Deep Summer

     

In my part of the country, it's already well into a time of year I think of as "deep summer."  The leaves have all gone from their joyous shades of green to a spent-looking black emerald.  The flowers, although still mostly brilliant, are showing signs of fading to more muted, classy colors of autumn.  The nearby crops are nearing their peak of perfection, anticipating the harvest that is soon to come.  Whitetail deer are running rampant, seemingly eager to jump in front of any vehicle moving at a high velocity.   Below-average overnight temperatures are leaving behind thick morning fog that cloaks the emerald hillsides in a downy mist. 

     The color of the sky changes to a more brilliant blue, accessorized by full, puffy white clouds. Even the sun seems to be taking a slightly more southerly track across the sky.  Canadian Geese are beginning to put on their annual show, forming themselves into the familiar accent marks, pointing the way toward life-sustaining warmth.  Summer is dying a little more as each day passes, gently escorting us to the next season. 

     Although I may have noticed bits and pieces of these changes in previous years, I have never really had the opportunity to fully enjoy noticing them all together.  I've always been busy being either a student or teacher since the age of 4.  It's amazing to me how all of these changes go on right in front of us, yet we never really think much of it.  It just happens and the next thing we know, we are putting on coats, hats, scarves, gloves and boots, trudging out into biting cold winds and the occasional snowfall.

    In autumn, we enjoy the leaves changing colors and falling off the trees, of course.  But the more subtle changes come and go without being observed by most of us.  When exactly did the sound of singing birds get replaced by the humming of insects?  When did the brittle brown start to take over the succulent green on the cornstalks?  When did the nighttime haze in the sky start to erode away, leaving behind highly polished, brilliant stars?  All of these changes happen, like clockwork, every year.  Sometimes a little earlier, sometimes a little later, but they always happen. 

     It's a magical thing, really.  I'm thankful I get to notice and appreciate all of these changes this year.  At the same time, it makes me realize there is so much more I take for granted.  But I'm not going to dwell on what I might be missing.  It's best to just go through the coming months and years with a heightened awareness and enjoy the new revelations as they come to me. 

"On Quitting"

The link below sums it up pretty well.  It expresses the courage needed to face the heartbreak of quitting something you love.  Doing what's best is not always what feels good.  It can be a challenge emotionally, financially and socially.

Please take the time to read the poem.

On Quitting by Edgar Albert Guest : The Poetry Foundation

Selfish Solitude

Yesterday's message at church was about selfishness. I won't get into the actual message itself, but I will tell you what it made me think about.

First, I started thinking about how one person's selfish narcissism helped to drive me from a career that I worked hard for and cared about.  Of course, I kmow, ultimately, the decision not to fight to hold onto that career was mine and mine alone.  I knew I could no longer be an effective teacher in that environment and, really, why would I want to?

I've come a long way in the past 7 months.  It's really only by the grace of God that I am even still here.  I have been blessed with a supportive family, true friends, a fantastic church family and incredible medical professionals who went above and beyond any expectations I would have had to get me through the really bad stuff.  Most of all, I had an inexplicable peace about the outcome of my situation. 

I have had nothing to rely upon but faith many times over the past 7 months.  I don't know why or how, but my family has been provided for without fail.

With that being said, I have reached a point of forgiveness.  It became a whole lot easier once I figured out what granting forgiveness does and doesn't require of me.  Also, I had to figure out that any expectations I have of other people regarding their behaviors or reactions are really unreasonable on my part.  No expectations=no disappointment=no anger.  Pretty simple, but difficult to really do while you feel like you are fighting for simple survival.

So back to selfishness.  Everyone has it to one degree or another.  As I suddenly realized where I am in my life and wonder what happened to land myself here, I started remembering those first few weeks I spent not working.  I remember how I thought to myself "Everyone else looks out for number one, so from now on, I'm doing the same!"

I knew that wasn't realistic for me to sustain forever, but I had to make a conscious decision to just take care of me.  I am still there for now, although I have tried to toss it out the window a few times.  

No matter how much we like to think that we are not selfish, we all have a little piece of ourselves that we need to preserve. It takes on different forms for all of us, but it is there.  For some people it is money, power, or time or any number of other things. 

