tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48343796956880009352024-03-19T04:39:59.014-07:00MarlatheMomMarlatheMom: A reflective mom-memoir of the trials, tribulations, and triumphs of a mother, wife, teacher, writer and dreamer.MarlatheMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882766601714038414noreply@blogger.comBlogger58125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4834379695688000935.post-75624285698800303632018-08-09T02:58:00.000-07:002018-08-08T21:57:26.867-07:00Six, sweet, and sublime<div style="text-align: justify;">
My little prince,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Today you are six. You are full of energy and excitement, and your little face (which everyone tells me mirrors my own) is so expressive that I want to kiss your round cheeks every time I see you. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Right now, you let me. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Right now, you say, "Mama, you're my honey girl." </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Right now, you still curl up next to me in the mornings, even before I open my eyes, and say, "Hi Mama, I love you. Will you snuggle me?" </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Right now, you are fiercely loyal and loving, and I am incredibly lucky to see shades of the man you will become when you grow up: respectful, kind, and gentle.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You have your wild times too - you like to run around shrieking with laughter, and you want so much to keep up with your big sister. You have become a daredevil in the pool, and you vacillate between being my baby and a true little boy. You trotted off to camp for the first time and made new friends. You rode the current at the beach and your first roller coaster. You've grown so skinny and tall, and you will start first grade this fall. And even though I know you are growing up, I hold the memory of the first time I ever saw you so close to my heart. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When I was pregnant with you, I had a little scare and I wanted to make sure you were all right. It was very early in my pregnancy, and I went to the doctor alone because your Daddy, Nanny and Papa were all away. I was nervous, but I thought to myself, "Okay, it's just you and me, kid. Hang on," so I packed Emerson into the car and prayed all the way to the doctor's office. When your sweet big sister (who was only 3) asked the ultrasound technician if her screen could play Dora cartoons, my worried face broke into a smile, and knew I had to be strong for both of you, no matter what. So I took a breath, said another prayer, and hoped you'd be in there. And suddenly there was a small scribble of your heartbeat, and I knew you were there, and you were mine.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You and me, kid. You completed our family and made my dreams come true. You and your sister are the greatest gifts I've ever known.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Happy sixth birthday, my sweet son.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Love, </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Mama</div>
MarlatheMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882766601714038414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4834379695688000935.post-29747962228035674582018-08-04T21:29:00.000-07:002018-08-08T21:56:42.226-07:00Escape to the Cape<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was never a South Shore girl. My summer vacations always included trips up north to New Hampshire or Maine, or super south to Florida. My few visits to the Cape were anticlimactic at best - standing in a crowd at Clancy's or waiting in line for mini-golf, ice cream, batting cages, go-karts (or basically anything else) left me feeling lukewarm about Cape Cod. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But when my dear friend K suggested we visit her at her summer home in West Dennis, the kids and I were so psyched. My kids and K's kids have gone to school together since kindergarten, and K is the perfect blend of smart and sarcastic. We've laughed through abysmal school years, innumerable nook reviews, and many bottles of Riesling together, so I knew spending time with her and her kids anywhere would be a blast, especially at her home-away-from-home on the Cape.<br />
<br />
We headed to the beach much later than one would usually do so, but it was perfect. No crowds, no worries. The kids played for hours until hungry bellies made us leave in search of snacks. I usually hate restaurants with cutesy spellings, but I couldn't resist <a href="http://www.kreamnkone.com/">Kream n'Kone</a> and I'm quite grateful. Not only did we dine in the finest beach style (you can walk in sandy and sweaty and still feel human in its open dining space) but the portions were terrific. Heaping piles of fried clams, lobster salad and chicken fingers later, we called it a night.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The next morning, I had a baptism - I shall never look at muffins the same way again after a trip to <a href="https://www.woolfies.com/">Woolfies Bakery</a> in Dennis. The muffins were ENORMOUS and, even though we arrived later than the usual morning crowd (due to kids who were up until all hours watching episodes of <i>Bunked</i>), we still got some of their coveted chocolate chip muffins. And some blueberry muffins. And a cinnamon swirl croissant that looked like a massive danish and was worth every single calorie.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Though we had no business getting into bathing suits after that feast, we headed to the beach, where the weather was perfection. Our kids rode the warm currents (we were on he Nantucket side), sought out mussels, eels, and crabs, and enjoyed the sun and sand all day. We bumped into old friends, caught up on our favorite gossip, and had snacks and drinks until late afternoon.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Our final stop was <a href="http://www.summershanty.com/">The Summer Shanty</a>, where the kids took over the Adirondack chairs on the lawn while my friends and I commandeered a perch overlooking both the kids and the boats docked behind them. I strongly suggest one of their haddock sandwiches, which came with a coleslaw that was both vinergary and sweet. I'm not a slaw fan, but this was excellent (it could have also been the amazing lemonade/Citron/Chambord dream drink I was sipping, interestingly named the "Wando"). Though the restaurant was packed by the time we were finishing up, an early afternoon visit yielded coveted seats and the perfect scenery. My Cape friends know all the tricks!<br />
<br />
My quintessential summer experience was packed into just one full 24 period, but it was enough to make me fall in love with the Cape. Even the trafficky ride home didn't quell my joy and gratitude toward my pal and her family. Though the connotation of things "going south" is usually negative, I think I can join the summer folk who disagree; this North Shore girl will be on 93 South again soon!</div>
MarlatheMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882766601714038414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4834379695688000935.post-14164597527843266152017-01-21T15:15:00.001-08:002017-01-21T15:15:03.592-08:00The Reader by Bernhard Schlink My rating: 4 of 5 stars This novel is hard to define: is it a lyrical love story? A heartbreaking work of historical fiction? An intro to philosophy and self-evaluation? Ironically, it is short novel (about 130 pages on my iBook), but an extremely weighty one that will have you contemplating secrets, forgiveness, and the balance between the history we observe and the personal choices that can change it all. View all my reviewsMarlatheMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882766601714038414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4834379695688000935.post-3093409835972502202017-01-20T14:39:00.001-08:002017-01-20T14:39:14.409-08:00Orange Is the New Black by Piper Kerman My rating: 4 of 5 stars Despite my "always read the book before watching the movie" proclivities, I finished the OITNB series before starting this book. While the show is sensational and provocative, this memoir is far more thoughtful and careful. I enjoyed Kerman's descriptions (though there are lots of people to keep track of throughout) and tracing the connections between which real person-inspired-which character was interesting. A solid, honest read about a life in lockdown, and a reminder that Kerman's mistake happens every day. View all my reviewsMarlatheMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882766601714038414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4834379695688000935.post-56281945555983697692016-09-04T18:38:00.003-07:002016-09-05T07:34:32.887-07:00Red<div style="text-align: justify;">
It could be a scene from any Italian childhood; when I was little, every Sunday dinner was spent at my grandparents' house; my grandparents' five daughters and their husbands and children would gather around a huge oval table laden with Italian delicacies that had been lovingly prepared the night before. Huge bowls of salad dripping with Italian dressing (of course) and giant black olives my cousin Tommy and I would wear on our fingertips. Giant bowls of my favorite curly spaghetti, enormous meatballs, thick rolled bracciole filled to bursting and held together with toothpicks, platters of ripe melon and grapes. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My cousins and I would fill ourselves to the brim, and then run outside to play. I don't remember what we talked about, but I do remember endless games of chase and hide and seek, climbing on the aluminum swingset, leaping into the giant swimming pool, playing with my cousin Gia's pet salamander Newton (who met an untimely end and dehydrated in the sun while we played outside for hours) and having a solemn burial of a tiny tree frog Tommy and I found in the yard. It was a beautiful, adventurous time in my childhood.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But at the heart of it all, the food, the fun, was my grandfather. A Sicilian, blue-eyed redhead, he was nicknamed "Red." He loved so many adventures; his ancestors were fishermen, he was brave and wonderful and wild. "Who's better than you?" he'd ask us, winking, with a smile and a deep dimple in one cheek. There was nothing he wouldn't attempt, whether performing a jackknife dive off the diving board, or rearranging all the cement tiles around the pool into a new pattern. I remember mixing meatballs with him on Sunday mornings, listening to him whistle or sing in the kitchen as he cooked, always wearing a spotless white t-shirt and teal pants. He was so strong, so tall and broad and muscular, that he reminded me of Popeye, and when he would swim shirtless in the summer with all of his grandchildren, I remember feeling so proud that he still looked like the fighter he was in his younger days. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In fact, his strength was legendary to us kids; when we'd play outside and come zooming into the house because we were scared of the bees circling us, he'd smack one with his hands, and brush the remains away to show us there was nothing to be afraid of. He drove giant eighteen-wheel trucks for years, and when he accidentally got the tip of his finger slammed into the door of one of them, he drove himself to the hospital. The same strength and resolve he had as a young soldier stayed with him always, both physically and mentally. He would lift and carry us like we were just toddlers, even when we were in elementary school. I remember one feast where he carried me on his shoulders so I didn't have to walk, and how he'd use his large, powerful hands to lift my cousins high in the air so they could touch the ceiling, toss us up in the air, or delicately extract one of the hundreds of splinters we got climbing around in the yard. When I got a bloody nose that wouldn't stop, he calmly reminded me to be brave as he rolled small strips of paper towels and dipped them in ice water for me to put under my upper lip, just like a real fighter. He made us feel invincible, but he gave us the tools to stand on our own, too. He taught us all to swim when we were just toddlers, so we would never be afraid of the water. He never wanted us to be afraid of anything.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But when he passed away, I was 21 years old, in the summer between my sophomore and junior years of college. We were heartbroken to have lost the patriarch and heart of our family. We tried to carry pieces of him with us, literally and figuratively; I held his watch, another grandchild had his glasses, another his gold Italian charms. We were nearly superstitious with sadness and fear; going on without him seemed impossible. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When things are too blindingly and painfully real, they become surreal. My mom confided that he didn't really feel gone; she felt like he was in Florida. Maybe he was on a long roadtrip. And it was always how I preferred to remember him; somewhere warm and beautiful, driving near the sparkling water he had always loved. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Like anyone who misses a loved one, I longed for a sign. I tried to dream of him, I wrote compulsively about my feelings and sadness. I started a scholarship in his name at the high school where I teach. I wrote his name in our wedding program. I met a man with the same beautiful spirit of adventure, an Irishman who loves to cook as much as my grandfather did. I thought of him daily. I still do. I wished he had more time to meet my husband, my kids, my adult self. And then my daughter was born with the same beautiful red hair. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Today we went to Mass to remember the 25th anniversary of his passing. We went to lunch on the water and raised a glass to him. The sun glinted off the water, and my daughter's red hair. </div>
MarlatheMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882766601714038414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4834379695688000935.post-14925139207422624002016-08-09T07:23:00.000-07:002016-08-09T14:40:11.958-07:00Happy 4th birthday, John Sawyer!<div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-5783157379546754112" itemprop="description articleBody" style="color: #2a1118; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.5; position: relative; width: 558px;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Dearest John Sawyer,</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Happy 4th birthday, darling boy! Four years ago yesterday, I went to the hospital to have you, and you spent one extra day on the inside. We were all so deliriously excited to meet you, and when you arrived, you made our dreams come true, little prince!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Four years ago today, you were born as chubby and delicious as I had hoped, with slate-gray eyes and your daddy's dark hair (of course it all fell out, came in blond, and then changed to the light brown it is now). </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You are full of energy and excitement every day, and you fill me with so much happiness! Here is a picture of who you are today:</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Today, you woke up with a smile to a room filled with balloons. You are like a teenager - you like to wake on your own, and you get a little grumpy if someone else wakes you! At night, you often ask for "another snuggle" before bed, and you always ask us to read you a "bedtime stah-ry." Today, your favorite is The Very Hungry Caterpillar.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Today, you still come crashing at me around corners and smash yourself against for me for a powerful surprise hugs. You are getting so tall, buddy; you can almost knock me down, but I don't mind.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Today, you still are crazy for apples, apple sauce, and especially apple juice! You will seek it out in the refrigerator yourself if we're not moving fast enough.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Today, you love the park, which you pronounce like "poke," especially the slide at the Wakefield Lake, right near our old apartment.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Today, carry around an orange toolbox (much like last year's love for Orange Shovel) and you put all your "fings" (things) in it. Most of your "fings" are Mickey or Tsum Tsum related.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Today, you love the water in any form. You can swim in the pool in your Nemo life vest, even in the deep end. You love jumping in the waves, and you had so much fun on our vacation in the Outer Banks. You are so sweet and loving, and when a wave takes you down, you look to me for help. Just a "thumbs-up" lets you know you're fine, and in a minute, you're off again. Unless your face gets wet and you need extra snuggles.<br />
<br />
Today, you love Mommy and Daddy so much - you run to Mommy for cuddles and Daddy for roughhousing like a real little boy. You love when Daddy throws you high into the air and you beg, "Again! Again!" and no one can resist you.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Today, you still love your sister so fiercely that you want to be just like her. You come to all her practices, rehearsals, and performances, and you tell her, "You did a great job, Emmasin!" You admire her, you follow her, and though you both drive each other a little crazy, when I watch you play happily together, my heart swells with joy. I am so happy you have each other to share life with, and that you will always have her hand to hold.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Little one, little son, I hope you always feel the love that surrounds you, today and always. You have made me so happy and I wish that same happiness back to you each day. Your light shines in my life and I love you for it. Thank you for being the sparkle in my eyes.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Happy, happy fourth birthday, my darling son!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Love,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Mommy</div>
<div style="clear: both;">
</div>
</div>
<div class="post-footer" style="border-top-color: rgb(42, 17, 24); border-top-style: dashed; border-top-width: 1px; color: #2a1118; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.6; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 10px 0px 0px;">
</div>
MarlatheMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882766601714038414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4834379695688000935.post-28591748180565163522016-07-21T05:19:00.000-07:002016-07-21T05:29:48.595-07:00Sweet Stylish Surprises<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As a teacher, I am completely overwhelmed by the happiness my job brings me. Whether it's the pride in seeing my students' major accomplishments, like when o</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ne of my favorites got into her dream school, Brown, or when a handful of my students scored 5's on the notoriously hard AP Lit and Comp test, I feel so proud of them I could explode. Even their minor successes make me smile, like mastering the material on a tough quiz. But most of all, the knowledge that one day they are going to grow into incredibly awesome people who make a giant contributions to this world makes me feel like I have been given a </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">gift just by knowing them.</span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And just recently, I got an incredible gift back!</span></div>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I was nominated and won the NIC+ZOE Teacher Appreciation Giveaway; I was nominated by my family, friends, and students, and was chosen as the winner! </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
</span><br />
<div class="_5pbx userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="js_82" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.38; overflow: hidden;">
<div style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;">
<div style="background-color: white;">
This <a class="_58cn" data-ft="{"tn":"*N","type":104}" href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/teacherappreciationweek?source=feed_text&story_id=1004697446266357" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;"><span aria-label="hashtag" class="_58cl" style="color: #4267b2; font-family: inherit;">#</span><span class="_58cm" style="font-family: inherit;">teacherappreciationweek</span></a>, nominate a teacher who has made a positive impact on you or your child and they could win a $1,000 <a class="profileLink" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/page.php?id=250170405052402" href="https://www.facebook.com/nicandzoe/" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;">NI</a>C+ZOE wardrobe and a total makeover! You have through Sunday to nominate - click below!</div>
</div>
<div class="_5wpt" style="border-left-color: rgb(220, 222, 227); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 2px; font-family: inherit; padding-left: 12px;">
</div>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<div class="_3x-2" style="font-family: inherit;">
<div data-ft="{"tn":"H"}" style="font-family: inherit;">
<div class="mtm" style="font-family: inherit; margin-top: 10px;">
<div class="_6m2 _1zpr clearfix _dcs _4_w4 _59ap" data-ft="{"tn":"H"}" id="u_2v_11" style="background-color: white; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.14902) 0px 0px 0px 1px inset, rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.14902) 0px 1px 6px; font-family: inherit; max-width: -webkit-max-content; overflow: hidden; position: relative; z-index: 0; zoom: 1;">
<div class="clearfix _2r3x" style="font-family: inherit; zoom: 1;">
<div class="lfloat _ohe" style="float: left; font-family: inherit; width: 476px;">
<span class="_3m6-" style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="_6ks" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 0; position: relative; z-index: 1;">
<span class="_3m6-" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://woobox.com/ak55rz" rel="nofollow" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit;" tabindex="-1" target="_blank"></a></span><br />
<div class="_6l- __c_" style="font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<div class="uiScaledImageContainer _6m5 fbStoryAttachmentImage" style="background-position: 50% 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.14902); font-family: inherit; height: 249px; overflow: hidden; position: relative; width: 476px;">
<span class="_3m6-" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://woobox.com/ak55rz" rel="nofollow" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit;" tabindex="-1" target="_blank"><img alt="" class="scaledImageFitWidth img" height="249" src="https://external.fbos1-1.fna.fbcdn.net/safe_image.php?d=AQCZO5KVQivVZh69&w=476&h=249&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2Fads%2Fimage%2F%3Fd%3DAQKy7NMr0KoGkq7k7cVu2_s6pafXYU8-UaByIAwll4KLQM9XQGdBicAyVHEhtsdmKYKpcnB28nkh7ZEasOjay2-GlbTMXYMg9j172SiFLkS3BgLdfKfPXCCs5M8oxgkSGvh9N6cid3qdvMKIvndPa3P4&cfs=1&upscale=1&sx=1&sy=0&sw=1199&sh=627" style="border: 0px; height: auto; min-height: 100%; position: relative; vertical-align: bottom; width: 476px;" width="476" /></a></span></div>
</div>
<span class="_3m6-" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://woobox.com/ak55rz" rel="nofollow" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit;" tabindex="-1" target="_blank">
</a></span></div>
<span class="_3m6-" style="font-family: inherit;">
</span>
<div class="_3ekx _29_4" style="font-family: inherit;">
<div class="_6m3 _--6" style="color: #1d2129; font-family: 'San Francisco', -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, '.SFNSText-Regular', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; height: auto; letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px; margin: 10px 12px; max-height: 100px; position: relative; text-align: start;">
<div class="mbs _6m6 _2cnj _5s6c" style="-webkit-transition: color 0.1s ease-in-out; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 5px; max-height: 110px; overflow: hidden; transition: color 0.1s ease-in-out; word-wrap: break-word;">
<span class="_3m6-" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwoobox.com%2Fak55rz&h=zAQGb_04D&enc=AZOs_K26EoKC5h6vQfVuRBVGQJUgRnfhIrEPN7GSBLsn6-oOLguJz2OLkpPi6_p8GZMUJVBjhfLYWA86-SFJyjj7afLVLKjR1QKkQgmivy57KtE0587N2FQt86f9P9ydNqwV45GG0Uyr909Foqz2IfgoZ2MH3_JnKzxo9ZvIIzMEiiUMNRbfT4JSEs6s3qJG0Ai3-nCZzoi7Ge3z1tt2JPla&s=1" rel="nofollow" style="-webkit-transition: color 0.1s ease-in-out; color: #1d2129; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none; transition: color 0.1s ease-in-out;" target="_blank">NIC+ZOE Celebrating Teacher Appreciation Week</a></span></div>
<div class="_6m7 _3bt9" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 16px; max-height: 80px; overflow: hidden;">
<span class="_3m6-" style="font-family: inherit;">In Celebration of Teacher Appreciation Week, NIC+ZOE is giving one well-deserving teacher a total makeover! Makeover includes $1,000 to NIC+ZOE, styled by Lisa Donovan and TESstylist's Lydia Santangelo, hair, makeup and more!…</span></div>
<div class="_59tj _2iau" style="font-family: inherit; padding-top: 9px; position: relative;">
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<div class="_6lz _6mb ellipsis" style="color: #90949c; font-family: inherit; font-size: 11px; line-height: 11px; overflow: hidden; text-overflow: ellipsis; text-transform: uppercase; white-space: nowrap;">
<span class="_3m6-" style="font-family: inherit;">WOOBOX.COM</span></div>
<div class="_5tc6" style="color: #90949c; font-family: inherit; margin-top: 5px;">
