why? Why? WHY??!!

         “Why do I see rain clouds but it’s not raining?”  Andrew asks.  “Why?”  Who would ever have thought that three little letters could become a painful ringing in my ear?  Wait, that may be too harsh.  I could liken them to nails on a chalkboard, but that never bothered me and we have whiteboards now.  Honestly, it’s the anticipation of that third of fourth “Why?” (after I feel I have done a really good job of explaining), that quickens my heartbeat.  This is when I resort to silence and the occasional topic change or a (slightly) exasperated, “I don’t know.” 

          Two of my favorite go to answers were “Because it was born that way” and “Because it was made that way.” Those worked for quite a long time.  He had no comeback.  Well, he now asks, “Why were the born/made that way?”  I do have to admit, though, he was some very interesting questions.  Most recently he has been focused on the size of animals.  “Why are crocodiles so big?  Why are ducks bigger than chickens?”   

          Then of course, there are the whys that come after a direction has been given.  I tried for a very long to avoid the “because I sad so” response.  I thought I was so savvy with the “because I gave you a direction” response.  It was direct, didn’t sound too rude, or authoritative.  Well, it has now begun to squeak out.  If you’ve been there, you know. 

          During the course of questioning, I put on my patience hat.  This is obviously a sign of his intelligence.  I am so lucky to have an inquisitive child who wants to learn more about the world around him.  This track is on auto rewind in my head. 

          Ask yourself, “Where would we be without the word why?”  What if Sir Isaac Newton had never asked, ‘Why did that apple fall from the tree?’  Or Elizabeth Cady Stanton hadn’t ever asked, ‘Why can’t women vote?’  Or if Steve Jobs had not asked, ‘Why do I need a separate cell phone, video camera, music player and computer?’

          Whys, what ifs, and how comes have shaped our history.  I’m sure not a day goes by without you asking yourself “why” at least once.  It can’t be helped.  It’s part of us.  So, I will continue my duties of expert question-answerer and when all else fails, I think I’m going to add a new response…”Go ask your father!”

Ah...August

        

       August.  I did a little research to find some interesting tidbits.  Here’s what I found:

* It is the seasonal equivalent of February in the Southern Hemisphere

* In a leap year, August ends on the same day of the week as November

* It was originally named Sextilis (Latin) because it was the sixth month under the original Roman 10 month calendar

* In 8 BC it was renamed in honor of Augustus, founder and first Emperor of the Roman Empire

* It is one of the seven months with 31 days

* It’s the start of the school year

        It’s these last two facts that bring me to the computer today. 

        The month of August has taken on three distinct roles as I moved from childhood to adulthood to motherhood.  When I was a child, school began after Labor Day.  August was like the last ripe berries on the bush.  You didn’t want to rush eating them.  You wanted to wait as long as possible because you knew they’d be super sweet in the end.  As the hot and hazy days of August rolled along, we didn’t want them to rush by either.  Gone would be our neighborhood games of hide and seek, group bike rides to the pool and visits from the ice cream truck.  Those moments would be replaced by hours inside a classroom, with structure and without socializing.  No, we didn’t want August to end.

        When I became a teacher, I found my feelings about August conflicted.  My first few summers I worked summer school and took Master’s classes, so August became my only month “off.”  I’d hit the beach, stay up late watching bad TV and spend time with my friends.  However, I did not get to enjoy all 31 days because by the middle of August, I began to prepare for the upcoming year.  I did (and still do) this with great excitement and anticipation.  I love being a teacher.  The trepidation I feel right before the beginning of each school year is awesome.  Teaching is a job where no two days are exactly the same.  Also, I can have the best lessons and activities planned only to encounter one tiny hiccup in the day that requires me to stop and switch gears.  It is not a profession for the inflexible!

        When conversing with parents about upcoming vacations, some would lament about what to do with all that extra time with their children.  Inside, I would be absolutely giddy about my upcoming break from their cherubs! But, I had to suppress these feelings as I saw looks of panic flash across their faces!

        A few years ago, I entered their world.  Vacations for me are breaks from teaching but not from working.  I look forward to spending extra time with the boys (and in my jammies!)  I also get anxious about how we will adjust to our new schedule.  Summer vacation allows us more time to adjust.  Then August comes, and again, I am conflicted.  The teacher in me is calling.  “You have to get into your classroom and see what supplies have been delivered.  It’s time to do some research for new lessons.”  The mother in me gives her a gigantic “SHHHH!”  She says, “These are the last weeks with your boys.  Make play dates.  Have fun!”   Out loud I say, “UGH!  How can I do both?”

