UGH!

What to do?

Beginning exercise began the slow gain.

And now, 2 years later, I'm 15 lbs. up.

WTH?

Weight is 80% of what you put in your mouth, and 20% exercise.

My percentages are apparently off.

Weekdays?  Pretty decent.

Weekends?  Sucks the rat hole.

Wine?  My best friend.

Hot tea?  Just can't get myself to do it.

Uhm.  Peri-meno?

Maybe tonight I can blame that.

NOT a post about resolutions.

Resolutions?

I don't think so.

Heard a radio news story recently clearly stating the biggest reason for failing on those pesky annual New Year's resolutions comes from actually calling them New Year's resolutions.  Apparently attaching the high pressure title to those self-improvement, dead-before-they've-begun, goals is a sure kiss of death.

Therefore, I will not be 'making' resolutions.

In fact, I'm not even going to discuss the subject any further.

Instead, I want to talk about nail polish.

For the past 3 weeks, since the week of December 3rd, 2012, I've been on strike.  No cleaning up after boys, no sorting clothes, and definitely no bathroom duty.

No checking account, no bills, no stress, no mess.

But, as a replacement, I have engaged in the regular use of nail polish.

There have been 5, count them 5, different colors on the fingernails in the past several weeks.  This has not happened since the life of pre-children.

And, the most exciting thing about this whole deal is that I don't avoid the colors; all those lushious dark, deep, and creamy rich colors I have again begun to use.  I am not staying away from those beauties just because the color 'might' chip. And, if that dreaded chipping does indeed happen, I will simply paint them all over again.

My nails have never looked better!  :)

I know, I know....not the most descriptive narrative about the strike.  Not too many details to share, except to say that I've reached a decision about my 'previous' job as the 'housemaid;' it was too exhausting wondering why, on a daily basis, I had turned into the general manager, head-house keeper, meal planner, bill-doer, administrative assistant, AND head laundromat coordinator.  It's true.  I simply turned in my strike notice; no notification to the union, just the official yellow paper.

Pants said I couldn't be on strike because no demands had been presented.  But alas....my demands are simple.

No more cleaning up of messes besides my own and all members of the family 'must get' responsible for participating in the above-mentioned managerial roles.

And thus, my lovely, newly manicured, and polished nails.

Tonight's colors?  Brick Wall Red with Rainbow in the Skyline glitter on my tootsies and Gunmetal on the tips of my phalanges.  I am, indeed, enjoying my strike.

And DON'T anyone dare call this a New Year's resolution!

Whhhaaaattttt?

2012?

Actually, 2013?

When did this happen? It's the end of our Christmas holiday, the house is a disaster, and I am still in my pj's drinking coffee and listening to the pending 'cliff.' Has anything changed since my last winter post?

Only that we are several years older; we are still healthy (one of us more healthy than the others.....Pants...), we are still pluggin' along, and the House and Senate are still fighting. Nothing new there.

But some things in our household have happened, changed, and progressed since I last found the time to document our existence; Jud and I have both taken up running (Jud MUCH more than I), have run a marathon or 3 (along with several 1/2 marathons), and continue trying to figure out this thing called parenthood. The boys are older, wiser, and much more sassy (Jud's fault). They continue to amaze us, baffle us, and drive us crazy.

E is now an intermediate school student. He is obsessed with all things Lego, all things science, and all things instrumental (beginning of his 6th year piano and finishing 1st year drums). He is still extremely literal, loves hockey (thankfully we have ice again this year), and is desperately trying to figure out his new 'tween existence.

M is now mid-elementary school age. He is a showman, loves his electric scooter, and is too, finding his musical self (3rd year piano). He is the daredevil, the adrenaline junky. He's had stitches, bumps and bruises from his 'bike tricks.' He is the flirt of the group and has had too many 'sweethearts' to count. He is the cuddler, the snuggler, and the hugger.

Pants and I? Well, both of our jobs are still intact. He is still documenting the community via photojournalism and I am still making my best attempt to educate the crazy teens of Pine View High. A few years older, a few years wiser, and a few years closer to having this thing called life figured out.