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<span class="_3m6-" style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I was beyond thrilled! The clothes are both <span style="background-color: white;">artfully</span> and classically designed, and the materials are rich and luxurious. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The company is a mother-daughter design team, created by Dorian Lightbown and named for her children, Nicholas and Zoe. All of the clothes are designed to #makebusylookgood, and the Chestnut Hill store where my dream day began was as </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">beautifully modern as the clothes it houses. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There, I met up with the women who would make my day unforgettable: </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">First, I met Erika Hemingway, Account Executive at iHeartMedia, my former student and the most charismatic and energetic person I know. Her enthusiasm and exuberance really propelled the event from its inception, and having her by my side made my experience as heartfelt as it was exciting. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Erika led me to </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Lisa Donovan from Kiss 108 (the daytime voice on "Matty in the Morning" who was as <span style="background-color: white;">stylish and stunning </span>as she is petite) and Lydia Santangelo of TESstylist (Boston's top fashion stylist who was as gorgeous and glamorous as the models with whom she usually works). Both women were my stylists for the day. Next, I was introduced to the incredibly talented Zoe Chatfield-Taylor, Director of Merchandising, and the "Zoe" of NIC+ZOE. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">All three women were so warm and lovely, it felt like I was hanging out with friends (very <span style="background-color: white;">beautiful</span>, fashion-forward friends), so I shed the black LuluLemon sundress I'd been wearing as a uniform this summer, and happily turned myself over to their expertise.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Over champagne, Shauna Richmond, of the J.T. Macken Hair Salon in Winthrop, curled my hair into smooth beachy waves and gave me smoldering smoky eyes. </span><span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Gail Saviano, the General Sales Manager for iHeartMedia, and Elizabeth Doherty, the Social Media and Marketing Manager for NIC+ZOE, rounded out our celebration, and o</span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; text-align: justify;">ver the next few hours, the word "celebrate" defined the day! In fact, I felt like a celebrity as I tried on outfit after outfit; lush sweaters and scarves, perfectly cut wrap dresses, chic fitted tops and jackets, crisp blouses and sleek trousers. The most remarkable combination was in my favorite outfit: a floating silk handkerchief dress and a whisper-thin cardigan. </span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The fashionista in me loved trying on every outfit, and with my team of "glamour girls" remarking about their favorite looks, I experienced all the emotions a woman wants to feel in her favorite clothes: <span style="background-color: white;">classically</span> elegant, confidently professional, coolly sophisticated, comfortably relaxed.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; text-align: start;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Though I have a graduate degree in Linguistics, those words escaped me that day, and I must have repeated the word "amazing" a thousand times to describe my experience, but it was truly awesome to be around such incredible women, all of whom were celebrating the day with me. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As the event came to a close, I got to select $1000 of merchandise for work and play, and my makeover concluded with generous gift cards to many of my favorite places: Tuscan Kitchen, Princess Jewelers of Burlington, Elements Massage, and Elizabeth Grady, as well as a bottle of Lamarca Prosecco, compliments of Busa Wine & Spirits. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I walked out of the store with my arms full of carrier bags, and my heart full of gratitude for the kindness and generosity of each of the women.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'm humbled to have spent a day being appreciated for doing something I love doing. I am so</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> grateful to my family, friends, and Austin Prep students and parents for nominating me, and for giving me the chance to have such a fantastic experience, as well as to the wonderfully gracious women who made me feel so special with their recognition; as I share my gifts with my students, they shared their gifts with me. How lucky we all are to be doing what we love! </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">From the bottom of this thankful (and now, very <span style="background-color: white;">beautifully</span> dressed) teacher's heart,</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Marla </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>MarlatheMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882766601714038414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4834379695688000935.post-41377443383618546522016-01-11T07:24:00.000-08:002016-07-17T19:56:02.066-07:00Great Wolf LodgeTaking the kids to Great Wolf Lodge for New Year's was a blast! Here are a few little things I would suggest for the next trip:<br />
<br />
1) Bring flip flops. If you are staying overnight, all the waterpark fun is included, and there's enough to keep you busy for days! The waterpark is hilarious and fun, but even if you're just walking through it, you might end up with wet feet. I also brought water shoes for my little guys. They aren't a necessity, but it makes watching your toddler climb his way through the shallow kids' pool like an adventurer look even cuter =)<br />
<br />
2) Speaking of water, bring a water bottle, Starbucks tumbler, Shakeology thermos or other capped container. Your kids will ask for water at least a million times, and rather than carry around an open plastic cup, be prepared. You can fill up at any of the dispensers with water, or you can purchase a themed one for $12.99 and fill it with soda for the duration of your stay. Ugh. Fortunately, there's a Dunks onsite.<br />
<br />
3) If you are going to be there for more than a few days, get the Passes (I got a Paw for Emerson and a Pup for John Sawyer - they're divided by age). They give you pretty good deals on the things you'll see around the Lodge, such as snacks, candy, and the stuffed animals from "Creation Station" that look just like (and fit into the same clothes as) the ones you'd find at Build-a-Bear. Checking the items off the list can be really fun, the kids love all the treats, and it's a fun way to spend time.<br />
<br />
4) MagiQuest - This a fun and interactive wand-waving adventure where the kids wave their wand at screens located throughout the Lodge to gain points and uncover jewels. IT IS ALSO A MAJOR TIME SUCK. So if you have a little one who doesn't want to swim - or you don't feel like spending a fortune in the arcade - this is the way to go. Just know it will eat up a few hours because you're walking all over the Lodge to find the Magic Pixie Pool's secrets. The wand comes with the Paw Pass, but the additional doodads that make the wand do extra-cool stuff costs extra....which leads us to...<br />
<br />
5) Bring lots of money. The Lodge is a cross between Chuck E. Cheese and Disney. The food is expensive and not super (although the burgers at the Lodge Wood Fired Grille and the pizza at Hungry as a Wolf were excellent) and many of the activities are not included in the price of your stay, such as the video games, mani-pedi's at Scooops and other activities in the Northern Lights Arcade, Howlin' Timbers Play Park (which has toddler rides, mini golf, Ten Paw Bowling Alley, and the Howler's Peak Ropes Course). Knowing this ahead of time can let you plan which areas to hang out in, or to avoid.<br />
<br />
Have a great stay!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />MarlatheMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882766601714038414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4834379695688000935.post-68154419487954958372015-06-03T15:44:00.000-07:002015-08-10T15:53:31.334-07:00My Starter Kit<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">One of the most exciting days for Austin seniors is the day the yearbooks arrive; the students and staff are always excited to see the <i>Omega</i>, and since much of our student body is with us from grade six (affectionately nicknamed "the lifers") the students page through with good-natured groans at the images of their younger selves, while simultaneously loving their recent snaps. They usually enter one of their teachers' rooms in large groups, to settle in and leaf through their copies, and while initially the conversation is boisterous and hearty ("Dude, your sixth-grade hair? You have a mushroom!" "Ahhh, look at my semi date? Ewww!") within minutes, a hush falls over the room, and they get lost in nostalgia. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Sometimes, their reveries are interrupted by each others' questions ("Who was that girl at the prom with the crazy dress?") but this year, while looking through my copy, I did the interrupting. I had stumbled on a slang term I'd never heard before.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"What's a 'starter kit'?" I asked my seniors.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"It's the things that make you, you," replies one of my most laid-back seniors, a tall gentleman who would continually enter my classroom with a lazy "Hey girl" to me, despite my repeated suggestions that he discontinue the practice. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Like yours, Ms. P? Yours would definitely have a giant Starbucks green iced tea," he replied.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"A copy of <u>The Great Gatsby</u>, obviously," his friend intoned.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"Dance stuff," chimed in another.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"High heels, French manicures and makeup," from a senior who, perplexingly, slept through most of my classes. Guess she had one eye open for fashion.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"Pretty stationery and good pens," piped in a blonde girl.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And it was enlightening, to see the way kids saw the pieces of what "made" me, me. The little necessary outward things that defined who I am, or at the very least, who they thought I was. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It made me think: what are the things that truly make me, me? That make me feel alive? That intrinsically make me feel grounded, yet light? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<img src="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSCFrYcG6qYMAOW1WC6ae_VsXB4sKXBaiZ1qGnpvEG3RQvHGvlxjg" /><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There are so many things I love to do: spending time with my kids is at the top of the list. But being a mom is draining, and sometimes my "mom" definition simply isn't enough. I am not a better mom when I don't have time to dance, read, put on some lipstick and write a long-overdue thank-you. And sometimes those pieces get lost, because I am busy "putting the kids first," or feeling supremely guilty if I don't! For example, I love to dance, and while I have been teaching it non-stop for the last 22 years at Austin, I rarely get to an actual class for myself. Lots of my inspiration comes from videos that I watch on my iPad late at night, or from organic choreography sessions with my seniors. My personal dance has been limited, and I realized it was making me sad to lose that part of myself. This summer, I vow to take my 44-year-old self to class, and to reclaim a part of me that has long since been asleep. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Let's hope Tylenol and muscle relaxers don't become part of my new starter kit.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">(UPDATE August 10: I have made it to nearly two weeks of classes. My flexibility is a faint shadow of itself, yet I love every minute of my class. There are some familiar faces and some fun new connections. The choreography is as cool as ever. And I? I am loving my time being myself again.)</span>MarlatheMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882766601714038414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4834379695688000935.post-22687619684946468742014-12-07T17:11:00.000-08:002015-04-22T17:17:56.618-07:00Visions of Sugarplums, or Because Ballet<div style="text-align: justify;">
