Prayers for Motherhood

This has been one of those weeks where the reality of motherhood makes my pre-kid romanticized vision laughable. One of those weeks where more than once I've had to say or do things I never imagine.

"Mom, can you check my bum? I have these weird bumps." 

"That's dried poop. Please don't scratch it. Head to the bathroom." 

The battle my family has waged against a nasty stomach bug has left loads of laundry, dirty floors, stinky garbage, and discarded meals, all adding to the craziness of trying to finish up my renewal process for my National Board Teaching certificate during a super intense time at school with more responsibilities than usual.

One of those weeks, where I'm reminded that the sacrifice of motherhood is one opportunity I have to practice the self-denying love of Christ. All I can do is take a deep breath and pray for mercy and strength.

The last year and a half, The Ascetic Lives of Mothers: A prayer book for Orthodox Moms has become one of my go-to prayer books, helping me put my thoughts and feelings into words to pray during times like these. Though it should be entitled "The Ascetic Lives of Women: A prayer book". It is full of encouraging scripture and stories of women of faith with themes that transcend the realm of motherhood such as anxiety, depression, financial strain, enemies, pride, forgiveness, and safety. I've adapted the prayers for situations with my siblings, co-workers, and my husband and many times through them I have found calm and focus as I poured out my heart.

When I woke up this morning, a prayer shared at a women's retreat by a favorite blogger, Molly Sabourin, came to mind and seemed fitting for Mother's Day:

O heavenly Father, make me a better parent. Teach me to understand my children, to listen patiently to what they have to say, and to answer all their questions kindly. Keep me from interrupting them or contradicting them. Make me as courteous to them as I would have them be to me. Forbid that I should ever laugh at their mistakes or resort to shame or ridicule when they displease me. May I never punish them for my own selfish satisfaction or to show my power. Let me not tempt my children to lie or steal. And guide me hour by hour that I may demonstrate by all that I say and do that honesty produces happiness. Reduce, I pray, the meanness in me. And when I'm out of sorts, help me, o Lord, to hold my tongue. May I ever be mindful that my children are children and I should not expect from them the judgement of adults. Let me not rob them of the opportunity to wait on themselves and to make decisions. Bless me with the bigness to grant them all their reasonable requests and the courage to deny them privileges I know will do them harm. Make me fair and just and kind and fit, o Lord to be loved and respected and imitated by my children. Amen. 

Be encouraged, new mother, and do not lose heart, seasoned mother, or think that the trials you are facing in your calling will disqualify you from the prize. Pray for patience, mother-to-be, for the Lord knows the desires of your heart. Pray with faith, grandmother; approach the throne room of Christ, dear godmother, for the children you have been entrusted with. Dear Women, the Lord Himself holds your hand and wants you to succeed through His love, by the power of His Cross, through the prayers of His holy Mother and all the saints. *

Lord, have mercy on us all.

*Adapted from The Ascetic Lives of Mothers

The Pancake Problem

Shannon: "Wow, Kaleia! Another pancake? How many is that for you?"

Kaleia: "Three!"

Magnolia: "I've had three, too!"

Shannon: "I only had two! There is one left on the plate. I wonder how many I made this morning..."

Kaleia: "One, two..." Magnolia: "Let me figure it out!"

Shannon: "Let's all figure it out in our head and share the number we come up with."

Kaleia: "Nine!"

Magnolia: "That's what I got too! I knew my three and Kaleia's three made six, then Mama's two would be eight and one more makes nine!"

Shannon: "Kaleia, what was your strategy?"

Kaleia: "I just counted in my head."

Magnolia (giddy with excitement): "You gave us a story problem!"

Shannon: "Yeah, I guess I did."

Magnolia: "Now I have a pancake story problem for you, but its not addition. It's subtraction!"

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Story problems can be fun!

As a high school math teacher, I was excited to find an ally in my mathematics culture change mission in Maggie's 1st grade teacher. She is supporting Magnolia and her classmates to see the value of both the accuracy of their answers and the ability to communicate their process. At the fall parent information night, her teacher asked parents to think about the ways we approach reading at home; Cozy bedtime stories, cuddled up together, reading both the familiar and the new and exciting. Yet, most of us have less than "cozy" images of mathematics. It is viewed as drudgery or punishment, and only accessible for some people. Let's change that. Kids are natural mathematicians, wondering about patterns, estimating amounts, making comparisons. We only need to wonder with them. The more we do it, the easier it becomes.

