Vodkamom

Live your life with honor, and decide for yourself- will I be better today, or worse? (I choose better.)

2012-01-26T19:24:00.006-05:00

“How do you act when the pressure is on, when the chance for victory is almost gone? When fortune's star has refused to shine and the ball is on your own five-yard line. Cowards can run when they're way ahead. It's the uphill grind that marks a thoroughbred. How do you act when things are rough? Do you want to quit when the breaks get tough, or is there in you a flame that grows brighter and fiercer as the battle goes? How long and how hard will you fight the foe? That is what the world wants to know. You hope for success, then tell me son, how do you act when the pressure is on?"

I’m trying so very hard today to put a voice to what is swirling in my heart- and the hearts of so many of us who have lived in this valley for many, many years.

The nation is mourning the passing of a legend; a coaching great that was admired and revered by a number too large to even hazard a guess.

Those of us who have planted roots in this community are mourning a husband, a father, a grandfather and a neighbor. We are mourning the man who passed us in the streets, in the stores, in schools, in the Creamery, on the bike paths and in church for decades. We are mourning the man who yelled (with his fist raised) at inconsiderate motorists in town; the man who would walk through town each day and greet anyone who had the nerve to stop him, and would gladly pose for pictures with anyone- republican OR democrat. The man who walked by my house on the bike path every day in the summer; who would chat with me about my flowers, or the student teachers (football players) that I was lucky to have in my classroom.

I listened today as men and women of all ages and walks of life shared the impact that this man’s words and actions had upon their lives, and I was brought to my knees. The man whose sole purpose was to act in a manner that would impact the good of the world, the good of the people’s lives he touched, and the family he held so precious. And if today’s soliloquies were any indication, he was far more successful than he could have ever imagined.

There were many people who spoke, big names that you would recognize immediately, but the one that resonated with me was that of his son; Jay.

That he had the strength to stand and speak to a community and a nation was incredible to me. He was incredibly eloquent, articulate, emotional and inspiring. I was humbled. I was humbled because not only do I know him as the son of a legend, as a coach of the team, but also as a friend. He was the father of children who MIGHT have attended our school, and might have been in my classroom.

And as a teacher and a mother – I was incredibly proud of him today.

And so tonight I wrap a blanket around myself and I sit and think about the legacy that was Coach Paterno. Yes, there are many who are sitting in their homes pointing fingers and reminding us that he should have done more. We hear you.

But today, there are those of us who are wrapping his wife, his children and his grandchildren in love and honor.

R.I.P. Coach.

Your life lessons and your message of living life with integrity will live on, and on, and on, and on. Your “children”, “grandchildren” and all of your one billion neighbors will ensure that this happens. And we will begin by forgiving, leaving bitterness behind and looking forward to helping others who have been harmed to heal.

We are.

Weeping.

They're like little firecrackers that go off sporadically all day long. (I wish I would have invested in Aleve ten years ago.)

2012-01-24T16:04:00.000-05:00

Today in reading centers we were working on an activity that involved x’s; more specifically, it required the writing of the missing letter x at the end of each word. (They LOVE those sheets.)

“Sasha, could you please hold your pencil correctly?” I asked for the 900^th time this year.

“But, do you know that I can hold chopsticks? It’s like this,” she said emphatically, demonstrating for the group.

“Well, when the Kung Pao chicken arrives you’ll be golden, but right now we’re writing the letter x. Now, for all that is holy would you please hold your pencil properly?”

“Awww…you’re no fun!”

(Wait. Didn’t we just play one THOUSAND games of four corners? Didn’t we?? Oh, how soon they forget….)

"Boys and Girls, could you play for a few minutes while I perform CPR on myself? Thanks."

2012-01-23T09:08:00.001-05:00

I stared at the screen, still in shock. Surely I was seeing things. It wasn't REALLY a note from Clint, was it? The person I once loved very much, the guy who was my first big girl love, and the person who lifted and carried me through the first of many incredibly painful moments in my life; was it really him?