        Ah, August.  I will take you one day at a time.  Hope for more sunny days than rain.  And wish you were just a few days longer. J

You Are What You Write

  

                So you want to write, but what should you write about?  According to Harold Underdown’s book, Publishing Children’s Books, (http://www.underdown.org/ ) he suggests exploring what genres you like to read.  “Rule one is to write what you want to write, not what you think you should write,” he says.  This is pretty good advice.  But what if you have very eclectic reading tastes?  You’d just as easily read a murder mystery as a whimsical rhyming picture book?  How do you focus your writing energy?

            You could read Regina Brooks guide entitled Writing Great Books for Young Adults (http://www.serendipitylit.com/ ) .  She believes the universe gives us stories, and it is our job as writers to accept these gifts to create our own masterpiece.  “Once your ear is attuned, and if you keep an open mind, story ideas will rush to you.”  Doesn’t this sound too good to be true?  However, I have been in group conversations, listening to stories and thinking, ‘that would make a great character’ or ‘what an interesting plot line that could be.’  She also has several lovely writing exercises to keep you writing, (but I didn’t find them useful.)

            I like to revert to the lyrics of a Beck song and, what I think, is the single most important piece of advice I have been giving students for 15 years:  “You can’t write if you can’t relate.”  Bottom line, if it doesn’t mean anything to you, you will have a heck of a time trying to force it into a story or poem or article.  It just doesn’t work.

            So you want to write?  Then do it.  Make a list of things of interest, people of importance to you, places you want to (or have) visited and/or problems you want solved.  You have the ability to write about anything at all as long as it matters to you.  This writing from the heart - this is true writing.  

My Life is Full of Weeds

            ‘Tis the season when friends are posting photos of their garden’s first harvest and dinner items created from their bounty.  A few fellow bloggers have even written how their garden mirrors their life.  I, too, could write a beautiful piece on how tending to the garden is so much like tending to my own children or cultivating the young minds in my classroom.  But, alas, I am not in charge of our vegetable garden.  I was, however, allowed to tie up the peppers and eggplants this past weekend before heading to my charge – the front yard flower garden.  Let’s take a look shall we…

            OK. It’s bad.  I know.  But I do need to throw out the disclaimer that we have been away two out of the past three weeks.  As I forged through the thick carpet of growth I thought of two things: 1. I hate this garden. 2. My life is full of weeds.

            I inherited this flower bed.  We moved in on Mother’s Day weekend 2010.  I looked curiously at the tiny sprouts of green poking through the soil.  I decided to wait a few weeks to see what actually grew to see what was actually a flower vs. a weed.  That summer was a scorcher, I was pregnant and chasing an eighteen-month old.  Needless to say, the weeds saw this as an opportunity to flourish!

            The following spring I was determined to make something of this garden.  I researched deer resistant plants, and decided to bring in some flowers and shrubs I had had success with in the past.  Well, apparently nothing truly is deer resistant, the moles dug up several of the new plants and my successful flowers expired mid July.

            Take three.  I attacked the garden with a vengeance one afternoon during nap.  I thinned out over grown areas, purchased four new plants and deer repellant spray.  Nap time ended and I was called away from my project.  Two of the new plants sat in the driveway for two weeks before getting planted and the deer repellant is collecting dust in the garage.

            In my BK (Before Kids) life, I had time to tend to flower beds.  Jim spent many weekends hauling Pennsylvania blue stone from the cabin and we created gorgeous flower beds around three quarters of our house.  Weeds were taken care of swiftly, plants were watered and our neighbors were impressed.  One neighbor told us, ‘My yard used to look a heck of a lot better before we had kids.’  I giggled at the thought.  How hard could it be to maintain?

            But now, my life is full of weeds.  There are so many little chores, projects and two little people that demand my attention, that flower bed falls way to the bottom of the list.  I do not think this is a bad thing though (except every day when I pull into the driveway and grumble at the site of it.)  Days can be planned, the to-do list can be just about completed when something else comes creeping in – just like a weed.  You don’t plan for it to happen.  It may or may not be a pleasant surprise but here it is and it has to be dealt with.   

            When I named my blog last year, I was thinking just this.  There is a lot of “et cetera” that goes into life.  It is up to us to decide how to manage our own weeds.  Because there is no escaping it: they will creep in.