If you need some support, there is a cool foundation called Bedtime Math. They have a few books and offer a nightly email to help give parents ideas.

7 Weeks to 7 Years

I open up my toasty warm down, knee-length, winter jacket and draw my shivering eldest daughter inside. We are standing outside our church as part of our midnight Pascha (Easter) service.

As I do, Pascha 2008 comes flooding back, when my just-over-7-week old Magnolia slept, tucked inside my coat, while I sang the resurrection liturgy. Now, inside my coat again, my just-over-7-year old is awake and joining me in song.

The years have passed so quickly.

Faith of Children

One of Kaleia's teachers stopped me this week as I walked across campus, with a story to tell. Kaleia's group was the last to rotate through her unit on myths. To mix things up, the teacher pulled out a book that she hadn't yet used this year.

It began, "Once, two gods were talking..." Immediately she remembered why she doesn't use this book with kindergarteners. The group erupted.

"There are gods?!" "There are two gods?!"

Kaleia confidently speaks up, excited to help her friends out, "You don't know about Him?! God has been around for a long time, before even Jesus. He made everything and still makes things and takes care of us!"

There was push back. "That's not true. My mom says we came from fish!" Kaleia patiently handles the arguing, holding to her belief, trying to help her friends understand.

Magnolia is also unashamedly sharing her growing faith. During a recent morning meeting, a Catholic classmate shared that he was celebrating Easter. Maggie chimed in that she also celebrates Easter, but on a different date--a week later this year. The class added it to the class calendar. After school, Magnolia's teacher thanked her for speaking up and sharing her faith tradition.  Her teacher also told Maggie that as a child her family had Orthodox friends and she always loved celebrating Easter twice.

Since then, her teacher emailed to share, "Magnolia has been really excited to share with us all about her traditions and activities this week, so we are thrilled to be hearing all about it. She shared with us her week in review this morning in morning meeting and the kids were really interested in hearing more each day as the week progresses!" This lenten season in particular, Magnolia is hungry to learn more about our faith. She is devoted to keeping the 40-day fast, which is nearly vegan, reading along with each new service, paying attention, and asking great questions. Her friends are getting a play-by-play and as she learns about their faiths she is comparing and contrasting. She has been particularly interested in her Jewish friends' traditions, which dovetails nicely, since Passover is so closely connected to Pascha/Easter.

As Pascha draws near and I reflect on Christ's journey to the cross, I am inspired and convicted by the innocent desire of my children to tell their world what they know, what they've found, what they believe.

To those of you that have already celebrated the Resurrection, I say "Christ is Risen!" To my Orthodox friends, I wish you a blessed Holy Week and Pascha.

For those wanting to learn more about Holy Week in the Orthodox Church, here are a couple of good resources: Holy Week: An Explanation and Pascha is the new Passover. Or, even though you've already celebrated Easter once, why not celebrate it twice? Find an English-speaking Orthodox church in your area and experience for yourself the beauty and power of the Orthodox liturgies this week. If you have any questions before or after, feel free to ask!

Curious why Pascha and Western Easter are different dates this year? Here are a few good links: Date of Pascha, The Calendar of the Orthodox Church, and Lenten and Paschal Cycle 

Remembering our GG

I was lucky enough to grow up with 3 out of 4 of my great-grandmas. Two of them even lived across the street from one another! GG was my last remaining and just after Magnolia was born we were able to get a picture with her and the next four generations of first born daughters.

Nancy Ann Morrison, my GG, was born January 4, 1922 in Omaha, Nebraska. She passed away on June 29, 2010 in Yakima, Washington after several long years battling with Alzheimer's.

At her request there was not a service, just family gathered at the grave site to share memories. Though she didn't remember many of us the last few years, I will always remember her beautiful garden, her candy jar, her strong hugs and sassy spirit.

A couple times on the ride over, I explained to Magnolia what the day was going to look like, when we were going to play and when we needed to be quiet and listen. Each time she listened closely, but I wasn't sure if it made sense.