I quickly walked away from my desk to monitor the Kid Writing, and to try to wrap my head around what just happened. I paced the room over and over, and I had to shake my head several times to try help me think clearly.

I had thought about him sporadically through the years, wondering what kind of path he had walked. I had ended our relationship badly and we both reacted in ways that were unbecoming to young adults. I chalked it up to a life lesson and I like to think that it was a stepping stone on my path to becoming a reasonable and responsible adult.

And now he was here; on my screen and waking me up.

I avoided the computer for the rest of the day, and wondered how in the world he had actually found me. I questioned the "found you on Google" part, as even I couldn't find myself on Google using my maiden name.

It took hot bath, a cocktail and a shot of "why not" to reply to his email.

"Dear Clint,

Yes, this is me...and what a surprise to hear from you! Yes, I think it would be lovely to chat. After 30 years, however, I think we might need a big chunk of time...

Looking forward to hearing from you,

Vodka. "

Oh. Sweet. Lord. Did I just open the front door?

I think I did...

Cowards die many times before their deaths The valiant never taste of death but once...(Bill Shakespeare)

2012-01-21T20:09:00.003-05:00

As we sit upon our couches dreaming of the victorious years, our hearts go out to the family of a legend.

We wait, with a glimmer of hope, and pray that the specter that reaches out in the middle of the night waits a bit longer before claiming the soul of a man we have loved for a very, very long time.

We send prayers to his children, his wife, and those who have wrapped him in love all these many years. May the next part of your journey be incredible...

A hot bath and a glass of wine - it's like peanut butter and jelly. Only way better.

2012-01-18T21:02:00.001-05:00

The top five reasons I took a glass of wine to my bathtub at 7:45 tonight:

1. We sang “Sing about Martin” at least a thousand times today. Then I spent fifteen minutes persuading Jack that singing “Jingle Bells Batman Smells” was STILL not appropriate in kindergarten.

2. We played a rousing game of four corners, and after closing my eyes and counting to twenty I opened them to discover that I was holding a plastic tiger by the tail. I didn’t even KNOW I had a plastic tiger in the room. (I am losing my mind.)

3. It took me ten minutes to convince Sally that we don’t say “Hell to the No” in kindergarten. (And especially not to the teacher.)

4. After teaching the kids that camels can close their nostrils in order to keep the sand out, I watched George spend his “craft time” trying his hardest to keep his own nostrils shut. It was not pretty.

5. Bryce decided to moon the jam-packed cafeteria today after he emptied his lunch tray. He claims the devil made him do it.

Today? The kids won; hands down.

They have special powers - and if I could bottle them, I surely would.

2012-01-17T20:50:00.002-05:00

I watched this week as our beloved classroom paraprofessional put one foot in front of the other and joined us at school.

I knew in my heart that the children would provide an incredible distraction to her heartache, having experienced it myself five years ago. And while I would never begin to compare the loss of my nephew to the loss of her son, I can say that my visits to the land of despair have given me a glimpse into the painful fog she finds herself in today.

I watched Monday as the children ran to her, hugged her, and lifted her when she needed it. And then today they began to remember why her heart was broken. There were questions sprinkled throughout the day, and hugs and comments that were hidden yesterday.

I happened to walk by her center today as Francis looked at her in wonder. “Mrs. F. - Does it hurt?”

Mrs. FixesIt looked at her with love and nodded. “Yes, it does hurt.”

Francis watched quietly. (Which was a miracle in itself.)

“It hurts very much," she continued, "But you know what? Your smiles and hugs – they make it feel better. They really, really do.”

And our Francis, who has talked (and screamed) non-stop for 84 days, sat quietly. She nodded at Ms. F., and returned to her coloring.

And as much as I adore her, I have never loved her more as I did at that moment.

It's a moment I will never forget. And I'm pretty sure that Mrs. F. will some day say the same...

That day? THAT day? We are all praying for that glorious day...

2012-01-16T18:46:00.001-05:00

"I look to a day when people will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character."

"I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear." MLK.

