To Do Lists.

In the hope of feeling
like I'm accomplishing something,
I just wrote something
on my "To Do" list
JUST SO THAT I COULD cross it off.

There, see how productive I am?

An uninspired attempt at a post.

You know what a parent told me yesterday?

Do you?

They told me I am EXACTLY the type of first grade teacher

that a kid should have.

When they go home

and my word is gold.

Well.

It went straight to my head.

...and protect us from all anxiety...

I would love to write you something that will transform you. Move you. Resonate with you. But I am just too worn out, too beat down, too uninterested. All I can think of, all I can imagine as the lining on this cloud, are eight sweet weekdays free of the kids.

The problem, you see, is that I can't seem to put 1/2 my effort into things. Not even 3/4 of my effort. Sometimes Eric laughs when my eyes start to droop during dinner.
"I just left it all on the field" I tell him.
Like I am still an athlete and I played my heart out. And I have nothing left of myself to give.
He smiles, but I think he is worried. Worried that my work will always drain me of my energy. That I will always bring home projects. That weekends will be filled with glitter and gluesticks for the rest of our days. He asked me if I was going to heat up my soup for lunch today. "Of course", I said,  cold soup? He said "Good, because I don't think you take care of yourself at work".
When I had the time, I put that soup in the microwave, and I ate it nice and hot.
It was, you see, my dinner.

As I shoveled the snowy driveway this evening I thought, at the outset, that I'd just do a little.
Maybe just the part by the door. But then I was at the car. Ok. Just a path around here. Alright, half the driveway will do. Well I might as well do this part, too.
Next thing I knew I had shoveled the whole thing. And I mean, there was hardly a speck left.

The trouble is, I know that something's gotta give. The teacher next door tells me "Oh I used to do that WHEN I WAS YOUNG". And I hear the bitterness in her voice. But, the fortuneteller, too. Like after a certain point, she couldn't keep up with herself. And she knows I'll get there. And I know I will, too. Because I don't think I can do it all, and I don't want the things I let slip to be the things that should fill me back up again. And I don't want it all to come caving in at once.

When I was good about filling my cup, when I had the luxury of time and my work stayed at work, I would say to myself "enjoy this, enjoy this..." to get me through the lows.
I stopped myself the other day when I found myself saying "and protect us from all anxiety, and protect us from all anxiety..."

When did that change?

ME.

I think I suffer from mild to severe Christmas light decoration jealousy.
And this is only the beginning of the list of things that just aren't right about this week.

A co-worker handed me a piece of paper and told me to do with it "what the spirit guided me to".
It was a piece of paper. A simple newsletter.
What the spirit guided me to?
I can't get it out of my mind.
The spirit?
Of course, yes, I know what she means.
And of course, yes, I do believe in her message.
But I get so caught up. In life. Stinking, sometimes. Especially the week after a vacation in a room of 24 six year olds who seem to be on some personal quest to say my name as many times as they can without going hoarse. They never do seem to go hoarse. But it's a mystery to me how that is.
Oh anyway, I just take it all so personally. Where have a failed the child who opened up the bottle of glue and poured it all over the desk on Wednesday morning? How have I misled him? No worry that his father is in jail. It is my shortcoming that has gotten him to this point.
At would point should I have explicitly told those boys that they shouldn't punch a classmate in the stomach at recess? And the boy that got punched? When did I show him what putting up your middle finger means?

I get so self-centered. So wrapped up in me-ness. I assume I am the epicenter of all these actions and the roots behind them. But it is hard to separate the time, effort and money I put into making my room happen at all from the actions they choose while they are with me. They are with me for more waking hours a week than they are with their own families. Of course I take it personally.
But like I've said so many times before, and then forget once the words slip off the keyboard, I cannot think I am in this alone.
I am not in this alone.
Something is guiding me through it. 

And it's not all bad. There are silver linings, I just have to look harder for them.

Like... "Ms. H" (ugh) "here's you in your wedding dress"...

And, well, I still got my looks.

To build a home

I am no mother, but oh I have felt heartache.


I am no baker, but I can turn these


into this.



I am no designer, but I have the shirts on my back.



I am a master musician.
With a band.


I am a sweet-blooded snack for bugs.
Can't stop me from eatin' my lunch. Oh-no.


I am getting ready to smooch this chooch.
Yes I am

Yes I did, thanks for asking

Yes I did find the perfect place to begin my tacky beach house accessory collection.




Yes I did pack a brownie and a book to keep myself entertained at the River while Eric fished.




Yes I did watch him give the fish a root canal and then heard it bark (or burp, hard to tell as I'd never heard a fish make noise before).




Yes I did ride the merry-go-round in a dress. Not even side saddle. Some lady!




Yes I did meet the dog I want to bring home.



Thanks for asking.

Show me the way.

I pray for signs.
Clear ones.

So when I turned on my phone last Monday and had two messages,
one text from Erin asking for my address,
and one from the principal of St. Francis Xavier School.
I knew I had received one.

I thought...
Erin's son's name is Francis Xavier
and the principal is calling from Francis Xavier.
And my middle name is Frances and that relates to Carmel somehow (although I am too young to know how)
and I was craving a caramel which is spelled like Carmel.
... and I knew.
I just had this feeling.
Something could maybe possibly come of this if I think real hard about it.

And it did.

So on August 25th with 25 first graders walk into their classroom at SFX,
they'll find me.




MUWAHAHAHAHA.

cough, cough

"I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more--that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut--my eyes are blue--
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke--
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear. (S.S.)



My mental health is much improved after this day.
As in, my head does not feel, anymore, that it will burst right off my shoulders.
I went for a good run in preparation for the 13.1 that is in 16 days but who's counting.
Inspired by Emah, I went and had my pigs painted pink. ELAPHANTASTIC!
And now, I shall watch Oprah and contemplate the toppings I would like to sprinkle my pizza with.
Because it is Friday.
Or is it Saturday?

Congratulations! You're Here.

Yesterday, I was working out.

So glad I'm able to type that.

Not to rub it in, but I also worked out today.

(Pass the jelly beans.)

Anyway, I was prolly 15 minutes into a 45 minute jaunt on the orbit - elipti - something or other machine when a man walked up to the woman 2 machines away and said,

"Congratulations, you're here!"

I thought nothing of it and carried on. I was just about to break a sweat - love that part.

But then, he walked up to the woman next to her and said,

"Congratulations, you're here!"

Feeling a little distracted by the scene, I let my brain wonder:

They must be friends. Friends with tentative plans to meet at the gym if they were able. And he's greeting them with congratulations because they were able. OR, are the post-Saturday-night-storm-roads in Ridgefield as bad as they are in Darien, Greenwich, New Canaan? Was it really that much of an accomplishment to navigate to the gym this morning? My drive seemed easy, actually...but perhaps I wasn't paying close enough atten...

"Congratulations, you're here!" The man with the belly said to me. To Me!

I smiled slightly but then was consumed by thoughts:

Do I know this man with the belly? Did I make a plan to meet him here today???? Dear lord who is he? Does he know that I wasn't paying attention to the roads this morning. Does he know I really shouldn't be here due to downed power lines and tree limbs - but got here somehow?

"Congratulations, you're here!" The big bellied man's words snapped me out of my stupor.

Just like that, he'd left me. Onto the next wide-eyed gym rat. Left me in a daze wondering just who that big-bellied man is....and left me feeling proud - proud that I'd gotten to the gym that day.

Congratulations! You're here!