Maggie was pretty subdued during the graveside service. Afterward, she proudly told my mom, "Today we are remembering our GG."





After the grave side goodbye, everyone relocated to Grandma Pat's house for a BBQ and family reunion of sorts. It was a fitting location, celebrating in a beautiful garden. The girls had fun playing in the grass with aunts and cousins they rarely see.

Kaleia stood on her own for the first time and spent the afternoon practicing.

It was such a full day -- full of looking back and looking forward. Remembering the life of GG while watching my girls lives begin. One of those great days to pause and think about where I've been, where I am, and where I want to go on this journey.

*double sigh*

*Sigh*

What is this relief I am feeling?

Looking around the room, I notice Kaleia playing contentedly, maneuvering herself around her toys and I hear Maggie happily reading a book to herself in the other room. Kaleia smiles up at me.

During my pregnancy I heard that while human gestation is officially 9 months, the human baby needs an additional 9 months out of the womb to reach the developmental point most mammals are at birth--infant fawns can run, for pete's sake!--and since you are still baby's sole source of nutrition, mobility, and comfort, it's almost like you're still pregnant for that additional 9 months. I call it post-partum pregnancy.

I just realized I've made it. Since Magnolia was conceived, until now, because Kaleia was conceived 7 months after her sister's birth, I've either been officially pregnant or post-partum pregnant for a LONG time. I know there will be new challenges as the girls get older but right now it feels like things are getting a lot easier.

The relief now is deeper and all the more sweet since I never felt it with Magnolia.

*Deep, Cleansing Sigh*

If Blogging Were an Olympic Sport

If blogging were an Olympic sport, I would not be on the podium.


Brian is working as a shuttle driver for the Olympic Sliding Center up in Whistler. Which means my editor/co-writer has been gone for 19 days now and my hands are full with these little monkeys. And hands full of monkeys are not good at typing.


I'm not totally alone. My parents are helping out with the girls, which we really appreciate, but we really miss our Papa.


Trudy and Otis are also stir crazy from missing their late night dog park visits with Brian. I've realized how much of a burden he lifts off me by making sure they're well cared for.


I'm not sure how much Brian's absence is impacting Kaleia, but I can definitely see it in Magnolia, even though she is too young to tell me. For the first week or so she was eager to talk to Papa on the phone. Now she refuses, backing away from the little device muttering "Papa home." Except for the other night, she initiated a pretend phone call to him. When I asked her what Papa said she answered, "Laba you." Melt my heart.

A video message we sent Papa

Then yesterday she was playing with a hollow plastic Easter egg. Maggie looked at me and said, "Papa." What? You popped it open? No, she confirmed, "Papa." While I sat pondering what this piece of plastic had to do with her absent Papa, I watched her open the egg, pretend to remove something from it and bring her fingers to her lips. "Tisses."

My floodgates opened. Memories of Brian giving her kisses for her pockets flew to mind. For the next few minutes she continued to replenish the supply.


I hear about service men and women that are deployed for significant periods of time. Brian met an Olympic luger the other day who hasn't seen his wife and 19-month-old since October. I don't know how families do it. They miss so much. They are so missed.

Our next separation is a short five months away when Brian heads down to California for his summer term in grad school. I don't think I will ever get used to it, but at least I'm learning some strategies to make it more bearable. I think Brian might need to fill a whole basket of those Easter eggs.

Inter-child Boundaries

This morning, when Magnolia insisted on sitting next to her sister on the couch, Kaleia's grasping little fingers found her arm.

This was not okay with Magnolia. Though she wanted to sit next to her infant sister, she did not want Kaleia to touch her.

Magnolia (pulling away and giving Kaleia a dirty look): "Arm!"

Me: "Magnolia, it is okay. She is not hurting you."

Magnolia: "Arm...pain!"

Really, Magnolia? Kaleia's tiny little fingers, that are barely touching you, are causing you pain?

Magnolia scooted farther away, only to be followed by her sister's grabby hands.

I saw visions of invisible lines drawn as boundaries on couches and carseats. I heard games of "I'm not touching you" play out. I heard myself saying, "If you don't stop that I'm gonna turn this car right around and we're just gonna go home."

