Josiejo's Place

Who Me? A Writer?

2004-12-14T20:43:00.000-05:00

This semester I wrote a lot of clean, crisp pieces; pieces I never would have thought I was capable of. I also wrote some pieces that landed with a thud on the floor (which I staunchly defended and attempted to justify - with a "What do you mean everything isn't perfect?" attitude). Sorry. Anyways, at the beginning I said I was a McCloskey wannabe, which at the moment I felt was true. But now it's not. Well, not quite true. I don't think anyone can be another writer - to attempt to mimic his style would be disastrous. I absolutely adore his books - but it's because of the connection I have to their history - their meaning to me. Soooo, where does that leave me? What do I gravitate to now as a reader? What captures my interest? What makes me smirk and giggle? I love funny kid's stories! Whether my kids love them or not (which they do) I can't resist a good, absolutely outlandish, hilarious children's story. Maybe it's because those sweet sappy kid's stories (with titles such as "Use Your Manners" and "The Colors of Fall") bore me to death. Give me some action, some fantasy, something impossible that seems so true... and do it all in less than 20 colorful pages of riveting, page-turning anticipation. Nothing's worse than drudging through a bedtime story that puts me to sleep. That's what I've wanted to write. And now I feel better equipped to do that. The biggest thing I've learned this semester is to "cut out the fat" from my writing - to leave room for the reader's imagination to do some of the work. So what if they don't get the same interpretation as me (ahem... words from a certain instructor), as long as they are getting something. Any previous attempts I've made at writing one of those "absolutely outlandish, hilarious, action filled, riveting, page-turning" stories has, without a doubt, landed with a resounding thud on the floor - and then in the trash can. I was always trying to tell too much, give too much away - you knew what was going to happen on the next page because I gave away every possible freekin' clue to set it up on the previous page - so why turn the page in anticipation? Sigh. So, I've still a long way to go, but I'm packed better for the journey. Someday I hope to publish... that might be just a dream, but at least I'll have something. I'm ready to try again, and again, and again, and (gulp) revise, and revise some more... my plan for winter break is to work on "roughing in" two ideas that currently are on about 10 pieces of scrap paper scattered in various locations throughout the house... now where did I put those?

Week 16 - Revision of Week 5 (10/04/04)

2004-12-14T19:30:00.000-05:00

We've always joked about how 'Charlie Brown' our Christmases were growing up. The tree was always lopsided and topped with an aluminum foil star (which incidentally was perched atop the tree via a toilet paper tube). The presents under the tree were sparse; in fact several of them were merely recycled toys regifted amongst siblings. Sometimes we felt we were being cheated...or did we? It seems that those feelings of being cheated I so vividly remember are in fact a fabricated memory of my materialistic, commercialized, pea-sized adult brain. If I think hard enough about Christmas Past; the memories are pure, true, and far from disappointing.

Christmases of the years gone by were a magical time... I mean, I swear I saw Rudolph's nose guiding the jolly guy's sleigh one Christmas Eve when I was at the ripe old age of six. I even rubbed my eyes and watched to see if that light blinked like an airplane. I never told anyone about that night for fear of ridicule; but if you had asked me at that moment in time if Santa was real or not, I would have bet my brother's life on it (hey, I was a believer, but I wasn't stupid!).

Two traditions I have tried to bring with me are opening one small gift on Christmas Eve, and letting the kids get into their stockings before we are all up. I tried to bring three; but my beloved refuses to allow an aluminum foil star atop the tree - bah humbug. Every Christmas Eve for as long as I can remember we always got to pick out one small gift from under the tree and open it. This was a tedious process of weighing out our options... which one to chose... which one? Our parents probably figured it would curb our appetites and make us sleep in a bit longer in the morning. Yeah right. Hence, the second tradition. Christmas stockings hung on the stair railing were the greatest thing to dump out at 5:00 in the morning. It was perhaps the only house rule we all abided by: we did not have to wait for Mom and Dad to get out of bed! Of course, it was always stuffed with the same items from year to year, except for the occasional change in candy. We got an orange, some nuts, a book of lifesavers, bubblegum, a toothbrush, and loose, unwrapped generic hard candy (which consequently would be covered in stocking fuzz). It might have been the same old stuff every year, but that was fine by us. We would dump them out, separate the goodies, and then the bartering would begin. "Who wants grape bubblegum? Anyone want to trade their orange for my walnuts? I hate cherry lifesavers! Trade ya for your butterrum."

Each year we would get one "big" gift, which by definition had to be under $20, and "family gifts" were things like Chinese Checkers or Twister. Even though we would painstakingly pick out what we wanted from the Sears Wishbook, we knew odds were pretty good that we would get only one of those items, some other cheaper toys, and a lot of clothes. Funny though, I can't remember being disappointed. What I do remember is the year that we were totally surprised by brand new sleds outside the front door. Or the year that my brother gave me his favorite silver toy van, wrapped in a saltine box - it felt more like winning the lottery.

Of course, Christmas day always included the traditional game of Monopoly; or whatever new game may have come our way. This tradition still holds true at any family gathering - we simply must play at least one round of Monopoly - on the same board that is riddled with chicken grease, markers, pizza sauce, hot chocolate stains, and God only knows what else. Yes, God only knows what else... I have a feeling He's big on nostalgia too. Mom always said she felt bad about our Christmases growing up, but I can't seem to remember why she would.

Week 15 - Journal 3

2004-12-10T18:47:00.000-05:00

My Christmas Wish List...

Lose 30 pounds.
Okay, 20 pounds is acceptable.
A treadmill for above reasons.
To feel better physically (see #1-#3).
To spend more quality time with the kids (laying on the couch is not considered "quality").
To fall in love with my husband all over again.
To win an arguement now and then.
Maybe some anger managment classes.
To graduate - clearly this belongs on next year's list, but it is a "wish" list.
Since this is a wish list, I'll take a personal chef and trainer to help with #1 - #4 too.
Better throw in a lawyer... for my defense when I kill the personal trainer for ticking me off.
To be efficient, organized, and on time.
A laptop (for some reason I think this would help with #12)
A new wardrobe. If the wish list fails, I'll need the next size up.
To get out of debt (so, theoretically, that scratches #3, #8, #10, #11, #13, and #14).
A perfect job that I'm absolutely crazy about.
Okay, a job that I like and will pay well enough to help with #15.
Happiness and Security.
Contentment.
To love myself.

Week 15 - Journal 2

2004-12-09T21:32:00.000-05:00

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas.... Okay, getting in the mood for holiday cheer hasn't come as easy this year, but I'm getting there. I'm guessing it's called burn-out.... If...I ... Can... Just ...Make...It.... One...... More.....W...E...E...K. One of the kids Christmas presents came today (with a scolding from the UPS lady for shopping online again - is it a bad sign when you feel the urge to give the UPS driver a sympathy card for making them drive up this cussed hill every week?) nay, we must pay for a couple of weeks salary in the long run. Anyways, the present. She's going to love it - and what a bargain - go mom, go mom, shop Amazon! Yeah, that holiday cheer is creeping up on me; can't wait to see the kids faces on Christmas morning! I guess I'm the one who drives me crazy thinking about how much to get, or how much I want to get and can't -whodathunkit? Hmmm, exactly who commercializes it? I mean really... I know the kids are going to be crazy about what we've gotten them (of course, then in like fashion they will drive me crazy with what we've gotten them.) Oh well, my vacuum cleaner will eat quite well for the first few weeks after Christmas. Between four of the gifts I have so far for the kids there is an accumulated total of approximately 210+ small, kill your bare feet in the middle of the pitch black dark night, pieces - and that's not including the 1000 piece bucket of legos I haven't got yet. Go mom, go mom....

