Unfinished
This morning, the phone rang at 6:11 a.m. I was in a deep sleep and the ringing jarred me awake and scared the living daylights out of me. I told Mr. BBM to grab the phone and he handed it to me. On the other line was a recorded message from the superintendent. The high school and one elementary school had a power grid failure. School was cancelled for those two schools only. I listened to the message and tried to calm my pounding heart. This wasn't anything awful. I could relax.
But I didn't.
The last time I got a call that early in the morning, it was on April 26, 2010. It was my Mom on the line, telling me the hospital had just called her. The time was now. My Grammom, after being put on hospice care and spending eight days in the hospital after a severe and catastrophic stroke, was dying. It was a phone call that set in motion the very early beginning to a horrible day. It was followed by a frantic drive to the hospital, only to find that I was the first to arrive, and I was too late. That was all I could think of this morning as I tried to go back to sleep.
The memories of that day are everywhere and time, so far, hasn't made it much better. The void that she has left is massive. It's like a crater in my chest and it is always there. It's the wind-knocked-out-of-you feeling after someone has sucker punched you in the gut. It's there when I'm in the car and the song comes on the radio that accompanied me on my drive to the hospital that horrible morning. It's there when I look at the two bags of inherited things I have from her, the ones that I can't bring myself to go through yet. It's there in the purse she gave my girls, full of coins she thought the girls would find interesting. It's there every time I drive by the hospital (which I almost always avoid), and every time I pass the cemetery on my way to somewhere else.
Yesterday I was at physical therapy and one of the PTs was talking about how all five his daughter's grandparents showed up at her school for Grandparent's Day. I smiled as I overheard him talking, and then it hit me that I have no grandmothers anymore.
Not one.
I have one grandfather left and I barely see him. Since my Grammom died, he's too busy to come see us. He spends his days running unnecessary errands, letting the food we bring him rot in the refrigerator, and discussing his life with the bartenders he sees daily. It makes it even harder, because if the situation were reversed and he was gone, she would be with us all the time. Family was everything to her.
Last night, after having a miserable day, I sat down to start crocheting some baby things for a friend. I learned how to crochet from my Grammom. She taught me how to chain stitch and I would create chains of 100s of stitches in a row that never turned into anything. After teaching myself all over again how to do it, because it has been years since I've crocheted anything, I got busy working on a little hat and by the fourth row my fingers were hurting. I thought about how she used to complain that her fingers hurt so badly from her arthritis, and about how her house contains a hamper full of unfinished blanket projects she never got around to finishing.
I've decided that there is no finishing of the grieving process when you love and miss someone as much as I miss her. With things as crazy as they've been, I could really use my biggest cheerleader. I miss her so much at times, that it is physically painful. And I just don't see that ever getting better.
Not Ready for This
Filed under: Growing Pains, Mental Strain for Mama
Friday was Lil C's Preschool Open House. She got to bring her favorite person with her (me) and it only lasted for an hour. Even then, she was a bit tentative and nervous. When we came home, I asked her why she wanted to sit with me and eat her snack instead of with the other kids. She said, "Because I just love you Mommy."
At dinner on Friday night, she told Mr. BBM that Preschool was fun, but that she wasn't digging the clean up song her teacher sang when it was time to put the Play-Dough away. "It freaked me out," she told Mr. BBM. For a second, I thought Mr. BBM would blow his dinner right out his nose. He composed himself and asked her, "Why?"
"That's really a baby song," she said, "and I am NOT a baby." The look she gave the teacher when she started singing that song said all of that and more.
To be honest, Lil C did seem a bit more grown up than some of the other kids. After all, she has an October birthday. One little girl in her class just turned four this past weekend. Lil C turns five in just a few weeks. As they were sitting around the table eating their snacks, some of the kids were making silly faces at each other and acting goofy. She sat there and gave them the evil eye, the same one I used to give my 6th grade teacher according to my report card.