You said it all so very well, Martin. And teachers, mothers, leaders and others are repeating your words every single day in the hopes that they will stick.

Words are powerful weapons- use them wisely. (And when using them for good? Use as often as you can...)

2012-01-14T21:56:00.000-05:00

I had an incredible opportunity to visit an old friend of mine in Chicago this weekend. (I’m pretty sure you know what I’m talking about…) While I’m not ready to talk about the details, I have GOT to share this story.

I took a small plane to return from Chicago to Washington/Dulles airport. (Which is conveniently close to OREGON.) The flight filled with young men who were obviously members of the United States Army. Being a Navy brat, I am always incredibly honored to be in the presence of boys, girls, women and men who offer their LIVES in service to our country. Honestly. Every time I see a soldier I am humbled beyond belief-I can’t explain it.

We boarded the plane, and I found myself sitting alone at the rear of the plane with the young, jovial servicemen surrounding me. I listened to their humorous banter, and couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Some of the boys noticed, and began taking turns sitting next to me, engaging in fun, wonderful conversations! While several of them insisted on buying me cocktails, I reminded them that it was 9:00 a.m., and MOST people didn’t enjoy cocktails that early.

I had a lovely flight, and thanked God for incredible young people like these fellows who not only committed their lives to their country, but who smiled and laughed with this particular kindergarten teacher.

Our plane landed and we all scrambled to make a mad dash to the terminal where our next flights were waiting. I made my way to the shuttle that was to take me to the proper terminal for my next flight.

Imagine my surprise when I walked onto the shuttle and saw the same army men from my previous flight! They saw me board the shuttle, pointed to me and said smiling, “Hey! We were all just talking about you!”

I smiled and laughed. We visited a bit, and at one point one young man pointed to my shiny red Dansko’s shoes. “Those shoes are awesome.”

I smiled, and told them that my daughter, who worked at a kick-@$$ shoe store, had given me them for my birthday.

“Daughter? You can NOT have a daughter old enough to buy you those shoes!” one of the young men said emphatically.

I smiled. “How old do you think I am?” I asked them.

They shouted numbers like 30, 40, 42, 43 and other glorious numbers that I have not uttered in YEARS.

“Guys,” I said smiling, “I am,” and I held up one hand that said FIVE and another that said TWO.”

Each of them, all SEVEN of them uttered shouts of disbelief. (And that lifted me MORE than you know!)

“Oh my GOD!” one of them said, “You are NOT FIFTY-TWO!”

The rest of the ride was spent convincing them I was, and then we smiled as we parted ways.

We all ran to our prospective terminals, and I couldn’t stop laughing as I thought of how proud their parents must be of them.

I was startled when I heard someone shout “Hey!! Hey Vodka!” and turned to see one of the young men (who I remember looking at me intently) come running towards me. I stood up, worried that something might be wrong!

“Hi,” he said breathlessly, “ I just wanted to say something.”

I looked at him smiling.

“You are the best looking fifty-two year old woman I have EVER MET!” He smiled and winked at me. “I just wanted to tell you that.”

He turned and ran for his flight before I had a chance to thank him.

And that makes me sad. Cause I would LOVE to have gotten his mother’s address to send her a thank- you card.

She raised one HELL of a son.

It’s not Avon Calling. (So answer the dang door.)

2012-01-12T17:41:00.000-05:00

As a kindergarten teacher, I am constantly moving quickly from one activity to another. Sprinkled throughout this spastic chicken dance, are hundreds of redirections, reminders, scoldings, compliments and words of positive re-enforcement.

Perched upon a tabletop in the corner of my room is my open laptop. I keep my email open and at the ready for notes from the secretaries, pleas for last minute supplies from fellow teachers, and reminders from parents who might have forgotten to send something in with their child. (As the past president of the FPO- Forgetful Parent Organization, I can totally sympathize with every single stressed parent.)

I took a moment yesterday during snack to quickly glance in my inbox, when my eyes caught an unfamiliar email address. I reminded the children to not talk while eating (for the four-THOUSANDTH time) and sat in my chair.

