So. New Year's Eve post. This could tell you a lot about me I suppose. Its 8:41 on New Year's Eve and the only reason that I'm not in bed is because I have a pot of pinto beans on the stove so that I can make veggie burgers tomorrow. You could conclude that I am lame and don't have plans. But even in my wild, 'you let me study till 11:00 then I'll clean up and meet you at the club' doctoral days that often enough that it didn't make for a legendary night wound up with someone in my group getting kicked out by the copsand once a senior in a leather thong and hard hat with suspenders I didn't usually go out New Year's Eve. Its one of my issues that could go a couple of posts lower. I don't like organized holidays. I don't like to go to church the few days that most people do haul their goods out of bed (Easter, Christmas, Mother's Day), and I don't like traditional reasons to party. And no lie these days I don't party a lot. In a way its odd. I love to get cleaned up for the evening. Decide what part of me I am going to be. City-fied girl with some class in a high end blouse or sweater? Tattooed hood rat's girl with smokey eyes that are too overly made up (let's not kid ourselves people... I like make up). More often than not, tattooed hood wins out. I'm good at it and it works well in the dives I frequent. I don't think I'm too old and I love to dance. But given my friends, our spots, and our fun... these night often end with some bullshit. And I've worked pretty hard to weed that out. In all honesty what keeps me in bed these days is a ridiculous work schedule, my efforts to eat a mostly plant based-whole food-unprocessed diet, and the fact that about 3 days a week I am up at 4:40 am to go Crossfit. I can lead this simple life, or shake my tail feathers.
And what Dr. Err does this have do to with any-damn-thing? Be real, Err... we all know you're just trying to kill time while your pinto beans cook....
I suppose it brings me to my end of year post. The highlights include a long, long walk down the beach on a stormy day with two black dogs who don't like each other and two girls who love each other and each other's black dogs. Deciding that Ben Franklin is maybe evil and eating a whole day's meals in bed in a fancy hotel room. Finding a yoga studio that is not fun, but healing for my body. Finding a KrawMaga (Israeli street fighting) studio that also offers Crossfit classes which are good for my mind and my soul. 2 days holed up with my little furry family complete with one nap squeezed between 2 big dogs and a boy on a little double bed. There was a flat ousting of me from a group I previously was right in the middle of. It was a weird, weird thing, but its ok and very likely good for all. There some horribleness. For me and for some folks I love enough that I swear I can feel a piece of their pain. But I am thankful everyday for my horribleness because I get through it and my people are getting through it. And we're getting through it together. And not everyone is that fortunate. Some people break and they break alone. Me and my people... we are some bendy mothers. I look forward to 2010 more and more knowing that who I am is complicated and ok. I am more and more going off the whole food deep end. However I maintain that until I decide to go vegan and RAW.... that I'm coolio (except my beans just boiled way the hell over). I am looking forward to what I can learn about food and eating and health this year. I'm also looking forward to what seems to be an ever shrinking food bill (even with the amount of organic food we eat). I think my work schedule is freeing up just a wiggle. Enough that I'll be busy working and playing (playing for me is yoga, running, Crossfit and Krav (my favorite way to kick off a Saturday) with a peppering of Sunday hikes. Which will feel like working hard to play hard. Something I am totally ok with. I struggle with balance sometimes. Work and play. Being a homebody and going out. Trying to do everything at once. Wanting to volunteer (like at Habitat) and feeling like I have to work all the days. This year I would like to achieve a better sense of balance. More time with friends. More quality time at home. I feel like I need to be more organized but at the same time, I think sometimes I am overly scheduled. I need more balance. I'm pretty good at tree and standing pigeon. You'd think I could work this out. Perhaps at the equinox?
I love my job. Really. Sometimes it is difficult. Students who I love in jail, on house arrest, expelled. Students who've been locked up for assult and trafficing who walk past me daily giving me the head bounce, "s'up docta err" or patting me on the shoulder, 'how you doin' docta err' or 'mama, if it wasn't for you... I wouldn't even be here." Good stuff. Hard sometimes, but good. The thing about my students and I is we are the same. They sing to me almost every day. We know the same music. We crack the same jokes. Even on difficult days, I laugh (like put my head on my desk and laugh) every day.
You should hear the convos we have:
J: (loudly in a voice that would normally get him kicked out of another room) OH MY JESUS! me: (pointing to self) naw, baby.... Dr. Err... J: OH MY DOCTA ERR!
************* students attempting to riff on someone who is arguing with someone else. J: You're beefin' J: You're beefin like...like... a cow! J: You're beefin like...a steak! Me: (passin out papers) Baby. Get it right. They beefin like Burger King. J: AHHHHH!!!! MAMA!!!!!!
**************
D: (making a fist and grinning from ear to ear) Ma, you don't know. Some day you might just drive me over the edge. I might just snap and have to lay a beat down. me: yeah. and when you do, baby, I'll get you a step stool so you can reach me. D: disolves into laughter. that's a good one, Mama
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I also had a week where one student wanted to be the first African American do things. Things like give the answer to a question, write on my board, leave the class.
********************** Err: So folks, one of the things that the colonist bogarted from the Native Americans was corn. And that was a big deal, not only to keep them alive, but when they started to export corn products. Shoot, just corn bread was worth the price of admission. kid: I don't like corn bread C: Dude. You ain't black if you don't like cornbread. Err: Really, C? Thats what decides it? Really? C: Yeah. You know it is! ******************************
I've been waiting until after the holiday season to write. I can honestly say that the last two months I have been working too hard. Though I haven't really said it, because in this time we live in...the last thing I am going to complain about is too much work. I'm thankful for the work. I'm thankful every time I sit down to do something for the university that employs me that I have the opportunity to work there. It is the university where I spent nine years (sophomore year of undergrad through doctoral program). You're not supposed to do grad work where you do undergrad. Its academic inbreeding. You're not even supposed to be able to get into these programs. You sure as shit aren't supposed to work where you did doctoral studies (unless you've gone some where else for an extended time). More academic inbreeding. While we're at it... you also not supposed to leave the university and still finish or teach 8th grade with a PhD. Eh. I sort of hate being told I can't do something.
Its one of those Dr. Err things.
I have a lot of things. Not material things. Just...well quite frankly... mental issues.
Every now and again, someone will say something to me that sticks like one of those cartoon arrows with the plunger thingy where the arrow stabby thing should be. It doesn't happen a lot, but when it does I never forget those words.
Once in a time of despair over school bullshit a dear tattooed hood friend of mine with a GED (who still doesn't have the slightest idea what I was doing in school, but happily tells his clients while he's tattooing either me or them that I am, "a professor and shit") told me that he thought I'd be ok because we were a lot a like and, "people like you and me....we do ok." Another time another good friend told me, "you know who you are." Both times, time seemed to stand still and the air seemed to bet sucked out the area for just a second. I knew I was hearing something profound.
This happened again, while (not) lost (0nly late) in Philadelphia in a car with a chosen sister. We see each other about once a year for a couple of days. Sometimes its just the two of us, sometimes we bring family, sometimes (magical times) we are lucky enough to have the other sister with us, sometimes other friends join us for an afternoon or an evening at a local dive bar. Really, it doesn't matter. We pick up right where we left off (or really, where we started....we were sisters from the start) and its a magic time.
This visit, I'd made some comment about some oddball feeling or behavior of mine being 'my shit and I recognize it and work around it.'
She said some other things but what hit me like the cartoon arrow was, 'you're one of the most self aware people I know.'
I took it as a huge compliment. And also, maybe a bit of a challenge.
So here is my David Letterman style list of issues that I have.