3 dogs, 2 cats, 2 rats, 1 fish.
One husband, one wife, one 'tween, and one flirt.
We love, we fight, we sass, we chill.
We are still here and continue to work
...at pluggin' along.
 At pluggin' along.
At pluggin' along.
We, the crew, will keep pluggin' along.

And then there was a year.

Where did the time go? Our boys, another year older; our marriage, another steadfast year; and our loved ones, another year all present and accounted for.

Melancholy I am not; but overwhelmed, amazed, baffled, wondering where the hell the time went? That I am.

A new dog. A new addition to the family of close friends. A month in Maine. Too numerous to count weekends at Lake Powell. Another group of 170 kiddos. A 30-minute commute for the best care and education of my oldest. A 5-minutes commute for the best care and education of my youngest.

Health. Two (seemingly and thankfully) stable jobs. Income. Food. Home. Medical insurance. Music lessons. Professional growth. Athletic outlets. New creative endeavors.

Safety. Freedom. Peace. Choice.

And thankfully with these and so much more, we start 2010.

This is a great way to spend a morning...

Jud and I are each watching our favorite politico shows....This Week with George Stephanopolis and Meet The Press.

Our country has severe economic pains; unemployment is at an all-time high, cost of living continues to rise, and the financial systems seem to be falling down around our ears. However, we are still better off than most places and for this I am grateful. I am hopeful and feeling positive that as a nation the future will again be strong.

I am thankful for my family and the bills we have and can pay. I am thankful for our health and safety. I am thankful for Mother Earth and her beauty which we enjoy by simply walking out our front door. I am thankful for family and friends, the times we share, and the opportunities in which we have to share.

I am thankful for this morning with Jud, being able to sit on the couch, drink coffee, talk politics, and envision a future in which we will share.

This is a great way to spend a morning...

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...NOT.

There is snow outside on my bushes, on my roses, on my driveway.

You may be wondering why this a concern. It is a concern because THERE SHOULD NOT BE SNOW IN ST. GEORGE, UTAH!!

I left New York, then Salt Lake for the great sunny expanse of Utah's Dixie. I definitely didn't come here for the culture, nor the great coffee spots. It was simply for the weather. 365 days of pure weather bliss.

But not today.

To match my physical state (I have strep and the flu) the sky has been overcast with warnings of flurries. It was my dear mother who called early this a.m. to share the great news of the pending 2-4". She shared her joyous news with a bit of an evil laugh.

The "spoken" flurries arrived around 10:30 a.m. and have not really left since then. Thankfully the 2-4" only seems to be maybe 1-2" at most.

And so while it feels like winter with the sound of the heater in the background, the flannel jammies on both boys, and the eerie light through the windows of the winter sky, thankfully the snow will be gone soon, sooner than in the location(s) of our more northern friends and family.

The snow no longer looks like Christmas to me....let's get back to our regularly scheduled program.

I guess that means we're down to 364 days now.

I'm tired.

It has been a tough week. Tough two weeks. Tough three.

It started two years ago with a campaign that seemed as if it would never end.

It ended with me crying in front of my English 11 class because my heart was truly broken.

In between there one of our best friend's, after being a dedicated, 19-year employee lost his job.

Barack won the election. The campaigning is officially over. However, the work now begins, and frankly, I am just tired.

I'm tired of listening to the comments my students make about the new President-Elect. I'm tired of trying to express how it is now our job as a nation to educate ourselves, to eliminate the hatred, to move past the fear, and to pull our country up by the boot straps to make things improve.

But I am, instead, forced to defend my position against uneducated, uninformed, and immature people, and I'm not even talking exclusively about my students.

I watch my closest friends struggle with their sudden and unexplained change in lifestyle. I listen as their family fights and yells about the change in our political landscape, and again, I become extremely tired.

I know that politics are hard...they are time consuming, they are heated, they are difficult to understand and comprehend, and they are more often than not, extremely dark and sketchy.

But they are what they are because we as a nation have spent far too long just turning away, ignoring, and, like the ostrich, burying our heads in the sand. The only thing that comes from acting the part of the ostrich is that by putting your head in the sand, you suffocate.

So, I'm tired. I want people to stop talking ridiculous shit. I want people to start paying attention, and I want our country to pull itself up by the bootstraps and "move on" (to quote a now President-elect's campaign mantra).