Or maybe that was just a flashback from my childhood...

Counting with Mrs. Rush

1 national teaching certificate
2 high schools
3 years as an instructional coach
4 years as class advisor
5 student teachers
6 dances chaperoned
7 different classrooms
8 math courses
9 years under my belt

Today, I start my 10th year teaching and my all-time student total will surpass 11 hundred as I meet this year's (12 x 10) students.

Wish me luck!

Washington State Law ESSB 5037

Washington State put the following law into effect as of July 1, 2008:
Any person operating a moving motor vehicle while holding a wireless communications device to
his or her ear is guilty of a traffic infraction unless the person is:

• operating an authorized emergency vehicle;
• using a hands-free wireless communications device in hands-free mode;
• operating an amateur radio and possesses a valid amateur radio operator license from the Federal Communications Commission;
• using a hand-held wireless communications device to report illegal activity, summon
  medical or emergency assistance, or prevent injury to a person or property.

The penalty for an infraction is a $101 ticket.

Last weekend, while driving, Magnolia was talking on her play cell phone. As usual, after a while she wanted us to talk on her phone. She stretched it toward Brian in the passenger seat and said, "Papa phone." He held a pretend conversation, then: "oh, what's that? You want to talk to Magnolia again? Here you go." She refused the phone, pointed at me -- the driver -- and said "Mama!"

As per Magnolia's request, Brian handed me the phone and I began a surprisingly pleasant chat with a piece of plastic. Suddenly remembering the new cell phone law I stopped to voice my concern: "I wonder if I can get a ticket for this?"

I can just see the headlines: "Motorist Ticketed for Talking on Pretend Cell Phone."

The Mysterious Reconstitution of the Number 2 (TWO!) and the Subsequent Demise of the Frazzles

Mathematicians in Washington state are beginning to take interest in the seemingly erroneous proclamations of a Bellingham toddler. For the sake of anonymity we shall call her Little-Miss-Hyperactive-Spaghetti-Hands (LMHSH).

One expert remarked, "I'm starting to think maybe [Little-Miss-Hyperactive-Spaghetti-Hands], who's learning to count right now, is on to something. Her arithmetic is a little unconventional--one might even say radical--but I'm starting to suspect that what would seem to be mathematical folly is actually a profound truism that could drastically alter the lives of many everyday people, not just mathematicians."

If you place a group of objects in front of LMHSH and ask her how many there are she'll tell you enthusiastically that there are "TWO!" No matter if there are five or a dozen, she will assure you that there are only two. This is what the mathematicians are so interested in, and what they are beginning to believe is in fact true: the experience of two in real life is drastically different than can be forecast based on equations such as 1+1=2.

Now let me present to you a photograph that illustrates one example of the kind of sad repercussions this radical new math can have on families. As you can see there is a table set for two (But let us be clear about this number two. This table is set for the old number two, the one civilizations have come to know and love over the last several millenia, the two that is only one more than one.) The dinner looks reasonably tasty and is even accompanied by a couple glasses of wine. But that is where the predictable pleasantries and pleasant predictabilities end, for the dinner of this couple (let us call them Mr. Frazzle and his wife Exhaustina) is not occurring at a dining room table or restaurant, nor on a picnic blanket or any other commonly used eating location. The Frazzles are eating their delicious Italian feast on a card table, in a bathroom, next to the toilet.

And the dirty diaper bin.

The Frazzles are adamant that they do not prefer such an arrangement and warn that this sort of thing is a direct result of the radical new mathematical laws professed by the toddler known as Little-Miss-Hyperactive-Spaghetti-Hands. Two is not two. It is five or six or ten. Experts believe that while LMHSH has been a leading proponent of the new mathematics she is not, in fact, the cause of the rupture. After much study it has been proposed that the small being on the right hand side of the image, while extremely cute and seemingly powerless, is the TWO! prophesied by LMHSH and is therefore the primary agent of this mathematical chaos and the attendant demise of the Frazzles.

More research is yet to be done to explain how and why a second child can more than double the demands on parents' time, but until that research is complete the Frazzles will likely need to continue to find innovative solutions for preserving their sanity.

