Lost

I am not even sure how or when or why or where to start. But I figure it's about time to make this happen. You see, I'm lost. Like 6 year old Girl Scout in the middle of the woods and some meanie knocked over your trail signs and a bear stole your compass and you are in a time before Siri and GPS lost. That man up there? That's my Daddy. Yesterday was the 2 month anniversary of his passing. It's taken that long for me to wrap my head around it and to be honest, I still am not getting it. There is just a lot I don't understand, and frankly I don't have to. It's getting to a point though, that it's hurting more than it's not-- and it's time to let it all out. I promise you you will cry through this one, so you better just stop while you're ahead if you aren't wanting to ruin your mascara today.

This was taken just weeks before it happened. Weeks. This little boy helped his Pawpaw pack for a cruise to Canada. We laughed so hard because he was telling him, "Pack me Pawpaw, too!" Why did I not take more pictures? I have a phone full of stupid pictures of things I see at the store, or stupid cars in a parking lot.... why do I not have more pictures of my Daddy? Why can't I find a video of my Daddy and my son? He's 2.... 2. I don't remember anything from being 2. My heartbreak? Knowing that even though there are pictures, he isn't going to remember his Pawpaw. We can hope, but I do real...

I get home from a training, knowing Daddy has had a routine endoscopy, and I don't call to check on how he is doing. I know he's had a rough time in recovery, but since my baby sister has kept me updated... I don't call. Why didn't I call? Why didn't I just call, even for a minute to tell him I loved him and to hear his voice? I had the time on my lunch... I had the time on my breaks... I even had the time on the way to my training to call before his procedure... That night, I just remember talking to a friend of mine and it was WAY past Jaxon's bedtime, and he hadn't had a bath. Jason was delivering a rack to a coach a ways away and had just walked in the door. It wasn't minutes later, and my nightmares began... my mom calls... Why is she calling me at 10 at night? All she says is, "Your Dad is in cardiac arrest, the emts are here and it looks bad. I think we've lost him." I freeze. "Oh God..." I say, not really registering. "I'm coming." is all I could get out. What do you say, what do you do when you know your Dad could be dead when you get there?

After sleeping in an ICU waiting room for days, and getting the news we were not looking forward to, we decided we had to do what we had to do.

This is the last day we had together, and I spent it just like this. Sitting by him and holding his hand. Just praying and praying that everything was not as the doctor's said and that any moment he was going to open his eyes and look at me. We listened to his favorite songs, and many of them held so many memories, whether they were audio torture as a child on a road trip-- or what he blared and shook the walls with to wake us up for church on Sundays. This picture is just surreal. How do you just sit next to your Dad knowing you are going to have to end his life the next day? How? This isn't just like putting a beloved pet to sleep. It's oh-so-much worse. You don't want to go to the bathroom, you don't want to eat, you don't want to leave, because you know... every minute, every second, every moment is numbered, and when it's gone-- that's it. It's gone. I won't get that day back. I won't have any more days after that. That's it.

I'll spare you the agonizing details of the day, but for 6 hours-- 6. I sat just the same and watched my Daddy take his last breaths. It still haunts me. It's that feeling that you don't want to be there, and watching it is the worst thing you have even endured, but you know you have to stay? 

If there was a day to rob people blind, it would have been the day of his funeral. This is what 100+ police cars look like. All to see Dad. Not just his department, but everyone you can think of. He was later escorted by almost 50 of them to North East Texas where he was buried. All 50 of them were volunteers. Who do you know would drive a hearse escort for 4 hours because you wanted to? My Dad was something special to so many people. I stood on a stage before so many at that church to deliver the hardest speech I have ever had to. I will say, asking God for the grace and the courage to do so, showed up at the right time. I did it without a tear, without a quaver, and did it just as gracefully as if I was delivering a professional development meeting on a Monday. I knew the day would come when I would have to do that, but I didn't think it was going to be when I was 30. 

A peaceful moment and the hardest time came the day we had to say goodbye for the last time. This picture is me having morning coffee on the lake Daddy grew up fishing in with his grandparents, and the lake he loved so much. It's picture perfect. There is nothing like it.