I hate being told what to do. I hate being mothered. My own mother doesn't mother me in a traditional sense. Women who have a lot of kids and a lot of teachers seem to forget that they aren't the mom/teacher of everyone. I have a lot of trouble with people like this. This is closely related to the I hate being told I can't do something that I mentioned above. My response is almost always 'why not' and the effort I will expend to prove that I can too can and has almost killed me. Along the same lines, I take an almost perverse pleasure in knowing that as far as my education/occupation goes...I am doing every.damn.thing. that they said I couldn't. If you could turn IN YO FACE into a feeling...its like that.
My shit around race and culture and class is complicated. And often it makes it really, really, really hard to be me. And sometimes, I'd just like someone to be like, "damn... that's tough" instead of "but you look...."
I have anger issues. I work on them every.day. I am low class, ghetto, or crazy (I'm not sure which or if its really all) to knock someone the fuck out. Much of my exercise regime is to help channel this into good places.
I have o'haulic tendencies. Everything I do I tend to do to death. I also try to channel this into good and productive places instead of into booze and drugs and cheap hooker men. You can read this as I have a family history of bipolar/manic depression etc. I try really, really hard to make sure I don't go off the deep end.
Feet flip me the fuck out. Gah. I'd rather not even touch my own. Please don't touch mine...but especially...don't touch your feet on me. The Boy will occasionally touch his feet on me in the middle of the night and it wakes me up.
I need an invite. Don't ever just expect that I know to show up, or that I know I'm invited because I've come every other year. I come from a family where you just up and get uninvited. I married into a family where I am not wanted. I need an invite. Otherwise I won't come. I sure as shit am not going to check in with you like I'm begging to come. If I don't get invited and I normally do (or think I should) that shit will hurt me to the core. I won't get over it for a long damn time.
My uncles used to flick the kids in my family until they'd cry (I mean like really hard). And then they'd tease you until you cried more. No lie, they never did this to me. Everyone knew that my father was not someone to be screwed with. Looking back, they were all just a little scared of him (which if you know about my uncles... tells you A LOT about my dad). Flicking upsets me. Weird I know. This was clearly not the worst thing I've ever seen. No where near...but it makes my chest tight. I also used to watch my mom's dad call their dog over to him and then knock the shit out of him. Pet, pet, pet, SMACK. I wasn't raised this way. My dad taught me from the time I could use my hands to pet, how to be gentle with a dog. How to make a scared animal feel better. Where they like to be scratched. How to know what dogs were doing so that I wouldn't be scared. It must have worked as I picked two of the scariest looking dogs in the shelter (according to visitors). I makes me feel scared and tight inside to see someone wrestle with a dog or give them a good playful swat on the rump. Logically, I know its ok. In my heart, it makes me want to get in the middle of it.
I like boys to be edged up and clean shaven.
I don't trust other people (except my dad) to drive me.
I almost never cry. Its a hood thing. But when I do... its silly and dramatic and embarrassing. When my friend VJ died, I cried until my eyes were swollen almost shut and I made myself sick. I am tough about my students hardships almost all the time. In jail, in a gang, blah, blah, blah. I'm tough. I give them what I can. But when one lost his dad last year, I went into my class, put my head on the desk and cried. There is a lady who comes in my mom's shop that has something similar to Parkinson's. She can't control her body. Its bad. Her arms fail from side to side and her husband is always scared to death she's going to break something. He came in the other day by himself and said, "I wish you could have known her before she got sick. You don't know how good it makes her feel that you folks talk to her. So many people ignore her." I got all indignant when my mom told me this. Well of course we talk to her!!! Shit! She's still a person. She ain't a crackhead... Her body isn't minding her anymore.... (and here is where out of nowhere my anger turned into tears I couldn't stop for a lady who's name I don't even know) Shit, ma... how bad would it be to have your body just do its own thing...
So. I don't watch movies that touch my heart. I don't read books like that. Please don't ask me to. I won't do it.
I have a lot of other issues. I work hard to make sure that my enjoyment of things stacked and lined up in my pantry and fridge is something I enjoy...not something I need. I think things happen for a reason and I get a little weird and wrapped up in that. JCdon'tcha think its weird you got another teacher who doesn't fit in, teaches at the university and names her dogs after real people in your life? I am flashy and ghetto when I get cleaned up. When I don't... I really don't.
I always try to do the right thing and sometimes it pisses me off. I think I am a fighter because my mom isn't. When someone who scares me comes into the shop, I have a knife that I take with me. I am scared to death of someone 'getting me.' Dying doesn't scare me in the least. I am overly aware that the earth can kick my ass. I love the woods. I love WV. I'm scared in the South. And somehow this all makes sense to me. I have had to work to be able to wear dark jeans and not be weirded out by it. I am unreasonable about how soft things need to be if they touch my skin. I think blogs are narcissistic, but I love them. I like to do factory work and I time myself. I count everything. Some people can tease me. Other people can't. I don't think twice about most things. The stuff that I get hung up on, I don't think I can ever let go. Do. Not. push me if you don't want me to push back. You won't win. I can't lie/cover my feelings to save my soul. I wish I could just a little. It makes life hard on people I love sometimes. But I think its one of the things they love about me.
I know what my issues are. Some of my issues I work on every.day. Others I am comfortable with and actually enjoy. I said once on an on-line forum that I am 'hard to handle.' Its true. Its not always easy to be my friend. Its often hard to be me. But I take comfort in that for whatever I am... everyday you get the best me I can be.
I seldom post about my fitness (that makes me feel like I should have a thong leotard with a belt and leg warmers) on my blog. Everyone who reads knows I am hyper active. I am regularly frustrated with having to sit through a movie, I am always doing something while I read, talk on the phone, watch tv. You all are familiar with my eating situation. Spinach for breakfast in my green monsters. Homemade soup for lunch (made a killer pot of mushroom soup this weekend) and nothing I can pronounce and tell you where it comes from. I count my veggies daily. I keep track of water in-take. I cook. Organically and whole whenever I can. Lentil tacos instead of TVP. Local veggies if at all possible. Blah blah blah. I still cook and have no desire to eat raw, so I've not gone off the deep end yet. You all know that several days (maybe 4) I walk my dogs an hour or so ...like me you have to wear them out so they will be good in the house. If given a choice between a fancy dinner with wine and hiking and a jug of water...I'll take hiking almost every time. If it weren't for my love of pretty girl make up and kick ass knee boots, I'd be a total hippy granola outdoors girl. But I do plan some of my activity. My most recent addiction is crossfit 2 to 3 days a week into my routine. Folks, I love it. Its hard. I mean, face scrunching, sweat dripping in 3 minutes of work, I can't do this anymore hard. It feels good to work so hard at 6 a.m. I come to school bouncy, endorphins working, students giving me the sideways, "Mama, its so early...." look as I sing and joke with them walking in the door at 8 a.m. Plus, one of my instructors plays House of Pain and stirring up my Everlast lust juice early in the day is a nice little jolt. I also do Krav Maga every Saturday. Its not as hard, but it feels good to hit things and coordinate my body movements one after another in the complex choreography that this form of fighting uses. It also feels damn good to hit my instructor in the chest (he has a kick pad) and still hear him go, "ooof, good hits, Err." And it cracks me up, that when he introduced himself as my partner for end drills that my natural response was, "Yeah, dude. I know you. You choked me last week." I've noticed that while I am working hard during both of these exercise classes, I'm not gassing in the same way that other students may be. I give this credit to my main sport. Running. Except. I'm a really sucky runner. I destroyed my hip about three years ago. Two (count 'em two) doctors (both team doctors for professional sports teams) told me I wouldn't run again. I am slow. Like 11/12 minute mile slow. But I'm steady. At races where others pass me and then walk up the hills, I gain time on them (shorter steps, harder work). I have some serious trouble with PF. I go to yoga twice a week (the big girl's class that other instructors take not because I am bendy, but because I am strong... how long do you want me to hold chair? No sweat). I've strained my calf in the middle of half marathon training and am not sure it will hold for more than a few miles at a time. Which begs the question. Am I a real runner? What if (and this is a question thats been looming in the back of my noggin for quite some time) I can never be sucessful with long runs? With high miles for the week without injury? Am I a real runner when I run 3 to 4 comfortable miles a few days a week? Am I a real runner if I am comfortable with that? Am I a real runner if running becomes part of a more circular training plan instead of what all my other workouts strive to support? I'll bet you thought I had some Err style philosophy to lay on this question, huh? I don't, really. I know I love to run. I love the time alone. I love being outside. I love my shower after and feeling hungry (especially when there is something good waiting for me to eat). I love the rhythm and sweat. But I don't love the frustration of trying to go for more and hurting myself. I don't love icing my hurty parts. I don't love the judgments of really good runners who would consider me a jogger. So I don't really have an answer for this. But I'll let you know what I come up with.