Week 15 - Journal 1

2004-12-08T21:44:00.000-05:00

'Tis the season to be jolly..... fa la la la la, la la la la. Yeah, right. How did a season that is supposed to be a celebration of the birth of Christ turn into the most demanding, frustrating, commercialized holiday out there? Every year I say, "Now Self, your not going to blow a bunch of money on things the kids don't really need. Self, just pick out a few toys that they really want and stick to it. Self, put that credit card away. Self!" Before I know it I've purchased twice as much as I should have, and spent three times as much! I blew $150 last weekend, and have 3 toys to show for it. I'm not even sure where all the money went -but it ain't in my pocket anymore. Of course, this year we've hit an all time low - my in-laws picked up some Gameboys for the kids (per our request), and we still have to pay them for those too! Arrrrggghhhh! I've got to draw the line, I've got to be strong, I've got to stop spending money I don't have. All this in the name of what? Is this what Jesus' birthday has come down to? Stop the insanity!

Week 14 Theme

2004-12-04T10:16:00.000-05:00

Dear Josie;
I hate my life! My parents won't let me do anything. They're always asking me where I'm going, who I'm going with, and when I'll be back. I'm so sick of it! They say they trust me but they won't get off my case. Supposedly I'm "old enough to make my own decisions" (their words), but when it comes right down to it they always raise their eyebrows and guilt me into making the decision they would have. Like a few weeks ago; a bunch of my friends were having a party over the weekend. I was upfront with my parents and told them that I knew there wouldn't be any parents there (big mistake!), and that I was not going to drink, so I really wanted to go. I always missed out on these things because I usually was working - I had that weekend off. (So you see, I'm responsible enough to work, pay for my gas and insurance, etc.) Anyways, that's when they pulled out the, "Well, I don't think it's a good idea...but I guess the decision is yours" crap, and raised their eyebrows expectantly at me. Of course, they know I don't want to let them down, so I always fold and do what they consider to be "the right thing". It just stinks! What do I have to do to make my parents see that I am mature enough to handle these decisions on my own?
Sign me
Ready to Make My Own Decisions.

Dear Ready to Make My Own Decisions;
You asked me what you need to do to make your parents see that you're mature enough to handle decisions on your own? Simple - move out. Since your all grown up now and are ready to face the crap the world throws at you, then do it. Get your own place. Pay your own rent. Buy your own groceries. Heat your own house. Pay your own electric bill. Take care of your own phone bill. Buy all your own clothes and other necessities. Make your own decisions. Don't like the sound of all that responsibility? Then stay where you are and trust your parent's judgment. From your letter it sounds like they've done a pretty damn good job of raising you so far. Your responsible, you work, your honest, and like it or not, you care what your parents think. That's saying something not only about your character, but the character of your parents. It sounds like your whining because your parents don't give you open permission to party with your friends (and probably other events that could be considered questionable). Why, I bet you even have a curfew! I'm sure you've heard this before; but has it occurred to you that your parents care about you, that they care what happens to you? You might not have planned on drinking at that party, but all it takes is one or two drinks to impair your good judgment. Your parents trust your judgment and do ultimately leave the decision up to you - your just ticked off because they're usually right on the nose! My advice to you is relax; someday you'll see the wisdom of your parent's advice (like when your my age and have kids of your own). They're trying to do their job and watch out for you the best they can. Don't stop being the responsible and honest person they've raised you to be. And please don't stop caring what they think.
Josie

Week Thirteen Theme

2004-11-26T09:22:00.000-05:00

"What's that scar on your hand from?"

When she glances down at her knuckle, the lights fade around her; spotlight up, and the back drop is lit with a screen of butterflies in a meadow.

Thoughfully rubbing the spot on her knuckle she takes on a distant look, and a michievious grin.
"Oh, I was trying to save the world, one butterfly at a time. It was your uncle's 7th birthday, and your grandparents had decided that he was mature enough to handle a pump-action bb gun."

"What's a pump-action bb gun? Does it take batteries? How many?"

Laughing, "No no, no batteries. It was a bb gun that you would pump the handle on to make the bb come out faster. The more air you pumped into it, the faster and harder the little bb came out of the gun."

"Cool! Can I have one? Pleassssseeeee?"

"No, I don't think so - not yet. ("Awwwhhhhh....") So, anyways, your uncle was all gung-ho about using it, he was running all over the yard shooting at anything and everything. He even tried to hit the antenna on the roof; missed though - he wasn't that good. Nanie had told him before we went out that he had "better not even think about shooting at her song birds, or he'd lose it on the first day". Unfortunatley, that left other flying things up for grabs."

"Butterflies?"
"Yup."
"I know where butterflies come from... they come from a can-cune!"
"A cocoon. ("Yeah, that.") So, like you guessed, your uncle decided butterflies would make good target practice. I figured he was such a bad shot that there was no way he'd beable to hit one of 'em flying around."

"They fly really fast, don't they? They go like this" (demonstates with arms out wide, swooping around the room, making airplane noises).
"Uh-hu. But then he found one soaking up the sun on a flower. It must have been sleeping or something 'cause it didn't fly away when he held the barrell up to it. I just couldn't stand the idea of him blowing that poor little butterfly to smitherines."

"Cool!"
"No, not cool. So, without thinking too much about it, I stuck my hand over the butterfly just before he pulled the trigger."

"Ooohhh... that wasn't very smart."
"No kidding. Needless to say, he pulled the trigger and my hand didn't move in time. Boy, you should have seen the look on his face!"
"I bet he got in BIG trouble!"
"He sure did, lost his gun the first day he had it. Of course, I got in trouble too for getting in the way. I didn't lose anything, but I've got this scar."

"Yeah, now when you look at your hand you can remember that you shouldn't get in uncle's way when he has a gun, cause he's not a very good shot."

Week Twelve - Generic #2

2004-11-21T18:06:00.000-05:00

TOP 10 SIGNALS WOMEN SEND: AN INTERPRETIVE GUIDE FOR MEN

#10 A SIGH - Used as a first resort to signal that something is amiss; this could range anywhere from a bad hair day to "I think he forgot my birthday". A peck on the cheek is inorder, as well as a mental rundown of dates just to be sure.

#9 A SIGH, FOLLOWED BY "WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR SUPPER?" - this is an inadvertent request to eat out tonight, order take in, or at least get some help with the process.

#8 AFTER A MEAL - "DID YOU LIKE IT?" - more than likely tonight's meal was an attempt at a new recipe that probably took a minimum of 1 hour to prepare - answer carefully... comments to avoid are "ehhhh...", "okay", "different", and "I ate it didn't I?".

