6/12/2012 The Last First Day of School Picture

I checked my camera to make sure the batteries were good and the new chip was installed. I took out Troy's little School Days Book I had bought when he started kindergarten. It now bulges with thirteen years of report cards tucked neatly into the pouches along with class pictures, scout certificates, sport pictures, choir programs and other miscellaneous stuff I tucked in. Movie ticket stubs when I remembered to save them including from the time I took his seventh grade scout patrol to see Will Smith in that scary movie, I Am Legend, where people turned into bat-like creatures. I screamed like crazy and he never went to a movie with me again after that. As I leafed through the pages, I paused at his first grade picture. He is wearing a tiny sport coat and tie and his eyes are in a huge bug-eye position. I remember when he came home with his first grade picture. His eyes were closed. Two weeks later we got a picture retake notice and went into the bathroom so he could look in the full length mirror and practice keeping his eyes open. He opened them so wide that he looked like he'd seen a ghost. We laughed and laughed and laughed. As he went out the door to the school bus with his dad, I called out to him, "Don't forget to keep your eyes open!" He turned and opened his eyes as wide as they could go and yelled back, "Like this mommy?!" He knew I would laugh and was rewarded appropriately. As I look at his little School Days Book, I always turn to that page. His first grade picture with that frozen startled expression. I can still hear his voice. "Like this mommy?!"

5/8/2012 Waiting for the Phone to Ring For a Job

Geez Mr. Blog, My heart feels like a heavy rock down around my feet. As much as I am on a program to focus on the joy in life, sometimes it is a struggle. May is new teaching hiring month. I have been staring holes through my phone waiting for an interview invitation. If I could JUST get to an interview I'd have a good chance at getting hired. I interview really well. I ought to, I had five years and hundreds of interviews for my airline job so I have had lots of practice. I know what the interviewers want to hear. I can spout off the OSPI education standards and give examples of lessons I've taught Benchmarks, benchmarks, benchmarks. All the kids are different but most can memorize information the EXACT same way adults do. Through repitition and engagement with the materials.

6/11/2012 My Son the Sign Flipper

I cruised over the hills of Canyon Park with the scent of McDonald's filling my mini-van. Double cheeseburgers, french fries, hot cocoa. All the treats that a teenager loves. It was March and bitter cold and the snow had started coming down in giant, icy flakes. As I came over the rise and climbed the next hill, I was excited to see my first-born child at his job. My son, the sign-flipper. At sixteen, this was his first job outside of yard work and house work. So him having a real job was a big deal in our family. I reflected on the years of fun family life as I drove along. Holidays, family camping trips and vacations. Picnics in the swamp, making pies together. At eleven, he began that natural pulling away that a son starts with his mother. At fourteen, I couldn't stand being in the same room with him most of the time and at fifteen he was worse. At sixteen, I could feeling him come back to me occasionally like we were pulling some familial rubber band. Short glimpses into the future. But I knew I would never be the rock star again. The days of being stuck together like glue were long gone. As I pulled up to where Troy was twirling his sign I could see his expression of consternation with me. I just wanted to give him hot food and drinks while he stood in a half inch of snow. I wanted to be his rock star one last time. I lowered the window and he came over to accept my maternal offerings of food and love. "Hurry up mom! There have been hot chicks driving by waving at me!" No thanks, no gratitude, no manners. Hot chicks?! I drove off hurt but full of pride as I looked in my rear view mirror at my son the sign flipper.