For me, I think it is solitude. I like my time alone.  To not feel pressured to act a certain way or have to say anything to another person.  This probably comes from a lifetime of approval-seeking, and I've finally found that to be exhausting.  

Someday I may try to break out of my selfish habit of trying to be alone most of the time. For now, I just don't have it in me to fight it. I need to learn ways to make it less taxing on myself first, like learning to not care so much about what other people may think of me.  I think as I get older, I am slowly gaining an attitude of "So what?".  I just wish I could flip a switch and be there.  

I'm sure I have many other areas in which I am selfish.  This is likely just the proverbial tip of the iceberg. But I've got to stick with one battle at a time. 

Ch, ch, ch, changes!

13 days until school starts in XYZ school district. So far, I've survived a lot of "firsts" since January.  First class picture day I've missed in 19 years, first parent-teacher conferences I've missed, first class party I've missed, first last day . . .you get the idea.  

On August 20, which is in 13 more days,  it will be the first 1st day of a new school year I have missed.  In 20 years. This will be the only year I will pay attention to that.  Only paying attention now because it is the first. 

So, whatever shall I do on that day?   I haven't quite nailed it down yet, but I think it's going to involve being on a beach at sunrise.  

I will admit, for awhile I would get sad thinking about what I've left behind. Even though it wasn't really a choice.  But once I realized that the career I lost wasn't really the same occupation anymore, it helped me to figure out that I might as well celebrate it.  I might as well allow myself to get tangled up in the silver lining of this cloud and enjoy the blessing, in spite of the disguise it was wearing.  Some days this is easier than others, but it's coming along. 

One thing I'm really grateful for is that I won't be a witness to 7 year old kids experiencing test anxiety.   My final year was the first time I ever saw students that young have such a visible reaction at test time.  What was different than the previous 18 years?  I have some ideas, but that's a whole other bucket of worms. 

Another thing I'm grateful for is just having time to process thoughts.  Elementary teachers don't really have that luxury.  They have to be "on" from the time school starts until those buses leave at the end of the day.  Constantly "entertaining" to keep students engaged, while also juggling individual student needs.  Not just academic needs, but also physical, social, and emotional needs.  You gotta try to soothe hurt feelings and boo-boos, reassure Susie that everything's ok even though mom is in jail, give the foster kids extra encouragement, try to give equal attention to the needy, yet not ignore the independent students.  All of these tasks (and more) are done concurrently. 

Teachers do this crazy balancing act for mostly one reason:  they like helping children learn.  The job has intrinsic rewards for those who are there for the right reasons.  

However, the changes that are taking place in education across the United States are eroding the teacher's ability to really teach.  I guess someone somewhere thought the whole learning process can be "mechanized" in a sense.  A lot of other people apparently bought into this idea, although I doubt any if them were real teachers. 

This mechanization idea involves testing kids to make sure they've learned specific standards, tracking progress through data collection and analysis, and making adjustments to future instruction to improve areas of weakness.

Well, that makes sense.  In theory and to a certain point. But then, someone got the bright idea that we could apply this practice to every subject and every test.  That doesn't sound so bad.  Except for one forgotten detail:  kids need more from school than just learning what is listed in the curriculum.  Kids are PEOPLE, not widgets.  Schools are not factories.  We are trying to apply quality control measures to living, thinking, still-developing people.  

Quality control is a great thing if you are producing ice cream or automotive parts: If you get less-than-satisfactory ingredients, you can find a better vendor and then all is well with your final product.  This doesn't work so well in a school setting.  You can't just send faulty ingredients back and demand better from the suppliers.  

If you don't believe me, just try it - tell Mr. & Mrs. Johnson that Johnny just isn't up to par and they'll need to produce a better person if they wish to be considered as student suppliers in the future.  

This is why my chosen profession no longer exists;  schools are expected to find a way to make all children develop and learn the same things at the same times and prove that this forced maturity is being achieved. Of course teachers and schools strive to do their best and prepare students, but is it realistic to think that children coming into school with varying abilities, talents, and home lives are going to hit the same learning benchmarks at the same time?  Talk about pressure!!