#7 QUESTIONS SUCH AS "DOES THIS LOOK OKAY?" - insecurity alert! Proper responses include "Is that new?", "Wow!", "Looks great!". Caution: stay away from "Have you lost weight?" unless you are sure there has been an attempt made; otherwise this will backfire with a retort such as "Why? Do I need to lose weight?"

#6 "THE LOOK" - a nonverbal warning signal - generally more serious than the sigh, and used in instances where a line has either been crossed or is getting pretty close. The improper response is to raise the eyebrows and say "What?"

#5 THE TERM "WHATEVER" IS USED TO END A CONVERSATION - "whatever" is secret code for "You're a moron and there's no sense in continuing this conversation with a moron."

#4 A CONVERSATION THAT WAS ENDED WITH "WHATEVER" IS FOLLOWED BY A CLEANING FURY - although this may appear as harmless, take heed: cleaning furies are a woman's stewing time; she chews, chomps, and stews over the aforementioned conversation with the moron. It's generally best to leave the site for awhile - perhaps to get flowers.

#3 AN OBVIOUS SULLEN MOOD COMBINED WITH THE RESPONSE "NOTHING" WHEN ASKED WHAT'S WRONG - something is wrong! Unless you are very confident that it's okay to leave a "nothing" alone, this response must be followed up by personal attention and a listening ear. Sit, ask again, and shut up.

#2 PRIOR TO CLIMBING INTO BED AN EXHAUSTED "I'M SOOO TIRED" IS ANNOUNCED - this actually means what it says, "I'm sooo tired.", which also means "Not tonight."

#1 THE CLASSIC "I HAVE A HEADACHE" AFTER CLIMBING INTO BED - chances are you missed many signals today; a review is in order. Also, chances are that tonight you will have plenty of "reflective" time to think about those signals.

Week Twelve - Attempt # 1

2004-11-18T14:33:00.000-05:00

"Can I come?"
"No, just stay here - I'll be in and out in 5 minutes by myself!"
"Awwwhhhhhh......." door slams.

Fifteen other doors have simultaneously slammed in the faces of bickering, squabbling, dirty faced little heathens as mothers decidedly leave them behind with dad in the car; while she just runs into the grocery store for 5 minutes.

She runs the list over and over in her head, "Canned milk, butter, peanut butter, bread... canned milk, butter, peanut butter, bread....canned milk, peanut butter, bread... wait, thats not right... canned milk, peanut butter, bread.... awh crap, what was the other thing?"

Aisle 2, 1 minute 28 seconds... canned milk.
Aisle 3, 1 minute 56 seconds... peanut butter.
Aisle 7, 2 minutes, 13 seconds... bread...wheat bread.
Aisle 8, 3 minutes, 8 seconds... chips, soda, wheat thins.
Better go get a cart. 4 minutes, 24 seconds...
Aisle 7, 5 minutes, 11 seconds... who is she kidding? White bread.
Aisle 9, 5 minutes, 49 seconds... Jane Johnson.
Aisle 10, 16 minutes, 3 seconds... now what was that other thing?
Aisle 10, 17 minutes, 5 seconds... Jane again.
Aisle 10, 20 minutes, 38 seconds... guess it wasn't that important.

The checkout lines are crazy... all those other mothers who were in the store for only five minutes are trying to leave at the same time. She spots Jane in Checkout #4... might as well make the best of the wait. 22 minutes, 15 seconds. Jane unloads her cart... Jane has butter. "Butter!" she exclaims like a child on Christmas morning. Fifteen other mothers turn their heads at her exclamation and lend a knowing knod... been there, done that. Backing the cart up, "Excuse me... sorry." 25 minutes, 18 seconds. Aisle 10, butter, eggs, and milk. Checkout #3, 28 minutes, 32 seconds. Finally through the Checkout, 36 minutes, 19 seconds. Mother returns to the car, only to find dad standing outside it. His eyebrows are raised, "5 minutes?"

Week Eleven Theme

2004-11-13T14:47:00.000-05:00

My father stands 5'10". He's a salty man, a man of strong opinion. His saltiness is rivaled only by the stench of whiskey mixed with pipe tobacco. Years of pity and hatred have eroded away at his heart; I am quite certain that therein now lies what one could only consider the likeness of a prune. There was a time... yes, there was a time when a glimmer of mischief in his eye told you something was meant to be kept a secret. A time when all that was wrong with the world could be fixed by a tussle of the hair and a silent wink. Now, those same eyes lay glazed over; sedated and numbed by the effects of his good friend Mr. Daniels. Sadness filled the place where my father once dwelled; and I walked on.

My father never meant me any harm; his good judgment was masked by two sheets in the wind. Some time later he reconciled himself of all wrong done; but is it possible to apologize for that which one does not recall? Nevertheless, my heart filled with adoration for him and time healed old wounds. He became a man of wisdom, a confidant I could count on in times of confusion and doubt. His embrace smelt of cedar; his presence brought comfort. Then one day he was gone; snatched from us unaware. We were blind-sided by the very thing we knew was coming. Reconciliation lay buried at the top of the hill; and I walked on.

My father stands at a distance and holds out his arms to me. He wants me to come to him, to trust him, to believe in him. He calls himself my father based on the assumption that I know what that means. At times I weep and succumb; finding myself too weak to withstand his love. Other times I recoil in anger and disbelief; my devotion should be based on what? His patience waits out my childish fits. Steadfast and unchanging; his qualities appear too good to be true. Should I trust, or should I bolt the door to keep out the unknown? Skittish and guarded; I must make a decision... hold fast or walk on.

Week Ten - Take Two - still needs tweekin'

2004-11-06T22:27:00.000-05:00

Wipe away the tears little one,
life has just begun.
Silver spoon and golden goblet have you not,
cause what you've got is what you've got.
Ain't nobody gonna feel sorry for you,
nobody's gonna make it right.
They'll look on you with pity,
then rest their heads at night.
Standin' on the outside,
always lookin' in.
When you gonna figure out
the rich will always think they win?
Odd man out, Old Mother Hubbard,
that's the story of your life.
The pie's all gone,
looks like you missed your slice.
You've heard the saying,
"The clothes make the man."
Well what's that make you
when all you've got is second-hand?
Used up, broken, and tossed out;
that's what this world will do to ya.
Better put your hopes in a Heaven,
cause here it may only be Hell.
Ain't trying to be all down,
just puttin' it like it is.
Sometimes life bites,
so go on and bite back!
If I've made you mad enough,
then stand up and fight the fight!
Remember where you came from,
then find out where your headed.
Make a bridge from there to here,
and build it for yourself.
If there's one thing I've learned in life,
nothing worth having is free.
So pick up your chin,
put your face to the sun.
Nobody else is your answer,
you are the only one.
Skid Row, Park Avenue -
its all just dirt to me.
Its not where you come from baby,
its where you want to be!
So wipe away those tears,
let the past stay in the past.
You can make your own future,
you can write your own destiny!

