Christmas Morning Bloggie!

Yes!  It's Christmas morning!  I've been up since five, all excited for my kidlets to wake up and open their presents.  I put the gifts under the tree this morning, stuffed the stockings, and nibbled on the cookies left out for Santa.

But I have teens.  Fourteen year old boys do not wake up at 5:30 am on Christmas morning, so excited to see if they received the latest LEGO firetruck.  Teens sleep in until I insist they get up and come downstairs to open the gifts Santa brought them.

Perhaps I'm filled with too much happiness.  I wonder sometimes if my sons want to vomit on Christmas morning.

"Kidlets!  Time to get up!  Santa came!"

"Mumble mumble mumble..." comes from their bedrooms.  This is usually at seven o'clock.  I can't wait.  I'm so excited!

This morning I tried to keep myself busy, but I'm like a cat on catnip.  I can't focus.  I put together a scrapbook album this morning of themed postcards and stamped happy stamps on students' quizzes.  That took up an hour.  Then I decided I'd bake, one of my other creative outlets.

Alas, no eggs.  I went through three dozen eggs last week, and last night used up the last three on a baked Nutella French toast for the boys.  So much for baking this morning.  Hmmm...  What to do?

Wake up the kiddos?  It's 7:15.  I promised myself I'd hold out until 7:30.  I think that's fair.

I miss the days when I would hear a little voice say, around 6:00 am, "Can we get up now?" on Christmas morning.  We always remember firsts, but forget the lasts, I once heard.  How true it is.  What was the last Christmas that Kidlet A and B said that?  The last Christmas that they sat in their beds, dreaming of remote controlled helicopters and Pokemon cards.  The last Christmas that they couldn't wait to bound out of bed, rush down the stairs, and rip open presents to see what Santa left.  The last Christmas that I could reach down and kiss them on top of the head.  Now it's the other way around, with their height way above mine.

7:21.  Presents are sitting under the tree, and I wonder if they're lonely.  Do the gifts wait in anticipation for being opened, brought to a new home, and embraced by their new owners?  Perhaps I have had too much coffee...

7:23.  The buzzer on the oven just went off, signifying that it's hit 365 degrees and is ready for that Nutella French toast to bake.  It's a Christmas tradition in our house to have baked French toast on Christmas morning.  However, it takes forty minutes to cook, so I'll wait a few minutes before putting it in.  Anyone want the recipe?  This would kill some time for me.

7:24.  I am going to wake them up.  Me in my sock monkey pajamas, ready for the mumbles of morning from two boys who are on the brink of manhood.  They may surpass me in height, not believe in the guy with the red suit, or want those LEGO sets any longer, but for me...they will always be my little guys and my Christmas miracle.

Sprinting!

I haven't been blogging, but most certainly I have been writing!  I signed up for NaNoWriMo this month.  Funky term - what does it mean? National Novel Writing Month!  Yes, I intend to finish my novel in a month.  Here we go!

Writing can be a very solitary experience.  I think that's why I've been drawn to it in the first place.  I enjoy being alone at times.  I can sit on my computer at 5:30 on a Sunday morning, listening to music, and just express my thoughts without having to bother anyone else.  With my cup of coffee and cat at my side, I am perfectly content to ping away at the keyboard with all my words.  I don't need to be entertained.  I entertain myself.

However, NaNoWriMo has given me a lot so far.  There are meet-ups to help you get motivated along with the writing process, meet with other writers, and learn some new techniques as well.  The most major one?

Sprint writing.

I am addicted to sprint writing.  I set the timer for ten minutes, and just write.  Why does it work for me?  In ten minutes I have no excuse to get up and do the dishes, change the laundry, or check out the station on Pandora.  I have only ten minutes to focus in and challenge myself to up my word count.  I usually produce at least 450 words in ten minute intervals - not too shabby.  Above all, and this may sound bad, it doesn't give me time to think.

You may be saying, "Isn't that what a writer is suppose to do?  Think about her work?"

Yes and no.  For me, however, what stuck me on my book for over a year was the over-analyzing of characters, their motives, their futures.  Life doesn't move like that.  As I've especially learned with twin teens, life sprints.  So should my writing.  Just get to that keyboard and go!  My characters have followed suit.  Of course I will go back and edit, and I'm not so vain that I believe I am executing perfect, fine prose this first time around.  But I am moving my plot forward.

So each morning and a few times in the afternoon I sprint.  Setting the cell phone time for ten minutes, I push my characters further into their abyss with obsessive-compulsive disorder and abusive relationships.  But there is a glimmer of hope.  There always is, if we look hard enough.