Lil C has always been more comfortable around adults than she is with other kids. She getsme and I get her. She talks to my physical therapists as if she's their best friend. She communicates with my surgeon with more frankness than I do. At the few larger play dates we've attended, she chose to sit with the moms instead of going off to play with the kids. This year, she decided she doesn't want to have a big birthday party like she did last year. She said she wants us to take her to the zoo instead. "Last year was crazy," she said, "there were just too many people."
All weekend long, she said she didn't want to go to school. She said she was scared and she just wanted to stay home with me. This morning, it was even worse. We got her dressed and fed and ready to go and she just stood at the door. "I really don't want to go," she said.
The entire drive there she complained too, and when I opened up the car door for her to get out, she stayed glued to her seat. Eventually, she came out, but she clung to me like saran wrap as we walked through the doors. Her steps slowed and her feet shuffled as we got closer to her classroom. It felt like she added 20 more pounds to her little self as she leaned away from the door.
The other kids sat around a carpet and played but she stood near me and continued to chant like a mantra, "I don't want to stay here." The teachers told us to come across the hall and pick out a toy to play with. I saw play cupcakes and cookies and knew she would love that. We carried the toys back to the room and set them down. Instantly, they were gone. Some little girl with the same name as my junior high arch nemesis scooped them up and was off. Another little girl grabbed most of the cupcakes. They were like toy vultures, and it certainly didn't help things.
I told her to take that spatula and go get some of those cookies, and thought in my head that those kids are going to be in for it in a couple weeks when she's being herself. Then I leaned down and hugged and kissed her, and told her I was going to go wait in the lobby for her. That's when the tears started. I told the teacher I didn't know what to do and she said gently, "Just go. It's ok." Lil C reached out for my arm and started to execute a full out sprint towards me that was intercepted by her teacher. I told her I loved her and walked out of the room. She wasn't the only one crying.
If there is one thing I know this morning, it's that my kids have grown up way too fast. Lil C wasn't ready this morning, and I can't blame her. I'm not ready either.
Chainsaws in Trees and Role Reversal
On Sunday, my dad was high up his extension ladder wielding a chainsaw as he attempted to cut down unruly tree branches. He seems to enjoy tempting fate and the angel of death, because he does this little acrobatic routine quite often. I should also add that his chainsaw doesn't have an automatic switch-off. Can you sense the foreshadowing?
My Dad, propped at an unusual angle, attempted to saw down one of these branches (which was actually quite large for a branch) and did not anticipate the kick-back that would occur. The ladder moved wildly, his foot got caught on the ladder rung, and down he fell, somersaulting backwards off the ladder and onto the ground. The chainsaw ended up 10 feet away from him, still running.
He said he doesn't really remember the fall, only catching his foot and then being on the ground. But a neighbor saw it and it was not pretty.
After having a craniotomy a few years ago for a bleed in his brain resulting from a bad landing with his hang glider, we are all super paranoid and concerned about my dad and his head. It wasn't that long ago that a bad headache, six weeks after the initial injury, landed him in emergency brain surgery. It wasn't that long ago that he had about 30 staples holding his scalp shut. It wasn't that long ago that he was in the ICU and we were all praying the swelling in his brain would go down so he could speak normally again. Yes, he hit his head on Sunday; yes, he also refused to go to the ER to be checked out.
My Mom said he has a huge lump on the back of his head and that she is treating him as if he has a concussion. He says his entire body hurts and he has cuts and bruises in places he didn't know he could have cuts and bruises.
I spent a split second being concerned and upset and then I got mad. This was right about the time my dad asked my Mom for the phone so he could speak to me. My Dad rarely asks to speak to me on the phone.
Dad: "I need to tell you a couple things."
Me: (Bracing for the worst. He's probably upset with me about something.)
Dad: "First of all, I love you. . . very much."
Me: "I'm sensing a 'but'. . . is there one?"
