Thoughts on being 35-- very, very deep thoughts

Last Thursday I turned 35. What? I don't look a day over 30? You're sweet. Thank you.

I've had a few days to let my new age grow on me and I have some thoughts on being 35.

1. Celebrating your 35th birthday at Great Wolf Lodge is a way to totally forget that you are anything but a kid at heart. I highly recommend celebrating anything there. Especially if it is on a weekday in mid-May. It was incredibly uncrowded.

2. The US Census Bureau considers 35 to be middle age. Most other sources feel it starts later. You're wrong, Census. Way wrong. Ain't nobody here but us spring chickens. (For some reason simply typing "spring chickens" made me feel at least 80.)

3. It is possible that your body will play funny tricks on you and have you wake up on your birthday with a very sore back. You will think this is the onset of old age. It is not. It is caused by sleeping in an uncomfortable (by your overly pampered standards) bed and carrying a 20+ pound baby around. A soak in the hot tub and a good night's sleep in your own bed will take care of that. If you're still feeling bad, see #1.

4. My 30s have been my favorite years. If the events in the past year or so--a sweet baby and marriage--are any indication, things will only get better. If that is even possible.

5. Cake. Every birthday deserves cake. This does not change when you are firmly ensconced in adulthood. If it does, immediately ditch whomever you celebrate your birthdays with and find people who worship at the altar of Cake. Your life will be tenfold better for it. Promise. (Disclaimer: The it in question is cake and not the ditching of people...)

6. The process of ageing is natural. You had no choice in when you were born. The choice you do have is how you are going to spend the days you are given. If you feel the need to wish away your days on being younger and hipper you will probably miss out on beautiful things, end up looking foolish and/or woefully regret not taking advantage of whatever age you are grumbling about. It is, therefore, pointless to lie to make yourself younger. Nothing will actually make you numerically younger, but your attitude will determine how old you feel.



Babies discovering your nose will make you feel young...



7. Lies about your age ARE OK if you tell students that you are 25 for 11 consecutive birthdays. The reactions are priceless. In doing this I have made some interesting sociological and anthropological observations. Among them are the following: 1) boys generally take you at your word, 2) girls will scrutinize you and/or do the math to figure out you are fibbing. Someone will call you out, and 3) no matter how young you say you are, someone (usually a boy) will always lie and tell you they thought you were younger--sometimes much younger. (There is no way I look 22, Charmer. I see you have a beautiful future as a politician. You have my vote.)

8. The advent of Facebook makes users feel uber popular on birthdays. (Wait, what? I have 64 pending messages? Look at all that love.)

9. I always thought being an adult would feel more um, adult like. Generally I feel like I'm a kid pretending to be an adult. Does that ever stop? I don't want it to.

I mean, I look like an adult, right?

10. Having a birthday does not make your library books un-due. They are still late and you still have a fine. Oops.

Do the 5's and the 0's seem to carry more weight for you, too? Why is that? What are your thoughts on your latest "milestone" birthday?

Is there a half step?

Apparently I have a serious problem.

I didn't realize it until just the other day. I mean, yeah, ok, I consume a little bit. Almost every day, but I can stop when I want to. I think.

Oh, geez. Come to think of it, I probably can't just stop cold turkey.

I guess it is a little bit of a problem.

I'd never thought about being a legitimate chocoholic until a brief series of events over the past few days.

Wednesday Angela asked me if my ears were ringing earlier that afternoon when she was talking about me to one of her classes. They weren't, but I was super flattered. I figured she was talking about what a great teacher I am. No. Not so much. She was telling them that while she enjoys chocolate, she's not sure she's ever met anyone who enjoys it quite as much as I do.

She knows lots of people.

Her comment was innocuous enough, but it got me thinking. Do I have a problem? I thought back to Friday night when my dear friend and former roommate came over for dinner. She never goes anywhere empty handed, so she arrived with gifts including chocolates  The chocolates were because, "I know how my girl needs chocolate." Fast forward less than 12 hours to when my neighbor called me specifically to let me know that m&m's were on sale at target. Three bags for eight dollars.

(And yes, I did go pick up three bags. You know, just in case.)

I looked up the 12 step program. I'm not ready to admit that I'm powerless or that my life has become unmanageable. Just don't look at the parenthetical above this paragraph.

About a year ago, Beau was in New Orleans for a class. While there, he stopped at Sucre and picked up a couple of bars of chocolate for me. They looked good. So good I didn't want to eat them. So, they sat for a little while.

When I was in the hospital with Little Man, Beau brought one to me. It was the Candied Violet bar. It was easily the best chocolate I'd ever had. Now, the circumstances might have altered my impression of the Candied Violet bar, but I don't think so.

I might enjoy chocolate a little more than I should. There are worse vices.

What are you known for?

(Photos borrowed from Sucre.)

Big changes for this girl

My dad was a teacher at a community college for just shy of thirty years. He married a coworker, an English professor. When I was a teenager I'd see her grading papers for her classes and think she was absolutely insane. I distinctly remember saying (on more than one occasion) that I'd NEVER even consider being a teacher. And certainly not an English teacher.

Fast forward to college where I decided that teaching wouldn't be so bad, but there was no reason anyone in their right mind would choose to teach high school students. Right out of college I got hired at a high school that had a separate campus for ninth graders. That seemed doable since ninth graders couldn't be that much different from the eighth graders I'd just student taught. 

I fell in love with it. The kids were interesting and challenging.

Two years later,  I moved to Virginia and got hired at a 9-12th grade high school and was assigned both ninth and 12th grade classes. I was 24 years old and terrified.

They weren't so scary. They were kind of fun, receptive, smart, funny, (and yes, frustrating, lazy, snarky and cocky). I fell even more in love with my job. I knew I had found my calling and was at home in the classroom.  I spent the next ten years there. And at the risk of sounding arrogant, I think I was pretty good at it. 