People. I am slammed. Totally working all the time. My union rep 'job' is a helluva lot of work (in a contract year after the levy failed and our district staff has lost twenty five percent of its teachers). Getting ready for the holiday season at WM's shop, getting my house and yard ready for winter, getting ready to do all the fix up stuff we should have been doing when I was in school, and teaching two new preps is whipping my ass. Just wait until Christmas season finally starts and my training cranks up a notch. But that's ok. Because I'm insane and thinking of adding a mix of crossfit and krav maga classes to my mix. Ya know. In my spare time. Seriously, people. What the holy hell is wrong with me?? Damn good thing I channel this dysfunction into good things instead of booze and crack and cheap hooker men.
I moved this year from 7th grade to 8th grade again, which means I haven't taught the same subject 2 years in a row since my return to public school teaching 3 years ago. But this has created this magical situation where I have most of the same kids I had last year. And I have them for 2 hour blocks. An hour of Language Arts and an hour of Social Studies (my staff went from 34 staff members down to 20... we are being creative, people). The kids know me. They know what I expect and the relationship and trust is pretty much already there.
I tease the kids daily about how they clearly didn't pray enough over the summer if they had to have me two years in a row....
We're doing a unit on horror and they like that it breaks up the boring crap I have to teach (which I tell them is the boring crap I have to teach) like vocab and paragraph structure. I know, I know. You're already wondering how someone who forgoes any kind of real grammar in leui of the use of ..... to convey the rhythm of talk can teach this crap. I dunno. I just told you I tell my kids its crap. Go find me in English teacher hell in 60 years....
I'm having a lot of fun with these kids. I'm already Mama to most of the new kids even though I didn't tell them to call me that. I've already had some white lady call the principal because she doesn't want her kid to call me that (um, so tell your kid not to... she can feel free to call me Dr. Err...it IS my name). Really. I got 4 white kids. Way to be uncomfortable lady! At least all four haven't called. Funny that her kid calls me this anyway.
There is something that feels right standing in the hall, getting DAP from some hood and hearing, "'sup Mama."
We're having fun with convos like this:
Knucklehead 1 and 2 are boys. Um, I don't mean males... I mean close friends. Knucklehead 3 just don't get some stuff. The class is reading Legend of Sleepy Hollow (we also rewrote it in our own words...the kids did amazing jobs and dang, it was funny). I walk up in time to see Kh 2 and 3 getting a little loud with each other.
Err: What is wrong with you boys? 3: He's calling me Bobby (lets say boy's name is Robert). Err: So knock it off (to 2) 2: He's calling Isreal Izabod (like Ichabod). 3: He did it first!!! (pointing to 2). Err: Dear sweet Jesus. Robert, there are things that some people can call other people, that not everyone is allowed to call them. Let it go and don't call him that anymore. 1: Dr. Err. I don't get it. Err: Isreal. Do you want 2 to call you Izzyhuny like I do??? Laughter from all boys 1: (who now sounds very much like a cow who's voice is changing) Nooooooo Err: Ok. So knock it off, act right, and get to work, huh boys?
I laugh out loud every day at my job.
I laughed out loud telling my mom about the boy who just got expelled for all but swinging on a teacher, (like he said, "hold my books while I drop this so and so). My mom didn't laugh. She knows that one of these classes has 5 boys who are trouble enough shut down a class on their own. 4 of them are in a gang.
Err: Man. Ain't nuthin' you can do but laugh about it. Ma: (who is worried, because at 14 and 15, these boys are getting big) That's not funny. Err: Yeah. I guess not. But I can't take that home. I can't take home, how this kid got so screwed up. How someone screwed him up enough that he thinks he can wink and flirt and touch me. I can't take home that 75% of my students mentioned that they have either never met their dad, or he's in jail, or they didn't meet him until they were 9 because he was locked up when they were born. Or how their dad is in jail because he tried to kill their mom and them. Or how they got jumped in to the neighborhood gang. Or what the life expectancy is for a gang member.
I can't take that home with me every night. So I laugh about it.
There have been so many times I've clicked on my blog to read my blog roll and thought, 'dang...I should write something...". And then I don't. I just plain don't have the energy. But I've been up since 3-something, and at 5 I decided to just get up, and am back in bed with a sleeping little black dog (ok, people keep telling me that 50 some pounds isn't little, but compared to Mr. 70 pounds, it is...) and I really feel like I should write somethings.
I've worked way too hard this summer. I'm teaching an on-line class and its for a new certification program, I didn't write the syllabus, and the technology and registration system is all new to me and the university. So naturally, its been a huge cluster-you-know-what. Beyond that... pedagogically speaking, I don't believe in on-line classes. Everything I know about what teaching (or what I really consider the facilitation of education, I just don't want to sound like a sanctimonious tool) tells me that the learning here, isn't like the learning that goes on in a class, where I know you, I know what you're doing, what you're thinking, etc. A lot of it is my notions of language and the way work is done with language. Whatever. I still feel a bit like a tool because the bottom line is teaching these classes keep me current at the University (take THAT all of you people who told me: a) I couldn't teach at the academy and public school b) I couldn't teach where I went to school c) I couldn't continue to publish/research/be active without a university (I was just added to an editorial review board of a pretty major journal and ya know...that book was published a few months ago...reviews are great). And no lie... the money is good and we did just buy 33 acres.
I've also been giving Habitat 2 days a week. Ten hour days when you figure my drive time. Wears my shit out. But I've learned a lot. And ya know... I figure its the right thing to do. I know about substandard housing, government housing and how my grandmother was so proud of my parents buying a house that she carried the pic in her purse (she never owned a home). People keep asking me if I'm having fun. Um. No. I went to college so I wouldn't have to lift tresses up on a roof for all day. But I've been crazy blessed and I know it. I figure I'm supposed to do something with it and this seems reasonable.
I am so seriously behind in my life. With the exception of a really nice week at the beach with friends (which I don't mean to discount) I haven't seen anyone I love. I've gone to lunch with my mom 3 times. That's not enough, folks. I haven't gotten shit done around my house. School starts in 2 weeks or so and I feel more behind than when school was in session. I'm freaking out a little.
I've been running a bit (more than I typically do in summer), not nearly enough yoga and walking my crazy dogs daily. Hank is doing great with his doggie rehab from his attack. I am still totally f-ed up. I'd go get some help with that, but I think (and man, this sounds rude...) that I'm smart enough to know that I'm trying to change my mindset. I dunno if it would work anyway. Weird that I've seen enough people die that I have to count it on my fingers, seen a couple of 'em murdered (yeah, that's what I think that cop did to T) and interestingly enough, I've seen 3 (count 'em 3) people pulled out of car windows to get their ass beat.... and THIS is what screws with my head. Nuts, man.