UPDATE: The Frazzles have since vacated the bathroom and resumed more normal eating habits. They are however surprisingly proud of their creative problem solving and coping tactics. They are always on the lookout for other tips and tricks and ask that any readers with insights on how to live with TWO! share them in the comments.

I'm a Gardener! I Garden!

When Brian brought in this zucchini from my garden today I swelled with pride.

"That came from my garden," I thought. "I grew something! We need to celebrate! This deserves a blog post!

Then I remembered:

a) the only plant in our house that has survived 7 years of marriage has done so because Brian waters it. When he goes away, plants die.

b) my mom helped me plant my garden this spring. In fact, I'm pretty sure she planted that zucchini plant. I just told her where to put it.

c) my mom also did all the weeding in my garden because I was pregnant.

d) Brian watered the garden probably more than I did.

e) Brian "harvested" the zucchini in question.

And after I remembered these things I felt a little like Bob in What About Bob? You know the scene where he goes sailing. He's tied to the mast and can't possibly contribute anything to the process of moving a boat through water, yet he's ecstatic.

You and me Bob. I'm a gardener!

Signs of Summer

"What's for dinner?" has become "What are we going to BBQ?"

Frogsong at night, birdsong by day

Splashing in the kiddy pool

The smell of sunscreen

Scraped knees

Brian's Top Ten Films of 2008

What were your favorites?  Here are mine, so far.

I'm not sure this is my favorite of 2008 but, of the films I've seen, it is without a doubt the best.  Set in communist Romania circa 1987, the film follows a woman who has agreed to help her college roommate get an illegal abortion.  I am not recommending it for every one, but 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days is almost perfect.

The Visitor is the film on this list I can recommend unreservedly.  After the death of his wife, Walter Vale returns to his long neglected apartment and is surprised to find a couple of immigrants living there. Goodwill and positive relationships are hard to portray in films without becoming cheesy or overly sentimental, but director Tom McCarthy has proven himself a master.  If you haven't already, check out his first film The Station Agent.

BIG, bleak and brilliant.  If you're not already familiar with Charlie Kaufman's films (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Being John Malkovitch, Adaptation etc.) don't make this one your introduction.  If you already have a taste for his previous work prepare your mind for the usual contortions and existential quagmires. Except this time it's not so light!

Having met all kinds of interesting people in her adventures as a casting director, Jennifer Venditti told herself that one day she was going to make a film about one of them.  This is that documentary.  Billy is a small-town misfit who is simultaneously awkward, sincere, courageous, and funny.  And even though Venditti and her crew spent only a few days with Billy and his kin we are granted a very vulnerable, intimate, sometimes uncomfortable look at the lives of an extraordinary young man and his loved ones.  

The best superhero movie you'll ever see.  Because it's more than a superhero movie.

Simple storytelling, understated performances, pregnant pauses in a Southern landscape, and an achingly gorgeous score. Reminiscent of The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada and Terrence Malick, Shotgun Stories tells the story of feuding half-brothers, born of a father who led two very different lives.

Yes, the visuals are beautiful (almost to the point of being tiring) but the little girl steals the show. This is The Princess Bride and Pan's Labyrinth (which, if you haven't seen, is a not-for-children fairytale) thrown in a post-modern blender.

Breathtaking  and inspiring.  Philippe Petit's high-wire walk between the two towers was deemed the artistic crime of the century and this film captures the determination and exhilaration behind the realization of one man's dream.  I wholeheartedly recommend this very entertaining movie even as I wish it explored more thoroughly the relational complexities between Petit and his friend-collaborators.

A bizarre comedy-thriller that balances, ever so precariously, dark and light. 

Honorable Mentions:

Films I suspect might displace some of my top 10:

  

      

  

The Big Debate

After a month of working, we're starting to get into a groove. Magnolia is sleeping a bit better so I'm at least getting 6 hours of sleep which does a world of good to my outlook and stamina. But while I know that Magnolia is in good hands, developing relationships with her Papa and Nana that most kids never get, I do get sad that I am missing out on precious days that are so fleeting. Once I'm at work it's not too bad -- time passes quickly as I work hard to prevent any take-home work. The hardest part for me is not the being gone, its the leaving.