While I'm not noble by any stretch of the imagination, I feel that teaching is an absolutely noble calling. I proudly tell people I teach. I take my job very seriously and work very, very hard to be the very best teacher I can be. I have been guilty of  putting my job before my personal life more than once.

Today did something I never thought I would do. I officially and respectfully submitted my resignation. Looking back at this post, I probably already knew that today was coming, but the part of me that lives to teach has been in denial.

Last week human resources gave me the daunting task of either resigning or coming back to work "at the first available vacant position for which I am qualified." That language scared me. There are 11 high schools in my school system, 15 middle schools and an alternative school.  I knew that my school didn't have a vacant position. I decided to resign. (The school really is that great.) And then Wednesday I got an email saying that my school had a part time position waiting for me if I wanted it.

It was, for all intents and purposes, exactly what I wanted.

Except it wasn't.

And I decided to check the "I do not wish to return to a position at the end of my leave" box.

That makes it sound like it was really easy. It wasn't. I hemmed and hawed and soul-searched until the last possible moment.

The end result: I'm no longer a teacher. (OK, that's not true. I have a class I need to teach on Monday, so I should probably not be quite so melodramatic.) I'm no longer a high school teacher. Whoa. Short of a few community college classes here and there, my entire professional career has been in high schools. And now it isn't.

While I'm a little bit dazed, I'm also completely confident that I have done what is right for our family.  Today Little Man giggled as I chased him, he shoved food into his mouth with his meaty little hands and he stood on wobbly legs and moved his hips like Elvis. I got to see all of that. I'll get to watch him grow and change next year, too.

We're excited.

What changes are happening in your world?

Play Ball!

Well, today is April Fool's day. Did anyone get ya? I don't participate. It seems mean to me. So, instead of an April Fool's post, lets discuss baseball. Why?

If you're asking why you probably don't care much for baseball. It's opening day for many, many teams today. Shame on you. You should know that.

I can't help but think back to my baseball education which came from my best friend's mom in high school. Betcha didn't see that coming, huh? I didn't grow up in a baseball family and so I always thought it was kind of boring. And, frankly, it kind of still is. (Sorry Bonnie...) I do get a touch of baseball fever every opening day. I remember my very first opening day ever.

(Image from here)
Dodger stadium. Sophomore year. There was a long car-ride from south Orange County to Los Angeles. There was carsickness. (I didn't quite understand the urgency of "Amy, move, now." until there was a retching boy hanging out of the mini van.) There was the super steep stadium that induced vertigo. There was sunburn. There were Dodger Dogs.

And there was baseball.

I have no idea who played (besides the Dodgers...duh). I have no idea if the Dodgers won. Hey, it was a learning experience. I didn't think I'd be quizzed on it.

When we got to the stadium we bought our programs. Cyndi said it was a must and that she and her mom would teach me to keep score. That seemed so foreign to me. I'd been to baseball games before. I knew there was a very large scoreboard that was maintained by people who were paid to count strikes and outs and runs. Cyndi told me I'd understand when the game started.

Whatever.

Have you ever scored a game? It is really complex. I had no idea that the game I could "watch" and miss four or seven innings could actually have so much going on. It turns out that keeping score is an excellent way to keep yourself from missing an entire game because you're busy chatting. It is a necessary way to, well, keep your eye on the ball.

That first opening day I got a basic education in baseball scoring. I learned to appreciate the game. Before it was just a guy with a bat- who would either hit the ball or not-- versus other guys who probably wouldn't have to move far to get the one guy out. This would go on at a painfully slow pace.

It turns out that baseball is actually kind of cerebral. There is a lot to it. It doesn't look like it, but there is. It might look like a guy with a stick who swings at a ball, but it is much more. Tradition. Strategy. And other stuff I don't get.

Are you a baseball fan? Do you score the game or find yourself chatting through the game?

Reading and the Web: a Conundrum

I am not an avid Twitter user. In fact, I've always kind of scoffed at the idea. Who cares where I am, what I'm doing or what pithy little saying I can come up with in 140 characters or less? (I'm wordy, people. It takes me at least 200 characters to get to pith.)

But, in the hopes of using social media to grow this little blog o'mine, I have been making a bit more of an effort to join those who are a bit hipper than I. I know I'm super late on that revelation, but what else is new?

To be honest, Twitter is still an afterthought for me. I often forget to use it to mention new blog posts. (Sorry if you are one of my five Twitter followers. And thank you for being one of those five followers...) I often go weeks without checking my account. So, as you can see, this using social media for my blog isn't going quite as well as planned. Ah, well, baby steps.

But you know what? Even in my limited interaction with it, I have come to accept that Twitter is such a cool place. I'm not sure why I don't make it a normal practice to visit there. When I do stop by, I generally spend quite a while checking things out. I read some of the coolest articles because of the people, groups and bloggers I follow. It turns out that most of the Tweets aren't about where a person is or what he or she is doing. (Though I know there are plenty of Tweeters who do post only such nonsense.)

Today's perusal of the Twitterdom got me thinking about how social media has changed the way we read. I know I read tons of information that I wouldn't otherwise come across because of Facebook, Pinterest and Twitter. The information superhighway has an inconceivably fast pace and it is really easy to miss some of the information exits if I've got my GPS set for one destination. Like if I use the internet only as God intended it--say, to find a chili recipe (post on that to come)-- I might have missed this interesting gem.

And yes, I do know that there is information of substance on this here interweb. I was just using that as an example. (But seriously, how scary would an interview with Anna Wintour be?)

Twitter, in its admittedly brilliant use of short bursts of information, like well written leads in a news story, can catch my attention and send me to an article, blog or website I would have otherwise missed. I find recipes to try and articles on vacation destinations. World events are clarified for me. The lives of the rich and famous exposed, etc. You get it.