I lost a buddy last week. Funny. I knew this was coming. You know how you just know these things. I dunno. Maybe because things like this pop off in the summer. Maybe because I spend a lot of time in environments where ya know... people die more (had 4 students loose a parent this year folks...you do the math). I'm not sure. But I knew a loss was coming. To be honest with you, given the climate in the neighborhood... I thought it was going to be a student. I'd braced myself. I checked work e-mail daily. This, however, hit me like a brick. Totally not ready for it. And it hurts way more than these things usually do. I'm typically pretty good at sucking it up and shaking it off. This one, boy... stings. And I've found I think I deal with things differently than a lot of my other friends. I'm not really one to 'talk about it.' Rather I stuff it down and try to stay busy (check) and not think about it for a while. So I don't have like a tribute, or anything... maybe someday. Not for a while.
This loss, however, cause a total spin out of my life. The busy schedule I was keeping stopped. My fridge ran low and now I find myself eating way too much processed food (cuz that's what TB can fix). I need to pull my shit together and I know it. This process has also been slowed down by the fence I've been building in my backyard. Little sweetie dog asleep in between TB and me (who's got his 'arms' around TB like they're spooning) is nuts and won't stay out of my flowers (which I need to weed really badly). So a fence. That I've had to build all by myself. Its almost built, but its about 70 feet long so it took some doing. I like to think of it as the Fence that Err Built. If LD can get through it... I'm pulling the garden out and setting up a white flag.
I'm ready for school to start. With 40 percent of our staff gone (and all my homies) its going to be a long year. But I'm ready to get at it. I love my kids. I miss them. I'll be working more (sort of) because I'll still have another university class, and it will be Christmas at WM's shop, but I should be more scheduled. I thrive on a schedule. It should be a bit easier, actually. At least that's what I'm telling myself.
You could tell me that, too. Because right now... my magic veggie bag is totally freaking me out....
I went to WM’s shop to bring her an iced tea and visit while she ate her lunch. I offered to throw away her Healthy Choice bowl thingy.
Err: Lemme get that for you. WM: Oh, NO! You don’t have to get that. Err: I don’t mind. Its not a big deal. You ate lunch out of it. You didn’t pee in it. WM: How do you know? Err: Cuz I learned table manners from you and I’m pretty sure there was a ‘no peeing in the bowl” rule.
I have always worked hard to be one of the positive, productive, adds something to the world type of people I like so much. I'm not sure how well that goes along with my very serious ability to dish out a scorch mark leaving burn and my redhead temper...but whatever. I'm complicated. Since finishing the doctoral program, and finding my niche with my babies in Jr High Social Studies (despite a prolonged time where pride of the academy poked me in the eye roughly ten times a day), getting my dogs, and deciding to buy some land and build a green house (I mean eco friendly...not the color green...though I'm not opposed to green...)I have felt a profound change in my world. In who I am. I mean, no lie... I'm still who I am, but something has changed. I have a different relationship with my world. I have a very intimate relationship with the simple things in my life. Walking with my dogs. A beautiful morning and a good cup of coffee on the way into work. Hearing, "Morning Mama" and knowing that a good portion of those kids look for me first thing each day. I have a different relationship with food. Not in the diet, weight watchers kind of way. I'm pretty comfortable in my body. I'm not skinny and dysfunctional about it (and I'm amazed at the emphasis on that concept on many blogs) and I'm not a big girl who's decided to be comfortable being big... I just have a new food philosophy that emphasizes simple foods, whole foods, natural and organic foods. Food as fuel for my active life. I need these good whole foods to run 4 or 5 miles before my hour and a half advanced vinyasa yoga class (after a full day at work). I am into simplicity with regard to things. Purchases are based on need rather than cool factor. My decision to have my next car be a 2 seater Lexus has been replaced by a decision to have something that is both gasennomical and big enough to fit 2 big dogs and a bunch of gear. My purchases are more often that not 'gear related' new running shoes, sport bras, yoga clothes, new chef's knife or cutting board, my yoga fees, dog training fees. My time is spent simply. I am outside as much as not, when I'm not working. I build at habitat with women, I garden, I run, I walk the dogs, I hike. I sit outside and watch the world. I spend most days trying to figure out how to best use the gifts that God has given me. I have been crazy blessed. There must be something I am supposed to do with it. My job is at times hard. There are two gangs jockeying around for turf in the neighborhood where my school is located. My boys are claiming and joining and getting hurt. I had four kids loose a parent this year. Poor people do not get the same medical care as others. Don't kid yourself folks. But my approach to complicated situations is simple. I love those kids. I tell them I love them every day. I show them I love them. Everyday. I keep my foot FIRMLY up their behinds. And I tell them about their choices. Every. Day. Simple. In efforts to make my personal life as simple as my material life and my professional life I go out of my way to avoid drama. To avoid those with drama. I get that sometimes, drama happens. But there are those who enjoy it. Feed off from it. Aren't happy with peace and simplicity. Those who have problems in their life and stay angst-y and negative. I approach this simply, too. I stay away from this energy. I stay away from these people. Its ugly and dark. I can't deal with it simply, so I simply don't deal with it. I am happier than I have ever been in my life. And I have always worked at being happy so that's saying something. Sometimes I'll be doing something and just realize how insanely happy I am. How settled. How peaceful. Even with the craziness that is my schedule (three jobs, volunteer work, my own physical training, my dog training and rehab), I am peaceful in my simple life. And this week a drop of drama that was cut out inserted itself into my world. Just a drop. And I've had two sleepless nights. I've been preoccupied. I have been distracted from my simple life. It isn't my relationship (so I can't weed it out like the thistles in my yard) but it is in my world and its damn complicated. And less than peaceful.
There is so much to tell you, faithful readers! The end of a school year, really good training, a wonderful vacation with friends at Hatteras. But as I am finally settled with some time on my hands (really, not so much... there is training, and gardening, and cooking, and teaching classes...) I wanted to tell you about my first day of working at home. I've worked at home before. When I worked full time at the university. Its nice. You begin your day however it is that you begin a day and then sit down to work with breakfast (at least if you're an early bird like me). My goal on work at home days is to get up around 5, get a cup of mud (maybe a granola bar if its a run day), take the pups for a walk by about 6 (because its hot with the onset of summer)go for a run and by about 8 a.m. I'm ready to eat breakfast and turn on the computer. This morning, however, still apparently on SB time (sandy beach time) I woke up nearly an hour late at 6. I still had to have a cup of coffee because I'd likely get Wonder Dawg and I lost without it... but no worries as I was going to run in the afternoon before yoga. *****Attention Running Buddies... no lie, running and then an intense yoga session is the best brick ever...all of your hurty running parts feel AWESOME after. Though you'll want to stay down wind of the rest of the folks in the class. ;)***** I was walking back to my front porch with the WD when I heard The Boy yell, "DON'T COME IN." Um. Ok. So we waited and practiced some training on the front walk. Soon TB cracked open the door, took the leash and shooed us in the house at a break neck speed. To make a long story short, our cat (who was pretty much wild to begin with and wants nothing to do with us since we adopted the dogs) had escaped from the bathroom where TB was trying to get him into a cage to go to the vet. This is all kinds of fun with a Little Dog who likes to chase anything that will move. This is all aside from trying to CATCH a cat who's pretty much wild and hates you. Which is why I left my pretty little house around 7 and got home at 7:50 to this: Ah shit. And 'Ah shit' is right, ladies and gentlemen. Because TB (who by the way was chasing the cat in his underwear was already about 5 minutes late leaving for his history camp field trip and whining like a 8 year old girl about how he was going to miss the bus. This was now my problem and TB's happy ass was on his way to the Neil Armstrong Museum. Ah shit. But wait. There's more! I remembered that Walter was in the bedroom. Why oh why, I thought wasn't he in his cage. He has some attachment issues and freaks out a little when he's separated from us. And by freaks out... I mean he frantically chews shit up. I put catching the cat on hold for a while and carefully entered the bedroom (which is attached to our bath). Please notice how I didn't let the damn dogs out.... My make up bag was all over LD's bed. Two toothbrushes were there in millions of pieces (some pieces, it seems LD ate... he has eaten parts of at least 4 toothbrushes in the last 6 months...he has to have the cleanes damn doggie digestive tract ever). And in other little pieces was my $500.00 mouth thingy that keeps my TMJ and my headaches in check. Yay. I have already decided that I hate TB. Now I am seriously considering having T-shirts made that say so. My head is splitting because I haven't had enough coffee and I'm laying (after putting the dogs in the cage where they can't hurt anything or themselves) on the floor with my rose bush dragon hide gloves on and a jute rug rolled around my arm trying to force the cat out from under the cabinet. Yay. Finally (at like 11:00) I got him out and into the basement. I'm sure he's doing some sort of kitty-blog on an stop the kitty violence website about how horrible his owners are. I put my living room back together. Ordered my T-shirts and finally made my Green Monster and prepared to work at home.