So, yeah, things have changed. The concept of teaching and learning that I grew up with no longer exists.  I'm sure many of my colleagues will adapt, some will crack under the pressure and be forced out, and others will just eventually draw the line and decide its no longer rewarding to keep trying to do the impossible.  

All I know is, I am where I need to be and it's not such a bad place.  

Royal Babywatch

Well, the Royal Babywatch drama is behind us and I, for one, am quite relieved that there is now a male heir available to Great Britain.  

Personally, I'm pretty sure the little guy was born weeks ago and Kate has just been working out like a fiend ever since to spare us all the media's next planned drawn-out Royal saga called "figure watch."  You know how they did poor Diana for weeks after Will was born. 

Good thinking, Will & Kate!  Stay ahead of those ruthless story hounds.  

Anyway, I'm pretty sure all those Catholic Cardinal guys were way ahead of the game, too.  It seems like this year's Popewatch didn't last nearly as long as the one in 2005.  Granted, these dudes had some warning this time, since no one had to die before choosing a successor.  I was planning for weeks of watching the smoke curl up out of the little Vatican chimney, trying to discern the actual color of it before getting the official word from the man on the street.  Luckily, most of this broo-ha-ha was avoided and it was all over in a matter of a couple days. 

I'm bettin' with all the technology today, the Cardinals discovered it was much easier to do a google survey ahead of time from their own little part of the globe, then meet on the appointed date for some good-natured Bingo games in the Sistine Chapel basement. 

 Catholic folks:  I mean no offense, and I know you've got a good sense of humor, so don't take it personally.

If this isn't how it was, I think it would have been an awesome approach:  The world gets their bit of theatrical suspense, a new Pope is selected, the Cardinals get to fellowship for a few days of retreat in Vatican City, no harm done. 

I'm not sure what the next "watch" will be, but I'm pretty sure there are some media blitz geniuses working on it at this very moment. 

Stay tuned . . . . 

Invisible Illnesses

Almost everyone knows someone with an "invisible" illness. These are conditions like fibromyalgia, lupus, chronic fatigue syndrome, depression,anxiety and countless others. Unless you yourself have one of these illnesses, it is difficult to impossible to understand the affects and limitations that are imposed upon the daily activities of the sufferer. 

 I am ashamed to say I used to believe that some of these illnesses could be overcome if the person would just work at it a little and stay busy.  This just simply is not true, and I have learned that first-hand.  

The most frustrating thing for a sufferer of invisible illness is knowing that other people do not understand the need to pace yourself and to make choices.  Sometimes choices like do I eat breakfast or fix my hair?  I know I won't be able to accomplish both tasks and still be able to get to work.  Or, do I cook dinner or fold laundry?  I have enough energy for one task, but not both.  

To the normal person, this just sounds like pure laziness.  But it is a harsh reality for those with invisible illness.  When you have the flu, or even just a cold, are you going to be able to keep up a normal routine?  Can you meet all of the demands of a regular day while you are fighting off an infection?  Invisible illnesses are no different in that respect.  

One huge difference, however, is that invisible illnesses are almost always lifelong conditions. So the sufferer really has very little hope that he or she will be able to resume working at full tilt in a few days.  Unlike a cold, invisible illnesses do not go away.  Imagine how you would feel if you knew that for the rest of your life you were going to be dealing with cold symptoms on a daily basis. Really, I mean it.  Stop and imagine it.  . . . what would you have to do differently in order to adapt?  Would you need more frequent periods of rest throughout the day?  Would you spend Friday & Saturday evenings socializing, or would you prefer to spend that little but of precious free time recovering from a busy work week?  

I don't mean for this post to be a bummer, but I really do know what it is to be on the other side . . . the side that just assumes that a person who suffers from an invisible illness could do more if he or she just would.  Now that I'm on this side, I know it isn't so simple.  

If you have not experienced one of these illnesses, I hope and pray that you never do.  But I also hope and pray that you will at least make some attempt at not making false assumptions about those of us who are afflicted.  It's way more debilitating than you think.  

A really good resource is called "The Spoon Theory."  You can find it on www.butyoudontlooksick.com.  It's an incredibly good concrete explanation of this topic.  

I want others to know simply because I just never imagined it would be like this. 

A Viking Send-Off

I wrote those last 4 posts so this post would make sense.  