At over 26,000, I've sprinted halfway to the finish line of my goal of 50,000 by November 30th.  Throw in school work, household chores, and day to day activities and my head starts to spin, but I know I can do it.  It's my outlet.  And ten minutes?  Bring it!  Sprint on!

A Woman of Letters

I haven't done any writing on my book this summer, with the exception of two pages.  Two...meager...pages.  That isn't to say I haven't done any writing.  Each day I've been penning away wonderful emails, letters through Postcrossing, and my new thing - volunteer mail.  I send postcards to sick children.  I mail packages and letters to a wonderful soldier over in Kuwait.  Each morning I'm up around 5:00 am and the writing begins.

But I feel defeated.  I haven't made any progress on THE BOOK.  I even started another one, with the thought that perhaps "Three By Three" had gone stale.  No luck.  I'm like a gnat with a five second attention span.  I just can't do it.  My mind wanders.  I sit down to write, scribe a few lines, then jump up to make more coffee.  Oh yes, let's write a few lines, and then put on Pandora!  Wait!  The cat needs to be fed some kitten treats!  The list goes on and on.  I haven't even updated this blog, as my attention span just can't even fathom sitting down (until now) a subject through to its completion.  Perhaps it's just teacher summer mode?  This is my first summer in my entire career that I did nothing - no graduate classes, no tutoring, no curriculum workshops.  Maybe that put me into sloth mode supreme.  And MausiGal usually runs on empty - all systems go.  I'm not used to doing nothing, and I'm finding it depressing.

Let me take part of that last paragraph back.  The writing I am doing - through postcards and mail - is doing lots of good, and I should be proud of it.  But each time I open the computer it seems that THE BOOK is there, looming in the distance, waiting to be worked on.  Have I lost my passion for it?  Do I need to ditch it and just start another?  Start it again with a different theme?  I don't know.  I don't have an answer.

Writing is a very solitary endeavor, and it seems everyone is doing it.  I did join a Writers' Group, but didn't go as I didn't complete the prerequisite pages completed for the week.  Bad, bad MausiGal.  Maybe I need to just dive in, start something new, and do it.  And stop whining.

The Simple Life

"I think I'll walk around the house...doing nothing!" I said to Kidlet B yesterday.  It's no surprise for my lazy attitude.   This is my first summer in my entire teaching career that I haven't been doing something - whether that be coursework, working another job, or workshops.  Unfortunately strolling around the house was short lived, as sun poisoning from last Friday has prevented me from doing much walking anywhere.  And yes, far be it for me to do nothing for very long.

There are postcards to write.  A novel to work on.  Dishes to wash since the dishwasher broke.  Laundry to fold.  Books to read that I didn't get to last summer.  The list goes on and on.  I thought about it, and realized I truly need to learn how to relax.  Yesterday I actually did watch a movie and knit for about an hour and a half.  However, the movie was "The Wolf of Wall Street."  There was only so much debauchery I could take, and I still have another half of the movie to go through.

But this summer is about the simple things.  The day at the beach was just that.  Jumping in the waves, ham sandwiches packed in L.L. Bean lunch bags, the smell of sunscreen (yes, I did have it on), sand on towels.  Despite my nasty burn, I would not trade that day with Kidlet A and Kidlet B for anything.

This week I've had the chance to revisit my grandmothers in mindful ways.  They were two women who always reminded me to appreciate the small things in life as well.

My dishwasher broke.  It just won't clean.  Plates come out with specks of, well, stuff on them.  To quote one kidlet, "This is gross."  Yes, we clean our plates off before putting them in the dishwasher, but obviously our ten year old dishwasher has decided it's time to move on.  As we await for the new one to arrive, I've been doing the dishes by hand.  One of my fondest memories is doing dishes with my Grandmother Berg in Vermont.  She would slowly, methodically wash each dish, and I would dry.  Above all else, we would have the most amazing conversations while cleansing the plates and cutlery.  This wasn't always small talk.  I recall her giving me advice about life, and at times knots would form in my stomach as to what my future may hold.  She was blind, yet never dropped a dish.

My other grandmother, who passed away a few months ago, was meticulous with cleaning.  Me?  Well, let's be honest.  Not so much.  My dad passed along a box of her towels from her home shortly after her death, and I finally opened it yesterday.  I've always been told I have a "nose" - an incredible sense of smell.  When I opened the box, the fresh scent of clean towels was Nana!  I was unashamed to bury my head in them and just inhale the aroma.  Clean.  Not like the fake Yankee Candle "Fresh Linen" you can purchase, but one that makes you think of being all bundled up after a bath in childhood.  I regretfully hung one towel on the back of the bathroom door, not without breathing in - Nana, Nana, Nana - one more time before thinking that the towel would be used tomorrow.