Dad: "Second, you are doing an amazing job with your kids. They are great kids and you are raising them right. I'm really proud of you for that."
Me: "Ok, I'm sensing a major 'BUT' coming."
Dad: "You also did a great job picking a husband."
Me: "Um, ok, where is this going dad?"
Dad: "Finally, when I sent you out to Pitt, you really screwed up the first year. BUT, you turned it around in less than a year! That was impressive and I'm really proud of you that you did that."
Me: "Ok, so Dad, you must have hit your head really hard? Don't you think you need to have it checked out? And why are you telling me all this stuff? Are you afraid that you did hit your head really hard and it's going to end badly?"
Dad: "No, but when something like that happens, you just realize that you don't want to leave this world without saying some of the things that are in your head and you never get around to saying. So, I just wanted to tell you."
Me: "Oh, well thanks."
Dad: "Ok, well I'm going to go now. . . "
Me: "No, Dad wait. I want to tell you some things too. . ."
Dad: "Ok, what?"
Me: "Well first, you're a freaking BLOCKHEAD! If you ever saw me dangling from a ladder like that with a chainsaw, no less, you would tell me I was an idiot. So, I am returning the favor. That was really stupid! If you and I had been driving down a street and saw someone doing that, you would be joining me in calling them an idiot. . . Second, you're going to be 60 years old soon and I think it's high time you realized that you need to call a tree service instead of risking your life! You have two little girls who ADORE you in my house and they would be DEVASTATED if anything happened to you. How would you expect me to explain to them that you are gone because you went climbing a ladder with a chainsaw? I mean seriously! Third, we ALL need you so think about all of us before you do something stupid like that again. . . got it? Oh, and I love you too."
Apparently, the parental role has switched to me. Next week I'm going to yell at him about driving too fast and taking the corners like Mario Andretti. I may also sneak over to the house and hide his chainsaw.
Let’s Hear It for the Boys
Today I received a really crappy email from someone who doesn't know me, has poor reading comprehension skills, and is obviously completely and totally intimidated by a woman who speaks up and out. I'd love to publish the email contents, name of the sender, his website, home address and his email address; but I won't do it. What you should know is that I spoke out on the website Violence Unsilenced a few weeks ago about an attempted rape that happened to me when I was 18 years old and the email directly related to that.
My pet peeves are many, but what tops the chart for me are men who are threatened by women who speak up and out about things. I can't tell you the number of craptastic emails I've received over the years telling me that because I'm a woman in the martial arts, I must be a "man hater," "lover of violence," and that I have "anger issues."
Actually, I have a very healthy respect for my art, and I know when it is appropriate to use and when it's not. I recognize that there are people out there who seek out training so they can be bullies and beat people up. But that's not me. I think of it as a life protection skill and art, and if I should have to protect my life or the lives of my family, you better believe that I am not at all afraid to use what I know.
When I get emails like this, I have to laugh. Ask any man who has trained with me over the years and I am pretty sure they will tell you quite the opposite. In fact, many of my best friends are men. So instead of complaining about guys like the pathetic one who emailed me today and all those who have in the past, I thought I would do the opposite. . .
I'd like to thank all the guys in my dojo who treat me, first and foremost, as a "training partner," not a "female training partner." I'd like to thank every guy who ever let me throw him around in the dojo so I could learn something that could one day save my life.
I'd like to thank all the guys who are perfectly content to have me on their team, because they realize that girls weren't born to be spectators, and that girls can be great teammates and competitors.
I'd like to thank all the guys who talk sports with me without saying stupid stuff like "You like football?" They know that watching a game with me is as good as watching a game with their guy buddies, and that testicles aren't required to love and know about sports.