My earliest memories take place inside a dance studio; it is where I spent the majority of my childhood, it's where I learned the value of hard work, discipline, limits, and successes. So it was no surprise to anyone that the joy in my heart to find I was expecting a daughter was immediately paired with a vision of a little girl in a tutu. And, eighteen months after she was born, Emerson was in her first recital, and she's been dancing ever since.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My hope was that my daughter would love dance as I did, not only because it was something we could share, but because I knew the beauty and artistry of dance would affect her whole life, as it did mine. From dancing school recitals at the John Hancock Hall to national competitions, from dance companies to starting a dance program at Austin, I have loved it all. Here's a fact: I have been dancing or teaching dance for all but three of my 44 years, and I continue to love it in new ways each year.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But there is a fondness in my heart for the holiday season and the Nutcracker that is beyond description. As a child, I danced in the Boston Ballet's Nutcracker, and while my time there was equally exhilarating and exhausting, the memories are as familiar and comfortable as a broken-in pair of pointe shoes, and ones I am not likely to forget. All of it - the intricate maze of tunnels under the Wang Center stage itself (the Ballet now calls the Opera House their home), the giant costume closets, the enormous practice rooms for the principals and company members, the fleeting glances into the dressing rooms of the ballet royalty - was like stepping into a fantasy world. If I close my eyes, I can still remember the excitement of standing in the wings, trembling next to such legends as Elaine Bauer and Laura Young, who, in my twelve-year-old eyes, were like angels on earth. It was a precious, special time, and one I was looking forward to sharing with my own little dancer.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Since her earliest days, I'd taken her to Nutcracker productions, including the one I choreograph at Austin. I have photos of her as plump as a little jelly donut, sitting among rows of my ballerinas in their sparkly tutus. Needless to say, when the opportunity arose for Emerson to audition for a local production of The Nutcracker, my heart leapt. We chose the perfect leotard, I pinned her hair into twin buns, gave her a big kiss and sent my six-year-old on the first dance audition of her life. And she made it. She was selected for her dream role: a mouse.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Naturally, we were thrilled beyond belief. The rehearsal schedule fit perfectly into my own Nutcracker rehearsals, and Em skipped off to practice with a smile. And then came the updates:</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"<i>Mommy, we got our places today, I'm Mouse 5!...Did you know that we are very important because we fight the Nutcracker and almost win?...I get to drag off the Mouse that gets shot because I'm really strong...Did you know I get to stand near the Mouse King in the wings?...We have to be very quiet when we are backstage because we have to be professionals...Mommy, will you be in the audience for all my performances? Mommy, next year, can I do it again? I want to be a Cherub. And then a Party Girl. And then Clara."</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And so it went. My little Mouse was amazing, and I watched every performance with tears in my eyes; not only for the gift I have been given in having a daughter, but in having one with whom I can share some of the things I love. I am not certain whether her love for dance will be as encompassing as mine; she will grow and change and develop her own directions (followed by her own little brother who wants to do everything she does - her own Fritz, if you will) and I will applaud everything she does, onstage or off. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But for now, my little girl has visions of sugarplums dancing in her head, and my heart is filled with love and gratitude in a million different ways. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Merry Christmas, everyone.</div>
MarlatheMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882766601714038414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4834379695688000935.post-11234181297788330792014-11-29T11:21:00.000-08:002015-02-04T11:21:06.533-08:00The Way We Were<div style="text-align: justify;">
Teaching in a high school gives me a rare perspective of aging; I can see where I've been, when I am going, and often, I get a glimpse of what I must look like to my students. A few years ago, one of my female students rolled her eyes at me and said, "Ms. P, you have NO idea what it's like to be a kid." And while a piece of me secretly congratulated myself on appearing so together that this student thought I was a mature, well-adjusted adult (HA - she didn't see the package of Swedish Fish I was planning to eat for breakfast in my purse) another piece of me looked back at my high school days and the way things seemed back then, and the images we all project now.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was lucky. For some, high school is a battlefield, one whose scars last longer than the battle itself. But I loved high school. I loved my friends, I loved being a cheerleader, I loved finding my way through those years with a combination of teenage trepidation and bravado. I loved taking my first steps into adulthood and falling flat on my face (literally and figuratively - I tripped down the stairs and fell on my chin in front of my football player crush. Well, one of them.) As an only child, I loved the closeness of our class, and the way my friends became family. I would like to think I was kind and fair most of the time, though I know I wasn't always, but whether running from the cops at Florence Park, swaying on the gym floor at one of the dances, cheering on the sidelines, or navigating our first heartbreaks and heals, we seemed to have fun all the time. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Going to my reunion last night was as fun and exciting as high school was, and connecting (or re-connecting) felt easy and fun. The faces looked the same (although the nametags helped!), and warmth and hilarity was still underlying most of the conversations. As kids, 25 years ago, there was no way to tell that we would still be friends, or even want to, but as the night wore on, we broke off into groups, shared stories, reminisced, moved around and started all over again. There were tears of laughter, old jokes revisited, and photos taken again and again. Sure, parenthood and life in general had changed us, but not in the ways that mattered; we still have a lot to laugh about. And what stories we'll have to share with our kids - if they are lucky.</div>
MarlatheMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882766601714038414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4834379695688000935.post-26359270115406042882014-11-07T11:24:00.000-08:002015-02-04T11:38:49.509-08:00Being Saved<div class="MsoNormal">
In a prior post, I had written about losing my students, and about the effect it has had on me as a teacher. Imagine a chance to get a piece of one of them back.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let me start with an admission: I have hoarding tendencies. I am extremely sentimental, so the treasures my students give me for holidays, birthdays, or end-of-the-year gifts are extremely precious. Not only do they mark a sweet and specific time in their lives, but they also hallmark milestones in my early teaching career. When I was hoping beyond hope that I was reaching my students, it was wondrous to receive a gift like the sweet shell my students painted on vacation to give to their "favorite teacher." Or the 7th grade baseball trophy with "Your (sp) the best teacher ever" taped over its base. These treasures are priceless in every way.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That being said, after a 20 year a career, I have been blessed with multitudes of cards, letters, books, and little treasures. I want to keep every one of them, and I have managed to do so fairly effectively.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I usually try to purge at the end of the year, while my students are industriously engaged in their exams, and I can sort through the materials I've collected, and no longer need. Last year I parted with volumes of potential textbooks that I received during my tenure as an Adjunct Professor at Bentley; yes, I had saved them merely because they were addressed to "Professor Pascucci" (and yes, purists, I realize I am not a true professor…yet).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But this year at Austin, there was a bit of an upheaval over the summer; the new construction and division of some of the classrooms resulted in a great deal of old things being removed from the building. Though I wasn't directly affected, my classroom got a new floor (and, thankfully, the rug that looked like the setting of multiple crime scenes was finally removed) and my enormous locked cabinet in my closet-free classroom was moved twice, and the contents threatened to explode into my new, pristine room.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, during a particularly blue day, I decided to sort through some of the videotapes (!) that I had stored in there. And my breath caught.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For in a boyish, seventh-grade scrawl, I saw the name <i>Steve Baxter</i>. Steve was one of my bright, brilliant students with deep intelligence, dry humor and wit and sharp sarcasm. He loved words and writing; he was lyrical and natural and honest and artistic in everything he wrote. He was also gone from this life far too soon. And now I had a piece of him. And I had to share it with his family.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
A quick scroll on Facebook yielded his mother's name, and a visit to the White Pages gave me her number. Terrified but determined, I placed the call, and when her machine picked up, I said something like this, which was what I left as her Facebook message: <span style="background-color: #dbedfe; color: #373e4d; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.3599996566772px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hello, Mrs. Baxter,</span><br />
<span data-reactid=".d5.$mid=11415380047112=2196846e3c34b4bc950.2:0.0.0.0.0.0.$end:0:$2:0" style="background-color: #dbedfe; color: #373e4d; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.3599996566772px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was Steven's English teacher at Austin Prep years ago; I still teach at Austin, and I found a video Steven and his friends made in grade 7. While the quality isn't super clear, Steven is behind the camera as well as in front of it, and I thought you would like to have it. Please contact me at your convenience at (xxx) xxx-xxxx. </span><br data-reactid=".d5.$mid=11415380047112=2196846e3c34b4bc950.2:0.0.0.0.0.0.$end:0:$3:0" style="background-color: #dbedfe; color: #373e4d; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.3599996566772px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span data-reactid=".d5.$mid=11415380047112=2196846e3c34b4bc950.2:0.0.0.0.0.0.$end:0:$4:0" style="background-color: #dbedfe; color: #373e4d; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.3599996566772px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Marla Pascucci-Byrne</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span data-reactid=".d5.$mid=11415380047112=2196846e3c34b4bc950.2:0.0.0.0.0.0.$end:0:$4:0" style="background-color: #dbedfe; color: #373e4d; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.3599996566772px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;">Within an hour, she had called me, and was on her way to meet me at school. We embraced in the doorway and reminisced about her beautiful son. She gave me the advice to "enjoy my beautiful children" before she left to bring the video to Steve's father, as today was his father's birthday, and they planned to watch it together. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;">In a confluence of chance and clutter, I had made someone's day better, and, at the risk of sounding trite (which wouldn't honor that bright, beautiful student of mine) maybe the things we save can save us.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span data-reactid=".d5.$mid=11415380047112=2196846e3c34b4bc950.2:0.0.0.0.0.0.$end:0:$4:0" style="background-color: #dbedfe; color: #373e4d; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.3599996566772px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
MarlatheMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882766601714038414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4834379695688000935.post-55152885773662223312014-10-20T18:44:00.002-07:002014-10-20T18:44:39.414-07:00The War of the Words<div style="text-align: justify;">
As a lover of words and language, I actually enjoy ferreting out the perfect and proper words for any situation. And though I have little in common with Jonas' mother from <u>The Giver</u>, I know I have said "Precision of language, please!" to my students many, many times. When my friends tell me I'm articulate and eloquent, I feel like it's the highest praise. But this is one of those times when words are escaping me, and the complexity of their usage is leaving me confused. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
What's the correct word for feeling both blessed and overwhelmed? For feeling happy and sad at the same time? For feeling blessed with not one, not two, but three jobs I love (motherhood, teaching, and teaching dance) and sometimes, they all drive me crazy? Some days, I feel like I can decompress - but what's the difference between decompression and depression?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There are a million blogs and articles that outline the roller coaster of motherhood: the incredible highs, the crushing lows, and all the minutiae in between. But what about the flashing speed with which things change? What is it called when your day swoops and whooshes, and sometimes crashes? Then there's a peaceful lull…until the next turn? You can practically hear the clattering of the car as it <i>click-click-clicks</i> up the incline.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
