Control

For as many endless possibilities there are, sometimes I feel there are none. For as many people there are to talk to sometimes I can't find one. Tantalizingly just out of reach. Going nowhere and somewhere all at the same time. Powerful and powerless. Half empty and half full, and other times neither.

I think most of us are generally on the brink of insanity. Some of us do a better job at keeping it under control, but a sudden force can send us spinning into the dreaded abyss. Sometimes I wonder how much control of our lives, our minds, we really have and how much of it is just an illusion.

I would love to teach my children to have some control. To have control of their bodies, their minds, their destinies, but how much control do we really have. Yet, I feel that regardless of how much this immeasurable ability may be, we still need to exert our force to change for the better.

Parallel Forms

Parallel
Never crossing
Endlessly moving in two directions
Lying without touching
Walking without crossing
Listening without understanding

Disobedient Lines
Sometimes crossing and connecting
Making angles
Forming one
Intertwined and charged
Moving in opposite directions
Pulling back
Running.... parallel

I Jub Ju!

Before The Bee was even able to walk or talk, before he was able to utter two words, during the days of his ravenous hunger for breast milk, and the endless poopie diapers, the Bee proclaimed, "A-wah-woo." An instance of appreciation, he was being changed once again by his loyal and caring servant.

He has blessed me with this simple sentence many times throughout his life erasing any doubts I may have had that day about the possibilities that a nine month old could speak a sentence. Not just any sentence, but this one. Something he felt was important enough for him to learn so early.

"A-wah-woo," transformed into "I jub ju" and has now become "I Love you...I love you." I love you mama." "I love you." "I love you all da time," he tells me with crazy enthusiasm. Lately, there has been an "I love you" about once an hour and sometimes more. An"I love you in the wee hours of the morning when he crawls into my bed, and the first words uttered upon awakening in the morning. Other times, he serenades me with an "I love you" song he makes up himself. Often, there is a hug to go with it. Never have I been so loved I say.

"I love you, too Bee.""I love you all the time." You will forever be my Lovebug.

30 Minutes Between Jekyll and Hyde

Oh. Hello there. It's been many months and in that time I got laid off, took a vacation to the usual snowy place, did some phone banking and walking to get a Measure passed, and eventually got my job back. That's the short version as the long version is too exhausting to even think about.

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Mother's day was great. I love my handmade cards and gifts and the store bought one was great, too. Hopefully, I will get to the sewing projects in my new book soon.

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One thing I love about being a mother and teacher, is that I am always learning, too. They have as much to teach me as I have to teach them. Like, did you know a 30 minute sleep deficit makes a huge difference in the behavior of a six year old? If my oldest goes to bed past 8:30 pm, you can almost guarantee that the next day he will wake up cranky, stomp around terrorizing everything and everyone (everyone being his brother), take every available opportunity to defy his elders, scream and throw non-stop tantrums reminiscent of the ones he threw when he was two and three, and just be a plain ole' poop.

On the other hand, if he goes to bed before the witching hour, he will actually seem somewhat normal and almost downright polite. "I got ready for school all by myself, " he'll proudly proclaim before I've even gotten a chance to get out of bed. "Look, I made toast for the Bee and me so no need to fix breakfast." His homework will promptly be completed, dinner eaten, and I will be rushing around getting him ready for bed before his fast approaching bedtime. "Please may I have dessert?" will be his last request before swooping him into the shower while watching the clock and hoping above all else that he will make it to bed in time, because I much rather like Hyde than Jekyll.
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Edited to add:
Some days, no amount of sleep can keep Mr. Jekyll from making an appearance.
"Well, hello there Mr. Jekyll. Can we please see Dr. Hyde?"

Moving On

This last month has been filled with travel, family, frustration, love, singing, and hiking. My little men are growing so quickly, and I fear that I am missing so much being at work all day, so much that I will never get back.

Both boys love singing. The Bee has been amusing us with encore after encore of Jingle bells, and after a month of it, it seems like it coming to an end. It was a brief respite from the tiresome ABC song. He will not let us sing with him either so we can enjoy a few rounds with him. He sticks his little hand up just inches from our lips and proclaims, "Just me, Juuust ME!"