1/29/2012 Summoning My Inner Ripley to Fight Depression

I think women are more prone to depression than men. Since we were designed to have more feelings it does not surprise me. Having to carry the weight of humanity on our slender shoulders doesn't help one bit. My depression is caused by brokechitis, a common condition to many women. I feel lucky I don't have clinical depression since it does run in my family. I went to a group therapy session in 1984 to help me relax. I had carried mail out of Magnolia, Bitter Lake, North City and Bothell post offices for five years and I was suffering from chest pains and insomnia. A big part of the relaxation class was visualization. It was very effective. I fell asleep within five minutes at every class, much to the chagrin of the instructor. So when I had my pity party the other day I got to thinking, if visualization to help me relax, and prevent me from Going Postal or having a heart attack was so effective, why couldn't I work the system backwards? Why couldn't I visualize power? I had ordered the Alien quadrilogy from Amazon.com and was bent on some scary entertainment during my pity-party last Friday. At the end of Aliens, Sigourney Weaver dons a mechanical loading suit to prepare for a fight to the death against the evil, icky, slimy, alien monster. When the scene begins, she is back lighted in front of a cargo door as a small image. The camera zooms in and you see that she is just a woman inside an enormous power-loader suit that quadruples her size and physical power. So, there was my aha moment. When I finished the movie, I decided to summon my inner Ripley. I visualized myself with all of Ripley's characteristics. Smart, brave, capable, flawless grammar... I closed my eyes and saw Gretchen, inside the mechanical suit ready to fight the alien to the death. My alien is depression. She is caused by a condition called brokechitis.

The Day the Comb Binder Gods Smiled

I froze like a deer in the headlights. I had offered to help the student teacher with anything she might need done and of course it had to be the one thing I hadn't done for five years. Every school has one. The dreaded comb binder machine. Any PTA volunteer will tell you a good story of their first time around with a comb binder machine. It all starts innocently enough with young children making some super-cute artwork. Then, a teacher or parent decides that all the cute artwork needs to be saved for posterity in the form of a book. My first time binding was as a room mother in Nancy Bacon's kindergarten class. She wanted the best classwork and art work for each child for the entire year compiled into an over-sized comb bound book. Unfortunately for me, little kids are oftentimes overgenerous with their finger-paint, which makes the paper bubble and warp as it dries. So, I punched all the tiny rectangular holes into the crazily wavy thick papers with the comb binder and nervously started the covers. Then, the fateful moment came. Would the covers fit over the warped pages? Would the binding machine work? Beads of sweat popped out on my brow as I fitted all the papers onto the tiny metal teeth. I finished the first book. It was fine. No masterpiece of binding, but not terrible either. I released my breath and finished the books. After the first book, I was a comb binding machine and really got in a groove and enjoyed it. Somewhere in my attic, inside a plastic box with a tight-fitting lid, is that book of Troy's from 2000, nestled under years of subsequent work. He graduates from high school this year and his box will be waiting for him to buy a home and then it will finally be moved and looked at for the first time since that fateful day when the Comb Binder Gods Smiled.

9/2/2011 Jobless, Jobless, Jobless

Ugh Mr. Blog,
I have the worst insomnia ever.
I checked the AESOP job site all day long
for tomorrow.
Nothing, nothing, nothing...
I just can't stand it.
What a waste of time and money college was.
Age discrimination is illegal but
there is no way to prove it.
I'm so depressed.
I'm so depressed.
I'm so depressed.

9/1/2011 The First Day of School for Troy and Teddy

Hi Mr. Blog,
Everyone got up and out for the first day of school.
I still can't believe Troy is a senior in high school.
Seems like I just cranked him out a minute ago!
And Teddy.
Oh my God that little rascal towers over me
at six feet tall.
He is in ninth grade at Kenmore Junior High
but they moved the foreign language program
to the high school so they go up there for
their first period classes and then bussed down
to the junior high.
Probably fun for the kids.
Sound tiring to me!
So, Troy DROVE his baby brother to school!
That cutes me out something fierce
to have them driving to school together.
Seems like two seconds ago they were in
kindergarten and second grade
standing on our front porch for their
first day of school pictures.
They were so tiny that our 7801 house number was
a foot over their dear little heads.
Now it is at their waist level.
Funny funny as Brenda would say.
I haven't seen Troy yet to find out if he
likes his schedule for his last year
at high school.
I just hope he has all the required classes taken.
When I picked up Teddy to drive the football pool
from Kenmore Junior High the parking lot scene
was a big fiasco.
More construction up there as usual.
He was busy putting his pads in his football pants
and didn't want to talk about
his first day of school anyway.
It was one of those end of summer sunny days
with the nip skippy air that makes you
see your breath.
Michelle Moyes came out for lunch and said
it was down to forty-seven degrees this morning.
Brrr.
So, Troy is finishing high school this year.
And on to bigger and better things.
Hopefully including moving out
since he is so darn contrary.
Little rascal was born
marching to the beat of his own drummer
that's for sure!