Each morning as I get ready, my Munchkin crawls around, often finding her way over to me to pull on my pant legs, looking up at me with her big blue eyes, and reaching to be held. How could I not snuggle for just a few more minutes even if it means being a bit late or forgetting to put on all of my makeup? Then when I kiss her goodbye and pass her off, she wails in great distress doing all she can to follow me and for that moment I believe it must be easier to be a stay-at-home mom.

However.

This summer I found being a full-time mom exhausting. There were times when I craved a break or some mental simulation and even looked forward to going back to work -- a little. Then there was a week or so when I was getting ready for the school year while taking care of Magnolia. I don't know how moms do it, balancing a home business with taking care of their kids. I had a hard time, often ending the day frustrated and exhausted, unsure that I managed anything.

It seems like every where I go people are talking about the big debate and I don't feel like there is a clear winner. I am not talking about the Obama/McCain debate; I am talking about which is harder: to be a stay-at-home mom or a mom that leaves home to work. I think I've decided that either way is hard, because being a mom is hard.

You're twelve and you're buying shoes.

You’re trying to walk a little ahead or behind to make it seem like you're not actually with her, but some 18-year-old, uniformed salesman with too much hair gel asks if he can help her find anything. And your mother’s reply, of course, informs the entire store that, yes, you're related to this permed woman who doesn't belong in this athletics shrine.

There is a life size cardboard cut-out of Shaquille O’Neal (when he was still cool). The radio is playing your favorite techno song (when it was still cool). And the wall is lined with shoes, glorious shoes, each with it’s own little shelf, and track lighting making them shine like golden calves.

Your mother being practical wants nothing to do with the Air Jordans so instead asks where the reasonably priced and ever-so-versatile cross trainers are.

You survey the options. Knowing none of them will be envy-inspiring, you cut your losses. You spot the few pairs that will at least not provoke outright mockery. The salesman has acknowledged your presence by now but continues asking your mother the important questions, as though her opinion mattered in this decision. She tells him that you'll try on this one, this one, and that one in size 7. Salesguy goes to the back and leaves you and your mother alone.

You have a few options at this time. You can endure awkward conversation/silence with your mom in a public place. You can pretend you are looking at other merchandise, thereby avoiding the awkwardness. Or your third, and most advantageous, option: Sweet talk. Suddenly transform yourself into the most agreeable 12 year old she has ever known. But don't be too obvious. Your goal is to loosen her up for later when you try to boost your price range by 10 or 20 dollars.

Out come the rectangular boxes “We didn’t have this one in a 7, so I brought a 7 ½. “

You take the crinkly paper balls out of the toe of one while the salesman laces another.

This is game time. Your real bargaining power begins here. No mother would make her child wear uncomfortable shoes, would she? So, the ugly pair she insisted you try on—well, they rub you the wrong way. And the other ones that look okay but aren't Nikes, they just don't feel right. And if the cool ones actually don't feel good?? These are the things you do for 12-year-old prestige.

Your mother is powerless at this point. Her only bargaining chip, since she can't inhabit your foot, is the toe check. You know, that thing she does where she presses down twice on the toe of the shoe to see how much room there is?

You can't wait to get away from this situation and wear your gleaming white leather in front of your peers. Because on the playground everyone is willing to buy into the unspoken fantasy that middle-aged mothers in doily-fringed cardigans have nothing to do with the acquisition of your awesome shoes. And that the relative awesomeness of each person's shoes does not in fact depend on a parent's willingness or ability to drop $120 dollars on shoes that you'll outgrow in 6 months, but is in fact a 1:1 reflection of your coolness.

***

Some kids—they were rare—were given a clothing allowance and then permitted to ride the bus to the mall. Oh freedom of freedoms! The city bus! To be that kid!

***

Now you’re the parent. Your 12-year-old needs new shoes, do you…

(A) go with your child to make sure he makes a wise decision? You’re paying after all, shouldn’t you get the final say in the matter?

(B) go with your child to humiliate him under pretenses of goodwill and benevolent provision? Emphatically and publically reaffirming their dependence despite their greatest pubescent wishes to be independent?