I looked at the email again. I opened it.

Hi Vodka. It’s me.

A friend of mine found some of his old friends though Google, and I’ve been trying for a while to find you. Imagine my surprise when I did… I hope this really is you. Please email me back, cause I would love to catch up and see what you are up to. Please, please email me back.

Clint. (Now he didn’t say THIS part, but I will. YOUR OLD COLLEGE BOYFRIEND.)

Oh. My. God.

I'm pretty sure I wouldn't fit into one of THOSE, either.

2012-01-11T17:44:00.000-05:00

We were working furiously on our “Animals of the Forest” books during reading this morning, when Sasha remembered something from the night before.

“Hey! I saw Ms. Perky lasternight when I was at swimming lessons!”

“I didn’t know you were taking swimming lessons!” I said. “What kind of cool bathing suit do you have?”

“It’s a zucchini. And it’s pink and bwue!”

I don’t know about her, but putting on a zucchini in January gives me the shivers….

(Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, indeed.)

He’s like an old penny; or a bad dream, I can’t decide. (Rhymes with Rank.

2012-01-09T15:52:00.001-05:00

I saw Frank today at outdoor recess. He was laying on one of the benches with his arms sticking straight out and stiff as a board.

He was pretending to be his grandmother. She’s dead.

I don’t know why I even bothered to ask.

I'll see your medium and raise you a warrior..

2012-01-08T14:05:00.000-05:00

As I stood in front of my mirror this morning, I looked into the eyes of the woman I have always wanted to be, and I was thankful.

I sat on my bed, and my thoughts suddenly went back to that night several years ago when I was shaken to the core. You remember, don’t you, that day that I finally took my friend’s advice and went on a visit to her medium?

I shared most of what happened that day, but never the one thing she said to me as I turned to leave.

The medium, a gorgeous woman who lived in a beautiful mansion above the country club, informed me at the outset that she only shared “good” stuff during a reading. She was working with angels, etc., and insisted again that she only tells a “client” the good stuff. I was a bit relieved at that cause honestly I did NOT want to know when my own appointment with the grim reaper would be.

She shared all kinds of things, and I said very little about myself. In fact, I only confirmed or denied any of the information she was offering me. (And honestly, there were some aspects about my life, and marriage, that I had not shared with anyone; not even my very closest of friends.)

When all was said and done, we laughed, talked about something light and I stood to leave. She said my name sharply, and I turned.

She looked at me and grasped my hand. “I have to say something. I’m sorry, but I really have to say something.” She looked me in the eye.

“You HAVE to get out of this marriage. Repair some things, do what you have to do, but GET OUT. Do you understand me?”

I looked at her, shocked, and nodded my head.

Today, when I stared into the mirror I smiled. I have fought a tough battle...but even with the scars here and there, I am happier than I have been in a long, long, long time. And, I can finally say, I am proud of the woman who is walking away from the battlefield.

(Hear me roar.)

And that is why I’ll never, ever, ever retire. (maybe…)

2012-01-05T19:32:00.000-05:00

Today I was doing some quick assessments on the kiddos, when it was Jack’s turn.

I pointed to a picture of a fire-truck, and asked, “Fire-truck; what's the first letter sound that you hear?”

He looks at me quizzically.

I repeated the word, and the question. “Fire-truck; what sound do you hear, Jack?”

He looked at me again, and said, “Woooooooooooo woooooo!”

He’s gifted.

Sometimes angels are five years-old. (And named Albert.)

2012-01-03T17:46:00.000-05:00

I spent a bit of time this morning during Morning Meeting explaining to the children why Mrs. KeepsMeOutOfTrouble wasn’t in school. Some of the children knew, and I struggled to find the words.

I began by explaining that she had suffered a loss in her family, and immediately several children piped up. Apparently there were some important discussions at the homes of these children last night, and for that I was thankful.

We talked about broken hearts, sadness, love and angels.

And after a long morning filled with incredible emotion and exhausting conversations, I sat in my chair feeling a bit overwhelmed. It was then that Lord Albert came up to me quietly, thrusting a package into my hand.