After all of the fallout from my days of being considered a threat to the children and staff of XYZ Elementary School for showing emotion, and knowing that I am being moved from one season of life to the next by God, I decided it might be kinda therapeutic to destroy what represents all those years of hard work, dedication and sacrifice. You know, really annihilate that ridiculous childhood dream that didn't quite reach the expected conclusion. 

I visited my brother during the July 4th holiday.  And while laying in a tent, near a beach, listening to waves crashing against the shore, it hit me.  I wanted to go do it right then!  But, alas, the one item that represents my ex-teacherhood was 475 miles away. 

So, I began plotting. I want to send it up in flames, but I also want to watch it drift gently away as it disintegrates.  "It" is my permanent teaching certificate. 

Ah, yes, that highly coveted piece of cardstock.

 I started thinking about all the summers I gave up spending time with my then-young son, he was probably between the ages of 7-9, just so I would have enough hours to slide in my renewal under the wire, before the permanent certificate became obsolete.  "But it will be worth it," I told myself.  I wouldn't have to work so hard during his middle school and high school years and could really be there for him as he moved into being a teenager. 

Before that, when my son was between the ages of 2 and 4,  I busted my rear end working toward a masters degree, which at that time, one needed to have to even get a professional certificate.  (One step below the permanent one).  But I told myself "It will be worth it."  I would be able to be there for his elementary school years, help him with homework and other activities in which he might like to be involved. 

I thought about how my son was 6 months old, and I started my first real teaching job, driving almost an hour to and from school, often working until 6 pm to make things perfect for my students.  But I told myself "It will be worth it."  I had a real teaching job!  I had to be good at it. I would be able to spend summers with my son as he grew up and got a little older. 

Thank goodness he had a great dad who wasn't a teacher and wasn't afraid to change diapers and wash bottles.  

So all of this hard work got me to that permanent teaching certificate.  A symbol of accomplishment.  A piece of paper that says "You've worked your way up to the highest credential a teacher can have to prove you know what you're doing.  Now you can just go do it, we'll not trouble you to waste more time in a college classroom."  

Well, that was a long time ago.  I know things have changed. But I worked hard for it and it was mine.  And now, since it is so utterly worthless, I want to do it up right.  Send it to the great beyond in style.  

And that's how the idea was born to let my naive little kid dream go, just set it free on a floating pyre.  May be bittersweet, but what else do you do to move on? 

  I think it's gonna be awesome. 

The Shunning

So, the past 6 months have been what I think of as a shunning for me.  I know it was unintentional.  I know my colleagues were all buried under a ridiculous workload designed to keep them from having a chance to even stop and think "Hey, these tasks and meetings seem pretty stupid and pointless."  I know people had no idea of what happened and were therefore unsure of what to say to me.  

And ultimately, the lack of contact with colleagues protected them from having to answer any awkward questions they may have been asked about my absence. As far as Mrs. Frills knew, only two people knew the whole truth of what happened to Goldie. 

Also, all the time I was not at work, I was not having a luxurious vacation from life.  I was going to appointments with doctors therapists and attorneys.  I was tracking down information to do what I needed to do to protect my family's best interests, since no one seemed to know anything about what I should do in this situation. I had very few days to indulge my own need for rest and escape.  So don't be thinking it has been a picnic!

Which brings me to an important point I need to make:  I am not telling my story to harm Mrs. Frills.  I am simply telling the truth of what happened. No other protection is available to my reputation to demonstrate that I have not committed some horrendous act, forcing me to leave.  

Therefore, I will tell the truth so that I can move on.  Mrs. Frills probably wishes I would keep my mouth shut and go away, but I can't do that.  If I did that, Mrs. Frills would be totally free to continue to harm others in a similar fashion.  

The good thing about this unintentional shunning, was I rediscovered some old friends, had opportunities to reconnect with some great people, and have begun to make some new friends as well.  I miss my work friends, but I know it can never be the same.  I also know that no one wants to be the next "target" by associating with me.

I understand, and it's ok.  

Aftermath and the stunning conclusion

Fast forward to the next morning, Friday, January 18, 2013.  Mrs. Frills called me, with feigned concern, of course, and told me that she had sent to my email a copy of the letter she was sending to my doctor. Great.  