The older boy has been entertaining us with his new ability to read some simple take home books, and his holiday poem of "Five Little Trees." His performance during his holiday play went smoothly, and he did not run off the stage to sit on his teacher's lap like he did last year. The mouse did not dutifully perform his part in last year's The Nutcracker.

As both boys get older, they seem to be enjoying each others company more and more. Meaning: they play for longer periods of times without screaming or getting in all out fights. Though the older boy does not know his limits, and has been know to use his baby brother as a stunt prop and punching bag. In the last two weeks, both of the Bee's eyes have endured some type of injury because of this. One episode involved the older boy attempting to use the top of the couch as a jumping off point, placing his brother as an obstacle, and instead landing on one of the Bee's eyes. The Bee who is very obedient, and thinks watching his brother jump over him from great heights to be very entertaining never learns NOT to listen to his older brother's crazy requests. I fear for his life, and hope that the Bee can survive his big brother.

Now if you think we are negligent, don't. Most of these incident happen with us present in the room. The older boy is smooth and quick, and he can turn from angel to hell-raiser in a matter of seconds fooling his parents into thinking he is doing nothing more than providing some brotherly love. Things can turn ugly with a blink of an eye, and that applies to both my boys behavior and life.

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Most of my life I have been without a home. Going from borrowed home to borrowed home to borrowed shack, or whatever the case may be. I have slept in borrowed cars briefly as well. There has been an intense need all my life to be in my own home. To be in a home that belongs to no one but me and the banks, because really they are the ones who own our houses, although I would be content with the illusion of it all.

I currently own a home I do not live in. That someone else is borrowing. That someone else is living in and temporarily calling home. I myself, am in another borrowed home too far to live in the home that is mine. I am feeling an intense need to settle, to nest, to be done with all the moving. Something so within my reach but so unattainable as well.

Dreams and Nightmares

Do I have time to blog? No. Probably not, but I will try anyway.
I think this to myself on a regular basis and here I am in the midst of October.

October, Why must you drag on so long? Why can't we just get to the good part in the end. Oh, yeah. Because we need time to visit pumpkin patches, at least two festivals, buy/make costumes, attend parades, and... then there's work. Yes. Work. It has a life of its own, and it very well should since I watch over 90+ bodies a day. Human beings that I hope will one day do something great for humanity, or at least not mess things up. It's a huge responsibility, but I love it when things are going well and the little adults are learning as they should.

"What's your dream?" the Dada asks.
"I'm living it." I said.

I can't think of doing anything other than what I am already doing. But, I guess if we are talking dreams. I'd like to do what I am doing but be home more and have my own house. There. That's it. I know. I lack ambition. But teaching year after year is ambitious if you ask me, because it takes so much out of you physically and emotionally.

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Did I ever mention motherhood made me paranoid? I was always a worrywart, but motherhood turned on a whole other switch. I worry about my children. Always. I have gruesome thoughts and dreams about possible mishaps they could endure, and then I freak out. Sometimes I wonder if I can think these possible happenings away.

Last night I had a nightmare, A freaky one. I was holding the lifeless body of my youngest. I shook myself out of this nightmare as quickly as I could. I am the type of person that can never tell they are dreaming, and have awakened many a night with tears soaking my pillow. Why? Why did I have to have this nightmare? All I want to do is erase it from my mind, but it just sits there in the corner of my mind. Haunting and teasing that it knows my weakness.

I Lichen These Days.

Tomorrow my littlest boy will be 3 years old. The littlest boy who won't sleep, and is currently playing with my hair while I type. He'd rather bounce on beds and stand here next to me than sleep.

I can't believe he's three tomorrow. Many days I feel like our family is complete and my life very full, but often, another part of me wonders what if? What if there was another? All my boys are content with the way things are, and when questioned about a possible addition, they say no more. Yesterday was a day when our family of four was just perfect. Perfect and imperfect all at the same time. For all the beautiful moments, there is an equal number of frustrating pull-you-hair-out kind of moments. I leave you with the best of our Sunday.

To the farm we went.

To the woods...


and finally the tide pools and beach despite my fear that they will one day be swallowed up by the ocean never to be seen again, but that's a story for another day.