(C) Go with your child because that's how you do things? This wish for independence is just a phase and they'll get over it. (It's not like they're gonna be writing about the experience when they're 28 or anything.)

(D) Let him go alone, empowering him to make decisions on his own and living with the consequences?

(E) Let him go alone, it’s easier that way.

(F) ???

Postpartum, shhh...

So, I've been a mom for about a month now and I've been thinking about a couple things:

1) While the pregnant woman is in vogue, the postpartum one is not. Big-bellied celebrities are all over the covers of magazines these days. Not so much with the chubby, frazzle-haired postpartum ones with dark circles under their eyes. This has been the least glamous time of my life and I want to warn others about it. While talking about pregnancy symptoms seems to be expected, postpartum woes seem to be taboo, with moms discussing topics in whispered tones.

2) It is really hard to be completely honest, even when blogging to an unknown audience. It is easier to just give the highlights and gloss over the hard parts of life, unless they are really funny.

Hopefully this isn't too much information. I'm going to share a little about my journey this last month.

**Lack of Sleep -- Brian has been amazing at taking the night shift without complaining. Even so, I think I can count on my fingers the number of sleep cycles longer than 3 hours I have had in the last two months. I kind of expected that though. What I didn't expect was my sleep position continuing to be limited. About November I had to stop sleeping on my back due to my growing belly. I couldn't wait to be able to sleep on my back. Now, I have to sleep on my back because of my c-section incision and I can't wait to be able to sleep on my side.

**Drugs are nice, but complicated. It is so hard to remember when I took what and trying to find times when I am awake and haven't had food for two hours and won't be eating for another hour to take one kind. They should make it easier for new moms. Drugs also mask the fact that I'm recovering and I end up overdoing it by doing things like walking five miles one afternoon.

**What do you wear? Pregnancy clothes are not necessary, but pre-pregnancy clothes either don't really fit, are not practical for the massive amount of time spent nursing, or are packed away with no time to dig them out.

**On the subject of nursing, I've had the gamut. Our first Saturday home, Maggie spit up what looked like blood with her normal milky substance. Worried, I called the pediatrician's nurse and she had me look for cracks in my nipples. Sure enough my sore nipples were bleeding under the intense strength of my little one's sucking power.

**While in labor, I was constantly asked to describe my pain on a scale of 1 - 10 (1 being barely noticable and 10 being the worst pain of your life). I think for the most part my labor hovered around 5 or 6, spiking to an 8 or 9 during the worst parts. One morning, after dealing with engorgment for a few days, I woke up with level 8 pain in my right breast. I had developed Mastitis, a breast infection. But your kid still has to eat. Luckily, usually it felt better after she ate.

**During pregnancy Brian commented that he had never been a parenthical statement more in his life--"Glad to hear you and baby are healthy (Oh, and you too Brian)." Now I know what he meant. Our labor nurse when she was showing us our room commented in regard to setting the room temperature "During labor you are the princess, but when that baby comes out, its all about her." It was foreshadowing of what was to come. I can't count the times I have heard something to the effect of "I can't wait to see Magnolia" or "I miss Maggie so much" quickly followed by "Oh, and you too." I wonder how Brian is feeling now? Parentheses within parantheses?

**A few days in, the emotional roller coaster began. It seemed like any time I was alone, especially when feeding Magnolia at night, I would start bawling. For a while my feelings of failure for needing to have a c-section and not being able to experience the "pushing" stage of labor were a recurring theme. I definitely had moments of feeling inadequacy. One time I cried because everyone else had sung to Maggie and I hadn't. What kind of mother was I?!? The craziest though (and, people, I'm sorry to say this happened more than once) I realized that if Brian and I live a full life to somewhere in our 80's, Magnolia will be in her 50's and maybe becoming a grandparent, and we will potentially miss out on 20+ years of her life. I actually was grieving missing the end of my child's life during her first month. Then of course I had feelings that I might be going crazy, etc. Needless to say, my doctor went through all of the questions to determine if I had postpartum depression and decided that no I just had the blues. He suggested I take vitamin D and try to curb any negative thoughts.

**Brian has been incredibly patient and supportive in the midst of my neurosis. Not all has been emotional. One night after waking up for the third time to feed, our sheets, which were slightly rumpled and askew, were driving me crazy. I made Brian get up and help me remake our bed. He patiently did it. I felt super bad in the morning.