A friend of mine gets has this motto that she got from her dad; earn your shower today. I dunno. Its something like that... its her motto and her dad. You get the drift. Usually my showers are short. I try to stay under ten minutes. Seven is great. Its a water saving thing. Today, I took maybe a 12 minute luxurious shower and somewhere around minute 8 (cuz I was really done with the shower part and was just enjoying the hot water on my sore body) it occurred to me, "ER, ya earned it today." Today I joined an all female crew who is building a house for Habitat for Humanity. I don't typically think of myself as a slouch. I run fairly far (maybe not by Marathon Maniac standards... but real freakin far by normal person standards). I choose vacations around some particular activity and usually I wind up bruised and/or bloody. At least I have the last couple (hi JC!!!). I go to the big girls (read: hard as shit) yoga class a couple-a times a week. I walk my dogs maybe 16/20 miles a week. I spend time in the yard sweating and toiling in the dirt more days than not in the summer. I work 6 days a week every other week. You get the idea. Not a lot of moss gathers on this rolling stone. But gentle readers... today....totally kicked my ass. I found my line of when I decide, "ya know... screw that... I am going to let someone else pick up the board." I hammered and hammered and built a window hole thingy that got put in a wall that I also helped build. I hate to hammer. I am apparently, pretty good at it. My dad and mom raised me right so its not like I've never held a hammer and I'm pretty strong so I don't need a lot of wacks. And plus... I'm pretty angry so ya know... I'm good at hammering. Heh. But the bad thing about this is that you get asked to hammer all the live long day. And the lady who was teaching me how to build window holes (they have headers and jacks and kings and kings are tall and jacks are short and if you don't measure right, then you've got a big damn problem) was no joke. She'd tell me, "no, that's not straight, lets do it again." I would then start the joyous process of pulling out the stupid toe nailed nails (which means they are crooked and hard as shit to get out of two boards). I took out a lot of nails. It was hard. Like do you remember when I ran my first half marathon? How I almost cried because it was just so physically taxing. I wasn't even tickled to have done it because it was just so hard I wanted it to be over. Today, after being there from 8:30 to 4:00, I was tired. And the wall wasn't quite finished so we decided to put in over time. I had that same feeling of wanting to cry and go home. It was a hard day. But it was kind of awesome. Habitat builds in neighborhoods like the one I came from. This street had many empty homes with high grass, and kids yelling, playing out front grown folks keeping a watchful eye for cars (and bad guys I guess). Across the way, they were having a bar b q. Oh my dear sweet Lord. Do you have any idea how good that smelled 'round 4:15? And even grandaddy came out with a drink in his cup dancing and laughing. It so reminded me of my grandaddy dancing with me. The noise of the traffic, the kid noise, people yelling... I could close my eyes and be sitting on the stoop on the 'wood. It was good for my soul. There has been a lot in my world recently that I can deal with, but I can't do much about. Today I could do something about nails and wood that didn't want to match. And a wall that needed built. And that was good for my soul. It was a good day. But damn. Not only did I earn my shower but I also needed one. And that was the best for my soul. But I think my bad shoulder is going to kick my ass tomorrow.
I have lost my running mojo. The same mojo that had my runs up to 7 comfortable miles... I'm wondering if I'm tired from the crazy work schedule and with some rest if I'll feel better.
I am feeling better every walk with the boys. We have a slightly new route that still goes near the house, but gives enough space that I can see what's coming and defend us accordingly. And next time... I will defend us.
I need to go to the grocery and do some monster cooking to stock up the freezer for the next few weeks. I can get most of our meals ready in a few short hours of work. Its kick ass to have a full and fun day, come to the freezer and pull out some homemade goodness that is way better than a store/restaurant bought treat. However, my running mojo seems to not be the only mojo that's missing. I really want to snooze with the boys. All day long. Weird.
Do you ever think that some people must have way more teeth in their head than you do? Yeah. Me too.
Diary hates me. More the older I get.
I have roughly 50 tomato seedlings. Holy Shit. Betcha can't wait to hear what a fiasco THAT is going to be. :D
I am slightly addicted to the Real Housewives shows. Yeah. I know. But its fascinating to me. You watch National Geographic shows on Pau-whatsit New Guinnea. I got this.
Joining Habitat for Humanity has been like joining the Moonies or something. Holy shit. I'm beyond thrilled man. To go to neighborhoods like mine (and even mine)and build a house. For folks like my family who would have never gotten to own a home? To work outside, using the strong body God gave me? Hell yeah.
Seriously. I don't know what my deal is... but I need a nap. Spring break is kickin my ass!
Friday I was walking my boys. This is totally my favorite part of every day. The spiritual bond you feel with an animal you love while you're walking as part of a pack is almost tangible. Every now and then, WD will nuzzle my hand with his nose. Just sort of checking on me. At the beach this summer, he did that to JC. She's part of his pack. It was a beautiful spring day until a huge dog started to charge us. In the next millisecond, there was snarling, and my WD was on the ground yelping. I rarely feel helpless. I did in this moment. As I yelled and tried to pull my dog out from under the other he turned on LD, who was so much smaller. And then I moved. Not because I moved me. But because the other dog's owner moved me. Put his motherfucking hands on me and moved me. A. Man. Put. His. Hands. On. Me.
I come from a long line of men who put their hands on women. My mom was the first to choose to leave. She was confident and brave enough to get her shit and go. And she married my dad. Who knew that for no reason do you ever put your hands on a female. The man who taught her that some houses don't hold secrets and violence and hate. And I learned that no man ever touched me.
Until Friday. When a cop, who isn't man enough to handle his dog, grabbed me and shoved me. If I weren't so fairly strong (and already in a warrior like stance to hold my dogs and pull) I would have gone down. Who knows what might have happened if that had happened.
Now, the dog who has issues with men who he thinks might hurt his girl, has seen a man put his hands on her. His fears have been validated. And his girl never did trust cops, because she saw one shoot her friend in the head (and for many other ugly reasons). That girl will never trust cops.* Because instead of serving and protecting, he put his hands on her. Put her in more danger. And yelled at her to get her dogs. Even though she had hers on a leash.