Week Ten, theme "Wipe Away the Tears"

2004-11-02T13:27:00.000-05:00

Wipe away the tears little one,
life has just begun.
Silver spoon and golden goblet have you not,
cause what you've got is what you've got.
Ain't nobody gonna feel sorry for you,
nobody's gonna make it right.
They'll look on you with pity,
then rest their heads at night.
Standin' on the outside,
always lookin' in.
When you gonna figure out
the rich will always think they win?
Odd man out, Old Mother Hubbard,
that's the story of your life.
Ain't no sense in trying to trick fate,
the only one who gets fooled is you.
You've heard the saying,
"The clothes make the man."
Well what's that make you
when all you've got is second-hand?
Used up, broken, and tossed out;
that's what this world will do to ya.
Better put your hopes in a Heaven,
cause here it may only be Hell.
Ain't trying to be all down,
just puttin' it like it is,
sayin' what I mean, and meanin' what I say.
Sometimes life bites,
so go on and bite back!
If I've made you mad enough,
then stand up and fight the fight!
Remember where you came from,
then find out where your headed.
Make a bridge from there to here,
and build it for yourself.
If there's one thing I've learned in life,
nothing worth having is free.
The world will tell you,
"Take what you can get!"
Is that they way you want to live?
Haven't you seen enough of that yet?
Pick up your chin, put your face to the sun.
Your life can be what you make of it,
don't let them tell you different.
Did you get the message?
It doesn't have to be this way.
You are who you decide to be -
not who they say you are!
Skid Row, Park Avenue -
its all just dirt to me.
Its not where you come from baby,
its where you want to be!
So wipe away those tears,
let the past stay in the past.
You can make your own future,
you can write your own destiny!

Week Nine Theme

2004-10-31T18:42:00.000-05:00

Hello stranger,
Its been seven years since I've seen you last,
And twelve before that.
I just wanted you to know that I still think of you now and then.
I remember when I was little I thought you were the greatest,
I believed everything you told me.
Like when you told me you would buy me a pony if I came to live with you.
And I can still hear you singing to me...
"Can you tell me how to get, how to get to Little Miss Bee-food's Street?"
Little Miss Bee-food... ya know, I had forgotten about that until now.
I loved it when you called me that, it was our own special name.
It made me feel special, unique... at least you had time for me when I was little.
I guess you figured as I got older I didn't need you as much.
Or maybe you were afraid you didn't know what to say to me.
It would have been nice to hear from you more often.
I remember the birthday card I got from you when I had to stay at someone else's house.
That was a shining moment for me...
I hid the money you sent because I was afraid they would make me share it with their kids.
Thanks for the birthday card.
But then time went by... a lot of time.
Graduation, marriage, kids... and just every day life passed by.
Just because I got older didn't mean I didn't want to hear from you.
Would it have been so hard to write a note now and then?
After awhile I just stopped writing.
You should have noticed I wasn't writing anymore.
Why didn't you start writing then?
At least for a long time you sent Christmas cards, but now even those have stopped.
The last one you sent was two years ago...
I think it said, "Things are going good, weather is cooperating. Have some work. Take care."
I cried the day I opened that card.
But I still put it up on the wall. I have an old picture of you on the wall too.
Last Christmas you didn't even bother to send a note, not even a card.
Someone said you probably figured we were better off without you.
Shouldn't you ask us that?
Someone else said that you thought I was embarrassed by you.
Wow, I got a good guilt trip out of that.
It took awhile for that to sink in, then I got mad.
Embarrassed? Only by the fact that you have written us off.
I can't take responsibility for your choices, I've been down that road too many times.
But I can take responsibility for my actions.
I refuse to let guilt, anger, self-pity, and doubt consume me.
So, I am here if you want to write.
If not, that's up to you.
Just know that I love you.
No matter what the past, present, or future, that will always be true.
I may not believe everything you say now, but it would still be nice to hear you say something.
Love Always,
Little Miss Bee-food.

Week Eight, Theme

2004-10-23T10:33:00.000-04:00

To live a life of meaning requires realizing that one day you will die. I don't know who said that, but I know I've heard it (or something pretty close to it) before. There are two ways that can be intrepretted: realizing that one day you will die causes you to live for the moment. to live for yourself and what you have to gain; or realizing that one day you will die causes you to live in a way that those you leave behind will be better off for having known you. I choose the latter.

The older I get the more I realize that life is not about what you have and what you don't have. All this crap that we spend all of our lives trying to accumulate is not going anywhere with us the day we draw our last breath. It is far more important that those I leave behind remember me for the value I added to their lives, not for how many toys, cars, or pairs of diamond earrings I owned.

I remember looking at pictures in a Sociology book that was addressing the different status' that people hold in life. One photo showed a family all spread out, sitting in a stately looking room; fine furnishings, oriental rugs, huge fire place... all the luxeries life could afford. The other showed a family of four standing closely together outside; their clothes showed tell tale signs of wear, the man was unshaven, the kids' hair was unruley, and the mother looked somewhat frazzled and worn. But the actual things in the photos are not what I remember most. The "rich" people were all spread out and had stoney, posed smiles on their faces. The "poor" people? They were standing so close together there was barely a glimpse of light between them, and everyone of them had a huge grin on their face... especially the kids. The difference in their composure speaks volumes to what makes a life meaningful. Its people, not things!

Yeah, things are great, we have lots of things... okay, way more than we need. But I'd rather have the time to go outside and rake leaves to jump in, or play tackle football... than spend time worrying about payments and getting expensive toys fixed. The catch about having things is the more we accumulate, the more we want; but the more we have, the less time we have. Having a dishwasher is great - but there's something to be said for taking the time to wash dishes by hand (yes, even though we have a dishwasher) with my daughter. Why? Because we spend time close to each other, we bump elbows, and we talk. We talk about school, we talk about how her feelings were hurt when her friend said something mean, we talk about how goofy the dog looks when she sleeps upsidedown. We just talk. I can't talk to a dishwasher... except to curse it out when it didn't get all the mashed potatoes off last nights plates.

"They" say it's quality time, not quantity that counts. Well, I say "Why not both?" Day before yesterday we made an apple pie together. The crust came out horrible, tough as leather. Sure, a store bought pie would have tasted a lot better... and made a lot less mess in the kitchen... but what's really important? I know the answer. And yesterday we planted tulips out back along the edge of the woods. It took about an hour... I could have done it in a half hour by myself, but my son helped count out the bulbs and decide where they went. An hour of time to talk about whatever. Honestly, I can't remember everything we talked about, but I do remember the funniest thing. After we had about 10 bulbs in the ground, he confessed "Mumma - I thought you was going to plant light bulbs in the ground and then hook them up to a switch so you could turn them on at night... that's why I came out to help." Well, even though we weren't planting light bulbs he stayed and helped... and we talked some more.

Talking to them, that's what's important. Not yelling, not doing for them, not even giving them everything they want. They'll remember our talks. They'll remember mumma had time.

Week Seven (theme)

2004-10-16T08:59:00.000-04:00

There is a mysterious phenomena at my house. It goes something like this...
Sometime between when something is left out, dropped, or unattended and the next day, the item in question manages to find its way to the correct spot. Ask any of the other three members of the household and they will attest to these miraculous events. The children are the ones who appear to be most blessed with this invisible helper... wrappers get into the garbage can on their own, toys somehow walk back to the toybox from whence they came, cereal boxes make the lofty jump to the top shelf. But they are not the only beneficiaries of the do-good spirit that resides in our humble abode. The elder of the family is also blessed in like manner with an aura that cleans up around him. Laundry appears capable of putting itself through the cylce, folding and returning to the shelves on its own accord. The dinner table is not only able to set itself, but is also somehow equipped to clear itself too. Perhaps the greatest miracle that has been witnessed on a regular basis is the toilet paper rolls profound ability to know when it is in need of being changed! The peculiar thing is, I seem to be the only one here who does not have the power to perform these miracles by simply leaving a room... go figure.