“Mrs. Smythe, I forgot to give this to you before Christmas. Here,” he said with small smile.

I opened the tiny package, still a bit numb from the morning, and was stunned. It was the one thing that lifts us all when we are in the deepest of despair. The one thing that has kept me swimming towards the surface.

Thank you, Albert; thank you.

101 Ways to shock your mother. (If you can even figure out WHO the mother is...)

2012-01-02T18:04:00.000-05:00

The girls and I were sitting around the table the other night, engaged in some kind of heated discussion. Bitchy stopped suddenly and looked at me.

“Mother,” she said sternly, “Sassy and I have decided that it’s time you started dating.”

“Ummm.”

"We also decided that you have to join either Match.com or E-harmony. Also, dinners only- no funny business," she added while wagging her finger at me.

“YEAH!” shouted Sassy. “Nothing crazy. The last thing I want to do is picture my mother getting it on with somebody. Ewww.”

That’s funny, cause I tend to think the same thing about THEM.

"Death aims only once, but never misses." (And that is quite tragic...)

2012-01-01T20:02:00.000-05:00

I think about that specter; the one that knocks on the door deep in the night and steals your heart away. The one that claims the people you least expect, and whisks them to heaven with nary a good-bye.

I have lived in the aftermath of his work far too many a time, and wonder at his methods. I understand all too well that none of us ever, EVER gets out of this alive, but come on. Kids? KIDS? I am a firm believer that no parent should ever have to bury a child; a child of 9, 16 or 30. The numbers mean nothing. The fact that it’s someone’s child means everything.

I am now wrapping my arms around my darling, amazing friend and her family. They are preparing to bury her only boy, who after 26 years of a painful and troubled life spotted with many medical issues - had it end unexpectedly.

I have no words for the sorrow we find ourselves swallowed by.

I have a sense of the path she is destined to travel, as I have held the hand of another amazing woman who is still finding her way. (And Anna, my prayers fly upon wings each night and make their way to your home.)

I am carrying tissues, baked goods, love and courage in my bag tomorrow and traveling once again to that dark corner of the forest I’ve tried so very hard to avoid. (I can find it in my sleep. And that’s not a good thing.)

The only sure way to succeed? Shoot for the bottom.

2011-12-31T11:00:00.001-05:00

In honor of all that is crazy, I have come up with this year’s list of New Years Substitutions. I’ve devised a clever plan to ensure that I succeed in meeting all of my expectations this year. (Keep ‘em low, my friends; keep ‘em low.)

1. I vow to gain at least ten pounds this year. I will eat only one of every sweet morsel left in the teacher’s lounge by parents attempting to fatten up the teachers. (I’ve decided they plan to roast us at the end of the year. I’d rather be the one that they point to and say, “Naw, she’s a bit too skinny, she’ll never fill us up.)

2. I vow to exercise less this year. I don’t want to intimidate any future Prince Charming by looking so incredible that he’s afraid to ask me out. (I might run a .00000005 marathon. But that’s IT.)

3. I vow to engage in only one screaming-match a week with any one of my three children. I might have to stop answering the phone when they call me at SCHOOL in the middle of the day and ask, “What are you doing?” (Jesus- I’ve been teaching for 22 years, what do they THINK I’m doing between the hours of 8:30 and 3:00?)

4. I vow to go even further into debt while maintaining the ruse that I am succeeding all on my own. I’m guessing another 5-10K would suffice. (I’ll accept any and all credit card applications that come my way.)

5. I vow to procrastinate on finishing The Book of Frank. Who wants success, notoriety and a possible movie deal? I mean, honestly, WHO NEEDS IT??

I also vow to only make lists that go up to five. This year has kicked my ass so thoroughly that I’m too disausted to count any farther.

Happy New Year my friends! May it be packed FULL of joy and laughter, cause you all deserve it. (You’re golden, and you know it.)

Oh God, is the year over ALREADY??? (However, good riddance...)