I'd like to thank my Dad for slamming hockey pucks around with me in the basement as a kid and treating me like a hockey player, complete with checking me into the walls and smacking pucks at me with force. It made it mean more when I scored a goal against him. I knew I had earned it. I'd also like to thank my dad for line-driving baseballs and softballs at me until my hand was stinging in my glove. He didn't treat me like someone who needed to be handled with kid gloves. He treated me like a person who enjoyed sports and could be good at them. And I am.
I'd like to thank my husband who puts up with my competitive nature on a daily basis and is not at all intimidated or upset when I beat him in something, whether it's a swimming race at the pool, a round of beer pong, or a game of Scrabble.
I'd like to encourage all of the wonderful guys out there in the world to speak up, because trust me when I tell you that the guys who think the opposite of what you think are often louder. They speak like they speak for every man and they try to give you all a bad name.
For every crappy email I get like that, and for every chauvinistic and obviously threatened guy I come across, it makes me even more determined to be as strong as I can possibly be. It makes me appreciate, even more, all of the really fantastic men in my life.
Teachable Moments from Silly Quizzes
Today was listening quiz day. It's one of my favorite days all semester. It's the day when students get completely terrified because "My God, she's giving us a quiz already." Then they get into the guts of the quiz and start acting like total fools (or they sit around and watch everyone else look like a fool); and then finally end up with the realization that they have not given their first assignment their all. Not even close.
It's a make or break moment in class and that is why it is so very worth it to watch 10 minutes of complete insanity. You can read the entire quiz here so you understand what I'm talking about. You can also read about another listening quiz day in class here. Ah, they are such good days. If you're too lazy to click over to read the quiz, you'd probably make it to #20 like so many of my students did today, and that's not a good thing. I'm just sayin'. (Made you click, didn't I?)
Because I have a lot of upperclassmen in this class, I figured I wouldn't be able to fool them all. However, having read their assignments, I didn't really know what to expect. Here's what I got: out of the 18 students in my class, only three people got it from the very beginning. The rest were high-fiving people across the room, walking around the classroom like they had ants in their pants, and screaming out "Yes, I'm so smart!
At one point, a student said out loud, "Oh man" and I thought she had figured it out. However, she went on to say, "I can't believe I have to do jumping jacks." She was on #19 and #20 brought complete silence and a slightly reddened and embarrassed face.
Another girl yelled out, "This is lame!" to which my response was, "No, what's lame is that so many of you didn't follow directions." There was no denying that, and the room filled with silence. I let them sit there in it for a minute.
"So, what's the point?" I asked them when I felt the silence had done its job. "Why do you think I chose to torture you like this today?"
My one freshman student, who totally got it and turned in near perfect assignments on Tuesday, nailed it. "You wanted to stress the importance of paying attention and following directions."
Thank you.
Moments like this in the classroom can do one of two things. If the student has been supremely embarrassed, they can get mad at you and adopt an attitude problem. But this has never happened in my classroom and it didn't happen today.
What did happen was pretty awesome. I partnered the students up with someone who could help them. Those who had a ton of content but no organization in their speech outlines got partnered up with those who had a perfectly formatted outline with zero info in it. And the conversations that I heard were incredible. About half of the class told me they were completely reworking their outlines and asked if I'd take a look at their new outline tonight or over the weekend. They know they're not getting any extra credit for revisions. They just want to work harder and get themselves on the right track. It felt like a major breakthrough with this class that hasn't really seemed able to "get me" thus far.
After class, I had wanted to speak with a student that I had for writing last year. I was shocked and horrified when this student turned in one of the most horribly written assignments I had ever seen. He earned next to no credit for it and I wanted to pull him aside, shake him, and scream, "I taught you better than that! What are you DOING?"
I didn't have to. He approached me after class, apologized for handing in garbage and showed me a revision he had done before even getting my abysmal feedback.
On Tuesday night, I would have told you that this group would be my worst speech group ever. However, after today, I'm quite certain that this group will be one of my hardest working groups ever. There is so much potential and it took a super silly quiz to tap it. As a teacher, there is nothing better than days like today.
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