The letter basically painted a picture of half-truths about me and my job performance, then went on to state that I was considered a threat to myself and others.  In addition, Mrs. Frills demanded my complete medical history, blah, blah, blah.  

So these demands led to over $10,000 in medical tests and doctor, psychiatrist and counseling visits. All over a 6-month period.  Which is where the diabetes diagnosis came in, which all of my care providers concur were likely a major factor in my anxiety. 

But now we have a new problem:  Post-traumatic stress disorder. Caused by the incident?  I say yes.  Is there anything I can do about it?  Pretty much not. Thanks, Mrs. Frills. You are freaking awesome!  

And, that, my dear readers, is how I am retired.  

. . . . well! The plot thickens.

Less than 2 minutes after the mysterious verbal flogging of my students by Mrs. Frills, a paraprofessional appeared in my classroom as if by magic.  She sympathetically told me to go take a break.  But not so fast - Mrs. Frills reappeared in my classroom and said loudly in front of everyone present "you need to go home or get yourself together or something, this is ridiculous !"

Well, I may have been in the middle of a panic attack, but somehow I still managed to feel an evil presence as these words were said.  And in the same split second, despite being upset, something told me to run like hell.  I didn't need to be told twice. As I stepped over the imaginary threshold that every classroom seems to have, I knew I would never teach again.  And I was surprisingly relieved.  But still hysterical.  

A few moments later, Mrs. Frills left my classroom, and walked past me, obviously pretending I was not there.  

I made my way to the women's staff restroom where a few minutes later, another second grade teacher, who also happens to be a good friend, but incidentally is also a guy, and also happens to be the union president, showed up to talk to me.  Of course, he had no idea that I was not nearly such a mess until my students and I were verbally attacked.  So he naturally gets the idea that I really have gone off the deep end.  

I urge him to go back to his classroom, not knowing who is supervising his room. He assures me it is ok, Mrs. Frills graciously offered to cover his class so that he could come talk to me.  

Ah, now it made sense.  Mrs. Frills could relieve him to clean up the secret mess she made of me, but could not be bothered to concern herself with whatever had really happened to me before the evil set in.  Ok. I get it. This good friend was specially selected so that the union would be well aware of what a nutcase I apparently was. For the record, it is claimed that Mrs. Frills did not know I was in the women's restroom.  But seriously, where do the hysterical women teachers usually end up??

My friend advises me to go to Mrs. Frills' office to debrief or whatever. I do that and am interrogated about my medical history, medications, as well as being verbally chastised repetitively.  Mrs. Frills told me to go home and not come back for a week and to bring medical documentation back with me.  She reassured me that since parent-teacher conferences were scheduled for that evening that someone would call my parents to cancel mine. 

So I went to my classroom, packed up as much as I could carry and was out the door in 10 minutes. . . . 

(To be continued again)

Well, well, well . . .

It's taken many, many years, but I think I've finally found the focus of my writing.  Turns out this little disorganized blog was not nearly as random as I first believed in the beginning.  Tidbits of truth. The word "truth" being the emphasis. The truth of what I have experienced and what I think about it. Genius! It was so obvious, I just couldn't even pick it out. If it had been a snake, it woulda bit me.  I hate snakes.

So, now that I am unexpectedly semi-officially "retired," I am hoping I may eventually have a little time to kill.   People who know my identity may be thinking "WHAT??? You're only 42. You can't just retire.  How so??"

Here is "how so":  I had the job I had always dreamed about, even as a little naive kid:  teaching other little naive kids.  It was a blast.  So much so, that I did it for 21 years.  Half of my life.  Never thought about doing anything else.  I don't really know how to do anything else.

Then, things started changing.  More and more job duties were being added.  As a teacher, I was kept busier and busier with all sorts of ridiculous new tasks that never seemed to involve actual teaching.  At the same time, my 42-year old body developed diabetes, except I did not know that.  I just kept working and working, trying to keep up with the insane marathon pace set by my employer.

I began having trouble with normal mental tasks, like thinking of words and even difficulty putting sentences together at times.  Anxiety began to set in, although mostly outside of my job and in crowded places.  I had no idea what was going on. I don't know about other people, but my body is not equipped with any sort of "check engine" sensor.

