Randomness that isn't.

A friend got news today.  Not good news, not bad news, just affirmation of something she's suspected - and she's a great suspector.  Verifying what she had hoped was false but knowing in her heart what the answer was.

Parents are given the children they are supposed to have, I'm convinced.  I always say my children aren't perfect - and let's not even start itemizing the imperfections -  but they are the perfect children for ME.  Smart, and smart asses, seekers, learners, bull shit detectors. 

But they are also eminently themselves.  Kinder than I, oh so much brighter, more environmentally aware and concerned.  They also read deep dark books and laugh at my beach reads.  And most everything else I do.

They love me, though.  And I them.  It's a physical thing that is part of every cell in my body - I can no easier watch them being hurt than I could do my own tonsillectomy.  An old saying is that a mother is never any happier than her least happy child and it's true.  There is nothing we won't do to "make it better,"  whatever the "it" is. 

So when I'm faced with the grown-up problems they have now I hurt even more.  They aren't 4; a hug and vanilla wafer won't do the trick.  I still try it from time to time - especially the hugs - but their journeys aren't mine.  Their lives are to be led by them - I tell myself this hourly - and all I am is a loving bystander.

I know that my friend faces some tough times, which is fine.  She's more than capable of anything life throws her.  The road maps we get when babies are born aren't adequate for every situation, and the advice we get from others - even professionals, sometimes falls short of what our guts tell us to do for these amazing creatures we are blessed to have.  So she'll soldier on, with a lot of help from her husband, and be a grander person than she already is.  Knowledge is power, I know.

I just wish I could give her a hug and a vanilla wafer right now.

Glimmers

Another blogger - (could we please change the name of what it is I'm doing?  Makes me sound like a scrapbooker.  Or knitter.  Neither of which I can or would do.) - posted earlier about the career we've both chosen - education.  She and I are at the end of another school year, frustrated, tired, and underappreciated.

Teachers are the only people who go into a workplace knowing that most of what they do is for naught.  Your end product, regardless of the dedication, sweat, hope and ability you bring will only be as good as the raw materials you have to work with.  The natural resources in our area ran dry long ago.  Right now we're working with slag.  Our students' apathy permeates the lab in which we are supposed to create active learners with a pall that is almost visible.  And they are fine with that.  Their mamas and daddies are fine with that.  Just let them make cheerleading, or football, and don't expect toooooooo much from them.  They're poor, and have a baby, and have to work.

Here's the thing.  Lots of people are poor.  And have babies.  And work.  But not everyone is sorry and shiftless and unconcerned about anything going on in the world outside of the gas station on the corner and Dollar General.

And let's face it - praying them smart hasn't worked.  Nor has our method of sex education - faith-based - really worked for the area.  Bring in some heathens who don't go out every Saturday night and get shit-faced before going to church to be seen on Sunday morning!  Doesn't make you a damn bit holier than me, just less honest.  No one's buying it, and it hasn't worked.  The community isn't God-fearing - they're only name droppers.  The lack of compassion for anyone other than the local yokels is astounding.

Do I sound bitter?  I am.  Years ago I envisioned a career that would allow me to share what I love - knowledge - with those people I find so fascinating.  Adolescents.  Hasn't actually worked out that way, but there have been moments...

I recently received an email from a former student.  It came exactly when it needed to - horrible day in an institution where the status quo keeps anyone from advancing,  an incubator for sloth and hypocrisy masked as a school.  I feel isolated most days - few opportunities to talk to people I actually like and share common ground.  I do, however, have a lot of time to spend listening to our janitor's latest CD, available for purchase in the office, and hear about yet another blessed event shared by a student.  And also enough time to clean up the campus.  But that's another rant.

I'm sharing the email to offer hope, and remind myself of the ripple effect.  It lasts longer than you imagine.
********************************

"Just wanted to take a moment to thank you for the impact that you had on my life and education. There are a couple of gateways in a person's life where a teacher can make all the difference. You were at one of those gateways for me. You respected us as adults and expected adult things from us, but still encouraged us to enjoy our last days as kids. That is no small feat. While I don’t know if this is what you always wanted to do, I do know that your students (myself included) are better people for your choice."