So this is move in day. I know I took this picture, solely on the basis that I knew I would be writing sometime about it. I just can't even wrap my head around it. How did that happen? It just doesn't even make sense in my head. This is the same place my sweet Nanny is sleeping. Those flowers in the background is Daddy. They're back door neighbors. Knowing that he is with his Momma brings a little peace to my heart. We all crumbled the day she left. I was there with her too. I know I have much to look forward to, and in time that will come. But I just have to make sense of a few things....




 Like this little guy. Explaining why Pawpaw's police car isn't there anymore is ripping me in two every time I pull into my parent's driveway... (Why do I still call it my parent's house? Now it's "My Mom's" house. Can I still call it my Parent's house? Politically correct can bite my ass.) The last day before they had to pick it up, we played with the lights one more time...

 

I just want him to remember everything.

Do I need therapy? Probably. Do I need a glass of wine? Hell yeah. Do I need my Daddy back? That is  the million dollar question. Bazillion dollar question. You just don't realize how lost you are, until you are. I talk to him on the way to work, I talk to him before I go to bed... I listen, just so I think about what he might say. But in the end, he still isn't here... and I just have to find a way to piece myself together and truck on.


Because after all, my birthday is in 10 days. I know he's going to be ready to party with me, smiling down... just like it was last year.

I may be turning a year older, but it's definitely a year wiser. A year lonelier, and a year I am just chalking off to count down when I get to see him again. Lord knows he is keeping everyone in heaven laughing, and I am missing out.







Poo poo I say,  poo poo. Love you Daddy. More than you know, but hoping you heard. You taught me to be the person I am today, and for that I am proud. I just want to live each day to that. Making you proud. Because at the end of the day, I know you would want me to do what I could to take care of my family and others, and help people... and have a little fun in the process.

 

All things new.

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:11

This has been my mantra this summer. It has taken me a while to figure out exactly how I wanted to create this post. It still isn't in its entirety by any means-- but I figure it's a start. 

My study partner was vigilant and stuck by my side ALL summer.

Jeremiah 29:11 has been my foundation of all things new this summer. I had the privilege of being a part of a Master Reading Teacher program this summer. My school district offered 10 teachers to go through this and paying their tuition of $1000. This is something I had always thought about doing-- since the overwhelming cost of my first college experience will plague me until I retire... I knew a master's degree wouldn't be something feasible in my future. I replied the moment I saw the email about it, and was put "on the list." Then I had to go to a meeting, fill out an extensive application with LOTS of essays, get 3 letters of recommendation, and take a pre-test. My pre-test wasn't the best, but I made it in! I have spent this summer learning so much about myself as a student (and I am not a good one when I have to be a mommy too... :( ), and I have learned a lot about how to help other teachers and students. It has definitely been the hardest and most rewarding thing I have done for myself in a long time.

Ice cream breaks were essential for Jax/Mommy time in the evenings.

I could blame not having the "home support" I envisioned in my head for the study time I didn't do, or the overwhelming amount of dishes, laundry or clutter that piled up because I simply did not have time to attack it myself. Over all, it was a big adjustment for everyone around here-- and I think we came out ok in the end... although I still am swimming in mess from my toes to my eyeballs and may NEVER get caught up! I think the one that had it the hardest this summer though, is Jax. He has had be from day one for every second he is at home, and this summer... I simply just couldn't drop everything and play. I quickly learned how enchanting a highlighter and a tack of index cards would be for him and together we would do "our homework". I know how to teach writing really, really, really well. I learned this summer though, that I can not write technically well--- at. all. 

I did it! A 4!

Everything I do is narrative or fictional in nature. This was something that I fought tooth and nail, and had to throw out everything in my head and adapt to something new and weird and totally uncomfortable... formula writing! It paid off in the end-- I finally snagged a 4! It's the highest you can get on your TeXMat (Texas assessment of master teachers something or other... I hate test acronyms...). I have to take it at the end of September... I just hope I can replicate the magic. 

Reading is good for the soul. 