Anywhoo, I struggled through.  My doctor thought I was ADD for awhile.  Finally, in early January of 2013, I knew there was more.  Figured I was crazy and might as well face the institutionalization that I had convinced myself was coming.  Went back to the doctor, and she began trying to find a psychiatrist that could see me.

In the meantime, the principal at the elementary school where I worked, asked "Is everything ok?"  I stupidly told her what was going on, saw no reason to be anything other than honest.  I had never had a problem getting along with "Mrs. Frills."  (Not her real name.  Lol.  I'm not totally stupid, I know you gotta protect the guilty).

Turns out, I should have probably not shared medical disability information with my boss.  Let that be a lesson to ya.  Here's why:  2 days later, I happened to be having a rough day.  It was gonna be about 13 hours long, grade cards needed to be put into envelopes and distributed, valuable planning tine had been robbed of all of the teachers by the sacred, mandatory, 3-day-week grade-level meetings and about half of my 23 students were very needy.  Pencils kept breaking, need a band aid, or an eraser, forgot my reading book at home, blah, blah.  Oh yeah, I also was expected to be teaching during all of this.

I reached my point of being overwhelmed, after my concentration toward my lesson had been interrupted numerous times. So, I shed a few tears of frustration, but was not upset with anyone other than myself.  I just felt helpless to fix so many problems at once.  I continued to try to get my lesson moving anyway.  Then, Mrs. Frills "just happened" to walk into my classroom, and boy, was she pissed . . . . about some trash on the floor. She yelled at the students, never acknowledged me in any way.  Just yelled at my babies for a stupid, insignificant reason, and left. . . .

(To be continued in the next post)

Slow and steady wins the race?

I think this is the moral to Aesop's "The Tortoise and the Hare." And how appropriate since I played the tortoise in my first grade class production when I was 6 years old. My mom still has the costume no doubt.

So back to this organization thing. Made a baby step yesterday, created a "bill box" in hopes of keeping better track of my finances. I used to be so good at sitting down with the checkbook, paying my bills religiously on Friday. Then, when layoffs started happening for my husband and there wasn't enough money to pay all the bills, it all fell apart. What are you supposed to do when that happens? How do you prioritize 5,000 things when you know there isn't enough? I didn't. I got overwhelmed and gave up. It has taken me almost two years to get the courage to even begin to think about how can I go back to being financially stable.

Well, since my first step has been taken. Time to tackle next step. I guess that would be figuring out how much money I actually have to work with each week and prioritizing necessities first within each week so the electric or water do not get shut off and vehicles don't get repossessed.

Step after that would be trying to make sure everyone else I owe money to get paid on a regular basis.

Old Goldie didn't used to even think this would ever be a struggle. I've learned a lot since hitting rock bottom. I've also become more compassionate toward others because I had to learn the hard way that financial struggles can hit anyone, no matter how hard you work. I have worked three jobs at a time to try to keep things afloat. It didn't work. You really, truly can't out-earn stupid. And as Dave Ramsey says he has done, I too have done stupid with zeroes on the end. A bunch of zeroes.

In a nutshell, slow and steady wins the race. I hope I can keep up my momentum, no matter how small. I pray that I will not get discouraged. I pray that I can stop beating myself up and that I can keep the bill collectors at bay while I get my act together. I must be strong and not feel pressured into deviating from my organizational system to make the rude collectors go away.

With God, all things are possible and he will take care of me. I must make this my focus above all else.

Pissed-Off Cleaning Mode

So here it is, Thanksgiving week, my favorite holiday. It is my favorite because it requires the least amount of work on my part. If I simply cook dinner on Thursday, everyone is happy and I can pretty much do nothing the rest of the long weekend.

Down side: now that I am hosting not only my husband and son, but my parents as well, there is an extra level of cleaning involved. Now, my house is not filthy, but there is clutter. I'm a working girl and things tend to get behind, especially during the busy period of school starting to this first real time off.

So, I've found that if I get really, really pissed off about my situation of having to clean because no one else helps do anything the rest of the time, it goes much faster. That is where I am now on this Thanksgiving Eve Eve. I am hoping this is going to spur on my organizational aspirations. I hope that is the word I mean. as in to aspire, not to suck snot out of the baby's nose with an aspirator. Although I do feel like I am aspirating a lot of junk out of my house so, maybe it fits that way too.