In the end sweet WD, has a cut ear and leg and a busted ego. And because this sorry excuse for a man is a cop, I can't tell anyone. This man has made me be that woman. I had a man touch me and I let it go. I let it go because I was afraid of the repercussions.
Not to mention that I was afraid to walk my dogs. A week ago I watched my cat twitch and writhe in her crate as we rushed her to the emergency vet, to have her die. Of old age no doubt, but it wasn't pretty. Friday I watched a bigger dog throw down mine and bite on him savagely as WD looked up at me confused. Fucked with my head a little bit it did.
But I'm no punk. Face my fears and all that. So I leashed up the boys and walked the next day. Angry and afraid. I told myself that I was being silly. This was a once in a lifetime thing. Besides. My best part of my day is walking with these boys. The jingle of their tags. The rhythm of our walk. The fresh air. The joy of not doing anything else. Taking care of something that needs me. Being with something I need.
And then it happened again today. Walking past this house (which is required to go on a walk of any length in my neighborhood) the door opened to let in a visitor and here came that dog charging at mine again. He grabbed hold of little dog's tail. But this time TB was there and got in between the two of them until the owner drug the dog off.
No lie. I was not in best form. I was for all intensive purposes, hysterical. Screaming things like, "what the fuck is wrong with you people???" and "yeah, you're sorry!!!" Totally hysterical, really. Ready to fight. Not only because her dog attacked me a second time and her husband pushed me. But, because of what these people have taken away from me. I can no longer say things like, "no man puts his hands on me" because one has. I now look like the hood rat I am to all my neighbors as twice in four days I have stood screaming profanities on the sidewalk. I am too intimidated by what trouble I might find if I piss off a cop (who clearly isn't too ethical or level headed) to do the right thing. And now. If I want my dogs to be safe, I can't walk them in our neighborhood, because these people can't even keep their dog in their own house. This family has taken the best part of my day. And ladies and gentlemen... I have worked really, fucking hard to live in a neighborhood where I can walk and feel safe. And these people took it away.
*please don't try to convince me some cops are good... i'm sure there might be a few.... but frankly, i don't want to hear it.
So. I think my blog is a bit too serious. In a way that I seldom am. I think its hard for me to sit at this computer where I do academic writing and not you know... do academic writing.
So here's a little scene out of Mama Err's classroom for ya...because really folks... what I do for a living is one of two things. I'm either totally going off on 13 year olds or joking around with them. Very little Social Studies gets done in my room, folks.
Most of the kids in my school know me. The 8th graders were pissed when I moved down to 7th grade because they couldn't be in my room. But they all say 'hi' and some of them introduce themselves. I even got cookies and a Christmas card from a kid this year that said, "I don't have you but you always smile at me." It was maybe, my most proud professional moment. I think the children just like to hear, "hi baby" during the school day. And I talk to kids I don't know all the time. For instance, the other day I was walking down the hall and heard the 8th graders who run track talking about if they had to wear pants or if they could wear shorts. Because jr high students are dumb and like to wear minimal clothing when its still winter weather. What the hell is it that make you think you're cool when you are dressed like a jackass in the cold. Coat=Lame. Goosebumps and pnemunia=big pimpin. I dunno. But anyway, because I am lucky in love and life, I walked by *just* in time to hear, "man do we gotta wear pants?" And because I am also totally immature I said, "boys. I don't care where ya going... in this school ya gotta wear pants." They didn't get it. I, however, giggled all the way out to my car.
I do this thing with my students I call, "getting Michelled." K's mom, used to smack us in the forehead (K's mom is the only person EVAH to hit me besides my folks....she passed almost 4 years ago). K and I smack my god daughter on the forehead. Like a "I should have had a V8" only someone else does it to you. I barely touch them, but they recognize this gesture as my busting on them when the do something stupid. I think they'd be devastated if I didn't do it to them. When you do something particularly stupid, I stop class, make you get up and get michelled in front of everyone. I told you folks. Very little Social Studies in my room....
I think it speaks volumes about my class that I motioned for one of my dears to come over to me during a lecture and his response was, "Mama, are ya gonna hit me?"
My students have spring fever. They operate on YP Time (young people time) and quite frankly... something is wrong with them. I know because I asked one of my children this week, "Baby. What is WRONG with you??" and he said very honestly and sincerely, "I don't know."
So I had to have THE TALK with them. You remember the talk. The one where your teacher says something like, "the school year is not over folks." Except mine goes more like, "I got ten weeks to get you knuckle head in shape. If you can't act like you got some sense by the time you leave me, you may never learn how. And I SURE ain't gonna let you get away from me without doin' my best to get you in line. Cuz you ain't never gonna have a teacher who love you like I do. So if you think I been mean this year, you ain't seen nothin' yet."
And don't you know some chuckle head did something dumb like 15 seconds later. So I had him get up (which might have been when he asked if I was going to hit him...). The following conversation ensued:
Err: "Son. Look behind you." Boy: "What?" Err: "Look behind you chuckle head." Boy: "What am I looking for?" Err: "Don't you see that?" Boy: "What is it?" Err: "That, son, is my foot. And its going to stay there directly up your behind until you learn to act right."
I really love my job. But I can't wait for spring break.
I’m sitting here at 6:30 in the morning eating a granola bar drinking out of my Top Finisher mug (yes, I save it for Saturdays and I might wash it for Sunday…). I’ve been thinking about JC’s last post. Not because I’m wringing my hands for her or anything. JC is badass and that’s why I love her. No check that. I love her for a handful of reasons. I respect her because she’s badass. But whatever. It’s early and I am rambling. I’m thinking about her post because words are what I do. I think about the way we label our world and the social work that does. Naming is an act of agency (of taking an active role in controlling something). This is why (for those of you who don’t understand the use the N word among the Black Community or Queer among the uh, Queer Community) groups reconstitute horrible and oppressive names to use among themselves. You take that name, change it and own it. Even my use of capital C in the above is social work. I am (whether or not my grammar is right) making these communities entities of their own. They are distinct and importantly marked by the use of capitals. This is markedly different that a lower case c community which indicates a general community that happens to be Black or Queer. Its awesome social work those words are doing if you think about it. You can think I’m full of shit if you want. You can say you still don’t understand the use of these words. People in these communities still chose not to use them. That’s on you. Full of shit or not; I’ve got ten years of college and a co authored book that said I’ve got at least a little street cred. Or um…sidewalk cred? Hallway cred? What kind of cred to academics get? I dunno. One of the things I’ve spend a lot of time doing is looking at the social dynamics between people when they talk. Not only how they position themselves by using words but how they position others. What kind of social work is going on when a college professor says that she can’t tell her students how to reflect on the weekly readings? She needs a discussion of the readings, but their reflections are their reflections and valuable as such. She’s giving up a lot of her power, huh? She’s not dictating their thinking. Wow. That is democratic (not in the government way, but rather the Dewey schools way) and the power differential has been decreased. Wow. Awesome professor. But really, she’s still dictating the format (less democratic) and in Freire would say that because the professor has given the opportunity to reflect in a way meaningful to them she maintains her power as an oppressor. The professor in question gave them the right to reflect freely. When you give power, you maintain it. Kind of like when your parents let you stay up to watch a movie. You gain a right, but your parents still have the power over you.
It’s possible, that all the words that have hurt me personally have never been spoken. What has hurt me more than anything has been the failure to communicate.
Mean words, I can deal with. I can even fight back with mean words. Is this propensity to fight back dysfunctional? Yeah, maybe. But it’s my dysfunction and I’ve named it and you all know what social work that does. The moral of the story here is that you don’t want to fight with your words with me. Really you don’t. Maybe it’s a gift. Maybe it’s a curse. But I’ve learned that street smarts and book smarts are a lethal combination. And this combination means that you can bring your mean words.