Week Six (theme)

2004-10-08T13:25:00.000-04:00

The room was growing colder by the minute, but she didn't want to get up and leave her side. Stretching across the floor she grabbed a worn afgan from the seat of a chair. She knew it was only a matter of time now before it was over. The dog's breathing was becoming raspy and short, as if each breath shook her insides and each exhale hoped to be the last. It was earily quiet; the place couldn't have felt more lonely at that moment. This dog had been her one last connection to a husband who had been gone for three years now; what was it going to be like without that last link? She rested her hand on the old black lab's head and spoke softly, "It ain't gonna be the same around here with out ya Min... don't know what I'll do... I'm so sorry for the times I hollared at ya and told ya to go lay down... wish we had gone for more walks... I know you and Dad loved walkin down by the river... you loved the water... I'll find ya a nice restin' spot, I promise..." Silence settled in around them; the only sound was that of the wall clock counting off the seconds of life as they passed, tick, tick, ...tick. Old Min's breathing had slowed to a shallow, steady pace. For a hopeful moment she thought perhaps the dog would pull through and everything around her would remain as it had been. That things could continue in some form of the life she had accepted as normal; that was her fleeting wish. There was so much she couldn't control, couldn't line up neatly like the canisters on the counter that stayed the way they were supposed to. Why was it that just when you started to feel like you were getting it back together, that things were back on track and organized again; that life refuses to cooperate? Min let out a low whine. "So sorry old girl, wish there was something I could do." Quietly she began to humm Dad's favorite hymn, The Old Rugged Cross. The clock announced the change of the hour... dong, dong, dong, dong... 4 o'clock in the morning... the sun would be coming up soon she thought, as she lifted her eyes to the window. She could draw the view outside that window from memory; the gentle slope that leads to the water, every tree in its spot, the way the river curves just so beyond the huge oak. Even though the sun would soon signal the beginning of a new day, it wasn't a day to look forward to. Inevitably there would be the task of laying old Min to rest... perhaps down by that huge oak. Patting Min's ears, she tried to straighten out her leg - it had long ago fallen asleep pinned under the big black dog's head. "Awh Min, ya still manage to get the best of me... couldn't you've at least chosen to lay in front of the fireplace tonight instead of on this hard, cold floor?" she chuckled at the thought of Min finding a way to get at her like in her mischievous puppy days. The clock continued to tick; the sun peeked through the window, brightening the dark panelled walls. Min's body was beginning to shake, even though rays of warmth were now reaching for it. The coffee pot gave its recognizable click and started its days work; without taking her eyes off Min she knew it was 5:30. Tick, tick, ...tick. A new day was dawning, but it would dawn without Min; her long black body shuddered as she drew her last breath and let it out with a sigh. Visions of Min running to meet her master played in her mind as she planted a kiss on the old dog's head; after all, only God knows. Slowly she slid the blanket from her shoulders and over her faithful companions still body. Begrudgingly one leg cooperated to get her up off the floor; the other would take awhile to thaw. Wincing at the tingling that was making its way up her leg, she shuffled over to the counter for support. The cold water on her face mingled with salty tears and washed away the tell-tale signs of sleeplessness. Pulling a tattered towel from the drawer, she looked out the window. There stood the huge oak; strong and reliable. It would make a fitting resting spot for a strong and reliable companion.

Mr. Logic

2004-10-07T19:25:00.000-04:00

It was relatively quiet in the house... Dad had gone outside with the kids to do some yard work while Mom sat in the "blue monster" recliner in the living room, doing some last minute cramming for class that night. Their voices carried in through the kitchen screen door.

"Hey! Get up off the grass! Those are good pants you have on!"

(uh-oh, Mom didn't bother to have the kids change after school and now there was going to be "issues" over the matter)

"Jus! Get up! Your going to ruin your pants! You can't crawl around on the ground like that with your school clothes on!"

"But I'm just looking in the grass."

Mom is beginning to feel a little guilty now for not bothering with the clothes change routine. She chimes in from the comfort of the blue monster...
"I thought he was just going out to swing, or I would have had him change..." (Yeah, sure... cause all 5 year old boys "just go out to swing" and would never dream of doing anything else to soil their clothes - a little reality check is in order here Mom.)

Thirty seconds later apparently he is down on the ground again, rolling around in the grass like a dog who has found something very odorous to investigate...

"Alright, that's it! If you can't listen then go change your clothes!"

"Nooooo (whine), I just want to look at the grass..."

"Either go inside and change or stay off the ground!"

(silence for 10 seconds)

"Daddy? How can I walk if I have to stay off the ground?"

Mom bursts out laughing from the living room... ahhh yes, little Mr. Logic wins the battle again.

Week Five, THEME

2004-10-04T08:30:00.000-04:00

I loved Christmas time when I was a kid; we were dirt poor, but it was still the greatest time of year. I made that my first statement because by the time you reach the end of this, you may think I feel otherwise. We had a great time growing up during the holidays; a real tree, a star made out of aluminum foil perched atop, giving homemade gifts, making candy cane shaped and "thumb-print" cookies.... I can almost smell the cookies and the tree now. But boy, is Christmas past different from what we consider a normal Christmas now. Oh, all the sentiments are the same... a wonderful time of year to all be together and celebrate the season... but let's take a moment and put all the sentiments aside; after all, the true meaning of Christmas hasn't changed for a couple thousand years. What has changed is how its celebrated with our kids today. Every good little boy and girl knows that Christmas is Jesus' birthday; I knew it growing up, and my kids do too (despite how I am about to make them sound). So what's different? We believed in Santa Claus, they do not. Getting into our Christmas stockings was as good as getting away with something; they could care less. We didn't have a lot of money growing up, therefore not a lot of expensive gifts; we still don't have a lot of money now, yet they still get a lot of expensive gifts (and we get the bills). I'm really starting to feel nostalgic for the good old days...

Santa Claus was real to me when I was a kid. I mean, I swear I saw Rudolph's nose guiding the sleigh one Christmas Eve when I was six years old! I even rubbed my eyes and watched to see if it blinked like an airplane light or not. If you had asked me at that moment in time if Santa was real or not, I would have bet my brother's life on it (hey, I was a believer, but I wasn't stupid!). Growing up it was a big deal to tell Santa what you wanted for Christmas; he even made guest appearances at our chruch parties! Now, how do my kids feel about old Saint Nick? I'm quite sure they were both born skeptics, because I can't remember a time when they ever said that Santa was real. As a matter of fact, at the ripe old age of 4 my daughter would share with other kids that Santa Claus was not real. What' s her explanation? She tells the truth (who is this kid?), Santa was real a long time ago, but he died. And all those other guys you see around at Christmas time in big fat red suits? We called them Santa's helpers - she calls them fakes. Of course, her skepticism has ruined any hopes of winning her brother over to the cause of Claus. So who fills those stockings at night? With a twinkle in her eye she'll tell you without a doubt, "Mumma does of course!".