Thanks for letting me vent.

Postpartum has been really hard in more ways than just the expected sleep deprivation, but, I can't complain too much. It's all been worth it. Last night, we had fortune cookies. Mine said, "You will be rewarded for your hard work this past month." Really, I already have...

"High school is hard...

smiling shouldn't have to be." That's what a local dentist has advertised on a huge billboard outside my school. It has irritated many of my colleagues, because we work so hard to get kids to be positive about their academics.

But this week I was reminded that high schoolers are really mean, and maybe that sign is not talking about academics. Even in my incredibly healthy school, that prides itself on how all people are respected, its almost non-existent number of fights, etc., high schoolers can be just plain mean. Ok, not all high schoolers. But I remember hating high school (some times I wonder why I choose a career that involved going back to the place I could wait to get out of...). I have students that have thrown up in the bathroom several times this week, because they are nervous for high school. Lunch time creates so much anxiety as students, wide-eyed, try to figure out where to sit.

On the first day I overheard the following conversation:
Girl 1: Did you see so-and-so's jacket? (name removed)
Girl 2 and Boy: Yeah. (laughter)
Boy: Who would be jealous of that?! (more laughter)

It struck me. The point was to make other people jealous. They must see this modeled at home. You know, keep up with the Joneses.

I shared this story with my friend and she shared a similar story about two girls that were gossiping in the mother-baby cry room at her church during the service. They didn't stop when she came in, even when she started singing along, and they weren't whispering.

I've been thinking about this all week. Maybe they do see it at home, but really they see it all around them. High schoolers are just less subtle. Because they are still learning; learning to make it sound better, to justify, to pick appropriate times (more secretive).

My job has always been about more than teaching math. Sometimes I even hate telling people that I am a math teacher, because that immediately puts me in a box and people flash to their own usually negative experiences with math.

I am a teacher. I am there to teach students to think and learn, and I just happen to spend most of the time using mathematics to do that. Lately though I've been wondering "What else am I teaching them?" and "Is it what I want the next generation learning?"

I love September!

For me, September represents fresh starts, new beginnings. It is the time of year I do my New Year's resolutions. There is an excitement in the air as kids prepare to go back to school. The air is crisp and the world full of color. I love how it can be rainy in the morning, but then we can have a beautiful (and warm!) evening. September in the NW is a little bit of everything.

This year my New Year's resolution is to pray before I go to school every morning. So far so good. This year is going to be filled with challenges, personally and professionally. I would like to head into each day focused on what is important.

I will be teaching two classes this year with students on nearly opposite ends of the spectrum. One class is primarily made up of students that have had little success in school, especially in math. For the most part, their life outside of school is pretty hard. The other class, Algebra 2, is primarily students that are trying to prepare for education beyond high school, since this math class is now an elective. The rest of my day is spent in a professional development role supporting teachers in our building and planning various learning opportunities for teachers. I think it will be a good year.

School's out!

Well, I have finally finished grading finals, turned in my paperwork, and cleaned my room enough for now. Year 6 (YEAR 6!) at Bellingham High is complete! Thank goodness. This one had a tough ending, but thankfully we'll get a fresh start in the fall.

I've been thinking a lot about the rhythm of the school year lately. I think people long for the seasons of the teaching profession. Granted, for our education and demands, we take a paycut to enjoy the new beginning each September. I don't know how we would survive without it. Maybe we would be a healthier society if more jobs were designed with seasons, to mix things up and keep us fresh.

Most teachers work a second job or attend conferences in the summer. I have driven busses for the cruise ships in Alaska, cleaned houses, and attended various conferences and planned professional development for teachers. This summer will be filled with the latter. I have meetings tomorrow, Thursday and Friday. Then off to a conference Sunday and Monday. Another conference for a week in July and I start back up in the middle of August. I'm not complaining. Though my plan for this summer doesn't bring in any extra money, it will be a refreshing change of pace (I hope) for the sprint of the school year.

What do you think? Should all jobs have a season to do something different? Not necessarily a "vacation", but a chance to mix it up and refresh. Or do you like the consistency of your job?