My in-laws are passive aggressive. They don’t use mean words. I don’t know how to deal with that. I am totally lost. Instead, they don’t bother to call their son to ask how his shingles feel when you tell them he’s still working and not sleeping. They don’t ask what kind of new puppy we got when we tell them we added to our family. They don’t call or send a card when they’re told their daughter in law just became Dr. Daughter in Law.
How do you respond to that kind of deafening silence? It doesn’t even provide you with a chance to use your words to stand strong. It’s maddening.
It’s no secret that outside of my parents my family situation is complex to say the least. WM and I have been disowned several times and it looks as though this last time will stick (think fellow discourse analysts about the way I’ve named brother Chuck, Al and Dre sisters JC and Staci and my girl K who defies traditional naming-what social work am I doing?). However, WM in her efforts to keep a clean conscience with elderly parents called this fall to make sure that they were alive. She never wants to feel as though any of this bullshit can be on her. For years, I’ve told her that however she needs to deal with her parents is on her. I support her fully. After all. I don’t know what its like to have your parents not want you. No lie. I’m glad she’s not trying to go down to that house that backs up to Parsons Ave for Christmas. Because the family is dangerous and I insist on going. And man. I fucking hate that house.
Their conversation lasted no more than 2 minutes. A basic, “I’m ok, are you two ok.” My mom confessed this conversation to me recently. I knew how it would go. Polite and awkward. I knew there would be no question of how their granddaughter was. I knew that there wouldn’t any kind words or even any inquiries. I am not even worth naming. Logically, I know this isn’t about me. I have 2 parents who are nothing short of amazing. Who gave everything they have to let me shine. They ran from the crime and violence and fuckedupedness (yeah it’s a word…I can make them up it’s a bonus of being Dr. Err) of my family and gave me every not only every opportunity but never let me forget who I was. My mom has had to deal with the fact that her parents ain’t right. They don’t love her in any kind of way parents are supposed to love children. Even mama birds fight and protect their babies. Her parents aren’t wired as tight as house wrens. And she’s had to live 57 years with that reality. I got no problems.
Except that lack of words burned like hell. And it pissed me off that it burned. I called this woman a whore. And my mom let it go. She let it go when I began calling them by their first names in my late teens. She understands this process of naming. And then I realized that although I know a whole lotta words….for these people who won’t take the effort to use words for me….I can’t think of words bad enough to name them.
guided notes if you're in my class...and if you ARE in my class...GET OFFA HERE OR ELSE!!!!!!!
LD graduated from dog school last week. He did awesome. He also, last week, seems to have sprained his leg. I need to keep him in active. Outside time at my house just got way complicated. He's also a tubby bunny at a whopping 55 pounds!
I'm not racist against blondes, or white girls, or girls. If you know me, you get my comment in my last post. If not....fuhgetabboutit.
Wow. I knew I hadn't blogged in a long time, but I didn't realize its been THIS long. I suck. Actually, I've just been insanely busy. I know, I know. You're thinking to yourself, but Err... You're always busy. I know, right. But recently (like since the first of the year) I've been too busy. Even by my insane standards. Teaching everyday, training for another half, teaching university classes 2 nights a week, dog training once a week, working for WM every other Saturday, yoga once a week, puppy walks as often as possible, parent teacher conferences last week and this week, staff meetings, and trying to remember I'm married and have friends. Gah. It has caught up with me, folks. I am in bed, sick. In a few weeks, it will all slow down to a comparative crawl. I can't wait. In the mean time, here's whats good.
My dogs are the smartest in dog school. I'd like to do some more classes with them, not because I want them to do anything. Just because they really like learning, it bonds them to me, and I've found out, working dogs, like to work. Its also worth noting that working dogs will work whether you give them a job or not. If I don't give them jobs, they will continue to make up work of their own like finding sticks (from Godknowswhere) open doors to the house, and eat dirt.
I really like teaching classes at the university. This is weird, because typically, I don't particularly enjoy time with privileged, young, white women. This can get particularly hairy when you ask them to deconstruct this privilege so they don't put their worldview on future students. However, the class is doing a nice job. Its insane to go from 30 7th grades at 2:50 to as many twenty somethings at 4:00.
Fixing dinner on Sunday is one of the best ideas I've ever had. I now also fix breakfast and lunch to take to work. I'm going to continue doing this after things slow down. It saves so much time for things like puppy walks, yoga, and runs after work.
I had a whole talk with a dad at parent teacher conferences this week about how 'ya know ya mama's crazy?' and how our moms still smack us. Some one else's little sister (5yo) came in and when her mother said, "ohhh girl, I love that red hair" she answered, "yeah, you got some pretty little curly hair." I love my job.
Speaking of... I really hope I don't loose my job this year. I'd like to make this school my home. A kid from last year came to see his sister get an award this week. He sat with me and we talked during the awards (yeah, I'm a bad role model). He told me that his sister didn't have me but knew me (I already knew this because she brought me cookies at Christmas). His exact words were, "Everybody know Mama Smith..." The levy is in May. Keep your fingers crossed.
I had a VO2max test yesterday. Its the first time I've ever been aware of my lungs. It hurt. I hope that if I am having asthma issues.... that we get them handled. I wonder how much easier it would be to run if I could breath.....
I waited a while to post this. In part, because I didn't have time. In part, too because it choked me up.
Most of us watched the inauguration. Most of you who read this blog are good liberals. You know the liberal rhetoric and ways. Um, because clearly if you weren't, you wouldn't enjoy THIS blog.... There were lots of lovely blog posts about hope and change and how this man has the weight of the world on his shoulders. Many posts hinting to frustration with the Bush years and how its been a long 8 years of waiting.
But for some of us bloggers and citizens, its been generations of wait.
Many of you got the following message from me at noon on that Tuesday: Today was good day in Mama Err's class.
And Lord, was it ever.
My school doesn't have cable. We have limited TVs, only a few LCDs and the computer network (not to mention my old ass computer in my room) has firewalls the prevent me from looking up much school related stuff... no lie, it filters out anything that says art. I managed to snag an LCD, found a live feed that the filter would work on my network (because it filtered out CNN, fercryinoutloud). And I blew off my very serious schedule of Ancient Civilizations... for the rest of the week. I had Teaching Tolerance segregation and racism lessons for the week. And I had access to the inauguration.
My dear friend asked, in response to my text, if my students got it. And that was totally a fair question. My reading class is currently reading the Jim Crow era story The Gold Cadillac and we had to have a serious discussion about how slavery and Cadillac were not the same time frame. GAH.
For months, these kids have had pictures of Obama taped to their ID badges, their notebooks, and in their lockers. They've given up their GUnit sweat shirts for sweat shirts with Obama's face and words. They wear Obama hats when its cold. They stop talking and for once hear me when I tell them how not only have I waited my whole life, and my mom hers, but her dad his to vote for someone new. Their folks, grandfolks, aunts and uncles have waited too. They tell me how their dad cried on election day. And I've met their dad, with neck tattoos, braids, and Timberlands. They asked how long I waited to vote and slap me five when I tell them two hours, before sun up, in jiggly cold. Even though I never did tell them who I voted for.
That day we watched the inauguration and not only did they get the historical event they were seeing, they got how much trouble I went to so they could watch in live time. And with my voice a little choked up I told them, "there it is babies.... remember where you were when you saw it."
And on the way out, one of my boys looked at me and stood up tall and proud. "We did it big today, Mama."
Yes we did, baby. Yes we did.