As I said, I know I'm late to get on this Social Media bandwagon, but I know that many, many of my former students who are cool, hip, and in-the-know have been here for years. They have been digesting news and information this way for most of their adult lives, and while they might not be "readers" in the traditional sense, I wonder if they are reading more than I give them credit for.

Obviously the Internet has changed the way a great many people read. That's nothing new, nor is it shocking. I do wonder, though, if today's Twitter users are better read than they would otherwise be. Are they more diverse consumers than the previous generation? I find that even in the past five years my reading has changed considerably. I spend a great deal of time reading blogs instead of books. I read news as it happens. I read shared articles that I wouldn't otherwise have found. I watch Tweets come in to follow events that excite me.

I'm also picky. If my interest isn't piqued within the first paragraph or so, I know there is someone out there who can say it better. With books, I once felt that if started, it needed to be finished. I'd trudge through a hundred pages that didn't grab me in the hopes that something--dear God, anything--would happen to make the investment of time and brainpower worthwhile. But not anymore. (Generally speaking...) Now I'm a little more discerning. If the piece doesn't seem worthy/interesting/intelligent/informative/whatever, I move on.

Is this a mark of this new readership? Are they discerning and savvy? Are they exposed to more diverse information than we were? Are they then smarter? Is the new me smarter than the one of five years ago? Or, is the Twitter generation developing a form of literary ADD? Can they (we?) not stick to something for any length of time? Does everything have to be short and flashy? Is substance overlooked?

These are real questions. I don't mean to be overly dramatic, but I really am torn between the two ends of the spectrum. In many ways I am so very grateful that I have tools like Twitter, Facebook and Pinterest. (And yes, I know there are others, but seriously, who has time for more than three?!) Most days I feel smarter for having read the pieces I've read. I feel like I've taken in information that I otherwise wouldn't have. But there are those other days when I wonder if I really can't read more than six words of a story before deciding to move on. If maybe the overabundance of information is too much.

What do you guys think? Has reading and information gathering changed for better or worse? What are your impressions of Social Media like Twitter? Do you want to follow me @crqtncktls? Are today's readers doomed as sufferers of literary ADD, or are they better off than younger generations were?

Resolutions versus Goals

Do you make resolutions?

I've made exactly one that I have stuck to. In my entire life. Ever. I'm posting about that tomorrow.

So, since I've stuck to one resolution in thirty-four and a half years (ahem, I mean twenty-five), I'm resolving to not make a resolution. (Har, har, har. So original.)

Beau and I exchanged a few emails while he was hard at work on New Year's Day in which we laid out some goals and plans for the year. (Travel! Family! Home!)

I like that approach. See, resolutions leave room for failure. I resolve to lose weight, get in shape, eat better, blah, blah, blah. Then, at some point when that doesn't happen or the resolver slips, poof, failure. With that failure comes the sense of finality. "Welp, I was going to give up chocolate*, but I slipped up and ate the entire bag of dark chocolate Ghirardelli chocolate chips**. Oh, well. It was a nice idea. Maybe next year..."

So you think my goals and plans/resolution theory sounds like fancy semantics, huh? Perhaps that's true. Perhaps I'm saying tah-mato and the rest of the world is saying toh-mato. To me, though, a goal or a plan implies a work in progress and a resolution is a formal objective or endpoint that isn't concerned with the process.

Take this for example: "I resolve to be the best mom I can be" versus "my goal is to be the best mom I can be".

What happens when I screw up? At some point in the next year Little Man will fall or get his first bruise or I'll forget to pack his favorite blanket on a trip or I'll let him down in some way. And I'll have not been the best mom I could be. In some way he will experience pain or disappointment on my watch. And my resolution will have been for naught. Slap a big, fat, red F on that resolution, I'll have failed in that moment.

But my goal to be the best mom I can be leaves room for growth. I don't have to be perfect every day, I'm working toward and end goal that allows for a skinned knee, bruise, or forgotten blanket. Obviously, I don't want skinned knees or any other life calamities, but life happens. At the end of the year I'll be able to look back at the entirety of the year and I'll (hopefully) see that I've reached my goal.

As Beau and I look at the year ahead of us, we know that there will be speed bumps and set-backs, bruises and lost blankets. We are also looking forward to the journey ahead. And packing Kleenex.

Do you make resolutions? Goals? Do you see the difference or am I nutty?

* I do not support this. Ever.
**Who does that? Must be some of Amy's classic hyperbole.

Thoughts on Life

I think by nature, bloggers tend to write about the good in life. Heck, I think most humans tend to want to share the good in their lives. I've been accused (by Beau) of writing cheesy posts. This one in particular was too sunshine and butterflies for him. Understandable. (Looking back at it, I see it is a little gag-worthy...)

I'm not one for airing my dirty laundry for the blogosphere to read. When I have a bad day I don't need to share to get maximum sympathy. My sleepless nights (which are blissfully few and far between) don't need to be broadcast. I don't need to vent to strangers. With that said, I am aware that this mindset leads to a somewhat inauthentic representation of the life I live.

I figure most of my readers know I'm human. I also figure they don't want to read about diapers and spit up, stress and drama. (Which is thankfully not in abundance. Well, the stress and drama, anyway. Spit up and diapers I've got aplenty.) I want this place to be a positive place and I have done my best to keep it that way. Fortunately for me, my life, while not all sunshine and butterflies, is exceptionally positive.

Today, however, I have a heavy heart and I want to talk about it for a few minutes. See, I attended a funeral of a former student today. Sadly, it wasn't the first one I've attended. Nor, I assume, will it be the last.