Christmas stockings hung on the stair railing were the greatest thing to dump out at 5:00 in the morning. It was the house rule; we could get into our stockings as soon as we got up - no waiting for Mom and Dad to get out of bed! What a treat! Of course, it was always stuffed with the same items from year to year, except for the occassional change in candy. We got an orange, some nuts, a "book of lifesavers", bubblegum, a toothbrush, and loose, unwrapped generic hard candy (which consequently would be covered in stocking fuzz because it was not wrapped). It might have been the same old stuff every year, but we loved it! We would dump them out, separate the goodies, and then the bartering would begin. "Who wants grape bubblegum? Anyone want to trade their orange for my walnuts? I hate cherry lifesavers! Trade ya for your butterrum." I was so happy to pass on this tradition of letting my kids get into their stockings before we got up; to me it was a win-win situation. Well... surprise! It does not work at all the way I had imagined. The kids still come down to our room bright and early wanting us to get up and open presents. When I come upstairs, there hang the stockings; lonely and virtually untouched by little hands. "How come you didn't get your stockings down?" I inquire. "We didn't want to," they matter of factly reply, "we want the presents!". There goes one tradition down the tubes. The real stickler is that I don't even fill them with the same stuff we used to get; I put the goods in them! We're talking little toys, gift certificates to McD's, video passes, wrapped candy, and yes, bubblegum and tooth brushes (they just go hand in hand, don't they?). It's all in vain... I think this year they'll get oranges, nuts, and fuzzy candy. They could care less about the stockings, which generally hang there until the presents are open. Did somebody say presents?

First of all, I feel it is only fair to take a moment and mention that my parents had to buy for five children for Christmas; lest they should come out looking like Mr. Scrooge. We each got one "big" gift, which by definition had to be under $20, and "family gifts" were things like Chinese Checkers or Twister. Even though we would each painstakingly pick out what we wanted from the Sears Wishbook for Christmas, we knew that odds were pretty good that we would get only one of those items (possibly two on a good year), some other toys, and a lot of clothes. Oh, and gifts from Grandparents: I do remember the year my sister and I got matching rainbow colored stretchy belts from Gram and Gramp... those were nice... Now, skip ahead to the present and this is what you'll find: my beloved little offspring think that putting a sticker on a desired toy in the Toys R Us catalog automatically secures that item for them, no ifs, ands or buts about it, it's as good as theirs. My children define the "one big gift" theory as follows: it is one huge, monstrously enormous gift that takes up half of the living area in our house (obviously I have a problem with this theory, as does my wallet). Money is, of course, no object to them. Today "family gifts" are big-ticket items like a new TV for the living room or a PS2 system (with games of course). As far as gifts from Grandparents go, these kids make out like bandits! Not only do they get practically a new wardrobe every Christmas from their Grandparents, they also get savings bonds and four or five well-chosen toys! Between home, Grandparents, and other family, my kids get nearly everything they wanted for Christmas, and then some.

Now that it's all out in the open, written in black and white, we come out looking extremely materialistic here in the present; or at the very best it seems I have spoiled rotten children. I would like to argue that point, but it appears I have no ammunition. The only thing I can say is that they do not get everything they want; if they did our house would look like a toy tornado touched down. The sentiments are all the same (believe it or not), from the past to the present. Perhaps the only thing that has changed is that I have grown up and now live vicariously through my children's Christmas. Well, that and my daughter has managed to kill off any hopes I had left that maybe... just maybe, Santa Claus is real.

Week Four, THEME

2004-09-26T21:14:00.000-04:00

The apple of my eye. I can't say that he's my favorite; after all, they teach you in parenting school that you don't have "favorites", you simply love them each in their own way. So, why write about the boy and not the girl? She is my mini-me, my innermost conscience in a smaller replica. He's everything that I am not.

He is true to himself. He knows who he is and what he wants. If someone tries to convince him otherwise, he doesn't have a problem stamping his foot down and putting them in their place. Sometimes he might even use that foot to do the "puttin' into place". There's times I'd like to do that to some people...but wouldn't.

When he's had enough of the world, he shuts it out. Even when there's a crowd around him, he doesn't mind being alone. He has the most amazing ability to withdraw from everything going on around him and focus intently on what he's doing. Of course, there are times that can be a problem; like when I've had to say his name three times before he even hears me.

He's curious. And he acts on that curiousity. Sometimes his curiosity gets him into trouble; like the time he tried to see if a whole roll of toilet paper would fit down the flush. When interrogated as to why he would do such a thing, his response was simply, "To see if it would fit."

He has an opinion about everything... okay, I do too... but he shares it. If he thinks you did something stupid, he'll tell you. If you smell a little funky, he'll tell you. This is the kid who sat by his Sunday school teacher, miticulously poked at her side, then turned his round little cheeks to her and informed her, "You've got some fat there."

He's not afraid to admit that he's afraid. No matter how many times I've assured him (and even gotten to the point of scolding him) that there is nothing in his closet, he's still afraid, and he tells me... generally at 1 or 2 o'clock in the morning....
"Mumma?"
"Hmmphguh?"
"I'm scared..."
(sigh)
"Mumma?"
"Whhhhaaaaatttt?" (did I mention I'm a big whiny butt at 2 a.m.?)
"I'm scared..."
(rolling out of bed) "C'mon...back to bed...."

He may be afraid, but he'd rather face his fear than hide from it. He insists that his closet door be left open every night so he can see into it.

He'll try anything once, twice if he can get away with it. These scenarios generally start with, "I bet you don't dare to..." and end with the traditional, "What were you thinking?!?!" Examples? Hanging upside down from the top of the swingset, using the wagon as a skateboard on the hill outback, refilling the toothpaste tube with water, eating a ladybug, and let's not forget the toilet paper incident.

He doesn't hold a grudge. He gets mad, let's you know it, and then gets over it. End of story; he doesn't stew over things or drudge up things from the past. He's usually back to lovin' ya within 10 minutes.

He's not a big fan of rules; at least not if he can justify why it shouldn't be a rule...
"I have to run in the house or else my body get's ahead of me."
"I thought the keys on the calculator would look nice if they were black."
"I wrote my name on the house so people would know I live here."
"The frog doesn't want to sleep alone, he gets scared too."
"The dog get's to pee on the trees."

The profound questions he comes up with...
"If it only takes us 10 minutes to get here, then how come it takes us so long to get home? Shouldn't it be the same 'cause it's the same amount of space?"
"How come the moon follows us when were driving, but not when were walking?"
And my favorite...
"Can your body be covered by your shadow?"

I'm not sure where this apple came from; the saying goes the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. His sister and I are two peas in a pod, and the last time I checked, apples don't come from peas... should I give his father the credit? Some maybe, but I'd rather think he's my alter-ego... everything that I am not.