*********one little turd did fall asleep****** but I totally made him call his dad just to let him know he fell asleep during President Obama's inauguration. Heh***********
Its a snowy Sunday here in my part of Ohio. Or as my number one tortilla brother likes to call it, The Big O. heh. I did my recovery run from my long run today. I don't know why, but those always way take it out of me. I also don't know why I don't blog about my running more. Maybe because I totally suck at it. But whatever. There is something about officially training (where I have long runs and recovery runs and weekday runs and speed work outs that aren't that damn speedy instead of 'meh....i've got time...i could run today' runs) that sort of takes it out of you mentally, too. I dunno. Maybe like how when you know you're going to have a long hard day at work, you start the day out tired. Now the runs are short and easy. But you know that in 3 weeks or so, they'll be around 7 miles and then a few weeks after that, you'll begin to think of 7 as an easy long run day. And you'll hope to God that once they get up to ten you don't forget your i-pod because singing the jingle for the Good Feet Store for 2 hours (which is totally how long it takes me to run ten miles) sucks. And for the last 3 miles of "back to doin' what i love and more....thanks to the good feet store...." over and over again, you're totally thinking about going to The Good Feet store and shoving their good feets insert thingies right up their good asses for writing such a catchy damn jingle. But anyway. Now the runs are pretty easy and I'm damn thankful because it is, as I said, its snowy here and that means running on the treadmill to a DVRed Sucka Free Countdown from a couple weeks ago. Jadakis was on it and I like his new video. So there. But as long as I'm in the basement, stretching my cursed hips (that are cool 'cuz they create the dip that hood rat boys have always liked...but suck balls because it makes distance running problematic) I think its time to start strength training too. I know the cross training will help my half marathon training and maybe help me avoid walking like Fred Sanford for the week following my race. Butohyeahstoopid. Recovery day always takes it out of you. And apparently, squats on the jiggly ball and upper body stuffs do too. And now instead of accomplishing anything of worth I am sitting on the bed with my electric blanket reading my new most favorite blog of a stranger, trying to get a sleeping LD off my foot, and listening to the football game that TB is watching and saying, 'ow, ow, ow' every time I move. But suddenly, in a Supernatural Dean Winchester should totally come save me from a ghost tv and maybe take me for some angry lovin' and cheese burgers way, the tv changed itself. I dunno why. Its new and I can't for the fuckin life of me, work it. Either way, Dean-o should investigate (my underwear). What is more problematic about this change of television channel is that instead of football (totally acceptable background noise) it was on some damn Emo* whiny boy music and gymnastics. Oh fuck no. I may be a tree hugger and have many many recycle bins. I may be Dr. Err at school. I may be a distance runner with wicking shirts and ugly shoes that cost as much as pair of Jordans. I may be really super totally excited about joining the Community Supported Agriculture Co Op this year. I may say 'super totally excited.' But over my dead dirty girl pirate hooker tattooed body will I listen to You're Beautiful and watch some little damn blonde fling herself around. Fuck no. I'm not havin' it. Now. The afternoon gets hairy and scary when I try to find something else. I get all the way to the 300's and still nothing cooler on the tv. Until I see Smoky and the Bandit. Awesome. But its on the County Music Station. Now. You wanna talk about a moral dilemma??? My tv has NEVER been on CMT. I very carefully click on BET so that I don't accidentally click on CMT. I thought my head was going to blow off and confetti was going to spew from my neck. Good thing TB came in and changed it back to football. Phew. * um. i don't actually know what EMO music is... but I know that its whiny shit and it makes boys wear their pants too tight (no wonder they're angsty)and need hair cuts. I just hated this music.
I hope I never loose that... the idea that I am a kid. *********************************************************************** There's a whole lot of nothing going on in my world. I'm working a lot. Regular teaching schedule that is compounded by my 27 miles each way to work. And no lie, I like my drive time. Its about the only time during the day I get to sit in the same spot and chill. Though, I'm often resentful about the time it takes away from doing something.
I'm teaching 2 nights a week at the university. I enjoy the work and while I don't know that anyone will leave a critical theorist (and really, they hate me a little for pushing them to examine their half of the dialog as educators.... because the work is hard and I push harder) I hope they will gain at least a little insight. Its helpful, when you push so hard, to be a little funny . The laughs I get as I throw around deep theory in a real way help releases some of the tension I create as white middle class females examine their privilege.
In between these 2 classes, a third night is spent with LD in training. We bring WD, too because my trainer recommends it. Its a whole pack thing. Plus, WD has issues and having him walk past people in those tight quarters without eating anyone's face is good practice for ya know...not eating anyone's face. TB works LD because I know I'll do all the practice at home. I forever will be the lead dog here. And besides. WD really will only work for me. No matter who has his leash, I'm like his Tupac... all eyes on me. He's smart and I think we're a good pair. I know he knows he's good at the training and I can tell he's proud to show it in front of the other dogs and people. Both my dogs got the hairy eyeball from most of the participants. Big scary mixed breeds, all three of us... Except this real cool down to earth race car driving couple who have a young German Shepherd who's mostly black like JC's. He's maybe 5 months old and already trying to balance his need to play with my dogs and his need to be cool.
By Thursday nights, people. I'm laid out.
I've been cooking my meals on Sunday. A crock pot joint for Monday and Tuesday and some kind of casserole or something for W T. Not having to cook through the week has helped me keep up this pace.
Speaking of pace.... I also started training for a half marathon in the spring. I don't know which one yet and I suppose it will all depend on my training... and my hip. I'm trying to be more diligent in my stretching and strengthening. And that reminds me. I need to call the yoga studio. Cuz I don't have enough to do on Sunday afternoons....
Its been snowy, icy, and below zero here recently. I miss running outside. I REALLY miss walking with my dogs every day. Between my running and walking them, I spend a couple hours outside every weekday and nearly 3 hours on weekends. Apparently, I actually am a little hyper (though I insist I am not a spaz) because I'm crawling the walls. Again, I am so my dad's kid what with the spring fever, need to play outside in the fresh air and lead foot (that last one I just thew in for poetic rhythm or something).
I'm sleeping a little better which is a gift from God, people. Turns out my adrenal gland and thyroid were under performing and my sleep rhythms were off and I dunno... I needed a tune up. I've got one of those old lady pill things (which makes me feel like an old lady) and I don't even care. To lay down and go to sleep is amazing and foreign. I remember laying awake as a toddler, never really sleeping...just dozing. The rub is that if I wake up... I'm awake. Earlier this week I woke up at 12:58 and never did go back to sleep. But I got totally caught up on Real Housewives of Orange County (I totally can't wait for Atlanta to come back on) and I watched a fascinating documentary on polygamist. I remain afraid of Utah.
In other news, I told my class last week (as we were studying the impact of Christianity on the fall of Rome) that Christianity was like a TV spin off of Judaism. Like I Love New York was a spin off from Flavor of Love. Clearly, I have no business around children....
My god daughter is five. She's been coming to spend the night with me since she was 3. I try to have her out each season. We always have plans for what we want to do, but usually, she just wants to play with WD (and now LD). Man, its like a whole love fest at my house. Forty pounds of kid, and 130 pounds of dog and lots of kisses. We were having lunch together on the way to our house New Year's Eve and talking about the tinker toys we got her for Christmas. It led to a discussion of what she might be when she grew up. An engineer who builds things, a dog doctor, a teacher, a Dr. Err (this name, by the way, is from this child and was given to me at my graduation). When given the option of being a Dr. Err like Auntie, she responded, "but I don't want to be white when I grow up." I'm not entirely sure I've ever laughed so loud. WM asked her later, 'what makes you think Auntie is white?' GD responded, 'she's white like my dad.' Which is sortof kindof true, given that he's not white either, but is can visibly identify with being something else. It only got funnier when she told WM how Uncle TB is REALLY white. Yeah. I've been saying that for years, kid.
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