This particular student, E, was a wonderful young man. Smart. Funny. Talented. Kind. Above all, kind is the adjective I would use to describe him. His life ended when it should have been beginning. E was 143 days away from graduating from college. He was in the honor's program at school and worked so incredibly hard to be successful. I could count on E keeping in contact with me. He'd often  come back to my classroom to say hello and let me know how his classes were going. Most of my former students come back that first year of college at either Thanksgiving or Christmas, but then grow out of it. E didn't, and I was always genuinely pleased to see him.

In a nutshell, he was a wonderful person and his presence made an impact on me.

But this is not a memorial post. At least that wasn't my intent when I sat down to write this. I don't feel that I can do justice to E's memory on the Internet because I didn't get to know him as anything other than a student. I didn't know him as a brother, son, friend, boyfriend, teammate, roommate or any of the other numerous roles he played. I only have my own memories of him. I am thankful to have them.

The funeral was a nice celebration of E's life. The homily addressed the importance of making the most of our time here on earth (which E genuinely did), and touched on the absolute tragedy of a parent losing her child. E died one week after the Sandy Hook shootings and so the entire nation can feel the sting of that particular concept.

There is one image from today that will forever be with me. After the offering of communion, E's father was back in his seat in the front row of pews right next to E's casket. He reached over and rested his hand on the top his son's casket and left it there. It didn't seem to be a deliberate act, instead it seemed instinctual. Had this been a normal Sunday at church, his hand would have rested on E's shoulder in a loving, proud gesture.

Now that I am a parent, I feel things much more than I did before. Seeing E's father's hand resting on his casket was the most intimate, sweet and devastating gesture I've seen in a long time. My heart hurt just thinking about what his family might be feeling.

On that awful Friday of the Sandy Hook shootings, I held my Little Man close and told him I loved him hundreds of times just in case. A week later I learned of E's death on Facebook as various former students posted their RIP messages. Again, I held Little Man close and smelled his baby smell as I quietly cried. I imagined the unimaginable and that thought made me feel ill.

Today, after E's funeral, I got to come home to my Little Man and I got to hold him. E's parents will never get to do that. The parents of the children shot at Sandy Hook Elementary School will never get to do that. The parents of the too-many students who have passed away over my thirteen years of teaching won't get to do that. I won't belabor it any more. You get it.

Like I said at the start of this, I want this to be a positive, upbeat place, yet this post is exceptionally melancholy. We all have those days where sadness reigns. These thoughts of mine, especially the ones in the previous paragraph, make me want to shout the good Father's message from the rooftop. We must all make the most of the time we are given. We must love as powerfully as we can, give as freely as we can. We must be kind, compassionate, strong, deliberate and intentional in our lives.

As the year comes to a close and I contemplate what I hope for next year, I will take E's life and death to heart. For those of you who knew him, I hope you do as well. For those who didn't know him, I think there is still something to take. I think we all have E's in our life at one time or another.

Thank God for that.

Thank you for letting me share my melancholy thoughts today. Sometimes a moment of serious reflection is necessary in a world of sunshine and butterflies-or croquet and cocktails.

Broken Hearted

Unless you live in a bubble, you know about the latest mass shooting tragedy.

As a high school teacher in Virginia, the Virginia Tech shootings really shook me up. I had former students there--lots of them.

But this hits me on a whole new level. It sounds so cliche, but motherhood has changed me. With the news reports coming in with new numbers of fatalities, I think of the sweet boy napping in the next room and I can't help but cry for those parents who are not going to be able to hold their babies tonight or ever again.

Schools are supposed to be safe places, for God's sake. We live in America, not a war zone, so we should be able to send our children out the door to school with zero fear that something can or will happen to them. And yet, with what seems like frightening regularity there is breaking news about shootings, or abuse, or whatever.

I'm just venting I guess. I'm scared for us. By us I mean humanity. I'd like to see more care and concern for others. I'd like to see people who were raised to know right from wrong, who can and do get the help they need.

For now, though, my prayers go out to everyone involved. For the families who won't get to hold their babies tonight. For the families who will be holding their terrified and forever scarred babies. For the teachers and administrators who paid the ultimate price to try to keep their school safe, and for their families who will feel the loss painfully this--and every-- holiday season.

I hope that tonight, and every night, we all hold our loved ones close and let them know how loved they are. That is perhaps the last truly safe place.

Fifty Shades of Crimson

I have a confession.

I honestly feel like I might be the only living female who hasn't read the Fifty Shades trilogy. (Except for my mom. Please, mom, don't say you've read it...)

I wasn't going to do it. I start books and feel like I have to finish them. No matter how badly characterized or created, I always wonder what happened to the characters. I am sometimes (OK, frequently) guilty of starting sentences with "I have this friend who..." only to taper off and realize that "friend" is actually a fictional character in a book I just finished. Nerd problems, I guess.

I had heard Fifty Shades was a series of absolutely terrible writing. Who wants to immerse themselves in terrible writing? Well, besides the gazillion Twilight readers. (I read the first two, so feel that I can say that with no fear of perhaps being mistaken.)

But, there Fifty Shades was on my Kindle because Cyndi, my best friend in the whole wide world and Kindle account sharer, had purchased it out of curiosity a while back. (For the record, she couldn't get past the writing either; she never finished it.)

I started reading it last night. I haven't gotten to the dirty bits, but I do have to agree with those critics who have warned me against it. I'm not sure if I'll finish it or not. At this point I really don't care what happens to Anastasia. Or Gray. Neither one has made an impression on me despite steely gray eyes and those lips. Ugh.

Admittedly, though I have been trying to cast the characters. Right now Ian Somerhalder is in the running for Gray in my mind movie. I have Anne Hathaway as Anastasia, though I don't want to. She's in Les Mis right now for goodness sake. Why would she want to do this film? (Since it is being cast in my head I don't think it matters.)