At the risk of sounding overly metaphorical (who, me?) I will offer some real-life verbal snapshots that all happened in one day, and maybe you can make something out of them:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<ul>
<li>The window I thoughtfully left open for cool air turned
my bedroom into a freezer.</li>
<li>The sweet son who breaks into a run to hug me when I come
home became a needy koala encircling my neck. He will not allow me to put him
down, and literally curls up his feet and howls when I try to put him on any surface.</li>
<li>My darling daughter makes me a beautiful picture with markers. It's heartfelt and detailed and precious - and in Sharpie marker that has seeped through to the couch.</li>
<li>The skinny jeans I was so happy to fit into are now too big at the waist and are continually snaking
down my hips. While this is a positive thing, it means I spend more time
hitching up my jeans than a cowboy. I have not the time, money nor energy to purchase new ones at this point. Yee-haw. </li>
</ul>
<div>
This isn't the first time that I have had a tough time finding a word to ; when I was pregnant with my son, my husband called to ask what he should pick up from the store. The exchange went like this:</div>
<div>
"So what do you need, Marls?"</div>
<div>
"Um, you know, the stuff? For the morning?"</div>
<div>
"No, can you be more specific?" </div>
<div>
"You know, the stuff that you put on the thing…(g<i>esturing pouring with one hand while holding the cell in the other</i>)"</div>
<div>
"I honestly have no idea what you are talking about."</div>
<div>
"The STUFF, Pete! It's white? You put it on the cereal!"</div>
<div>
"Um, (<i>chuckle</i>) 'milk'?"</div>
<div>
"Yes."</div>
<div>
I have a degree in Linguistics, but trying to come up with the word "milk" was like trying to pick up an ancient, crumbling file from a dusty file cabinet. I'll blame baby-brain for that incident.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Fortunately, my word-blockage isn't contagious. In fact, while I seem to be at a loss for words (or at least the correct ones), John Sawyer's long-awaited "language explosion" is taking place; he is stringing words and ideas together faster than he ever has before, and they happen to be hilarious. The other day, after I had smooched on his rosy cheeks, I told him, "John John, you're delicious!"</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"No, YOU de-la-la, Mama!"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"John John, YOU'RE de-li-cious!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Mama, YOU de-la-la!"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And on it went. Two days later, out of the blue, while driving in the car, I heard his little voice peep up.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Mama?"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Yes, buddy?"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"YOU de-la-la!" followed by fits of baby laughter, which might be the sweetest sound in the world.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So maybe the answer is a word I haven't learned yet. Maybe it's not <i>paradox</i>, <i>parallel</i>, <i>dichotomy</i> or <i>contradiction</i>. Maybe it's not a word, it's a feeling - a wave that rolls out and back in with regularity.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Tonight, I will leave you with the truest words ever spoken by my daughter: "Mommy, I still love you, even when you're mean."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Sigh…and the wave rolls out.<br />
<br />
<br />MarlatheMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882766601714038414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4834379695688000935.post-83070295415587157592014-09-02T18:43:00.001-07:002014-09-02T18:43:32.393-07:00First Grade<div style="text-align: justify;">
We did so many things this summer: went on adventures near and far, saw many (but never enough) friends, and, most importantly, made memories and milestones. Em learned to swim underwater, John Sawyer learned to squeak, shriek and demand "Beppa Bee - snork" which is his way of asking to watch his Peppa Pig video. (The animated piglet enthusiastically announces 'I'm Peppa Pig' and then snorts the way we do when we've laughed too hard, and hearing John's version of this in his baby voice is hilarious. But I digress.)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Anyway, it was a summer of firsts in a lot of ways: the first time we went on a sailboat together, the first time we went peach picking with John, the first time we went on the Swan Boats together, the first summer with our new-to-us swingset and new pirate boat in the yard. John Sawyer had his second birthday party, but it was his first party that he didn't share with his sister.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And mostly, I was first in command. Don't get me wrong, my husband is a present parent. But like most teacher-parents, we get used to our summer rhythm as the other parent trots off to work, and we become first in command. I am the one that plans the day, makes the meals, cleans the messes and kisses the boo-boos. I am the one who cuddles the Elmo doll, wraps American Girl in her blanket, and picks the snacks for the road. I am the one who packs the bags, brings the extra diapers, wipes and outfits, and remembers the chargers for the various electronic devices that give me a little peace in the car. I am the one who digs under the carseat for the source of the mysterious scent (once it was an apple slice, once a fried clam. Not kidding.) </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Toward the end of the summer, being first was getting taxing. Some days, my calls to my husband increased throughout the day with frequency and frantic undertones. Some days, I couldn't wait to pass the baton when he got home. On those hot summer nights, I would hop in the car, turn up the radio, drive to Target (aka Mom Mecca) and wander the aisles, blissfully alone. Strolling through the store, I could shed the heavy Mommyness of the day, and regain a little of myself. Some days it felt like the summer would never end. Some days, I missed the structure and routine of the fall, and I could feel my hands reaching forward to turn that calendar page.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But it wasn't just the routine of stay-at-home-motherhood that was wearing on me; it was the kids' burgeoning independence. Some days, the kids really pushed their limits. John Sawyer, in an attempt to recreate everything he sees his sister do, went down the slide for the first time, alone. The combination of his wet swimsuit and his chubby little bum made him zoom much faster than either of us anticipated, and he landed a foot from the base of the slide, shocked and crying, reaching his arms to me. Em, in an attempt at newfound confidence, decided to step further into the cold water at Hampton Beach despite my warnings, and a wave knocked her over. She was startled, but stubborn, and kept insisting, "I'm FINE, Mama," even though I could see she was scared. So many little firsts, as they test themselves, and me. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But tonight...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Tonight, my first born and I are wearing matching pajamas with our names on them, right below a giant pink heart. Tonight, Em went to sleep a former kindergartener, and will wake up a first grader. My melancholy, emotional heart is so proud of the little girl she is: sweet, smart, beautiful, brave and curious. I hope her first day is exciting and fun, and that it goes by so fast. So many of her firsts already have, and while I look forward to every one of them, and while I know I have to let my children grow up, I hope they will always reach back for me. And I promise I won't mind not being first.</div>
MarlatheMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882766601714038414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4834379695688000935.post-4045651461053386812014-08-19T09:19:00.004-07:002018-08-05T17:53:21.149-07:00For What It's Worth<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sometimes, judging the value of something is impossible, and the question, "Was it worth it?" is just plain ridiculous. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We all know that those treasured photos of friends, lovers and relatives that are no longer with us (either from relationships deceased or defunct) are worth more than diamonds. And the little surprise compliment given to us on the day we feel particularly low can make our day. When I was pregnant with my son and feeling especially balloon-sized, a former, now deceased, colleague told me I looked "radiant," and he paused and smiled before saying, "You've got that glow," and it literally made me beam. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Those are obvious treasures, like the chipped dishes we may save from our first apartment, the tarnished keychains from high school proms, the tiny clothes from our kids' first days and the like. Yes, those things have a "worth," right?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But yesterday I made a grave error in judgment. I let John take a late nap. And the aftermath was hell. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Honestly, the whole reason for the late nap is one that all of us as parents can relate to: I let John Sawyer take a late nap because <u>I</u> was tired. Me. I was dead. After a full day with the kiddos that included the building of multiple cities in multiple formats (blocks, Duplo Legos and the "real"/small Legos) the three of us headed out in search of fun and went to two different parks. In the words of Sissy Spacek as Loretta Lynn in "Coal Miner's Daughter," I was "about ready to die." </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">So when John Sawyer fell asleep in his carseat on the way home, covered in ice cream, I carried his sweet and sticky self up to his room and let him snooze. I thought it would be "worth it." I was so wrong!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">At first, I didn't realize how late it was. But as the clock struck 6 and his Royal Chubbiness showed no sign of waking up, I sent in the big guns, also known as Big Sister. If anyone can get him to budge, it's her.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">No such luck. On he snored. And I let him. Because I was wiped out too. Some small part of me hoped he was exhausted enough to sleep all night - or maybe wake up around 5 a.m. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But it was a nightmare. Somewhere between 7:30 and 8, as Em drifted off to slumber, John woke up angry and fretted and cried, snacked and snarked and cried some more. It's as though he knew it was late, but was frustrated because Daddy and Mimi weren't around. He wanted to play, but was falling over because he was still so exhausted, but couldn't bring himself to submit to sleeping again. Somehow I thought he'd go back to sleep around 10, or maybe even 11 (horrors) but that I'd be able to settle into a late-night <i>Housewives</i> marathon and chill out. No way.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We changed his pjs. We watched a little Peppa Pig. We had a little snack. We sat on the porch swing, which usually chills him out. We went through that cycle of </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<ul>
<li><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">snuggle him and rock him and put him down while he's practically sleeping</i></li>
<li><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">silently creep out the door with exaggerated steps like a cartoon</i></li>
<li><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">wait for him to cry, and listen as the cries turn to shrieks, tell myself he'll fall back asleep</i></li>
<li><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">when he doesn't, let him cry it out for 15 minutes until my actual heart breaks and I have to pick him up again </i></li>
</ul>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Repeat. Repeat. Repeatrepeatrepeat until almost 1:30 a.m.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Let me be clear; John Sawyer isn't a bad sleeper; on the contrary, he's been a dream baby since the beginning (which makes up for Em's projectile vomiting and general sleeplessness for her first five months). But age 2 is bringing a lot of changes, and we're all still adjusting to them.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Worth," gets recalculated all day - the lollipop that you know is impending tooth decay on a stick is worth it when you need to finish that conference call in the car. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The rules you make for yourself as a parent or as an adult can go right out the window.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Today I feel hungover and hellacious. All the MAC concealer in the world can hide these bags but a green tea might help. And if the kids are going to be parked in front of the tv, for a bit, it'll be worth it.</span></div>
MarlatheMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882766601714038414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4834379695688000935.post-57831573795467541122014-08-09T04:20:00.001-07:002014-08-09T04:20:03.581-07:00Happy birthday, little one!<div style="text-align: justify;">