This is my pissed-off cleaning mode and welcome to it!

Organization still isn't happening.

Well, another month has gone by and I have fallen off the organization wagon. In trying to get back on, I have gone through many emotions, the most prominent being anger. Anger over why am I the only one who seems to worry about my crappy lack of organization and why does my family not help.

And so, the chore chart was born. It all happened because my dishwasher is leaking, rendering it useless. And although I am busy doing stuff all weekend, like painting my house and going to class, no one else around the house seems to think dishes need to be washed in my absence. My husband and son also think the laundry fairy comes and puts their clean clothes away. They haven't yet figured out that I am the Laundry Fairy.

I decided to let the cat out of the bag. It was kinda like finding out there is no Santa Claus. I didn't have the heart to actually sit them down and present their new "chore chart." So I just simply posted it. Imagine my surprise when my husband actually completed his chores. He accepted that there is no Laundry Fairy.

My next goal, now that I am not the only one cooking dinner, is to make a menu and shopping list to eliminate extra shopping trips and having to figure out what I am cooking when I get home. Looking for cheap and easy recipes, feel free to leave me a comment with your ideas.

Organization is the Key

Well, my son is now 16 and I figure it's time to get my act together. I was very organized before he was born and I still can't figure out how it happened that I became the total opposite of organized. Nonetheless, now it's time to start thinking about college for him, and I know we have a lot of work to do the next year and a half to get ready.

Every bit of my life is in absolute chaos. I'm constantly looking for stuff for me and for everyone else. My family and students included. I'm sick of it. So, where to start? This is really hard when you feel overwhelmed and know there is not one place where organization rules in your life. There is no anchor, no model to follow.

Bills are a mess. Can't find some of the payment books, so I end up having to go to the banks that I owe money to and let them figure out my account numbers. Don't know what to pay when, I just kinda quit looking at stuff and keeping track when husband had a series of lay-offs a couple of years ago and there wasn't enough money to pay everyone anyway. I used to never, ever be late paying a bill. Now, I'm lucky if I can find the bill. Usually they are buried on my kitchen table, in my vehicle, or in my teacher bag. This is the one mess that bothers me the most, and I really feel it has caused a lot of other things to fall apart. I have this opinion because the depression just takes hold when you can't meet your obligations and you finally just give up. This one will probably be the most difficult to recover from.

House is a mess. Laundry is clean but not folded, or if it is folded it's not put away. I have discovered "Wonder Hangers" and they are the BOMB! I love being able to hang up my son's clothing for the week on his door. I figure since he is going to be too lazy to go to his own closet to get it out, I am going to be too lazy to put it in there in the first place.

I also love hanging my husbands work uniforms on hangers for the week. This is because he believes that between the hours of 8-9 p.m. it is his manly duty to go around the house, getting himself organized for the next day of work. Now, this would be great, except that he makes as much noise as he possibly can in accomplishing this. I think he is trying to impress upon me that he is having to look for stuff because of "my" disorganization. He bangs dishes, shoes, closet doors, and dresser drawers. I have figured out that if I have his clothes hanging on our bedroom door, neatly ready to go, there is no need for the closet doors or dresser drawers to bang. So I have scored my first victory of the organizational battle with the Wonder Hangers.

Finally, my professional life is disorganized. I had a wonderful mentor for the past 11 years. She kept me together. Made sure I had assignments ready that I may not be able to find orginal copies of, helped me stay on top of due dates and she never once made me feel like a doofus for being a mess. She retired last year, and I knew right then that I was going to have to get it together. So I started making binders to keep things in during her last year of teaching. I am trying daily to not leave my desk a total disaster. Also trying to keep kids stuff on kids areas. I am trying to do things as my wonderful mentor did, even though I know I will never be half the teacher she was. I am doing better, but geez, I have such a long way to go.

I recently started following "Fly Lady" to help myself get a handle on all this. It is a wonderful help and I was delighted to find that Fly Lady also has plans for financial organization and teacher organization and tons of other stuff. So, maybe there is hope for me. Maybe I will get my life back once the kid goes to college and I will magically return to the organized person I used to be. Not likely, but it's nice to have a dream and a goal.