So here I am contemplating if I should read it or move on to bigger and better things. Part of me wonders how so many readers can be wrong. All three of the books are on the New York Times' bestsellers list. The first book has been there for 37 weeks. Do you realize how long that is? There are only 52 weeks in a year, for Pete's sake. She's slowly creeping up on a year there. That should be reserved for good literature.

How is it that Louise Erdrich's National Book Award winning The Roundhouse isn't even on the NYT bestseller list? (If you've been paying attention to my little reading widget down on the right, you've noticed that it has been sitting in the "To Read" placeholder for a while. I'm ashamed that Fifty Shades pushed it aside in  my actual reading. I'm leaving the widget there; no one needs to be taken to Fifty Shades on Amazon with my help.)

I'm relieved that my copy of Fifty Shades is digital and I can hide that I'm reading it. In fact, I contemplated not confessing to anyone that I'm reading it. (That is why my title is "Fifty Shades of Crimson", though  I'm certain if I do decide to read on I'll have other valid reasons for this title.) The Kindle allows readers to read lovely prose or crap anonymously. When I see a Kindle reader I always assume they are reading something smart. That's the beauty of not having a cover to mar strangers' opinions of your tastes.(Oh, goodness, what if people see me holding my hot pink Kindle case and assume I'm reading erotica all the time. That thought had never crossed my mind.)

I digress...

 All of this "do I read, do I not read" thinking has really got me contemplating how we as a society spend our time. How is it that books like this and Twilight, TV shows like the Honey Boo Boo show (which I have not seen due to not having cable), Jerry Springer, etc. and music like the annoyingly catchy new Alicia Keys "This Girl is On Fire" are the big sellers? (All due respect to Alicia Keys. She's a good musician. She just needs to fire her lyricist for someone who can write something with a little more substance.)

Are we getting dumber as a society? Is that why these things are so, so, so successful? Or, are we a society of people who need to escape? Do these mindless books, TV shows and songs let us escape our own existence long enough to take a mind vacation? These are serious questions, dear readers. I really do worry that we are getting dumber. I like to think that bad media in general is escapism at its finest, but what if it isn't?

Am I just a snob? Am I the only one who worries about these things?

What is your mindless pleasure? Is it escapism for you? Did I successsfully plant "This Girl is On Fire" in your head? (You're welcome. I've had it in my head for days.)

How to Eat a Cupcake

In the chaos of giving birth (and here and here), I completely forgot that I wanted to share the revelations of the cupcake geniuses (my adorable yearbook girls) who threw me a shower the week before-- until I saw this article on Bon Appetit's website.

You know you've always wondered how to eat a cupcake without getting a nose full of frosting, or to ensure a proper cake to frosting ratio?

Here is the genius: tear off the bottom half of the cupcake and squash it into the frosting.

Absolutely life changing.

You think I'm hyperbolizing. Or worse, kidding entirely.

Not at all. Try it. Your life will change. For the better.

And did you know hyperbolizing is a real word?? I didn't have a clue. I thought I was bastardizing the English language again.

I digress. I love the picture up there. If you ignore the cuteness of my yearbook girls loving on Baby "Pedro" and look at the cupcake in the photo, you'll notice the brilliant tactic described above being employed.

Now go back to the cuteness.

I love those girls.

Not only do they know how to eat a cupcake, throw a shower, and make some darn great yearbooks, but they are also fantastic, beautiful, and incredibly intelligent ladies.

What's not to love?

What do you think of the cupcake strategy? Perfection perfected? Go ahead, go get some cakes and give it a whirl.

Gratuitous Baby Shot

Hello friends.

Sorry I've been MIA for almost a week. Beau, Little Man and I took a little vacation north. I've got fun things to say about our adventures, but I thought I'd pop in to say hello and show you what the Cutest Baby on Earth wears in New England in October.

Can you even handle all that cuteness? I can't.

Grammy got him a Black Dog fleece for my baby shower and I thought it was cute. Then we put it on him. Cute doesn't even begin to describe it. Ridiculous, really.

I've had two awesome black dogs who look a little like the sweet, protective dog on the fleece in my life and, frankly, there is nothing better than a loving Black Lab in a person's life. (I keep telling Beau we need a dog, but he's wise enough to tell me I'm crazy...) Instead, Little Man gets to cozy up with a graying, docile Black Lab and I don't have to walk him or clean up doggy doo.

Aside from the cuteness factor and warmth, I also love that he's wearing a little piece of Cape Cod. Beau's roots are there (shhh, don't tell anyone) and Little Man has got family that loves him very much in that neck of the woods. It's like he's getting a hug from them every time he wears it. Plus, he's the only baby on the block rockin' the original, regional brand.

See, he's loving this "hug". (He's giggling!!!)

What do you think of gratuitous baby shots? Want more? How about those items/products that you can only get in certain places (ignore online ordering capabilities, obvs.)? What rocks your socks?

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

I've mentioned my bucket list before, but haven't really gone into detail about it. I'm not going to do that here either. However, I will tell you that I crossed something off of it today.

Don't I look happy about it??

Once again, I apologize for the quality of my photos. I totally should get a new camera for Christmas. (Ahem, Beau, that's a hint. There might be a camera on my Amazon wish list if you're curious. ) A new camera will not, however, reduce my awkwardness in photos.

Anyway, so, yeah. One day I wrote a list of 50 things that I want to do in my life. Some things, like "laugh daily" (#33) and "read more often" (#29) are hard to actually cross off the list as they are continuous. Others, like "cage dive off the coast of South Africa" (#25) and "travel to Greece" (#28) are not really attainable at this stage in my life. You know, with an infant. I'm hoping for a long life. And a kid who gets a full ride to college so we can blow his college savings traveling to cross a ton of places off my list. Here's hoping. No pressure, kiddo. (But really, you should start studying now...)

Said kiddo was, by the way, on my list. Not him per se, but "become a mom" (#8). Chickety-check!