My Ethan and Max will be okay. We will make sure they learn and focus and have correct information. We will teach them the difference between anger and facts and we will teach them to make educated decisions. We will not, however, allow them to talk trash or repeat slanderous rhetoric, or make false, unsubstantiated comments.

But my students....what of them? I don't have the ability nor the energy to any longer listen to the trash they spew. How, with this level of exhaustion, the sheer sadness generated by their comments, the pure and unadulterated dread I feel over their complete lack of brains, do I continue focusing on the positive? I know I will, but wow I need a weekend.

Maybe on Monday I won't be so tired.

Autumn Equinox...a time for harvest

So it has come and gone, nearly the first quarter of the school year. I hate to think of all the memories created that I have already forgotten of this, my 11th year as a public school teacher. Rumors have it that Utah is the worst state in the union for public schools; teachers are poorly trained and lack personal care, the system is underfunded, and teachers are underpaid. On the last two out of three areas I can agree with the rumors (they ARE NOT rumors!), but to the poorly trained and lack of care, I can strongly disagree, at least in my neck of the woods.

This past week was spent with celebrations of Homecoming at Pine View High School. Those alumni who, in years past, opened and closed the doors of our school on a near daily basis for 3 years converged back to their roots. Many of those alumni I have been pleasured to have made acquaintance as I have been teaching at PVHS for nearly half of it's operating history. Statistically I don't know the number of names and faces that I have met there, but to say that I remember them all would be a half truth.

But there are SO many I do remember. Just today at the "drink store" (as E has always referenced the gas station/convenience store where Jud and I get our "fixes") I was greeted by Brooke, a current student; and Justin, a former student of approximately 5 years ago. We also had an incredible visit with Whitney and Nick, sister and brother who were both former students and very close family friends, at our home this weekend.

What other profession brings the long time pleasure of acquaintance, friendship, and love?

Education. It's the word that just always catches me off guard and makes me want to spill my guts. It's tough being a teacher these days, what with the national and state opinions of my profession, who can feel for and support us? After all, don't we just go into teaching just for summers off?

Hardly.

We go into teaching for the moments we can share with our fellow beings, a profession in which we can learn the value of listening, of hard work,and a profession where we can see that our being "there" made a difference.

A time for harvest is a time for thankfulness, not only of the great bounties of Mother Earth, but of the great bounties of association and livelihood. And this year, still 11 years "new" to teaching, I am thankful for my harvest. May it continue to grow and prosper many years long.

The end is always the beginning.

My summer ended today. I officially attended my first set of meetings at Pine View High, thus starting the clock of a new school year. I don't really have a feeling as to what this year may bring, but it will be, I'm sure, one of adventure. After all, Ethan starts 3rd grade, Max starts Pre-K, and I still hate mornings.

I really like my chosen profession. The daily interaction with my "kiddos" brings much joy, entertainment, frustration, and exhaustion. These emotions are all great signs of pleasure associated with what one is doing, but I still think about the longevity of it all. I know I still have another path out there, and when it's time to move onto that road, I'll know. Until then, the pleasure that my kiddos bring to me is enough.

Tuesday will be more meetings, Wednesday the same. Thursday, Friday, and Monday are my days for the real preparation of their arrival. I always look forward to those three days as the real sensation of working for their good settles in. The busy work of planning and scheduling arrives, and doesn't usually ease up until mid-April, which is when the kiddos "check out" and so do I.

"School days, school days. Dear, ole' Golden Rule days....reading and writing and 'rithmatic, talk to the tune of a hickory stick........." The voice of my Dad singing this song used to thoroughly piss me off. Now, whenever this time of year rolls around, I find myself singing it right along with him. I would never say that for many of my kiddos, school days are the dear ole' golden rule days, but I would say that for me, they are.....that is, if we could only start at 9:00 a.m.

My new "companion"

I am still on my journey.....now I have a daemon. His name is Erasmus. Please meet him.

Catching up to....

Sometimes I actually listen to my Self. And oh, am I glad this time I did.

August past I cleaned out some storage buckets in the green room. There, among the holiday village pieces was a box full of my early self. Letters, notes, cards, gifts, joys, and pains were all hidden among the blue #7 plastic of My Box.