This year I will be treading into a new territory. I am going to be starting a new job as the Literacy coach on my campus. Today I will be going to my first "big girl" meeting at our central office with my new principal. I am a little nervous! I just have to remember that there is a plan... and a plan that is greater in me which is in place. I know I will be successful in what I do, because it is all I know how to do. I even get a swanky new office! That is the weirdest part for me... having an office. No more classroom... no more kids desks... no crayons, smelly boys, gum on the floor, paper wads to police... it will be different. In both a refreshing and bittersweet way. I am excited to get to make an impact on my campus as a whole and my prayer is that I get to touch the lives of students and the teachers in a big big way. 

So here I am, Lord! Use me this year to make great changes and to make great things happen. I am ready. I just need to get out my game face... er, I mean make up. 

I guess it'll be swanky once they move the carts... right?

A swanky wreath for a swanky office!

Forced write numero dos.

I don't feel like writing. At all. But I have been on a roll lately and it only seems right that I continue the trend, whether I want to or not. I was totally sick last night, barf and all. If it weren't for the fact there are 4 1/2 weeks left and I am out of days and it would have cost me like $240 to be gone.... I would have totally stayed home. Ginger Ale and Zofran were by bffs today. I was pissed when I went to get Ginger Ale number 2 from the teacher's lounge today, only to realize some ass hole drank part of it and put it back in the fridge. I am totally making a fridge sign for tomorrow that reads: "Dear darling one who thought it was neccessary to steal and consume *part* of my ginger ale then place it back in the fridge, The soda you steal today, could be laced with Ex-Lax tomorrow. Be nice. heart, Karma." I'm attempting a delightful straight veggie salad with a vegan dressing tonight to see if it is nice to my system. I need a weekend, a day off, and a serious nap.

Feelo El Crapo

This is the most forced blog writing ever. I feel like doo to tha capital D-O-O. That's what I get for letting a magic pill prescription expire so I have to endure cramps and redonkulousness I haven't had to experience since Operation Preggo was in effect over 3 years ago. Now that my doctor has gone MIA from the practice she just moved too... I may be in the market for a new one. Now that you have TMI, I am D-O-N-E, and going to take a N-A-P.

Ugh, no wonder I spent much of my 7th-12 grade years in the nurses office once a month... sista needs to find a heating pad and some advil.

 However, having some clarity that I am not a depressed crazy maniac, I just have some wicked PMS I forgot about is comforting.... No one likes to think they have lost it.

And scene.

Recruiting helpers

So today I was thrilled to find flowers on sale. I bought a new watering can and Jax a special one too. He LOVED helping me water my plants today. He even got his hands dirty and helped me transplant the white geraniums. I mowed my ridiculous lawn and threw on some weed and feed. It was old, so I am hoping it doesnt fry my grass. Like.... bought before I knew I was preggo with Jax old... Then he helped me water it, because apparently I am too stupid to operate my sprinkler. I successfully watered one side of the lawn, then it got confiscated by the other adult that lives here and thrown on a top shelf in the garage. Good thing I am going to school this summer...I must not be fit for living if I can't run a sprinkler....but I teach kids to read. Go fig?

He did such a good job... he kept telling me, "Wanna do it like a big boy!" then he would water a bit, then drop the hose and say, "Ok! Momma's turn!" then after he got ancy-- wanted to be a big boy again. I love that he wants to help me. It makes my life easier all the time. He has such a good heart-- it fills mine up!

No room for the blues

Totally not my fingers.... but so the color of my tootsies.

Yesterday evening and this morning began with an argument. I whole heartedly put my foot down and declared there was necessity in getting a pedicure today. There has been a shake down and a "paint or get off the ladder" declaration issued-- and surely this could qualify as that clause "for better or worse"? Some how in the midst life has gotten complicated. I needed a moment of clarity. This color was calling my name, I wanted something groovy and different. When I flipped it over and it said "no room for the blues". I knew it was dead on.  I am going to keep on truckin' sassy toes and all.

These are totally my tootsies.