I am so grateful for these simple things.  Let summer be filled with them!

All Hail The Heels!

Being the single mom, I'm running in different directions constantly.  On Friday afternoon, that included running in different ways in four inch, open-toed, grey Etienne Aigner heels.  Why?  Kung-fu weapons class at 5:15.  But cheese and crackers for date during kung fu.  Go back and watch knives flying during weapons class.  Drop off kidlets at grandparents' home at 6:15.  Date at home for snackins at 6:25.  Go to see a play at 7:25.  Walk in heels the whole time and do not falter.  Flip that pleated, Lily Pulitzer spring, green skirt just right.  

Perhaps I was born in the wrong decade.  I love wearing heels.  I adore them.  So much so that I own about seventy pairs of shoes right now, mostly heels.  Did you hear that?!  Yes, I just made a public confession that I'm a shoe whore.  One woman at work said, "My husband said that's why you're divorced."  My comment?  "No, that's just why I'm lucky."  I'll confess that the majority of the shoe addiction started after the marital nupitals split.  Was I searching for something to complete me?  Let's stop with the psychoanalysis.  I like shoes.  Plain and simple.  And I buy them on the bargain rack - I can't say no to a $10 pair at DSW marked down from $100.  I put feelings on inanimate objects.  These babies need a home, and who better than me to give them one?  

So yesterday afternoon I marched into Market Basket, clothed in my 1950's cardigan and pleated skirt, completed with the heels and over-the-shoulder purse.  Throw back Friday I was!  Yes, I did get stares.  I know I did.  I didn't fit the mommy uniform of yoga pants and a sweatshirt, and dammit if I didn't.  I don't want to be there.  Ever.  Bring on the preppy cardigan before all else.  But you know what else?

It felt pretty good to be dressed up and about.  I felt empowered to be once again in heels.  Those that know me well know I've been away from heels from a few months due to an ankle injury (ouch!) and it's been tough.  But jeans with heels, skirts with heels - I love the dressed up look, even if it's for the supermarket.  Why not look your best when going out?  A few years ago we had an exchange student who remarked to us, "In our country if people went out in their pajamas we would think they had mental issues.  How come so many people go out in their pajamas here?"  I wonder.  

So the Stuart Weitzman's shown here are a bit out of my price range ($450-650 a pair), but still nice to drool over.  Any shoe call "The Lovepotion Pump" deserves recognition.  A girl can dream, right?

Bring on the heels!  Kick 'em up!

Krissie's Last Words...

My grandmother is the sweetest person I know.  I believe a lot of people say this about their own grandmothers, but they are wrong. My nana, Kathleen, affectionately known as Kay, would bake us cookies and serve them to us not only with milk but Hoodsie ice cream cups.  Not once did she say that I was too chubby as a pre-teen to partake in her goodies.  That earns her mega-bonus points right there.  This woman helped me learn how to bake to perfection (especially lemon bars)!  Who did I call when I had a cooking question?  Nana!  It's no surprise that when I was making dinner many times I would pick up the phone and give her a ring.

As I write this, Kay is about to pass.  Isn't that a horrendous expression?  Pass to where?  Pass the ball?  Pass over a bridge?  Stop!  We Americans, unlike Mexicans, are so afraid of death.  I celebrate Dia de los Muertos when I teach it to my students because it celebrates the life of the deceased.  Death is just part of the process.  But here we are, as my nana sits on the brink, using terms like, "expire" (like my license?!) and pass, and "move along" (kind of like the line at the deli).  Why not use the true term?  She is about to die.  And there is no shame in it, no remorse.  At ninety-three years old, my grandmother lived an amazing life.  She raised two wonderful children, and influenced six grandchildren, along with six great-grandchildren.  Kay was a devoted wife for years upon years to my grandfather who passed last October.

Breaths per minute.  Today in the hospital room we watched her chest rise and fall, and had our eyes fixated on her jugular vein to make sure she was still alive, that there was still some part of nana, mom, Kathleen, Kay with us.  But won't there always be?

I'm sitting at her dining room table right now as I write this.  I was lucky enough to inherit this furniture, in pristine condition, to brighten my kitchen.  I made the promise to Nana that I would always have fresh flowers on the table.  She would be a bit mortified that the crumbs stay a few hours longer on the table than was her habit, but it is still filling up with love during family dinners all the same.  Words passed between Kidlet A, Kidlet B, and I of our days at school and their adventures.  Kidlet B's dilemma of asking someone to the eighth grade semi, and Kidlet A's foray into the world of acting have been recent topics.