I went through it all, piece by piece, memory by memory, surprisingly enjoying every heart-felt minute of it. The Box contained stories I had completely forgotten, and smiles I had so fortunately tucked away.

Many of those smiles came from a friend, my best friend. Chrysti (her spelling during our youth) and I were "together" for 4 1/2 years, almost exclusively. Then, as time does, we started to go our separate ways.

The last time I saw her was at her wedding when we were almost 20. She was marrying Bob Burns. How I remember his name, I'll never know, especially considering the steel trap my gray matter tends to be.

As I read through the hundreds of notes, cards, letters, and relived the memories that surfaced, I heard my Self encourage me to look her up. But, as life has it, the time past, life sped up, and seasons moved.

Several weeks ago, despite my mounding pile of papers to grade, assessments to give, and boys to attend to, I sat down and did "the" painless Goggle Search. If it had required much more than that, I would have never listened to my Self.

But there on the page was her name. My very first search, my very first hit.

I sent a quick, non-descript hello, to which I received a quick, non-descript, "Write me back."

I did. And wow.

Suddenly I find myself on a journey through time. The past 18 years have been eventful and for me, where to start was tough. I managed it, and stillthe sharing continues.

Christy (name now again traditional) too has had 18 years of experiences, and together we write, remember, and are working on catching up to the Now.

I like it when others listen to me. And for now, I'm thankful I listened to me, too.

wHere dOes tHe tIme gO?

It is now seven years later and I'm still just as amazed, confused, scared, and overwhelmed as I was the day this little dude was born.


Today is E's birthday. He is 7 --going on 17.

He came into this world early, and arrived just as we asked; as an independent thinking child, one who didn't just sit in the corner and do everything we (or anyone else) asked.

And after that, and from the VERY beginning, he began to speak his mind.

We always called him our "reincarnated little ole' grumpy man who was just pissed off to be back."

We've since learned that he is an old soul and he HAS been here before, and he is wise beyond his years. And, seven years later, he is still just what we asked for...a non-sitting, independent thinking, outspoken child. We love it. We love him.

It yet it is all still so hard.

Like I said.....I'm still amazed, confused, scared, and overwhelmed as the mother of this little dude, as much as I ever was seven years ago today.

...and so he walks

As the days roll by, so do I. I work, I sleep, I eat. And then there is a moment in time, in space, that takes my breath away.

It was the story that we never wanted to share. We didn't expect it; he came from no where. He is Jonah.

The early days were so excruciatingly painful. That call came. I cried in pain at the restaurant. The moment still clear in my mind, no air for my lungs. He was to die.

And then a moment that took my breath away. He lives.

The milestones, the pain, the heartache. And then there is a moment in time, in space, that takes my breath away.

He is Jonah.

I took a walk with Jonah this Sunday past. We went along the sidewalk beyond the house. We had no intent, just that of seeing the world. "The rock, Jill." "The dirt, Jill." "Do you want to turn around, Jonah?" "No, Jill."

...and so he walks.

And the winner is.....

....Ego!

My continued journey through spiritual awakening has now included the book The New Earth by Eckhart Tolle. Despite the fact that Oprah's Book Clue is purely fluff (I don't really buy into this), her recent choice caught my attention.

I ordered the book, am reading the book, and the message resonates through my head.

My head. Is that my self resonating through the ego?

So many of the connections have, for me, been about "knowing more," "applying more," "sharing more," etc. The elimination of "need" for all of those things moves one further through spiritual awakening.

My meek (laugh) and humble (gawfaw) self has much work to do.

The Goddess

My study continues. I wonder where I will find the complete history and story about Her. I read, I wondering, I ponder.

I know She is. I remember wondering about Her as a young girl. I KNEW that God had a wife and I knew that if WE had partners, then He had a partner. I remember this memory as clearly as day...standing in the hallway near the gym at the Lighthouse stake center.

I believe this is the year for my own extensive personal growth. I know that my journey is filled with change, and I know my heart is more ready than ever.

The fluid clock

How is it that in 51 minutes it will be the last day of the year 2007?

Where does time go? How does it pass? When will it pass?