The sweetest gift

I have had the pleasure of working with some super stars this week to get them ready for their STAAR re-takes in a week and a half. This one boy just came to us a few weeks ago, and he and his Mom are on the run and staying at the women's crisis shelter in town. He came to me today with a very old, tattered book and told me he had found it at a house he was staying at once before they tore it down. He told me he gives his favorite teachers a page from it and wanted me to have one. Knowing his tough, tough home life I was thrilled. He delicately tore out a page and signed it and gave it to me. As he handed it over, he said the whole book teaches you how to speak and read Chinese. I am the fortunate one... I can now ask any native speaker if they are constipated. AND offer them a laxative. It was especially extra special because this kiddo doesn't read well enough to even fathom give me a page with the word constipated on it... much less know what aperient means. All week he's been wanting me to call him Eddie Murphy. You can bet I have. Has it made a difference? I am sure of it. Just sitting here, I think about all the other misfits I am expected to get to pass a test in 8 school days.... One whose father shot himself playing Russian roulette in front of him when he was a baby.... one who has a lengthy note on file about how his father has relinquished all parental rights and how he is not allowed to step foot in the building, yet this child is named after him.... One whose mother and 2 sisters were killed in a car accident 3 years ago, leaving her and her dad. One whose grandmother just died in Mexico, so he won't get to even take the second try of the test.... One who lives with an uncle, and isn't allowed to see his mom. One who has been taken away from mom because her mother's boyfriend molested her-- and mom didn't try to stop it. It cuts my heart up like a knife. The worst part? That's only just a few. These babies come in and out of my room and the whole world is on their shoulders. I just try to at least give them a little bit of hope. 

Tis nothing but a shitty first draft.

This caught my attention today.... my bff 4/E tagged me in this diddy she found on Facebook. It comes from the glorious Anne Lamot. Her book Bird by Bird is amazing... the first chapter, "Shitty First Drafts" makes the even novice writer hopeful they will be Pulitzer material someday. After all... that's where we all start. She says, in all her brilliance:

"Anne Lamott

I had a great idea for a new book, although come to think of it, maybe it is just a Facebook post. But it would be called Pre First Draft, and address the way we suit up and show up to be writers, artists, and general tribal-two-stomp creative types.

I think it would begin with an admonition: if you used to love writing, painting, dancing, singing, whatever, but you stopped doing it when you had kids or began a strenuous career, then you have to ask yourself if you are okay about not doing it anymore.

If you always dreamed of writing a novel or a memoir, and you used to love to write, and were pretty good at it, will it break your heart if it turns out you never got around to it? If you wake up one day at eighty, will you feel nonchalant that something always took precedence over a daily commitment to discovering your creative spirit?

If not--if this very thought fills you with regret--then what are you waiting for?

Back in the days when I had writing students, they used to spend half their time explaining to me why it was too hard to get around to writing every day, but how once this or that happens--they retired, or their last kid moved out--they could get to work.

I use to say very nicely, "That's very nice; but it's a total crock. There will never be a good time to write. It will never be easier. If you won't find an hour a day now, you won't find it then."

It's the same belief as thinking that once you lose weight, you'll begin to feel good about yourself. No, you won't. If you're not okay with yourself at 185 pounds, you're not going to be okay at 140. It's an inside job.

How do you begin? The answer is simple: you decide to. Then you push back your sleeves and start writing--I.e., scribbling words down on paper, or typing at a computer. And it will be completely awful. It will be unreadable shit! You won't have a clue how it account to anything, ever. And to that, I say, Welcome. That's what it's like to be a writer. But you just do it anyway. At my church, we sing a gospel song called, "Hallelujah anyway." Everything's a mess, and you're going down the tubes financially, and gaining weight? Well, Hallelujah anyway.

So you decide to get back to work creatively, and you write up some thoughts or passages or memories or scenes. Then what? Then you write some more. Everywhere you go, you carry a pen, and take notes--ideas will start to come to you. You'll see and overhear and remember things that you want to include in this mysterious quilt you're putting together, so you jot them down. Imagine a rag-bag guy who lives inside you, who collects images, descriptions, holy moments, snippets of funny conversation, for you to use in your writing--but he doesn't have any hands, and needs you to help him amass the rags with which you can make squares for the quilt.