Week Three, THEME

2004-09-18T13:21:00.000-04:00

As I rounded the corner to put the towels away in the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of Justin working away intently at something on his dresser. His attention being focused on something so directly was nothing new, he does it all the time: he has the uncanny ability to shut the door on the outside world when he's busy doing something in his own little world. So, I thought nothing of it as I continued on with my daily chores, buzzing from one room to the next. Put the towels away... ewe! the toilet needs to be scrubbed... grab the trash from the bathroom, pick up some clothes in the hallway...phew, what's that smell?...head back to the kitchen, dishes, counters, floors, more garbage...you get the picture. My "mom sense alarm" didn't go off until I returned to Justin's room a little while later to put some clothes away. There on the floor was hundreds of tiny pebbles strewn about. As my eyes traveled up, I discovered another batch of rocks spread out on his bed... "What the?" came out when my vision settled on an overturned ceramic unicorn, whose bottom was filled with tiny pebbles. My mind quickly scanned over the conversations earlier in the day when the kids came home from school... they had dug holes on the playground... no, that wasn't it... something about putting rocks on the slide... no... ah-ha! Now I remembered! Emily had mentioned that Justin and another kid had been tossing rocks over their shoulders on the bus. I had quickly dismissed her comment; picturing two boys throwing fist size rocks on the bus.... nah, couldn't be. After all, I'm sure the bus driver would have marched him up our driveway by his ear if that were the case... right?

"Justin? What are all these rocks on your floor and bed?"

Silence.

"Justin..."

"I dunno..."

"Yes you do. Where did they come from? Have you been bringing rocks home from the park or the playground?"

Silence again, which is broken by his helpful sister. "I told you him and Hunter were throwing rocks over their seats on the bus."

"Yeah, but I thought you meant big rocks... " (yes, because the size of the rocks makes a difference mom, not the fact that he was throwing stuff on the bus...)

"No, Justin had those little rocks in his pocket."

"Justin? Are you bringing rocks home from the playground in your pocket?"

Silence.

"JUSTIN..."

His voice came slowly and somewhat feeble, "But, I like them."

"But you can't bring them home, and you definately can't throw things on the bus. You'll get kicked off the bus!"

Well, this was great! Third week of school and my kindergarten son was already managing to find ways to get booted from the bus. We had to nip this one in the bud; I had to set a precedent. So, he patiently endured the whole lecture on throwing stuff on the bus, how someone could get hurt, how he wouldn't beable to ride the bus... the whole nine yards. Then of course, he lost Nintendo use for a couple of days (he lives and breaths Nintendo). After that was all said and done, it dawned on me that the stash of pebbles in his room was not the result of a one day project.

"So, have you been bringing home rocks in your pockets all week?"

"I like them..."

"Well, I know you like them, but you can't bring them home."

"Why not?"

(Oh, great... a why not question... quick, think of something mom!) "What if every little boy and girl that went to school brought home a pocket full of rocks every day, then what would happen?"

(silence - he's processing the information) "Then they would be gone?"

Phew, he understood! One point for me! "That's right, and then the playground would get all muddy and the teacher wouldn't let you go outside. So, leave the rocks at school - you cannot bring them home. Understand?"

As I vacummed up the pebbles all over the floor I couldn't help but chuckle. I mean, this kid had been slowly moving the rocks at the playground home, a pocket full at a time! I couldn't help but wonder how much more would he have brought home if I hadn't found them today? Would he have eventually moved his stash to the toy box when the unicorn became too small to hold his booty? It was already nearly full. His father was going to love this one. Now not only did I need to check his pants before he went out the door in the morning (to make sure they weren't backwards), but also needed to check his pockets when he got home. What if he decides he likes the swings and starts bringing them home one link at a time?

Week Two Theme, Unpacking Journal

2004-09-10T19:16:00.000-04:00

Here's what it seems my entries boiled down to:

Being the mom I had hoped I'd be?
I worry about being there when the kids need me, especially Justin. I worry more about him not "needing" me anymore. I remember when Em started school I thought I would have so much quality time with Justin. Then I ended up babysitting, doing all these little projects, doing this and doing that, busy busy busy. Two years ago I thought, "Well, still have 2 years..." - now that time is gone. Always thinking about what I should be doing; guess my concern now is that someday the kids will say, "Yeah, you were there with us, but you weren't there for us." Hmmm... and I talk about Just a lot more than Em...

Waiting for the right thing to happen.
Disappointed I didn't get a job this summer, really thought everything would fall into place now that I wanted it to... how come things never seem to happen when I'm ready for them to? I sound like my mother!

School, school, school.
I like to talk about going to school to get my degree. I like it when people find out that I am going to college - somehow it makes me feel a little more important, special, valuable...(reality check lady... it's not that big of a deal!) I like to use my experience w/school to guide others- not to be a "know-it-all", but its to have some experience and confidence under my belt; and yeah, being able to offer someone who has that glazed "I don't have a clue what I am doing" look on their face makes me feel important, and a little more valuable too. Geez! Apparently I have an ego that lacks something... hmmmm.... what could it be?

Decisions, decisions, decisions...
Of course, I couldn't get off without talking about my deficit in the decision-making area of the brain. I spend way too much time making decisions (again, these are not life-changing decisions... toothpaste?); weighing out options, analyzing and scrutinizing the data... I should learn to make "non-life altering decisions" on my feet and on the go. Boy, don't know if I can do that, I'm more of a "fold the paper in half and write out the pros on one side, the cons on the other" kinda gal... better start small... next time I buy toothpaste I'll just grab one and go...

Week One, Theme (journal 3)

2004-09-03T20:08:00.000-04:00

Had the chance to help someone out today with an assignment, I know it can be overwhelming when starting those first few classes. Things seem so muddy at the beginning of the semester, all the syllabi laid out in front of you with assignments due... one due next week right off the bat (or is it BACK? - hmmm, dunno, never wrote it out before, probably been saying it wrong all my life). At least my first classes I ever took were live and not ITV, that even adds more to the confusion and pressure to "get what everyone else already understands". I like clear, concise, direct, tell me what I need to do, how to do it, how many pages, single or double spaced instructions please... well, after muddling through a few syllabi I figured out that you don't have to figure everything out the first day, it'll all come together.

Thought I'd get my article assignment done today and out of the way.... ha ha ha and double ha ha.... spent a good 3 hours browsing through journal articles unable to make a sound decision on what to choose... problem is every topic I come across I want to know about, so how am I supposed to decide??!!?? Finally decided on doing some pieces on NCLB, which will also double as research for a big project due at end of semester.... crafty? smart move? or just a little lazy? Prefer the second choice, given the magnitude of the whole "No Child Left Behind" can of worms would hardly consider it a lazy move... maybe industrious? Maybe "in over your head you moron and why not pick an easier topic?" Never been known to take the easy way out. Soooo, I have my article printed and neatly stacked, ready to read.... yup, got alot done there... 3 hours... is there therapy for people who have a hard time making a decision? Too many options is my Achille's (I know that's gotta be spelled wrong!) Heel - I marvel at people who walk into the tooth paste aisle, grap a tube, and waltz on their merry way... meanwhile I stand there picking up a tube, actually reading the info on the outside of the box, putting it down, picking out another, and yet another, then doing some cost analysis, comparing unit prices for crying out loud, before I finally put the tube in my cart. And to top that off, it would not be at all unusual for me to swap it for a different tube just as I reach the end of the aisle and round the corner. Yup, therapy.