Look at me. Still not getting to the point of today's success..

 #47 totally happened today.

#47- Grow my hair and donate it.

This:

 Became:

 

And my happy before (again):

 

 

Became:

 

 

I have the best hair stylist (Brittany!) who, when I had short, stylish hair, used to love it when I came in and let her do whatever with my hair. I'd just sit down and say "Have fun"--with the one caveat that bangs were a no-no. She's like a hair wizard. Seriously, she's the Hermione Granger of hair. (Even Hermione can't handle humidity, right? My hair totally got flat in the time it took me to get home from the salon.)

 

I got really boring when I started to grow it out. It was slow and Brittany didn't get to have much fun. Then the prenatal vitamins made my hair go crazy (yay folic acid!). I swear it grew over eight inches in the last five months of my pregnancy. I knew it was long enough, but wasn't sure when I'd make the cut.

 

Then, the perfect storm hit: tiny infant hands+ post pregnancy shedding= the perfect time to give some love to Locks of Love.

 

Unfortunately, I was so excited to feel the breeze on my neck that I forgot to photograph the foot-long ponytail Brittany cut off to send in. Picture a long clump of hair tied in a ponytail on a counter top.

 

Yeah, maybe it's OK I didn't get a shot for posterity. (But that gross idea of a string of hair on a counter will turn into a soft blonde wig for a kid with cancer and that, my friends, is way awesome.)

 

Oh, and in case you're wondering, what's left is long enough that I can clip the top up and out of my face!

 

 

Yes, you're right, that is simply a reason to post a picture of the cutest baby on the planet.

 







As of today I've crossed twelve items off of my list. I'm 24% done! Fun! Maybe I should go buy a pair of Loubies to cross that off (#45). [Don't judge me. I can have one or two really shallow items if I have benevolent ones like platelet donation (#36), volunteer work at a children's hospital (#13)  and foster parenting(#37).]

 

Though not planned and kind of coincidental, I'm really glad I donated this month when cancer awareness is heightened. Everyone seems to be thinking pink, so why not do something positive to help someone out there?

 

What about you, have you donated your hair before? Ever tell your stylist to "have fun"?

 

p.s. Yes, mom, I know my hair is getting dark. I didn't get to go out in the sun much this summer, OK? It looks positively brunette from the back. I'm not happy about that. I'm a blonde and--fingers crossed-- I will return to my natural state eventually.

Falling for Fall

Happy first day of fall, friends.

We live very close to a university and they had a home football game today. My windows were open and I got to hear the roar of the crowd. It was awesome. I wish I could have been there, but since it was loud enough to hear at my house, I imagine it would have been too loud for Little Man.

(Photo from Merchant Circle)

Maybe next fall he'll get to experience a college football game.

While I love summer, I'm kind of glad fall is here. There is something so refreshing about that slight chill in the air that reminds us that summer has come to a close. Even though it was probably 80 degrees here during the day, the evening air turned crisp. Soon the trees will be turning and leaves will be crunching underfoot.

Hopefully our little family will venture back up to West Virginia to check out the Blue Ridge foliage. If you haven't noticed, the West Virginia mountains are our new favorite hang out. I guess with baby we've mellowed a little. There's something about seeing a vast wilderness before you that makes you slow down and look at life a little differently.

(Photo from Romantic Asheville. Click here to see more of that gorgeousness.)

That photo is of Asheville, NC. It isn't quite West Virginia, but the same mountain range, so close enough. I liked that there are other photos on the page for you to browse.

As the trees change and the weather turns chilly, sweaters will become my go-to. I like this stripe cowl from here. It might be time to go shopping... (If you're reading this, Beau, I'm totally kidding. I hate to shop. You know that.) No, but really, guys, isn't fall shopping such fun? The boots, the scarves, the layers.

There's a certain flavor to autumn, too. While I'm not a fan of pumpkin flavored anything, and cinnamon isn't my bag, I am looking forward to steamy cups of hot chocolate and home-made soups. Mmmmm. Yep, I'm ready for summer to be done.

What do you like best about autumn?

A Rose by any Other Name

I recently read Cheryl Strayed's Wild. It was an interesting memoir. I didn't fall in love with it and I certainly wouldn't enthusiastically recommend it to every person I meet. With that said, I did enjoy the read. And it is worth reading if you've got a bit of free time and are interested in hiking, the California wilderness, or a woman's quest for healing and discovery.

(Images from my Instagram... Yeah, I took those. Cool, huh?)

I finished reading Wild in the Blue Ridge Mountains of West Virginia, not far from the famous Appalachian Trail. Since a good portion of this book takes place in the mountains of California and Oregon on The AT's sister trail, the Pacific Crest Trail, I found Strayed's descriptions to be fascinating and vivid. I almost wanted to don a backpack and hike the oh-so-close AT 'till my toe nails fell off. Ok, no, that's a lie. I didn't want that at all.

Anyway, the author, Cheryl Strayed, writes about how she changed her name after she and her husband Paul divorced. "...I pondered the question of my last name, mentally scanning words that sounded good with Cheryl and making lists of characters from novels I admired. Nothing fit until one day when the word strayed came into mind. Immediately I looked it up in the dictionary and I knew it was mine. Its layered definitions spoke directly to my life and also struck a poetic chord..."

The passage got me thinking about what name I would have chosen had I decided not to keep my married name after my divorce. As a person passionate about words, it seemed like a really difficult and permanent change. I mean, your identity is wrapped up in your name. The thought of making the choice for myself seems too big, too scary.

I, too, would probably have first thumbed trough the list of character names from novels that made an impression on me. (Amy Eyre...) I would have very seriously considered Beckham--for obvious reasons. I would have given way too much thought to the significance of choosing a noun, verb, adjective, adverb, etc. Would it be an English word? Or something less obvious like a sexy French word that translates to an English word that carries significance in my world? (Amy Paroles, perhaps?)

