CELEBRATE THIS WEEK

Today 

I'm celebrating plans

that I cannot yet see. 

It's been kind of a hard time.

For the past ten years

my life has revolved around my boys.

 Homework. Chauffeuring. Cooking. Laundry.

Sports practices. Games. Tournaments. 

Crazy busy.

But I loved it. 

But now the boys are gone.

And life feels way too empty.

It's not that I'm not busy.

The workload at school is crushing 

I could spend every waking hour

Responding to student writing and entering data

and helping teachers plan.

But I know there has to be more than work

And I'm trying to remember 

what I used to do

and who I used to be

Before I was a mother.

I know it would be easy to jump right in.
Take a class in knitting or water colors.  

Teach Sunday School.
Do volunteer work with Young Life. 

Hook up with an organization that does service or rescue dogs. 

I could pursue an entirely different direction with my career.
I could try online dating
(maybe if I was just a little braver).

I could start over with foster care.

I'm trying though,
not to simply to fill
the empty time and space.

I'm trying to be quiet.

And wait for that still small voice.

Listen for direction.

Follow the path

laid out for me.

And it's really hard
to be still

in this season of quiet. 

Today I'm celebrating Plans

that I cannot yet see.

Ruth Ayres started Celebration Saturdays.
Stop by her blog for more stories and celebrations.

POETRY FRIDAY- A POEM AND A PICTURE BOOK

For the last few weeks, the weather in Colorado has been absolutely glorious- warm, goldredorange trees, blue forever sky-- absolutely perfect. This week, though, it's gotten much, much colder. Earlier in the week we had drizzle and frost, and now wind, so now the trees are pretty much bare. At this time of year, I always think of Robert Frost's "Nothing Gold Can Stay."

"Nothing Gold Can Stay"

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Robert Frost

I love Robert Frost. He's such an icon in American poetry that I kind of assume that he was always that well-loved and successful. There was a time in Frost's early life, though, when he struggled to find his voice, to be accepted, and to get his poetry published. A new picture book, PAPA IS A POET, chronicles that time.

PAPA IS A POET, narrated from the point of view of Frost's oldest daughter Leslie, tells of a time, when Frost "longed to be where he could lose himself among strangers, to write poetry without further shame to friends and family who looked upon him as a disappointing failure." Frost actually moved his family, his wife and four children, to England for two and half years. It was after that time that his poetry started being published in America. 

I love the format of this picture book biography. It reads like a story, but lines from poems, quotes, and other facts about Frost's life are embedded throughout. The end matter contains an author's note about this time, a few photographs of Frost and his family, and more famous quotes. My favorite:

"We go to school to learn what books to read for the rest of our lives."

And then, as if all of that were not enough, there are twelve Robert Frost poems, including Nothing Gold Can Stay, Birches, Mending Wall and The Pasture.

A lovely addition to any poetry library. 

 

SKELETON FOR DINNER- Margery Cuyler

I really want to get back to blogging about books. I'm really trying to get back to blogging about books. And between everything that is going on at school and at home I'm having a hard time.

Today I'm reading aloud SKELETON FOR DINNER. Big Witch and Little Witch are brewing their favorite stew. They decide to have a dinner party and invite Skeleton, Ghost, and Ghoul. Skeleton overhears the witches talking about "Skeleton for dinner," and thinks he is part of the menu.

Really fun word play. Bright fluorescent illustrations.
I think kids are going to love this one!

Review copy provided by publisher.

SLICE OF LIFE

The texts come sometime during the morning.

Three of them. All from Son #2.

"I'm locked out of my car."

"The key's inside."

"Can you send the extra key?"

The extra key happens to be in the side pocket of my purse. It's been there since I drove to Arizona a few weeks ago. I debated leaving it then, but Son #2 is the type of guy who NEVER loses his keys.

And gets annoyed when his mother (regularly) loses her keys.

I didn't think he would need the key and I thought it would be safer with me. 

At lunchtime, I call him.

"How did you lock your keys in the car?"

"My lanyard broke. I didn't know the key wasn't on it."

I try to picture this scenario. Push away other scenarios that might involve illegal or unsafe activities which could also result in keys being left in cars. Decide that since it's 9:00 on Monday morning, the story is possibly (probably?) legit.

"So can you mail the key?"

I sigh. Think about a day that is already going to end after six o'clock. And about the funds (or lack of funds) in my non-existent, end of month, two kids in college bank account. The key is definitely not going express mail this week.

"I can, but it will probably take a few days to get there."

"That's ok. Can you just mail it?"

"Yeah, but it will be later on today. I'm at work."

"That's ok. Just mail it when you can."

The next text comes about three o'clock. I find it when I get done passing out the after school snacks for 75 children

"Have you mailed the key yet?"

"Not yet. I'm still at work."

At 6, I finish my last meeting of the day and dig through my purse to make sure the key is still there. It is and I walk out the back door, lugging my 25 pound computer bag,  with the assistant principal.  It's sleeting, one of those cold November rains that makes me think of chili or chicken noodle soup.

There is another text. I ignore it.

I get halfway to the car before I realize I am holding my son's keys in my hand. The keys that start my car are inside, on my desk, in the basement, inside the school, on the other side of the locked door.

Luckily, Vanessa is more than gracious. She has a key to the building and lets me back in, even waits with my purse and computer bag, while I trudge back downstairs to get my keys.

Fortunately, there is one post office that stays open late, maybe even until ten. And even more fortunately, it's not too far from my house. It's after rush hour, and traffic, which was probably bad earlier has died down.