That's all you have to do today: pay attention--being a writer is about paying attention. Stop hitting the snooze button. Carry a pen with you everywhere, or else God will give me all these insights and images that were supposed to go to you. Hang up a shingle on the inside of you: now open for business. Wow! You won't have to wake up at 70, aching with regret that you threw your creative essence under the bus. And if you already are seventy, then you won't have to wake up at eighty, confused and in despair about how you let your gift slip away. Because you will have been writing--or dancing again, or practicing recorder--every single glorious, livelong, weird, amazing day."

 so here I am... 3 months later. I have tons of drafts of posts lined up in this thing... but for a reason or another they didn't get posted. I am making my spring annual trip to "the bad place". What that means for those that have never been there is that I would rather just hole up in a cave in my pajamas and eat Golden Chick rolls and pepsi until I vomit-- than have to deal with real life. It is kind of a depression that hits me straight in the lady balls year after year after a culmination of school stress and.... well, real life. Imagine if 400 channels were constantly playing in your head all at one time, and your remote was broken so you couldn't mute any of them. Sucks huh? Hoping it will all go away soon-- just in time for summer. Well, until that roll and Pepsi shipment comes with my cashmere jammies and cave reservation, i'll keep truckin.

I, do solemnly swear, that I am up to no good...

Because this girl has clean dishes... day 2. See the blue glow on the dishwasher? It is in full washage mode. Oh, you see dishes on the counter?..... those just got HANDWASHED, sucka. Done and done.

I'm feeling a lot guilty because Baby J and I did not appear at the home game tonight to support Daddy.... but I needed to take a brain dump after today. Yesterday was a long day.... today was a long day.... and tomorrow I am going to be home late because I am catching up something serious with dear friends. You gotta take care of Momma in order for Momma to take care of you.

Oh, and new girl.... I think we are gonna get along just fine.

JFTB, out.

... and I shall call you.... Mini-me. (I hope.)

My principal must think I hung the stars. (Ok, let's be honest.... I helped. Ok... maybe I am reaching here. I swear I am not full of myself, I just have confident humor. I am really a humbled person. I swear, cross my heart.) I got to be on the interview panel for our new Math interventionist that starts TOMORROW. I was pretty broken hearted when the predecessor told me she was breaking up with me to interview for the PE teacher spot that opened up when the previous one retired at semester. She ended up getting it and tried gently to break up with me, but let me know we would still do lunch sometimes... I don't do well with breakups like that... Just ask my bff.

The first girl we interview comes in... with a hair cut, just like I used to adore (before I decided driving an hour to my favorite hair lady and paying $50 was overratted... and getting my hair cut period was overrated... ok, I just want to grow it out because it is flipping cold. Watch out for March. I'll get pissed and cut it again.) and wearing a cute outfit. She acts like she straight up owns the place (love) and instantly I have a teacher crush on her. I am sure she said a lot of great things in her interview and the questions, but all I heard was.... blah blah, teach writing at ACC... blah blah, teach vocabulary... blah blah Capturing Kids Hearts, blah blah.... for the kids... blah blah... language... blah blah connect with ESL kiddos... blah blah... background in language... blah blah... I rock.

Candidates dos y tres were great too. I am sure they were... but there was something about this girl that I just digged. Turns out, we hired her fo real... and her name is also my bff's street. WEIRD!? I just put that together. I hope she is ready, because I am going to latch on to her like stink on dooky. I really think we are going to SUPER get along. She is weird like I am, loves kids, jives the same way I do on building relationships with them, and sees the importance of language and vocab development. Girlfriend is smart.

That aside, I take what my bff wrote about a 21 day challenge as a throw-down... simply because I suck and am a quitter. If it weren't for my gallbladder taking a dump, I wouldn't have lost the 7 pounds I have lost.... I eat what I want, and my body in very panicked terms, tells me it doesn't want it in. Good system. Unless you can't find a bathroom.... different story.

She is going to blog about her projects every day. I have projects too... like, ACTUALLY do the dishes. ACTUALLY put away the laundry. Feed my child something besides frozen chicken nuggets, fish sticks or pb&j or pop tarts (In writing it really makes me sound like I suck ass as a mom...). So. Here we go. After I type this little ditty I am hitting up the dishwasher. I have both sides of the sink overflowing with dishes. I swear they were all clean yesterday.... I may just start there. ACTUALLY do the dishes for 3 weeks straight. If I have to blog about it, I may as well be about it, eh?

I can do this.