I'm so glad glad that I didn't have to face the pressure of picking a name. I just had to pick the right guy to give me a new name. That happened, gasp, last week. But that, my friends, is a post still to come.

If you got to pick a last name that fit you, what would it be? Why?

Stay at home

Not only is motherhood a huge and amazing change in my life, but it isn't the only one. Generally, at the end of August I make my preparations for the upcoming school year. I buy supplies, decorate and arrange my classroom, prepare lessons and classroom expectations, among myriad other tasks. This year, though, I'm still hanging out at home with my Little Man. Beau and I decided together that being a stay-at-home-mom would be best for all three of us. And, so, as my friends and colleagues prepare to start the new school year, I am officially becoming a stay-at-home-mom.

(Image from here)

Like I said in this post, the birth of our son changed my outlook on my career. It ceased being my biggest priority. I imagine that at some point I will go back--perhaps next year, perhaps not--though when I think about it, this line from Robert Frost pops in my head:"...knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back."

It is hard to say where I'll be in a year. Perhaps I'll miss teaching high school so much that I'll be pining to go back and influence teenagers to adore British lit. Perhaps I'll be so content being at home with my Little Man that I'll try to finagle another year out of Beau. Or, perhaps I'll find other rewarding and important things to do with my time that will allow me to remain at home while earning some cash. (Face it, a girl has to have shoes. How will I ever pull off the old "These? New? Naah, I've had these for ages..." stunt if Beau can see the expenditures?)

(Image from here)

At the start of last year if you had asked me if I'd be able to give up teaching, I'd have looked at you like you'd just disembarked from the crazy train. I'd have pointed out my recently acquired National Board Certification, my Teacher of the Year plaque, the photos and notes of students from the past and told you that I belong in the classroom. And yet, here I am. Labor Day weekend has always been my last weekend of freedom. This year, it is the last weekend of freedom for my friends, and what I thought would be a sad weekend for me.

(Image from here)

At some point over the past three months (!) between late night feedings, dirty diapers, first smiles, coos and cries, I've changed dramatically. I am, first and foremost, a mom to an amazing little person. I'm going to do everything in my power to grow a human being who is kind, loving, smart, sincere and honest. Rather than taking an active role in shaping the lives of my students, I'll be shaping the life of MY child.

And so, as the first day of school approaches, I am relinquishing my role as high school English and journalism teacher and becoming a SAHM. I know I will miss it very much. I will miss the relationship I have with my students and my coworkers. I'll even miss the 4:40 a.m. alarm clock (because it, at least was predictable and consistent...).

Staying at home with my Little Man is something I'm very excited about. It is the most important (and probably most difficult) job I will ever have. Fortunately I've been trained well by working the second hardest job out there. Despite my excitement, it is with bittersweet heart that I write this post acknowledging the fact that tomorrow, for the first time in thirteen years, won't be my first day back to school as a teacher.

Have you done something that you thought you'd never, ever be doing?



 

Thoughts on Motherhood

Just over two months ago (two months and a day!) my entire world changed, and while I now all of a sudden feel like motherhood defines me, I don't want it to take over this blog. With that being said, I will most definitely have numerous posts on this new adventure I'm on. It is, after all, the most exciting thing in my life these days.

It is amazing to me that for twelve years I was a teacher first and foremost. It was the biggest part of my being. Then, on May 27th, my water broke and I began the final transformation from pregnant teacher to mother. It wasn't until Tuesday the 29th that Little Man joined us here in the world, but at 7:22 a.m., my identity changed completely. I did look at the clock when Little Man emerged and think to myself, "Oh, look school's about to start. I should be there. We have three weeks of school left, I have so much to do." It was actually a kind of surreal moment. As cheesy as that thought seems, it is exactly what went through my head. And then, as quickly as it flashed through my mind, my focus on being a teacher vanished. There was this tiny wiggly being in  my arms and I was ready to give up everything I spent the last twelve years building for the human being I'll spend the next eighteen plus years raising.

Images from Pinterest.

When I was pregnant people told me that I would love Little Man more than I could imagine. I just nodded and smiled. What did they know? I already loved the kicking, hiccuping, squirming baby inside of me. We had bonding time on the way to work when I would talk to him and he would move and kick in response. I'd rub my belly at night and tell him all I hoped for him. I loved him. There was no way the love I felt for the little being inside of me could be bigger or more intense.

And then I met him. I can't even describe the overpowering waive of utterly unconditional love I felt at that very moment. Nothing else in the world mattered.

First picture of my guy. Thirty-seven plus hours of labor couldn't make this moment less perfect.

And so now, two months and one day later, my love grows bigger and bigger each day. Even on horribly reflux-y days when there is more time spent crying and fussing than gazing lovingly at his mommy, Little Man is the best thing that has ever happened to me. Both Beau and I wonder what took us so long. We finally feel like we have found our purpose in this world. So it seems that all of those people were right.

Life, it seems, is made up of stages. What stage are you in? Does it define you?

Hobbit Feet and Hearburn

I know you all think that some tragic fate has taken me out of this world. Fortunately, you're wrong. I've just had a gazillion things to do and updating my beloved blog has been pushed to the end of the to-do list far, far, far too often.

I know a void opened in your world without me. I will try harder to remedy that!

Today I am going to post about something that consumes my world: pregnancy. This pregnancy has been blissfully easy and fun. I'm one of those freaks who really enjoys pregnancy. I've not really had any of the aches and pains associated with pregnancy yet (knock on wood) and as I enter my 34th week of pregnancy I can really only complain about two minor discomforts.

Yes, Hobbit feet and heartburn. Fortunately for me, I don't have the other dreaded "H" that is often associated with pregnancy. (Again, I'm fiercely knocking on wood.) If you've been pregnant, you know which "H" I'm referring to.