My last words to my Nana?

"Nana, James and Roark and I love you, and will always be with you, like you will be with us."

xoxo MausiGal

(photo of Nana and Krissie, Mothers' Day 2013)

Lockdown for Life

A few weeks ago my school had a lockdown drill with the students.  This came after another lockdown drill we had with faculty previously.  What's a lockdown?  We pretend there's an intruder in the building, and go about the moves we'd use to secure our rooms and our students.  Scary?  Yes.  Essential?  More than one can imagine.

There were three parts to the mock lockdown procedure with the students.  In the afternoon as I reflected on my drive home (when don't I reflect on the drive home?), I thought about how the drill truly relates to life.  The three parts of the drill were evacuate, barricade, and counter.  Here we go.

Evacuate - There are times in life when you need to run.  And you need to run FAST!  One gets into situations that are just wrong, and you cannot look back.  You have to look foward, trust your instincts, and listen to everything around you.  Run, run, run as far as you can.  Run into the woods!  As we told the kids at school, someone safe will eventually find you, so go as deep into the woods as you can.  Hiding out isn't always necessarily a bad thing.  Sometimes it's a necessity.  Know when you need to run from things and not look back.  This isn't a bad thing.  Not everything should be held onto like a "recuerdo," a souvenir.  Trust your instincts.  Run, dammit!

Barricade - Protect that heart of yours!  I grabbed the TV cord and held it tight, with my foot against a wall so that the intruder wouldn't enter my classroom.  I was determined.  My barricade would not let loose, and should it be real, all would be ok.  Keep yourself protected.  Is this harsh?  Maybe a bit.  As I get older I think I get a bit more jaded about things like this.  No one else is going to go to bat for you except yourself.  Princesses carry Starbucks Goldcards, I'm convinced, and drive Volvos.  Gosh, am I biased a bit or just psychic?  Seriously, you and only you are responsible for your own crap.  Get out of it and get into something more fun.  Deal with the bad hands you've been dealt.  Why? Because someone else has had a hand MUCH worse dealt to them.  (Read entries about dad with dementia...and those to come...and the leukemia entries...and all that my amazing niece has been through...or maybe I'm just too chicken to write about all those issues...)

Counter - Muwahahahaha.  This is my favorite.  Fight back!  Go get 'em, tiger!  My students went at the perp with a stapler, hand-made ceramic bowls, and a box of stuffed animals.  I had my staple gun in hand.  Man, that thing can do serious damage!  FIGHT BACK!  When life gives you lemons, yadda yadda yadda.  Screw the freakin' lemonade.  Is it just me, or are we all sick of that expression about lemons making lemonade?  Go at life full force!  Give it all you got!  This is the one chance you have, and you won't get a second one, as scary as that sounds.  Yes, some days this makes me hide underneath my pillow and check my cell phone for how many more minutes I have to sleep, but suck it up!  COUNTER!  Bring it on!  When life gives you lemons, mush them into little pieces and ask those craptolas if they are organic or not.  Humiliate them. Bring them to their knees.  COUNTER!  Fight back.  That's all you have to do.  Because there is no other choice.

Lockdown for life.  Remember there are choices.  And each one we have makes us stronger.  And strong we are.

Blocked

I am at a loss as to what to write.  I want to be witty.  I want to be funny.  I want to capture your attention so much that you come back again and again and want to read this blog whenever there's a new post.

But I am bewildered.  There was the time I had this great idea to go off about the deli at the supermarket, but then my sister-in-laws totally dissed the idea.  I was crushed.  I thought it was funny.  They did not.  So it goes.  Should I have written it anyway?  Probably.

I worry too much about AUDIENCE.  Do other writers do that?

Let's see.  What do people want to hear me talk about?  Perhaps the sordid world of online dating?  Where one guy contacts you while he's chatting with four other women?  Yeah, that's a fun time.

Call me jaded, but I've had enough.  Up to hear of trying to pretend to be nice, to be sweet, to be patient.

I have a serious health problem going on, That is weighing on my mind like an anvil.  Again, my mind is so blocked that I am coming up with the laziest of comparisons.  An anvil.  My mind.  Can't I come up with anything more original than Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner for images?  Being out of work for numerous weeks.  What will I do?  I don't like the idea of even being out for one day from my students.  Flipped classroom, perhaps?  The idea of me zooming in to my kids while I'm in my jammies is a bit, well, disturbing!