Stairways

2004-09-02T12:26:00.000-04:00

A one step stairway, unplanned for so the porch became a bedroom.

Sitting on the back steps watching the ducks play in the plastic pond.

Waiting on the front steps for the boys to come home from school.

On the front steps, or on the back ones... anywhere to get away from the yelling.

Chill in the air, on the front steps waiting for that blue pickup to come pick us up with our trash bags full of clothes.

New set of stairs. And another.

Crooked steps, watching 'em play catch.

Cement steps, hard on the bare feet.

Hiding out on the stairway watchin' movies I aint supposed to see.

Sneeking down the stairway to clean out the Christmas stockings. Can't wait.

Riding on an old mattress with my bro down the stairway.

On the back steps with a suitcase.

Sitting on the steps in the middle of the night, mom gets wheeled by, paramedics at her side... sleeping pills.

New set of stairs, temporary.

Cold, hospital steps... don't want to walk on them.

Back to cement steps, love the feeling on my feet.

Posing on the steps with our Zuchinni People.

Smooth, slate steps... new school, new kid.

New brother and sister hanging out on the steps, can hear the fighting still sometimes.

Sitting on the steps crying, don't want to say it, no one would believe it.

New set of stairs, temporary, back home again, things are okay.

Brick steps at highschool; boys, sex, cigarettes, rock-n-roll.

Wooden steps, a whole new start.

How come Lady didn't greet me on the steps today?

Running up the steps to show mom the ring.

Up the steps and into the church.

Our own stairs.

Up and down the stairs everyday, then one day with beloved.

One more stairway, with another beloved.

Sitting on the steps, watching beloved chase bubbles down the walkway.

Icy steps, mom fell.

Last new stairway, let's hope so.

Two sets of brown painted footprints up the steps.

Jumpin' down the steps on the blue beanbag.

Hiding under the steps playing hide-n-seek.

Picture on the steps, beloveds with Zuchinni People.

Makin' new stairways.

Week One, Theme (journal 2)

2004-09-02T08:28:00.000-04:00

Dropping off the kids for school gets easier every year, thought it would be harder this year. I kinda felt guilty that I didn't cry on Just's first day, I was worried about him; things like "what if he doesn't make it to the bathroom ontime, what if someone teases him and he blows up like he will on occassion at home, what if he cries and wants to come home but can't, and mom isn't there to make everything alright"... "what if he doesn't really need me anymore now that he's off to school and so grown up... sigh". Parenting... the best job in the world, but the only job that you begin to work yourself out of on day one...

The day at home was a pretty somber one. Yeah, I got a lot done, but the house was so quiet... and I kept wishing I could just see what the kids were doing without them knowing I was there watching them... I suppose every parent wishes that no matter how old your kids get.

When I went to pick the kids up I was watching Just on the playground- he was just wandering around, watching the other kids play, not a buddy in sight. He looked lonely to me, distant... it was all I could do to not jump out of the truck and go over by the fence to assure him that I was right there, that I was his friend... that sounds so pathetic on my part. I know he will be fine, but its hard to let one era end and another begin. They were both so happy and had had a great day when I picked them up; Just even complained about having too many recesses and that his legs were sooo tired! All that worry over him and he complains he had too many recesses! Thank God he didn't tell me he was scared or bored or lonely... or that he peed in his pants...

Guess I can stop feeling guilty for not feeling guilty.

Week One, Theme (journal 1)

2004-08-31T20:53:00.000-04:00

Hmmm, I was going to do a class post on a prompt but can't seem to get in, gonna have to look into that... so will start my journal instead...

Got everyone ready to head back to school tomorrow, including myself. Still not sure if Justin is "sure" about Kindergarten - no matter I guess, he'll go whether he's thrilled or not. He was a little hesitant the other day at the orientation, usually he's shoving me out the door... hope we can get thru tomorrow without tears (at least until I make it to the door, out of his sight). Yup, just a little separation anxiety on my part... after all, I've been there since day one. I'll get over it, really am excited for him to head off to school, opens up a whole new chapter in my life! Em is excited to head back to school, she was ready a month into summer vacation ("I'mmmm Borrrrrreeeedddddd" to quote her).

Summer flew by for me but that's what happens with summer classes in tow. Gotta just keep pluggin' away at those classes. I wish I had landed a job as an EdTech at EPB before this fall, but believing that there is something out there for me, just a matter of time. Just have to play the waiting game and wait for things to fall into place... at least that's what I keep telling Mom about her trailer selling and getting a new one. "Don't worry... it'll happen... everything will fall into place... you'll find the right one..." Those words are becoming a constant echo in my mind because that is all I've been telling myself the past couple of months as I scour the help wanted ads. I know something will come up when its the right time - and not a moment before then, so why fret over it? I'm glad I at least have a Field Placement II site all set up and ready to go, no scrambling there... "yeah" for me for thinking ahead!

Taking a class online this fall is a whole new experience - I think I'm going to like it. The best thing is that I can do my posting when the kids are either in school or in bed. It's a win-win situation... well, except for the husband who sits upstairs watching t.v. alone (probably not something I want to watch anyways, right?).

Well, dear Journal, hope we get to be good friends again... I haven't journaled in a long time. Bid thee farewell and good night, am sure I'll have some news on the "first day of school" experience tomorrow... till then.

Writer's Autobiography

2004-08-31T10:54:00.000-04:00

Well then, here we go! My first memory of wanting to be a writer (aside from the purple and green crayon scribbles descretely hidden behind a poster in my bedroom until my mother came across them...) goes back to when I was about 7 or so. If I close my eyes I can still see the cover and some of the illustrations for my book: The Greedy Hand - it was about this hand that lived under a stairway and kept taking things from people in the house. A bit morbid for a 7 year old but if memory serves me correctly it was about the same time that I had viewed the movie Poltergeist (without permission of course- our stairway made a great spot to watch t.v. and as long as you sat still and no one got up to go pee the permitted viewers were none the wiser). So, I've always had that "writer's dream" in me, but have never done much about it. I've written a few short (very very short) stories for my kids and put them in binders (home version of publishing); and I've got a ton of scrap paper strewn about the house with little quips, quotes, ideas, and titles written on them just waiting to be given birth to. I'm a Robert McCloskey wannabe, but alas, who has the time? Gotta make the time. People love to read my letters (a little braggy but hey, my family Christmas letter got rave reviews and was even circulated around the nurses station at the hospital gaining prestige for it's wit...); so I would say that letter writing/journaling tend to be my strengths because I feel free to write the way I want to and don't worry about proper usage and punctuation. In depth research papers are a weakness for me because they end up being so starchy and formal... they go blah, blah, blah... yet I always manage to land an A. I'm getting better at putting my voice to my writing instead of making it sound like an ancient textbook full of thees, thous, therefores, and in conclusions. I started to reread a paper I did a year and a half ago and thought "Geez, how did anyone get through this? And did I write it? And, Ohmygosh, my poor husband, I asked him to read it!" Yeah, well, like I said, I started to reread it... didn't say I finished. I'm looking forward to this class because from what I can gather so far I will actually get a chance to be "creative" in a Creative Non-fiction Writing class (go figure!).