Dearest John Sawyer,</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Two years ago yesterday, I couldn't wait to see you, and your extra day on the inside was both a blessing and a challenge, because I wanted to meet you so much! And then two years ago today, I got my wish, and I remember every detail about it. That day will be imprinted in my mind, if I am very lucky, until I am very, very old. In another letter, I have written you all the details of that day so you can read it with your loved ones. But if it's one thing you have taught me, little one, it's to live for today. And today...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Today, you wake up happy and sing your self to sleep.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Today, you come crashing at me around corners and smash yourself against for me for a powerful surprise hugs.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Today, you say, "I don'knooooow" and hold your little palms to the sky.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Today, you can say, I'm "two" but the "two" sounds more like the "tu" in "tutu" and you usually hold up a few fingers. Sometimes two of them, sometimes three of them.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Today, you proudly shout out the letters that you know when you see them. "H" is your favorite. We don't know why.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Today, you are crazy about apples, apple sauce, and especially apple juice! You ask for " Mama-appa -juzh-bu-Emma-cuh-peeezh?" every morning, which translates to, "Mama, apple juice in my blue Elmo cup, please?"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div>
Today, you love Elmo so much that your entire birthday party is themed around him.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Today, you do a happy dance when you see cookies, leaping from one little foot to the other, and you say "Mmmmmmmmm!" when you get one. You love graham crackers and oreos.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Today, you 'dance" by throwing your elbows back and swinging them. You love dancing, probably because your sister does too.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Today, you love your sister so fiercely that you want to be just like her (again, an admirable choice) though you forget she is nearly six, and you, just two. For example, yesterday, we went for our first sail, and since Emerson took a dip (well, a half dip - the Maine waters were colder than Hampton, and that's saying a lot) you squealed until you dipped your little chubby feet off the side as well. You admire her, you follow her, and you though you both drive each other a little crazy, when I watch you together, my heart grows. I am so happy you have each other to share life with.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Little one, little son, I hope you always feel the love that surrounds you, today and always. You have made me so happy and I wish that same happiness to you every day, today and always. Thank you for being the sparkle in my eyes.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Happy, happy second birthday, my darling son!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Love,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Mommy</div>
MarlatheMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882766601714038414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4834379695688000935.post-44949584971627199072014-07-17T12:30:00.002-07:002014-08-16T12:18:28.127-07:00Have You Heard?<div style="text-align: justify;">
First, let's start with the backstory: I have bionic hearing. I hear everything, all the time. I hear people whispering in line behind me, I hear all the squeaks and shrieks (thank you, John Sawyer) in my house in the middle of the night, I hear the incredibly subtle underlying soundtracks in movies (heartbeats, mellow rainfalls, and geographically accurate birdcalls) even. I hear my students whispering in the back row of my class and, unfortunately, the subjects they are whispering about, and though they test me at times, I always catch them. I hear it all. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In one of the great ironies of my life, my husband is slightly hearing impaired, while I am particularly sensitive to noise. We like to joke that, when we are very old, my eyesight will be gone, he won't be able to hear anything and we'll toddle around together. He'll tell me I look beautiful even though I've applied lipstick to my eyebrows, and I'll completely misquote poetry to him and he'll smile in agreement. We like to think we'll balance each other out.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But sometimes my auditory gift is just too much - it can be distracting and annoying. At parties, I hear conversations happening simultaneously on both sides of the room. John's endless renditions of "Elmo's Song" are endearing, but become grating very quickly. And when Emerson plays video games on the iPad, it sounds like they're happening on my shoulder. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Lately, however, Emerson, age 5, has been saying she "didn't hear me" say certain things. Yet I know her hearing is perfect. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"I didn't hear you, Mommy!"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Mommy ain't buying it.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I know that 5 is a distractable age, but at the risk of sounding melodramatic, <span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">her words seem particularly manipulative as ours is a semi-hearing-impaired household, </span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">so my husband's actual inability to hear</span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> her sometimes </span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">does not equal Emerson's choice to deliberately</span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> </span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">ignore</span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> </span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">my words. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Yes, I can understand how she "didn't hear me" when I was on the phone with my boss, when I surreptitiously asking her to stop leaping on a sheet of bubble wrap, gesturing silently and wildly for her to cut it out whilst the bubble wrap emitted pops that sounded like gunfire. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">And yes, perhaps she "didn't hear me" when I asked her to get a diaper for me as I chased her mid-potty-training brother, who was also</span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> </span><i style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">in medias poop</i><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> </span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">and left a package on my bathroom floor. And her bedroom floor. And his bedroom floor. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Maybe she didn't hear me when I asked her to quit squirming in her chair at breakfast at the risk of knocking over my <strike>life force</strike> Starbucks unsweetened green iced tea and John Sawyer's bowl of Cheerios and sliced peaches. Both were full and untouched. John Sawyer cried just a little more than I did.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<br></div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
But when I warned her about throwing a foam cube backwards over her head at the trampoline park, and she "didn't hear me" and gunned a stranger in the face with said cube, I had HAD IT. Immediately after the cube-in-face moment and subsequent apologies, I informed Em she was tv/iPad/iPod/computer free for the day. </div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<br></div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
"Are you listening, Em? I told you not to throw that cube, and you heard me and did it anyway. Luckily that nice lady wasn't hurt, but you lost all of your privileges today. No devices."</div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
"I heard you, Mommy."</div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<br></div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
I expected to hear grumbling all the way home. I expected to hear her cry at the injustice of being taken to task. Here is what I have heard instead; I have heard my daughter:</div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="text-align: justify;">Singing dozens of songs on-key (which is a genetic mystery) while playing with her dolls </span></li>
<li><span style="text-align: justify;">Creating multiple drawings for all family members</span></li>
<li><span style="text-align: justify;">Reading four books aloud</span></li>
<li><span style="text-align: justify;">Building an elaborate railway system for her napping brother</span></li>
<li><span style="text-align: justify;">Making a list of menu options for the upcoming week</span></li>
<li><span style="text-align: justify;">Generating a Christmas wish list and belting out holiday songs with new words</span></li>
</ul>
<br>
<div>
Now that's what I like to hear. </div>
<div>
<br></div>
<br>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In addition to being a Gold Medalist in the Hearing Olympics, I also tend to be a perfectionist. I want things to be done completely, thoroughly, and hopefully, with a little bit (or a lot) of enthusiasm and style. I am used to my students listening (or pretending to listen) when I teach. So maybe my expectations are a little high. Coupled with the onset of summer, and with it, my idyllic dreams of fun days with my kids, maybe my expectations skyrocket. Like most teachers, I want to pack each day with as much fun, laughter and excitement as possible, so I can reach back for these happy days when I'm up to my ears in college recommendations and work obligations, and take a sip from them like they're a nice, relaxing glass of wine. With that being said, I'm afraid I may turn into Chevy Chase in vacation when he informs his kids, that they're "On a quest...a quest for fun!" and well, here's the rest: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=makeONYZfXM">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=makeONYZfXM</a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br></div>
I want to give my kids happy experiences, for their own memories as well as my own. And like all quests, sometimes we get lost along the way, but we discover something else pretty cool. Sometimes things backfire - in a perfect way. Sometimes, you just have to listen.MarlatheMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882766601714038414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4834379695688000935.post-37897980317388795152014-07-12T16:32:00.001-07:002014-07-12T16:32:06.755-07:00Week in Review: Neat and Complete? Oh, but no.
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: 'Century Schoolbook';">As I get older, I am aware
of my affection for things that are “neat and complete.” Like the perfect card
that gets mailed on time, the playdate that goes by smoothly, and the laundry
that is washed, folded and put away. These days, completion seems to bring me a
satisfaction that has no parallel.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">On Thursday, I had such a
day – I completed the in-text vocabulary list of a 500+ page summer reading book
that I’ve never taught before, ordered new textbooks and finished some
administrative tasks connected to my new position, and, in an attempt to make
my health and fitness a priority, saw my terrific nutritionist who is really
helping me to turn my diet around. On my way home from my appointment with her,
I stopped at a farm stand and, inspired, bought tons of fresh fruit and veggies
that we all enjoyed that day. We
swam, had showers and a nice dinner, and went to bed happy and exhausted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">Neat and Complete,
right? Evidently the duration is
only about twelve hours. Because the last day and a half has been a mess.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">Yesterday I was preparing
for my parents’ 44<sup>th</sup> wedding anniversary, which is also my dad’s
birthday. I planned to write something cute on one of the slates my husband
keeps in the basement, pose the kids for a little photo on the porch swing
(while strategically leaving out the windowsills that have been scraped down
for our next home project – trim painting). On my quest for chalk, I headed to
the garage and stepped on a silver of glass that lodged itself in the pad of my
left foot and I almost went through the ceiling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">After trying to dislodge it
myself with tweezers, a hot shower, and a lot of prayer, I called my dad to
watch the kids while I headed to Winchester Hospital (where they’re masters of
delicately removing things – they once extracted a fake Styrofoam sparkly berry
from a shoplifted Christmas ornament Em stuck up her nose when she was three).
ANYWAY, plucking out glass is a lot more intricate that it sounds; I had an
x-ray, lots of paperwork, and a genius nurse named Allison who took it out in
less than two minutes. Thank God.