Why did all this happen?

I think God has allowed me to become this frazzled mess because he wants me to learn the hard way that not everyone is organized and together. Each person has his or her own level of organization and tolerance for lack of it. I would not have learned this if I had not become a mother. I also think God has allowed me to allow my finances to fall apart. He wants me to be a better person by learning to put myself back together and to do it the hard way. He wants me to have an appreciation that not all folks in situations of financial distress were able to control that part of their life. I would never have had an understanding of financial hardship if God had not allowed me to experience it myself.

So even though I may get very frustrated with myself for the way I have run things the past several years, I feel that it is God teaching me things I would not otherwise be able to learn. Even through all of these hard lessons, God has placed people in my life to help me. God has made sure my needs are taken care of. I have learned to "consider the lilies." I have been forced into situations when I had to depend upon God to take care of me. I had no choice but to have faith. God gave me signs that I was supposed to follow a specific path even though uncertainty clouded the way and I had no idea how I was going to get where he wanted me to go.

This has been a hard lesson for me to learn. I am still learning it. Even though it is uncomfortable, I am thankful God is pushing me through it because I think I am becoming a better person through this hard times.

Well, it is now 8:30 pm and husband is slamming doors and other stuff. Thus ends today's post because I cannot concentrate with noise at this level.

Now where is that TV remote?

Camper Trouble

So my friend asks me tonight "Hey, you wanna go drive around with me and my camper." That sounds strange. However, knowing it was on the suggestion of my husband that she dump a bag of ice down the camper toilet and drive it around to possibly clear a plugged up sewer system, I said "sure." Besides, it's a friend and who questions a friend's requests, no matter how strange?

So, we load up and hit the open road. Stop at the local mini-mart to buy a bag of ice. Of course we bought the big bag, cause we don't want to "run out," as the bag says right on it. When we go to put the ice in the toilet, we discover that this thing is really backed up. I mean really backed up as in clear to the little flap thing that flushes. So we dump some ice in and to our surprise, it goes down. Well, ok, some of it went down. I suggest sacrificing the flyswatter to try to jam it down. She simply laughs at me.

We gradually work about half the bag in by working the flushie handle. Then we set out to shake things up a bit. Drive about 8 miles, and decide to pull over to see if any progress has been made. No progress, now all we have is a shit slushie in the potty. Put in some more ice, but finally, it will hold no more. Suddenly, my idea of the sacrificial flyswatter doesn't look so bad. So we use it. Still will hold no more ice. Drive about 12 more miles over some curvy and bumpy roads. Returning to her house, we drive it out into a big field.

I tell my friend enthusiastically that I am sure this is the magic moment. With great anticipation, we open the cap, pull the lever . . . . and . . . . nothing. Not even a dribble.

This is almost as bad at the movie "RV." This being a "shared" camper with another family, it is especially nasty because this isn't even entirely her own family's crap.

The moral of this story is. . . . shit happens, so don't waste your time driving a camper around with a dump tank full of poo and ice.

Shit Happens

A very dear friend lost her husband to cancer this week. You know, the funeral home is probably one of the most awkward places in the world, besides maybe the adult bookstore. Anyway, when I finally took my turn to greet the family, I told my friend "I'm so sorry you have had to go through all this," not being able to think of anything more original. She said "Yeah, me too, but as Gary said 'shit happens.'"

My friend in her grief, was still able to make me feel comfortable in the most awkward situation.

It's so hard to watch someone else go through the pain of losing someone they truly love. And then you start to realize, "Wow, I now have a friend who is a widow. When is my turn coming?" You've all done it as you have watched friends lose their parents. You start thinking about it and realizing that everyone gets a turn at this kind of grief. You know that you will deal with it, but it still haunts your thoughts. I even compare the ages at which my grandparents died with my parents' current ages and wonder if that is really all the time I have left with them. It is very sobering.

Of course, none of us know when our time is coming or how. It just stinks to see someone you care about go through so much pain. I guess all we can do is look for peace in God's love and realize that those we have "lost" are not really lost. They have simply passed beyond the horizon and we are following and will eventually catch up to them.