I worked on my novel this week, which was good.  I downloaded a whole bunch of rough drafts to GoogleDocs (being the GoogleGirl that I am).  It was great to go back and edit what I had written months ago.  I felt invigorated at 4:30 am. But alas, after awhile it was time to go to work.  Such is life.  I need to focus this summer on my novel.  Can I do it?  I sure hope so.

RattieGirl gave me the idea to write about my fountain pens for a future blog post, which was great.  I need more ideas, no matter what they are.  Do you have them?  I would so appreciate them, as I get through this awful New England winter and writer's block!

Axe Me A Question

Anyone who has had to deal with middle school boys has breathed in the scent of Axe.  For Christmas my mom really did try to be hip and cool to give my boys the "in" products, and placed in the stockings were Axe bodywash and shampoo.

Wasn't I surprised when I was standing in the shower, reading the back of the bottle.

Now, let's digress.  I'm such a geek that I actually stand in the shower and spend time reading the backs of bottles.  We could also blame it on the ADD that I truly think I have.  One minute the hair is being suds up by my wonderful French concoction, and the next minute I'm fascinated by an ad campaign that's suppose to attract middle school boys.  Oh, and then I'll probably think about the body wash and why it has a picture of a blue flower and not a pink one.  Where is my coffee?  I'd better finish up the shower so I can drink more coffee.

Poor mom.  Innocent Kidlet A and Kidlet B were at one point receiving Avon roll on soap, and now they're getting Axe that promises "The cleaner you are, the dirtier you get."  What?!?!  Is this what my kids are showering for?  Argh!  I think one is focused on getting dirty in football, and the other is Skyping about videogames.  Perhaps I'm naive.  At heart I still want them to be holding my hands and skipping with me through Harvard Square, heading to Burdick's for hot chocolate.  I'd better wake up.

The Axe phenomenon began last summer when a few boys were over the house.  Suddenly my home smelled worse than Hollister.

"What the heck is that smell?"

"It's an Axe bomb!  (Kidlet B) just let off an Axe Bomb!" Laughter ensued by all middle school boys in the house.  Apparently my home smelling like a very bad date is extremely funny when you're thirteen.  Do they understand the flashbacks I was having?

While teaching one day I went by a girl's desk, and the same odor enveloped me.  No, not again.  I looked at her with complete horror.

"Axe?" I asked.

"Yeah.  They Axe Bombed my notebook."

"I feel your pain.  Oh boy, chica, do I ever feel your pain.  I won't be checking your notebook anytime soon.  No worries."

Directions - Wash.  Attract.  Repeat.  My instructions?  Use.  Make mother vomit.  Make mother go through flashbacks.  Make mother dinner to pay her back.  Never use Axe again.

The marketing geniuses know adolescent boys will believe that the overpowering scent will attract girls who are obsessed with Lululemon headbands, Ugg boots, and cell phone cases.  The Kidlets should do something else.  Just axe mom for advice on how to pick up chicas.  I've got plenty of it.

If This Is Just The Beginnin'

I'm not going to do a "Back to the Future" blog post where I talk about all that I learned from last year's mistakes and how I'll improve in 2014.  Oh no.  I'm not going to bore you with how I'm going to lose fifteen pounds, get back to a size X and wear a teen size bikini at the beach.  As if these sisters could ever fit into a teen size bikini top - don't think so.  I won't brag about trying to write a best selling young adult novel, eat healthy, and spend loads of time with family and friends.

Because when it all comes down to it, today is another day.  Or is it?

I woke up at 5:00 am instead of my usual 4:00, perhaps because I actually stayed up past midnight last night, instead, as my boys insist, of napping at 6 pm.  I talked to my mom at 6:30, and made brownies.  I realized I was out of flour, and ran to the supermarket in the almighty Volvo.  I'm on my fourth cup of coffee.  I texted friends.  I jammed out to Pandora.

But isn't New Year's Day full of hope, full of promise?  Each year we wake up wanting some sort of miracle to occur on this day.  Like we'll put on our pants and suddenly they'll be super loose around the waist.  Darn!  it did not happen!  I still have forty exams to correct and twenty-something thank you notes to scribe.  The work didn't disappear overnight, so gone is the fantasy of lounging in pajamas all day, zoning out to Netflix.  But is that a bad thing?

I'm happy being busy.  I wouldn't have it any other way.  Let's face it.  I don't know how to relax. I never have.  For me, the ultimate form of relaxation is either reading or sending out postcards.  if that makes me happy, so be it.

So here is 2014.  Another day in the life.  The beginning, according to most, of yet another year.  But it's just another day...