2011-12-30T17:09:00.002-05:00

Right before Christmas vacation, one of my students said to me. “Well, it’s been nice knowin’ ya Mrs. Smythe. I’ll see ya next year! Before we go, though, can you tell me who my new teacher will be?”

Me: “What do you mean, your new teacher? Am I going somewhere? Do you know something I don’t know?”

Student, “Aw, you know, my first grade teacher. It’s a new year, and I’ll be in first grade!”

Well, that required a discussion about what a new year is. It’s a bit hard to explain to children in elementary school what that means. To them the year goes from September to June. What’s up with the change in January? It was a challenge, but I did my best, and let them know that I would indeed be greeting them in the New Year. Most of them were happy about that. After a short but very enjoyable break, it was back to the chalkboard! We spent our initial class time discussing New Years’ Resolutions. I would like to now provide you with a little peek into our discussion. It’s just more fun sharing the conversation!

Me: Boys and girls, today we are going to talk about New Year’s Resolutions. Does anyone know what a New Years Resolution is?

Karl: Sure, a New Year’s Resolution is when you say, like, I want to lose weight.

Cathy: No, a New Years resolution is a promise! It’s a promise that you are going to do something.

Neal: I know. It’s like when you go to bed, and someone promises they will play with you in the morning, but then the morning comes and they don’t, it’s like breaking a promise!

John: Yeah, when you say you are going to play with one friend, and then they play with another…that’s breaking a promise, like when Karl…”

Me: Wait, wait, wait. Let’s get back to the New Years Resolution thing. It is like making a promise! But, you are making a promise to yourself. Like, for example, I promise to exercise more, or I promise not to yell so much, or I promise to lose weight. Have you heard your parents talk about this?

John: Mrs. Smythe, my belt is broken.

Me: Okay, go see Mrs. FixesThings, -now, about New Years Resolutions.

Mia: I don’t remember if I packed lunch or not….

Me: Go see Mrs. FixesThings. (Okay, she is my K-2 Failsafe para, and even though she threatens to quit on a daily basis, I would never, never, never accept it. Plus, I know she’s kidding. She loves lunch duty too much. ) Now, have any of you heard about New Years resolutions???

All, screaming and yelling: Yeah, yeah, yeah!!!

Michael: My mom wants to lose weight.

Karl: Yeah. My mom wants to lose weight, she says that every single year, and she never does.

David: Hey, My dad wants to lose weight!

Me: So, a New Year’s Resolution is making a promise. My New Years Resolutions are that I am going to exercise more, I am going to eat healthy foods, and do something nice for to at least one person at day.

Casey: Oh, can it be me?

Matt: NO, me, me, me!!!

John: I know what your revolution can be; you can be a better drawer. You are pretty good Mrs. Smythe, but you can do better.

Michelle: I think you should jog more.

Sarah: I think you should drink more coffee. Then you won’t forget where you put things all the time.

Karl: Uh, maybe you should lose some weight, like my mom.

Ryan: Why don’t you get a job at McDonald’s and make a lot of money? Then you could bring us Happy Meals…and buy us more presents!!

After a lengthy and fast paced discussion about all the many things the children thought I should work on, and other jobs I should consider, we talked about what things kids should think about when making resolutions. They were ready with their own resolutions, which they called revolutions!

My revolution is to lose weight and get in shape. (This from a kiddo who is skinny as a rail, but cute as a button…)

Mine is to eat healthy foods. All I eat is candy, you know.

I want to eat healthy foods and get stronger! I want muscles!

I want to earn some money so I can buy Island Barbie.

This discussion evolved into a conversation about what they were excited about doing in this New Year. The things they are excited about are things you would never, never hear an adult say that they are excited about. (Well, most of us, anyway.) This is what they can’t wait for!

I can’t wait to lose my tooth!

I can’t wait to ride a two-wheeler!

I can’t wait to get bigger! I want to get bigger and bigger and bigger. (Now that’s something you will NEVER hear me say.)

I can’t wait for this year cause my birthday is coming up! I can’t wait for my birthday! (Yeah, me too.)