But in the midst of all this, I forgot a hair appointment, missed a barre class, and managed to piss off both of my kids so they decided to fight with each other all day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook";">After
the glass in foot disaster yesterday, I thought today would be simpler. It was not. Much like an unfinished play that constantly begs for revision, my life is messier by the minute. </span><span style="font-family: 'Century Schoolbook';">I will spare you all of the gory details, but here's a small plot outline. If I tell it in third person, it's easier to laugh about it:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook";">Setting: LuluLemon dressing room</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook";">Cast: MARLA, filled with newfound confidence and excitement to buy workout clothes, her daughter EMERSON, her son JOHN, and his overflowing DIAPER</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook";">Plot summary: After trying on a few items, MARLA lifts JOHN out of his stroller to give him a snuggle and realize his <u>entire</u> stroller is full of poop, as the DIAPER has somehow disintegrated. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook";">EMERSON (horrified, shouting): OH NO! THERE IS POOP EVERYWHERE - IT'S DISGUSTING! JOHN, THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE! YOU ARE SO GROSS!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook";">JOHN giggles in response.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: 'Century Schoolbook';">SALESGIRL (knock knock): Is everything okay in there, Maria?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook";">MARLA: Um, it's MARLA, actually, and I think we have everything under control. Thank you.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook";">There is absolutely no conceivable way that the recovered wood dressing room doors provide any protection against the stench emanating from the usually sweet JOHN. MARLA digs all the wipes out of the package in the back of the stroller, changes JOHN into an outfit she originally intended to return, and tried to recover some dignity on the way out the door while smuggling a plastic bag full of refuse, including the malfunctioning DIAPER under her arm.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Century Schoolbook;">...and scene.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->MarlatheMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882766601714038414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4834379695688000935.post-77809979201969466752014-06-07T09:25:00.000-07:002014-07-12T09:26:55.352-07:00For Good
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
In a reflective moment of post-graduation melancholy, I have
been listening to “For Good” from the Broadway musical “Wicked” in various
forms. The original cast version (Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenowith) is
incredible, and the crush I developed on Anna Kendrick after “Pitch Perfect” is
only escalated her performance with Kristin Chenowith here <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SEdnIvnCko8">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SEdnIvnCko8</a> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s an ode to growing and outgrowing each other, and it’s
perfect for us as teachers, who, if we are very lucky, are told that “we change
lives.” But if we are very, very lucky, we are changed ourselves. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">I've
heard it said,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">That
people come into our lives<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">For a
reason<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">Bringing
something we must learn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">And we
are lead to those<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">Who help
us most to grow if we let them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">And we
help them in return.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">Well, I
don't know if I believe that's true<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">But I
know I'm who I am today<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">Because I
knew you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">It well
may be<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">That we
will never meet again<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">In this
lifetime.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">So, let
me say before we part:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">So much
of me<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">Is made
of what I learned from you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">You'll be
with me<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">Like a
handprint on my heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">And now
whatever way our stories end<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">I know
you'll have rewritten mine<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">By being
my friend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">Who can
say if I've been changed for the better<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">But
because I knew you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">I have
been changed for good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">It’s melodramatic to say that every student
changes our lives, but they exist for me in groups. TrevorMaddieMaxAileen exist
for me as one beautiful, intelligent, intertwined conglomerate. CeciliaAmyPaige
were truly the beating heart of the dance program this year. I could go on and on, but I will keep it simple: I thank them for a terrific year, and I certainly have been changed by their energy, enthusiasm, and exuberance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->MarlatheMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882766601714038414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4834379695688000935.post-58366323040560663432014-05-14T10:21:00.001-07:002014-07-13T06:48:15.346-07:00Mother's Day Musical Musings: Where Am I?<div style="background-color: white; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I’m always amazed at the tactile and transformative power of a song to bring me back to a time in my memory. Maybe it’s universal, but when a certain song comes on the radio, I’m suddenly transported back in time. It’s practically palpable.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">On Mother’s Day, I was at Saint Anselm College. Well, not really.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">While my NH alma mater certainly holds a place in my heart for a million reasons, I was actually in Maine, Kennebunkport to be exact, eating a long-awaited lobster roll with my husband and my littles. It was a brilliantly sunny day, and we had a great time together. But Sunday’s siren song is always behind us, so while I could have stayed, shopped and snacked all day, we had to get home to the inevitable prep that late Sunday afternoons always demand. A little grumpily, but with the martyrdom only moms can have, I got into the car to head home on the highway.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">On the drive, the kids were happy, tired, and sticky (thank you Ben &Jerry’s “Two Free Scoops for Moms”) but they were beginning to get into that weird hyper phase that precedes a nap, exacerbated further by their carseat captivity. So Peter and I decided to pick out some calming tunes to soothe the backseat savages. Peter chose classic 70’s rock songs, as always. But my choices surprised me. I chose songs that took me right back to college, songs that anyone who graduated in the 90’s would find on their “Chillax Playlist.” But this time I chose them for different reasons.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">When I was in college, my favorite song was “All I Want” by Toad the Wet Sprocket, a 1992 classic introduced to me by a dear friend. At the time, the cache of “I found the coolest alternative band” was as impressive as the song was, but again, the lyrics spilled over into my life. </span><span style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://www.metrolyrics.com/all-i-want-lyrics-toad-the-wet-sprocket.html" style="color: #004182; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://www.metrolyrics.com/all-i-want-lyrics-toad-the-wet-sprocket.html </a></span><span style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">I loved it, and listening took me right back to sunny days on the Quad, watching people play Frisbee when I should have been at Humanities lecture. </span><span style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">The lyrics repeat “All I want is to feel this way/ To be this close, to feel the same” and it’s just how I felt at that moment: young, invincible, happy and free. After I graduated,</span><span style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"> “Stay/Wasting Time” by Dave Matthews Band became my anthem – a semi-sexy little ode to being in the moment, to love, and to chilling out and being young that captured my heart. </span><a href="http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/davematthewsband/stay.html" style="color: #004182; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/davematthewsband/stay.html</a><span style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">. </span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What I realized, though, was that the songs I was wistfully choosing about being young and being in the moment still had relevance right now. Yes, my “present” is very different than what it was when I first heard those songs. True, my “moment” isn’t spent lying carefree on the college lawn, knowing the people I loved most were right on campus with me. But I remember being in that moment too – feeling lucky that my family afforded me the chance to attend such a beautiful college, lucky that I felt loved and valued, lucky that I was studying something that spoke to me so clearly. I was also afraid of not finding the right job, worried what path my then-boyfriend and I would take, and overwhelmed by the thought of the future outside my safe college cocoon. Being in the moment wasn't about the perfection of the moment - it was about being there, and being aware of what I was thinking and feeling.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">There have been so many moments since my college days. My outfits, my body, and my definition of “family,” have changed substantially (my erratic sleeping patterns, ironically, are identical) but that realization of where I was in space and time, was a special one. I was with the ones I loved. We had laughed together and played together. we had celebrated my birthday and Mother's Day, and we had more responsibilities to meet together. So yes, the time was passing, but it was passing together. </span><span style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">And zipping down the highway being pensive was something that would happen again and again, with music playing in the background. Maybe I'll be driving Emerson to her first day of college, when she's nervous and excited. Maybe I'll be coming home from a hockey game with my son, when he's proud and beaming, or exhausted and disappointed. The moments of reminiscence will always come as we make more and more memories, but looking around is always better than looking back, and though my ears may request songs of the past, my eyes will be on the ones I love. </span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So where am I? In the words of the Dave Matthews Band, "Where you are is where I belong/ I do know, where you go, is where I wanna be." So that's where I am: in the moment. Because it's the best place to be.</span></span></div>
MarlatheMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882766601714038414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4834379695688000935.post-87017191683226505392014-04-16T04:54:00.001-07:002015-04-17T05:47:29.924-07:00Untitled and Unfinished<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
When I told my father I wanted to
become a teacher, he flinched. Not because of the traditional reasons, such as
the limited financial possibilities, or the fear that my career might mirror
his own short teaching career in the 60’s, where race riots and metal detectors
were the norm at Medford High. No, he was nervous that I’d get hurt. At the time, I thought I
might want to teach kids with special needs, and he (correctly) speculated that
I would want to adopt them all and take them home, that I would want to hold
them all, hug their hurts away, and potentially give too much of myself to
them. But a few courses in, my lifelong love of literature and writing solidified my true calling as an
English teacher, and I am sure my father was relieved. But I am also sure he
didn’t expect the hurts to come in a completely unexpected and sad way, like
when I lose a student. It has happened too often, and the list is too long.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Steven
DeMarco. Allan MacLean. Jeff Flores. Jason Graham. Jimmy McGonagle. Steve Baxter. Ross Alameddine.
Carolyn Smallcomb. Alyssa Nanopoulos. Patrick Barry. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Most of them were barely twenty,
and though they are united in the fact that they all left us too soon, that
they all attended Austin, and that they left holes in our hearts, they are as
different as shells on a beach. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Losing them hurts in a way I never
expected, and never completely goes away. As an English teacher, I feel sometimes connected to my students in a
special way, as so much of what they learn and contribute in my class involves
a give and take, or a revelation of personal history. They write about their
feelings, their fears, their triumphs and reactions. They joke about their
families and friends, they find themselves, their opinions, and pieces of their future selves in new and surprising ways on the page. They are
often braver on paper than they are in speech, for the mere distancing of those
words in writing from their physical selves means they can shape them, own them,
and change them. In the fall, they are nervous and expectant; as the seasons
change, so turns their dedication, and by spring, the warm weather awakens their
silly side, and everything becomes relaxed and happy. By the end of springtime, we know each other well, we have tested each other, we have become friendly. And when we
all leave for summer vacation, we feel good. Happy to have known each other,
and, in a positive way, to have outgrown each other. Spring and summer are
usually wonderful. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
But when Ross Alameddine died in the spring of 2007, it wasn't just Austin's pain; it was the nations. In April of 2007, Ross was one of the victims in the Virginia Tech shooting. I had known and adored his older sister for her charismatic personality and adorable ability to make anyone smile. She was petite, lively, and hilarious, and though I had not actually taught her in class, she was one of my dancers, she had attended my alma mater, and she had even lived in the same dorm room on the first floor. Ross was one of my students; he had taken my Creative Writing class as a senior in the spring of 2005, and had impressed me in a totally different way; he was as articulate as he was intelligent, quirky and unique, wonderfully gifted and unabashed. I adored him in a completely different way, and though I hadn’t directly spoken to him after his Austin graduation, I still had his senior picture posted on my file cabinet. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I was driving to my mom’s house