We've just about completed the "traditional" montage of Christian holidays, with a celebration to Mother Earth and a night of Hanukkah in there as well. The boys have been sufficiently overloaded on holiday gathering(s), and we all need to get back to our regular spaces.

However....

They know more than many of their counterparts. They can honour Mother Earth and her many splendid things. They know that Hanukkah is the celebration of lights, and they know that Christmas is a time many, Christians and non-Christians alike, celebrate the birth of a man named Jesus Christ.

And this is more than I knew at age 18.

So despite the cost, despite the hubbub, and despite the distraction from our Monday through Sunday life, my little boys will know that we are not the only ones on this planet and that we respect all for their celebrations and beliefs.

...in the room of a hotel

I'm in New York City. I love it here. The energy vibrates through the steamy, drafty windows. It's not possible to remember who I REALLY am when I'm here.

This is my first personal venture to NYC since I moved away from New York state. It has been 12 years since I went "west." The east coast has called to me since that time.

I see the river, I see the rising steam, and I smell the pungency of the subway rising from below. The sky is cloudy, the buildings rising from the earth like fingers reaching for the sky.

I wonder, as my journey continues, when I will return on a more permanent basis. Jud at my side, my boys safely tucked into college, and me enveloping the energy that rolls.

I love New York City.

Here I sit....

So, the memoirs of a high school English teacher (is that "what" I am these days?)....oh, where to begin. I could easily start by mentioning that I have 143 core papers to read and grade or I could tell you about some of my students who think I will harbor them in my classroom while they sluff their religious class, or I could begin a soliloquy of the mass amounts of professional development I need to read, evaluate, and practice......

Or, I could just wrap my fingers around the keys of my keyboard and ignore this all.

I love teaching. I love the kids. I really do like to read their core papers. However, as per my usual way I have "bitten off more than I can chew" (is "bitten" really a word, you say?). I am not only the mother of two young boys, but the mother of two cats, the wife of an over-stretched, under funded creative man, a soul-sister, a purveyor of books of all colors, a teacher to 143 students, a graduate student (this despite the fact I already have my graduate degree), an addict to several vises (none of them illegal but all expensive) and a sister/daughter/auntie, a roll of which I appear to participate in less and less of these days.

And, last, but not least, I am a soul on a journey.

I've tried to think of a time when I haven't been on a journey and I do believe I've come to the conclusion that there has NEVER been a time when I have not been searching. My earliest memory of myself is from when I was 18 months old and I had pneumonia. My parents and my aunt and uncle took me to the hospital for admittance. I remember sitting in the back seat of our yellow car with my auntie Bonnie (flashbulb memory). Then I remember the nurse pushing against me, trying to get me "into" the oxygen tent while I pushed back (Second flashbulb memory). My red shoes were in that tent, I don't know if that was to help me "want" to go in, but it didn't help.

Apparently there my journey consisted of trying to get back to the yellow car. I didn't complete that journey for 3 days.

Then there was my journey to find Elizabeth, my Siamese cat. She had been gone for several days and since her disappearance occurred shortly after our move to our new house, I believed my mom when she said Elizabeth probably ran away. The journey to find her didn't end until I was 20 and the news was finally given to me that she had been chopped up in Jim's (our next door neighbor) truck engine. Dad had to finish her off with a shovel to the head.

Another sort of journey lasted for the next 13 years. It was the journey to figure out how to live in a neighborhood of girls, 12 of which were the same age. The life of a young girl amongst young girls is not EVER easy. Add to it that there were 12 of us....ALL the same age, and always in constant competition to be friends with the Top Girls.....Toni, Tracy, sometimes Jennifer B., always Susan, but never Jillene. The competition was fierce. The battles regular. And always knowing that I would never be a Top Girl. I had too many "important" things against me. I definitely wasn't the cutest, I didn't have dance lessons, I "qualified" for reduced lunch, I certainly didn't get new clothes on a regular basis and when I did, they were the clothes from the clearance rack (no, I didn't have self-esteem issues). We were a young family that struggled financially, which, in itself wasn't nearly as bad as others, but not surprisingly did create my own mores about young families.

So, that journey went on for a long time and really, I think, helped shape my insecurities about myself.