I can’t wait for the dentist! I go to the prize box and get a new toothbrush. (All I got was a root canal and some painful x-rays…)

I can’t wait for the summer when I can get a new bathing suit and go to the pool! (Oh, I can’t even think about that.)

Their enthusiasm is fantastic and refreshing. It forces me to remember how it felt when everything you did was new, fun and exciting! When shopping for a bathing suit was just great, and you could even just grab one off the rack! (Oh God I wish it were still so…) When all you wanted to do was get bigger and older, and smarter! When losing a tooth was a natural thing, and did not involve anesthesia. I want to be excited about life again! I want to look forward to play dates, birthdays, prizes, riding a two-wheeler, the pool and new bathing suits!

Now, where is a star so I can wish upon it?

(It's a repost from years earlier, but I'm busy trying to build my list of revolutions for THIS YEAR. Any one have vanishing ink laying around???)

Looking for Mr. Charming. (Just ignore my wrinkles…)

2011-12-28T13:01:00.001-05:00

Dear P. Charming,

I can sense you standing in the other room, patiently waiting for me to emerge from my self-induced coma. I can almost feel your arms as they reach to wrap themselves around me, as you pull me close and tell me that I don’t have to worry anymore…that I will no longer be alone. I sense you there, waiting quietly for me to be ready. And I am almost there…

Almost.

First, let me just tell you a little bit more about this woman who has weathered many a perfect storm. I feel you need to know about the fragile heart that beats inside this independent façade; and then you can decide if this woman is the one that you want to love for the rest of your life.

I’ve been alone for a long, long time.

Yes, I have three very loud, obnoxious, bratty, wonderful, incredible and talented children who I would lay down my life for in a heartbeat. They came into this world and showed me the true meaning of pure joy and heart stopping fear, and left behind three fairly ugly scars. My doctor took pity on me several years ago and decided to add a larger, more hideous one when she removed anything that wasn’t nailed down. The fact that the incision came apart and required a crazy wound-vac only added to the scar’s beauty. And so while I am still 18 in my heart, this 52 year-old body has weathered several other storms.

And while I was married for 22 years, I was very alone for most of them. I went to parent/conferences, back to school nights, sporting events, banquets, picnics, celebrations and vacations with my children, alone. I’ve become accustomed to spending time with myself, and have long given up making excuses for why I’ve had to do this.

I’ve spent the last several years shedding this cloak of unhappiness and fighting like hell to reach the surface of this deep, dark ocean. I’ve felt those tendrils from the bottom reach up to pull me back down, and found myself shaking them off with strength I never knew I had.

While I’ve been alone each night as I lay in my bed, during the day I’ve been wrapped in the arms of some incredibly loyal and generous friends. They have shown me that I am beautiful, loving, talented, intelligent and worthy of only the best that this world has to offer. I, in turn, have tried my hardest to show my own children that the same is true for them.

And now, as I glance around the surface of this ocean I can feel the sun shine it’s light upon me, and it is incredible.

And so, Mr. Charming, if you are strong enough to hold this heart of mine without dropping it, by all means.

Give it a shot. (Apparently I’m not afraid of anything…)

She sets....she shoots...and she scores. (Sometimes my brain DOES work.)

2011-12-27T08:36:00.000-05:00

If you see two gorgeous girls walking around town in these, then you MIGHT be close to discovering who I really am.

I would have included Golden Boy's, but it's in the washer; already.

From my heart to yours....a merry, merry day.

2011-12-25T12:10:00.000-05:00

To all my incredible bloggy friends, I wish you the most merriest of holidays.

May your troubles be few, your heart be full and all your dreams come true. This is my wish for all of you, from the bottom of my heart.

For some of us who get a bit teary-eyed this time of year...

2011-12-23T22:41:00.000-05:00

(And as I continue to think of my departed loved ones on this holiday, I know that a smile and a chuckle is what they would expect from me. And what I, in turn, would love to provide for them....)

