye, she fired off half a dozen reasons why.

Hardly a remarkable statement, nothing spectacular in her declaration, it was annoyingly affecting to me.

Over the weekend, my 7th-grader's Science teacher suffered a great tragedy--the young man she's been dating and with whom marriage was imminent, died in a head-on collision while driving home to Indiana to celebrate Mother's Day. 

There are only two weeks left of school, but between now and then, there's still new material to cover and final exams to take.  On the scale of "busy", May is on par with December, just without tinseled decoration and immoderate gift giving.  I suppose there are loose ends in need of binding before the kids are out for summer, and probably more likely, moms are rushing to get a lot done while their 8-3 isn't filled with little bodies needing all manner of motherly attention. 

In other words, substitute teachers are difficult to come by at the last minute.

With Theresa's words lodged in my brain like a bullet in Miss Kitty's saloon, I toyed with calling Thomas' principal to offer to sub this week.  Two years ago I subbed often, but never above fifth grade.  In my mind--and probably in reality--middle school was another animal, and high school?  Even more beastly.  This year I haven't subbed at all; the thought of it alone wears me out (I think teachers are underpaid, and in today's climate, have one of the toughest jobs out there). 

I brought up subbing to my oldest two--the same children who used to say they'd like me to home school so they could be with me all the time!--and their responses were rapid fire, none of it encouraging.  "But our friends like you now" (the implication being they won't if I sub), "You don't r e a l l y want to do that...?" (less a question, more a threat), and my personal favorite, the title of this post (that one goes to my high schooler).

Of course I responded like any rational mother.  I nodded politely and silently to them (after a few whining "But WHY?"s)...and yesterday morning marched my behind to the middle school office to offer my services before I chickened out. 

Guess what?  They didn't need me.  Quick to act over the weekend, our principal had arranged a sub for the week (whew!).

Guess what else?  They called me ten minutes later to say, "Ooops!  We DO need you--Mr. Russell isn't available Tuesday and Wednesday after all..."

As Thomas fell into the car yesterday afternoon, I was drama-king greeted with "TELL ME IT ISN'T TRUE...TELL ME YOU AREN'T SUBBING TOMORROW!!" and as I confirmed apparently his worst nightmare, he pleaded and wailed in the background, "Just don't give 'em your 'I'm not here to be your friend...' speech!!"  That was followed by "YOU'RE SUBBING WEDNESDAY, TOO?" and him muttering various sounds of disconcertment.

Is it any wonder I dreamt about my car losing control last night, rolling backwards across traffic, refusing to go into gear--then worse "PARK"--and I finally had to open the door, jump out of the car, physically grab the door and pull to stop it with Super Human Mother Strength??   Seriously.

(If you read this today or Wednesday, I would be grateful your prayers and thoughts, not just for me and the students, but for Miss Phillips and her boyfriend's family....)