Tuesday was my last day going straight from work to my second job at the community college. Those Tuesdays were my 14 hour days, and as I got further and further into my pregnancy, they got harder and harder. Tuesday night I was wiped out, and when I propped my feet up on the coffee table at home I saw not the cute little feet I am used to, but Hobbit feet. (Minus the disgusting hair, obvs.)

(BTW, a Google images search of "Hobbit Feet" results in some really gross images. This one, from here was the least disgusting one I could find.)

Basically, since Tuesday my feet have been puffy, square appendages that are in desperate need of a pedicure. That's why the image above is not of my own feet. (Well, that and I don't want to become one of the gross images that comes up in Google images when people search "Hobbit Feet." What? People search for that. Trust me.)

Aside from staying hydrated, another "remedy" to Hobbit feet is to elevate them. I try to do that as frequently as possible. I'm currently teaching Hamlet and Macbeth  in the two different levels of 12th grade English I teach. Instead of standing, I have been sitting in front of the class and propping my feet up in another chair to keep the swelling to a minimum. I find that said posture also keeps my professionalism to a maximum... Or not. Oh well.

Anyway, I'm hoping that at some point in the next six weeks the swelling goes down and I can have ankles and cute feet again.

My other ailment is good old-fashioned heartburn. Prior to this pregnancy I'd never experienced heartburn. Now, it is a daily occurrence. It doesn't matter what I eat, it's going to light my esophagus on fire and slowly burn until I pop my new favorite product, Tums.

The Assorted Berries are pretty dang good. Once upon a time, the 96 tablet size above would have lasted me years. Now I'm lucky if I can make them last a month.

But, like I said, I am so very lucky and thankful that aside from these minor discomforts, this pregnancy has been an absolute pleasure.

At this point our little guy is big, healthy and head down. I like to say he's locked and loaded and ready to greet the world. (But hopefully not until I finish the school year...)

Over the next few days I'll (hopefully) have posts about my AMAZING baby shower, some great reads, some products (other than Tums) that I have loved over the past 33.5 weeks, the nursery, my trip to CA, etc.



Until then, have you guys made it though experiences that should have been majorly taxing with only minor complaints? More importantly, have you missed me?

What motivates you?

Tonight on the way home I was listening to NPR and there was a story about workplace motivation and such. The gist of it was that though there are companies like Google who serve gourmet meals, and another place that eludes me right now that has Nerf fights, the perks of work are nice, but don't really satisfy or motivate workers. What motivates employees, apparently, is progress.

(Image from here via Pinterest)

That got me thinking that if this is indeed true then education must be way up there on someone's list of super-cool-jobs-people-want-to-have. Bear with me here... Ignoring the low salaries, the mounds of papers to grade, the incessant scrutiny and dissatisfaction of the public and the constant funding cuts/class size increases, etc. that make the job complain-worthy, the career itself does actually lend itself to very visible progress and success. Each and every day I see students who have the aha moment or understand a concept they didn't get before. On a daily basis (or at least weekly...) I get to see that what I am doing makes a difference. I can't begin to explain to you how motivating and satisfying that is.

That line of thought got me thinking about personal motivation. For the past 12 years I have devoted my life to being a teacher. I have always been the sucker with "yes" written on her forehead. "Amy, want to advise the newspaper, and yearbook and teach multiple preps?" "Uh, duh. YES!" "Ms. W., will you write me a letter of recommendation today since I've procrastinated on my college applications and I need it mailed today?" "Sure thing." "We're having an open house/ parents night/ freshman orientation/ whatever time consuming event you can think of. Can you be present?" "Of course."

Never have I minded. It matters to the kids. Therefore, it matters to me. My personal motivation was tied up within my professional motivation and I was quite content.

(Image from here via Pinterest)

Now, all a sudden that personal motivation I got from devoting my life to my career is in flux. Now that I am expecting a child, I can't see myself doing what I've done for the past 12 years. I can't see myself staying after school until I'm not needed there any more. My motivation now comes from family.

It is a true paradigm shift and I'm just now wrapping my head around it. I know that I love my job, but there is more out there for me in the near future. I suppose my perspective on what is important will continue to shift as I get older. For now, I am going to trust my (pregnant) gut and follow what motivates me.

What motivates you, dear readers?

Trial post from iPad

Hello my friends! Sorry it has been so long since my last post. It has been very busy here. I'll get into the details of that in a non-trial post.

I'm simply attempting to post a multi-paragraph post to see if Google and Apple have learned to play nice. Needless to say, I have my doubts. Today I tried yo swiftly and effortlessly move contacts from my Verizon Droid phone to my AT&T iPhone. It didn't work. I'm moving them all over by hand. I've never wished I had fewer friends before...

Check out the romantic presentation of my iPhone gift from beau. He's just adorable sometimes... Why yes, that us a decorative red onion on the left. (btw, I do kind of wonder if the love message was for me or if I had stumbled upon his shrine to the cult of Apple.)

It turns out I can't size photos or determine placement through the app. Otherwise, it seems to be ok!

Does technology irk you like it does me?

Cape Cod Christmas

Hello friends.

Can you believe Christmas is almost upon us? Beau and I will be traveling to his hometown on the Cape to spend the holidays with his whole family. I asked two of his sisters to put in for some mild weather since we all know this gal doesn't do cold very well. Someone listened. For being as far north as we will be, the forecast looks downright warm!

(Image here)

It looks like we won't be seeing any snow, but I did find a few images that suggest that it would be absolutely breathtaking.

(Images here)

(Image here)

Beau and I are looking forward to a season of love, warmth, family, friends and togetherness. Here's wishing you the very same.

Merry Christmas.

How will you be spending Christmas? Is it your favorite time of year too?