when my cell rang.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Marlz?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Hey, Mom. What’s up?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Did you see the news? There was
a school shooting in Virginia. At Virginia Tech.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Oh, Christ. Was it bad?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Honey, I think one of the
students – one was from Austin. I think - I think he was one of yours."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
When I arrived at my mom’s house,
the news was on, and seeing the same senior picture I had taped to my file
cabinet broadcast across the news was gut-wrenching.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Our school was in shock. When I was
asked by our Campus Minister to say a few words about Ross at the Memorial Mass
to be held at our school, I was so honored and humbled to be the person who
could give voice to the eloquent and exemplary young man who graced my
classroom. But I couldn’t find the right words to capture him. I spoke about
his intelligence and excellence as a writer. I spoke about the way he was so comfortable in his own skin; how he was a terrific dancer, how he fixed my computer weekly, how he sought out new and obscure bands. I spoke of the way he ducked his head and smiled to the side when he read his work aloud, how he adjusted his glasses and nodded a little like, "Yeah, that was pretty good," when it was excellent. I said I was sorry he was gone, that I knew he had so much more to share, and that the world he would have created and shaped would be different now. I said I was lucky to have known him, that we all were, and that I was proud to have shared laughter with him and applauded his successes. I said that his short life gave us a glimpse of what could be, and I was so grateful for it. I read
some of his poetry and choked up halfway through it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
His wonderful friends stood up and shared memories of him from his elementary school days all the way through his life. They were eloquent, honest, and real, just as he was. They wore their "Rosslets" - turquoise rubber bracelets with "Rossmo" stamped on them. And while I could never take any credit for the people they became that day, a piece of me is so happy to have known them, taught them, and been there for them when they were young, because I was able to see them when they were kids, and I have the privilege of watching them grow. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
How I wish they all had more time. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Today I'll wear turquoise for him, and my classes will pray for him. Much like this post, things will feel unfinished and sad today. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->MarlatheMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882766601714038414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4834379695688000935.post-12776951373162015342014-04-11T19:27:00.000-07:002014-04-11T20:05:02.724-07:00The Panic Rabbit<div style="text-align: justify;">
As Easter rapidly approaches, my thoughts turn to all things bunny-related (including Cadbury Mini-Eggs). Yet I am faced with yet another creature who keeps hopping into my path. I call him The Panic Rabbit. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As a working mom, I have days when everything goes very smoothly and according to plan. As a teacher, I have the outline of my day as well as my students' goals and homework in my work planner. Finally, as a compulsive list-maker, I consult my personal journal/notebook several times a day for reminders. I cross things off, and it truly helps in the grand scheme of things. But things ain't always grand. Mornings, for example. This is when The Panic Rabbit arrives. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Sometimes I wake up with him on my chest, and I barely have enough time to sprint to the shower, where I stand under the spray trying to remember if there's something I'm forgetting or missing. Other days, despite the fact that I lay out my daughter's clothes, lunch, backpack and jacket the night before, the time passes so quickly and I find myself tapping impatiently as I wait for her to finish her breakfast so that both of us can sprint to the car and speed to school. The recent detours en route to my job give me more anxiety than a mouse in a maze, and though I know there are world issues with far more gravity and consequences than my morning routine, the thumping of the Panic Rabbit's giant feet on my chest make me want to grab him by the ears and fling him over my shoulder.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, he made a special appearance. I was getting ready for a full day of work, including an administrative observation (which is part of our job, and happens yearly, but is still nerve-wracking), as well as a few meetings. My son, who likes to be as close to me as possible after he wakes up, decided to exercise his new favorite word: duck. He followed me into the bathroom, placed his rubber duck on the edge of the tub, knocked it onto the floor saying "duck - quack quack!" and repeating his motions about a dozen times. The sound of his little voice was as adorable as his happy smile. I leaned into the mirror to finish putting in my contacts and giving myself a final once-over. My cowlick was tamed, my bangs were behaving, my makeup was on, my Spanx were spankin' and I felt pretty great in my Ralph Lauren dress. <i>This is good</i>, I thought. <i>This is going to be a good day.</i> I stepped back from the mirror.<br />
<br />
And then I pinched his little finger under my high heel. Cue the Panic Rabbit.<br />
<br />
I don't know what felt worse: his squashed digit or my guilt. He cried, of course, which prompted my own tears. Fortunately, he is a resilient little guy, and like the athlete I dream he'll become one day, he literally shook it off. During breakfast, he picked up his sliced strawberries with the same gusto (and dexterity, thank God) as always. But when I went to kiss him goodbye, he looked at me seriously, pushed me away, and said, "No, Mama," and the Rabbit came back.<br />
<br />
It's not just the mornings; it's parenthood in general. Whether worrying if my daughter is doing okay as one of the youngest members of her class or fretting about the health level of her classmates, I find myself in a cycle of worry and relief, questions, concern, and comfort, and the hopeful expectation that the next day will be a better day.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My father once gave me the wise advice that each person gets the same amount of hours in the day; it's what we choose to do with them that counts. I am going to spend more time trying to quiet my Panic Rabbit. Like his furry counterparts who frolic in the roads, my Panic Rabbit can dart in from nowhere to give me a start. But he'd better keep his distance. I'm dangerous behind the wheel, especially when I'm late for work. Just sayin'.</div>
MarlatheMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882766601714038414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4834379695688000935.post-43107314093958496472014-03-21T20:07:00.000-07:002014-04-15T06:32:26.792-07:00Target Tunnel Vision<div style="text-align: justify;">
Can someone explain why I, as a rational and educated woman, absolutely <b>lose </b>my mind at Target? In the past, I have treated Target like an exclusive Parisian boutique to which I may never return, so I buy everything in sight. But it's my latest development that is giving me a headache. I think I have Target Tunnel Vision. It's not just that I think I need everything in the store; it's that I make separate trips to purchase them.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I understand that life with kids lobotomizes us at times. Even in pregnancy, I would have moments where I couldn't remember words, likening the process of retrieving them from my memory to opening an old, creaking file cabinet and rooting through its ancient, crumbling contents. Once Peter called from work to ask what he needed to pick up from the store; I stumbled, "You know, the stuff for the, um, you know breakfast thing? The cereal? You know, it's white?" Mystery word: MILK. And I have a degree in Linguistics.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But these days, my memory is fine. I aspire to be a very organized person at work and at home (though one is markedly more difficult) and I consult my hot pink SugarPaper Planner (purchased at Target last year) with regularity. I make lists, and check things off. But when I get in the store, my Tunnel Vision kicks in. I walk in thinking <i>giftformolly giftformolly giftformolly </i>and forget that I need cheese sticks, socks, and a new camera card. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: justify;">I try to figure out why this happens. </span><span style="text-align: justify;">I don't know if it's the distractions of finally being </span><strike style="text-align: justify;">free</strike><span style="text-align: justify;"> alone that makes my head turn, or the fact that I walk right by all of these items I need, even though they are on a list that I ignore.</span><span style="text-align: justify;">Maybe I was distracted by the fact that I had forgotten my coupon for Boudreaux Butt Paste, or maybe I was annoyed that the dvd of The Great Gatsby had dropped to $10 when I paid $13 last week. Maybe it was Chubby's gleeful chorus of "Mama! Mama Mama MAMA!" and the ensuing giggles that made my mind wander from the necessary tasks. But whatever the motivation, the result is the same. Thus, in the last week, I have been there nearly every day. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Some might argue that I find myself there so frequently because it's a haven, a respite from the craziness of life where I can find relief and retail. Yes, it's convenient - it's just a few miles from my house, and carries nearly every item I need. It's open until 11:00 p.m. which is perfect for the-kids-are-asleep-now-i-can-eat-and-oh-wait-what's-left-in-the-fridge moments. My Target even has a Starbucks. The prime location and treats alone would inspire any working mom to attend services at the Church of Red Dot. But something else is going on that I can't figure out quite yet. If I ever make it over to the self-help book section, I'll let you know.</div>
MarlatheMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882766601714038414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4834379695688000935.post-38619172041568908762014-02-24T14:45:00.003-08:002014-02-24T14:45:43.617-08:00Motherhood, Messes, and Kidnapping the Babysitter
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Motherhood, Messes,
and Kidnapping the Babysitter<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There’s a popular meme that says,
“Good moms have messy houses and happy kids,” or something like that. I
disagree.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In my college days, I was a bit
more, well, relaxed. As those who knew me (and definitely those who lived with
me) can attest, I loved clothes, I had a lot of them, and I usually left them
hanging around the room. Laundry day proved a brief respite as they were swept
into my white plastic basket and carted to the JOA basement (Saint Joan of Arc
Hall, for those not in the know) for their bath, and then the cycle would
repeat. I had piles of books, stacks of notebooks, and bulletin boards full of
photos. Having lots of my things around me, in college, was a comfort.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And now? It’s stifling. My son’s
toys have multiplied and left their bastard children everywhere (and I mean
everywhere, including the hamper, the tub, and one of the cabinets). The
ghostly form of my daughter’s gi leans in a corner, snidely observing from a
distance. The clothes from yesterday’s ski trip are crawling across the floor
in an attempt at freedom, and while my kids had a great day yesterday and I
know we made a lot of memories they will have a fun time recalling, I just can’t
think in this space.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It’s not just the physical
messes. Sure, I am consciously deciding to gift my friends’ children with gift
cards because the idea of giving a toy with multiple pieces that can be strewn
about seems counterproductive to friendship. And yes, though I have girlfriends
on both ends of the house spectrum (meaning homes half my size, or double my
size), we all agree that there is never enough space for all that we
accumulate.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But it’s the mental messes as
well. I know I should put the Inner Perfect Mom who wants a glossy, crumb-free
home out of my mind, and I should be fully present in the moments of play with
my children. But instead, the multitasking mom in me sees this as a challenge.
Thus, I try to make up new and creative games like “Bitty Baby Says: We Can
Throw Out These Old Puzzles” or “Fashion Show for Donating Clothes.” It’s
awful. I want to spend time with
my kids playing with a clear head and heart. But some days I can’t.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Life is messy now, and I know
that I have to understand that. For example, John Sawyer, in an attempt at
challenging his sister’s newfound athletic ability, is competing in the Active
Toddler Olympics and has medaled in Disarming Baby Locks, Opening OXO Cookie
Containers and Silently Devouring the Contents, and Throwing Things in the
Trash. Chasing him is my cardio, and it’s exhausting. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And it continues to get messier. Last
week I attended the wake of a dear friend’s father (a friend for whom I would -
and did - literally give the clothes off my back ten years ago, and now, we blindly
roam the rows at Target at 10 p.m.). So when I heard her father had passed, I
wanted to make every effort to pay my respects. In this case, it meant picking
up my babysitter, taking her for a ride with me and the kids so that I could
attend the wake, and then driving her home on the way to meet my husband for
dinner. A bit complex, but definitely doable.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Unless I drove to the wrong
location of the funeral home chain. And then got stuck in traffic on the way
there and back from the actual location. And then rescheduled the dinner
reservations. And then got stuck in another monumental traffic jam. And then
had to bring the poor babysitter with us to dinner. And then realized the set
menu at the restaurant was less than appealing to most people, including said
babysitter, whose intended two-hour stint turned into a four-hour one. And the
beat goes on.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">If it’s one thing I am learning
about being a parent, it’s that the planned moments often implode, and the
sublime ones appear without warning. As one who has always enjoyed a happy surprise,
I look forward to the next one.
But I’m saving my extra cash for the babysitter who I paid double that
night, and who, luckily, is still speaking to us.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->MarlatheMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882766601714038414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4834379695688000935.post-20357780932863895512014-02-13T21:00:00.000-08:002014-02-13T18:58:05.485-08:00"Each time I hit the publish button, it is with a delicate balance of vulnerability and bravery." - Julia Hembree, Elated Exhaustion<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">So here it is. I stand before you with my blog, and I stand behind my words. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">I hope they bring you a smile. Thank you for reading!</span>MarlatheMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882766601714038414noreply@blogger.com0