Braving puddles and driving rain, not to mention a twenty-minute line at the post office,  I mail the key, My stomach growls and I remember that I only had time to eat half of the left over salad I took for lunch.

I call my son. He is in the cafeteria eating dinner.

"I mailed the key. It will be there on Wednesday."

"Ok, thanks. I'm eating so I'll talk to you later." He hangs up.

I get home around 7:30. I am too tired for chili and settle for a Lean Cuisine. (Do all of those taste the same or is it just my imagination?)

About 9:00 the phone rings. Son #2 again.

"I got into the car."

"You did? How?"

A kid on my floor is a locksmith. He has all of his tools at school and he opened it for me."

"A kid on your floor is a locksmith?" This sounds a little unlikely.

"And he has all his tools at school?" A little more unlikely.

"Yeah, and he put this flat thing down the window." There is also an air pump involved in the story. I can't quite picture that. Again, I push away stories of illegal activities.

"The car was dead, but I jumped it and it's all good now."

"The car was dead?"

"Yeah, because the key was in the ignition."

"The key was in the ignition? Was it running?"

"No. It was just in the ignition."

Again, I try hard not to picture all of the reasons the key might have been left in the ignition.

"OK, glad you got it solved. The extra key will be there on Wednesday. Put it somewhere safe, ok?"

"Yeah, I will."

"OK, love you. Good night."

Yep.  Just another day in the life of a long distance mother.

FOURTH DOWN AND INCHES: CONCUSSIONS AND FOOTBALL'S MAKE OR BREAK MOMENT

 My boys love, love, love them some football.

I love watching them and love the joy that it brings them. At the same time, football scares me a lot.

I try hard to be philosophical- football keeps them busy and out of trouble,  they could get hurt walking across the street, if they die they will at least die doing something that they love.

And it's still really hard to watch, knowing the potential for injuries.

I have to tell you that my fears weren't lessened any by reading FOURTH DOWN AND INCHES: CONCUSSIONS AND FOOTBALL'S MAKE-OR-BREAK MOMENT.  This middle grade chapter book is chock full of information about concussions, and it's so, so scary to me as a mom. Author Carla Killough McClafferty has compiled a whooooole bunch of information, from a variety of sources, including doctors and professional football players, and most of it is pretty darn scary. Did you know, for instance, that a starter who plays in both high school and college will receive over 8000 hits during those 8 years? That repeated hits can lead to an irreversible brain condition called Chronic Traumatic Encephaolopathy? Or that retired NFL players are four times more likely to be diagnosed with Alzheimer's or ALS than people in the general population? Or that the the second highest number of concussions occur in girls' soccer and wrestling is third???

I know FOURTH DOWN AND INCHES would not cause my football-loving guys to stop playing.  At the same time, maybe it would encourage them to be a little more careful, a little less likely to rush back onto the field after getting their "bells rung?" At least it would make them more aware of the possible long-term effects. This is definitely a book that I'd love to see in every middle and high school classroom!

And I know what book I'm giving my boys for Christmas!

Celebrate!

I'm joining Ruth Ayres and crew
in celebrating the pleasures of an ordinary week.

Recess duty.

Five year olds.

Heads flung back

Toes pointed forward

Swinging through

Blue autumn sky

Red gold orange trees

Delicious giggles. 

"Don't push me.

I can 'bump'  now

Dr. Carol." 

********

Wednesday.

When I leave for work

it's cold and dark

and I wear a jacket.

At noon

it's still cloudy and

I'm not sure 

how much it's warmed up

I change my heels for

recess duty clogs and

 take my coat outside.

It's definitely warmer.

I can be kind of a space cadet

and I don't want to leave my coat

hanging on the fence

so I tie it around my waist.

The middle schoolers are talking about swagg.

"Do you know what swagg is, Ms. Wilcox?"

I assure them that I do, say jokingly, 

"Don't I look like I know what swagg is?"

The seventh grade girls look at doubtfully.

"Ummm, I think you have to change your shoes.

And untie your coat

if you want to be swagging."

**********

Thursday.

After school snack bags

from the Food Bank.

Six-year-old M helps me clean up afterwards.

He wants to carry the extra's basket

Back to the storage area.

Today's snack was hummus and crackers.

Not a favorite.

And there is lots of hummus in the extra's box.

"Dr. Carol, 

I don't think kids like this 'thomas.'

You shouldn't make it anymore."

**********

Friday afternoon.

Six-year-old A.

Eating a box of raisins from his

after school snack bag.

"I like raisins," 

he says conversationally.

And then, 

"There are not very many in here."

He looks at me accusingly.

"Did you eat some?"

**********

Friday night.

Book club. 

We have been meeting since 1995.

Almost 20 years.

Sometimes we talk about books.

Mostly we talk about life.

We have travelled many roads.

Teaching. Marriage. Death. Remarriage. Adoption.

Now there are more conversations about retirement.

Health. Travel.

Tonight we admire panda pictures from China. 

Talk about colitis and osteoporosis and train travel. 

Eat birthday cake.

Drink wine.

And laugh a lot.

So grateful for these dear, dear friends.

So much to celebrate.

POETRY FRIDAY

Image from Wikimedia Commons

"Complaint"

At the end

of this late-night-early-morning-eighty-hour week

of scrutiny and suggestions and directives

progress monitoring and paperwork and payments

tangles and tantrums and technology issues

rubrics and rushing and redos
dentist chairs and discouragement and defeat

not to mention a disgruntled dog

I long for Saturday

when I will put

on my soft jeans

with the torn pocket

and worn knees

and just be. 

Carol Wilcox

Irene Latham is hosting Poetry Friday today.