Black Feet and Soot

To say that my little boys like to play with dirt is like saying dolphins like to play in water. It is their preferred medium, and their natural way of being. At the end of everyday, you will find these boys covered in dirt. Their feet black, their hair full of sand, and basically looking like a couple of waifs.

When we lived in Austin, they generally required two baths a day. In the park, they would get covered in a fine white powder of dust from the rocks that lined all the playgrounds there. They would also bring home sand in their diaper, sand in their hair, sand in their snack, sand everywhere--their feet would be black. So naturally, the only way to remove the above contents was to bathe the boys because there is nothing like the chaffing feeling of sand in your crack.

Living in California things have turned black with a chance for sand. The younger Bee, especially, can frequently be found with soot on his face. He likes to apply it just the way women apply cover up. It doesn't even matter if there is no dirt in the vicinity. He will improvise with whatever he can find. Below you will see a picture of the guilty boy after having gotten a hold of two whiteboard dry erasers and using them as telephones.


His brother, not to be outdone, decided to join him. These are brothers who want to wear the same everything these days: same clothes, same shoes, same dirt.

Where did July go?

How is it that summer is over already? Has it been two months? The oldest boy starts kinder on the 17th, an ungodly day to start school if you ask me. We might as well just go ahead and start school in July. I myself won't have kids showing up into the classroom until the 24th.

Wednesday is my official last day of summer. Never mind that I have spent the last 3 weeks planning for the next two months. This involves researching, creating lessons, documents, PowerPoints, calendars, and most recently syllabi for my math, social studies, and response to literature class. My room also has several spools worth of new bulletin board paper covering boring white walls. In previous years, I would have just waited until two days before school started to get ready, but I find my usual procrastinating ways stress me out.

We've recently spent countless amounts of money on back to school supplies for our classrooms, and Big Brother's first day of kindergarten. The Dada will be teaching high school Bio this year so setting up a new classroom requires countless of dollars to purchase necessary items that will help the classroom function. I got more of the same. For the older boy, we had to invest many dollars buying school supplies to donate to his cash-strapped classroom due to what else...budget cuts, and five sets of uniform items. Barf. I hate uniforms. Do we really want to teach and raise children that can't even decide what to wear for themselves? Students must be allowed to be individuals, and to at least have some choice in how they express themselvses with their wardrobe. I hate to take this freedom of choice away from them when we are already holding them hostage for 6+ hours. But really, I digress. I'll just end my rant here.

Summer is coming to and end, and work begins. I shall miss my many lazy days with my two little boys who have literally grown a few sizes this summer. My advance planning will hopefully help get me home at a reasonable hour the first month when most teachers work late.

Wewona

Yes. Because that was initially how I thought you spelled the Spanish word meaning lazy. Apparently, I wasn't the only one. I googled and found this same spelling. The word pronounced with the "e" and the "a" using the short vowel sound. I figured they were also delirious like me. I had to finally call a cousin for the spelling. It is actually spelled a lot like the Spanish word for egg, huevo, but lazy being spelled h-u-e-v-o-n-a.

My mind was tainted with the sight of the word WAWONA--a place I am lucky to stay in every year, and in good years, I get to go twice. NO, I don't want to go to Europe or New York or...yes, yes not even if I had a ton of money. If I can't at least go here, I don't want to go anywhere else. I know. I'm boring like that, but really, I just know what I like.

My mom got to chuckle along with me at the pronounciation of this Native American word this year. Wawona meaing "Big Tree" used to actually be called Pallahchun (meaning a good place to stop) by early tribes. Yes , indeed. It is a good place to stop. A good place to stop and be lazy.

The Dada's family has been stopping by this locale in Yosemite National Park for four generations now. My boys even paid a visit while still in the womb. Grandpa generously rents us all a cabin for a week where we all spend our days eating, swimming, tubing, gabbing, playing, hiking, and just plain old being lazy in the shadows of the big trees. Grandmas, Grandpa, cousins, uncles, aunts, and sibling all stuck in one cabin sharing two bathrooms-all thirteen of us, and sometimes even fifteen. I know, we like to rough it. But, if we get desperate, we can just dig a hole.

The boys as always had a blast, and my mom got to be lucky number thirteen this year. She was new to these parts and was in awe as we all always are of its beauty. The boys were just so overjoyed with it all they had to hug. It brings out the best in them.