********************************

What I do does have an impact and how I do it is appreciated.  By those capable of learning.  I tell myself this, often, almost as a litany.  It's sometimes the only thing that makes me drive the Highway of Broken Dreams.

Self-inflicted morning depression

The cosmetics/anti-aging shell game continues to baffle me.  Should I buy a spray gun to airbrush my foundation?  The bare minerals I use, conveniently packaged in a child-proof container, (and I'm no child) seem to work just fine for this no-nonsense chick.  Yet the industry continues to spend billions trying to convince me and other hopeless innocents that one tube/box/vial/pump bottle will magically transform me into my better self - no wrinkles, no sagging jawline, no blemishes.

I use "philosophy" and the reasons are endless.  And depressing.  First off - the stuff works for me.  I do think my wrinkles are being held at bay as well as possible without me walking around looking like I spread a can of Crisco on my face.  And "Amazing Grace," the cologne I use, is, well, amazing.  Again, personal preference.

The names of the potions and lotions though?  Start my day off on a down note.  "Hope in a Jar,"  "When Hope is not Enough," and my favorite, "Save Me."  
These are skin care products folks.  I don't need dunking at Lourdes - wouldn't work anyway - there are too many years on this face/neck to effect much change.  All I'm looking for is a good moisturizer.  My soul is fine.

And the wrinkles and sags?  Earned 'em all.  Don't like it, but at least I know what I'm working with.  And all the airguns in the world won't change that.

Children...

...are permanent.  They should grab DNA from the baby's butt as soon as he or she appears and clone it in a lab.  Use it to hold anything from broken fingernails to space shuttle tiles. 

Once you are a parent you are never again a mere person.  You are a mama or daddy and whatever you do is driven by that train you boarded as soon as they were born.  You never make another decision that isn't based on your appendages.

The stickers.  And they do, regardless of how old they are. 

And just as a personal preference, if you take your daughter to the beach don't post pictures of the two of you on facebook, she darling with her curls and sharpei legs and you gross in your "Party Naked" wife beater.  Not cool.

Rant over, on to a great song - teach your children well.  If you screw that up, it really doesn't matter what else you do.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p6pphVs8bF0

Unknown Growth Patterns of the Human and Vegetable Kind

The irony of planting unidentifiable seeds that a friend gave me today - Mother's Day - is not lost on me. I soaked them as required, put them in the ground, and have no idea what to expect. Are they sun or shade lovers? Did I plant them deep enough? Do they like fertilizer or will I overdo it? Will they have blooms or strictly foliage?

I won't know for sure, even, that they will be okay when I see the first green. Someone/something could squash them with a misplaced foot or weedeater. Blackberry winter could come with force and freeze what's growing in the blink of an eye. Squirrels might have them for lunch. I might forget to water enough and they could shrivel. Gardening can be treacherous.

One thing's for sure, I will be surprised. And I like surprises of the spirit.

Blogs, generally speaking...

...are boring, and mine is no exception. I haven't posted anything in over a month. Not because I have nothing to say, but I couldn't find it. Forgot the name, forgot which email I used to create the silliness, and forgot the cardinal rule of blogging: Thou must bore others to tears with minutiae.

In the last month I:

• didn't cook 
• had a pedicure
• weeded my garden
• read 9.3 books
• spent too much time on FB
• got mad
• got even
• got over it
• wept with joy
• wept with fear
• wept with happiness
• wept with frustration

Is that enough mental vomit or should I continue? Okay. I:

• remain estranged from family members who are toxic
• don't regret anything about the estrangement
• desperately want a change in work conditions
• contemplate reconciliation
• worry about everything
• seek clarity

I'm sure that blogging isn't for me. As I read my own words I realize why so many scoff at the medium: it's ridiculous and self-aggrandizing to spend even a few minutes reciting your own thoughts, feelings, and observations. There is this thing called living. Plan to try it.

Nina, Pinta, Santa Maria

I feel like an explorer today. My first post, so of course it must be great? You might be disappointed.

About me: Blonde, divorced, three children, one dog, tacky transportation, marveler of people, appreciator of intelligence, lover of all things growing except nandinas, reader, thinker, rodeo star.

Except for the rodeo part.

I'll try this for a bit, and then probably leave it alone. Who really cares what some old broad in NE AL thinks?