            Once again I have big plans for the garden.  This time in August, after the summer heat has subsided a bit.  Of course, if I wait too late, I’ll be busy with preparing for the start of a new school year for me, Andrew’s start of preschool and the boys’ adjustment to a nanny.   More et cetera, more weeds, more of life!  Now that I think about it, maybe I’ll just turn the flower garden into a weed garden!  J

There's Always A Choice

          There’s always a choice.  I know some of you might disagree (so you might want to stop reading!)  But I’m sticking to my guns.  There’s always a choice (leaving out life threatening situations.)

          As a parent, I narrow it down to two choices:  Play downstairs or outside? Blue shirt or red shirt? Thomas or Bob the Builder?  My mother calls me the “Great Negotiator.”  She sees it as a negative.  She thinks I offer a toddler too many choices.  But I am instilling a life lesson: there’s always a choice. 

          By allowing two selections, I simultaneously allow decision making to occur while carefully controlling the situation.  I call this “forced choice.”  A-HA! you say.  I still have ultimate control of the situation.  Well, yes, he IS only three!

          I also apply this principle in my classroom:  work at your desk or on the rug; choose between these three books; choose between these four centers.  Wait!  You are giving them more than two choices!  Of course I am.  They are eight and nine.

          Now to the adult world:  Should I work out or not? Watch the news or something in the DVR? Eat this or that? (Oops! Someone already wrote that book!)

          You get the point.  So why does this matter to me?  Some of you might be asking.  Others are laughing, saying, “He, he, I know Jess.  She can really get frustrated at times!”  You’re absolutely right.  Those feelings, too, are a choice.  I can get ticked off or count to ten…or better yet…I can write a blog post!   

Things Aren't Always What They Seem

           

          Sitting at the edge of the stream, my brother-in-law posed one of Andrew’s favorite questions, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

          “What are you thinking?” Andrew replied.

          ‘I was thinking how people start off really small, but as they grow older, they get bigger.  But rocks are the opposite.  They start off really big, but as they get older they get smaller.’

          “Like sand?”  Andrew said. 

          ‘Kind of,’ my brother-in-law said. ‘See this rock. It is small, so it’s really old.  And that rock over there is big so it’s young.’

          “Oh,”  Andrew said.

          Not exactly, I thought.  Nothing against my brother-in-law, he’s a very smart man.  I certainly didn’t expect him to delve into the rock cycle and explain weathering and erosion to a three year old.  But it did make me think about how quickly we make a judgement about something without really knowing the true story. Or worse yet, how susceptible we are to the opinions of others that we will agree with them without being fully informed.  What is it that keeps us from finding out the truth?  Fear?  Rejection?  The unwillingness to utter the words, “I was wrong?”

          Think about that the next time something (or someone) new crosses your path.  It might have experienced a bit more weathering than you, but take the time to get the full story.  Make your own judegment.  Form your own opinion.  Be an individual.

          

Be a Tree

            We just returned from our annual camping trip to New Hampshire.  Being outdoors, free from many of life’s daily distractions, brings out the philosopher in me.  So enjoy a few ‘deep thoughts’ type posts!

*          *          *          *

            Tuesday, Jim and I had some time without the boys so we took a hike.  A real hike:  fast paced, uphill, carrying no one in a backpack.  The setting was perfect.  Acres of pine, birch and beech trees as far as the eyes could see.  The rushing of a stream off to our left.  A constant chorus of birdsong and insect chirps.  A near cloudless sky dropped patches of sunlight onto the leaves and forest floor.  Stepping carefully along the root-riddled trail, it hit me – I am stepping on a living thing!  For the rest of the hike I was drawn to the trees.

            I noted the varying widths of their trunks and colors and textures of barks.  I felt a slight pang of sadness when I saw one lying on the ground.  And I thought. 

            Trees are adaptive.  They’ll grow over and around rocks and on sides of cliffs and mountains.

            Trees are fragile.  They can be destroyed by the smallest insect, succumb to disease or be uprooted and blown over by a strong gust of wind.

            Trees are assertive.  They don’t care if another tree has been standing there for 80 years.  They move right in.

            Trees are altruistic.  If they fall down, they become a bridge for people to cross.  Sometimes one tree catches another tree when it falls.

            Trees are resilient.  They dig their roots in deep and hold on tight.  When only a piece of them is left, they stand tall and proud.

            I thought a lot about how trees and people are alike.  If I was a tree, what qualities would I have?  What kind of person do I want to be while I am alive?  What memories do I want to leave behind?  

            I invite you to be a tree.  Stand tall and proud and reach for the sky!