When I was teaching fifth grade I had a boy in my class named Brad. He was a very athletic kid who loved any game that involved running all out. It was early September that particular day and the kids had organized a game of kickball. The next thing I knew, Brad was running toward me with a look of shock on his face, screaming my name. As he got closer I looked at his leg and could see a deep, deep gash on his shin. (When he slid into third base the base flipped and the NAIL holding it down ripped his leg wide open.) I immediately tried to hold his leg together as we ran into our classroom. Still holding his leg, I sat him down and called down to the nurse from the classroom phone.

“This is Mrs. Smythe, Brad cut his leg open and I think we need to call 911. No, we can’t come down the hall, please come up.” Then, after my first ride in an ambulance, I decided there was one job that I could never, never do. Yeah, you guessed it - the school nurse.

A couple of months ago while doing a read aloud in the classroom, Rachel stood up and came up to the rocking chair.

“Mrs. Smythe, can I go to the nurse?

“Rachel, I am in the middle of a story right now. Can it wait?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Do you feel like you are going to throw up?”

“No. But I’m sick.”

“Do you have a fever?”

“What’s that?”

“Let me feel your head. Nope. No fever. Does your throat hurt?”

“Will the nurse send me home for that?”

“Rachel, are you really sick?”

“Well, not really. I would just rather be home playing right now.”

Every year I am always amazed at how brilliant kindergarten children are. It doesn’t take them long to figure out their ticket home. After the first child of the year goes to the nurse and gets sent home, it’s like a duck to water. Yesterday was no exception. My little Bruce wanted to go to the nurse, and when I told him that he really didn’t LOOK sick, he was adamant. So, against my better judgment, I took him.

Nurse: “So Bruce, what hurts?”

“Every time I blow my nose my ear hurts.”

“Well, how long has this been going on?” the nurse asked.

“Um, let’s see, about 52 weeks. Since 2007 at least.”

And with that, I gently took his hand, smiled at the nurse and marched him back to class.

I laughed so hard that I decided this column HAD to be dedicated to the school nurse. So, without further ado and with a shout-out to those incredible nurses in the trenches, here are their tales… and their quotes from the little ones:

“My ear hurts when I burp.”

“My lips are tired.”

“I’m leaking plasma.”

“I have a hernia in my knee.”

“I think my sister has the weasels.”

“My right eye is blinking.”

“Somebody Fwode up and it made me sick.”

“I had a crustacean on my eye.”

“I had to see the eye optimist.”

“My sister has mice in her hair.”

John had gone to the nurse complaining of being "gassy"

The nurse asked him when his last bowel movement was. He said "Umm, when I was about 3.”

Sure, there are many important things kids learn in kindergarten; letters, letter sounds, how to be a good friend, how to write words and how to read. However, there are other lessons that are learned quite by accident, and how to get the “go home for free” card is one of them. Now if you’ll all excuse me, I’m gonna take a trip to the nurse. I feel like I have to Fwoe up.

The Christmas Letter. (Go big or go home, my friends.)

2011-12-22T20:14:00.001-05:00

We recently lost a precious uncle to that incredible evil that begins with a c. He was an amazing man; gentle, kind, funny, generous, caring and always, always the first one to thank me for my Christmas Letters.

Every time I would see him he would mention them, and in fact last summer he begged me to start sending monthly Christmas letters. (I finally told him to just read my damn blog.)

And so, in honor of an uncle who I loved so very dearly, I will publish some of my old letters. I hope they bring a smile to your face, as I'm sure it will bring to his.

The good news is I finished my Christmas newsletter early this year. The bad news is, the girls found it and were so mortified that they stole all my copies and shredded them before I could get them out. We proceeded to have a screaming match that ended up with me making all sorts of promises. So, here it is: I am not allowed to talk about anyone being arrested, any phone calls from parents during sleepovers (use your imagination), screaming hormonal teenagers, calls from the high school, fighting with siblings, or anything that would embarrass them. That leaves me with nothin’. However, in the spirit of the Christmas newsletter tradition, I am willing to give this a shot. Here goes…

Bitchy is 18 now, and loves it here at home. She is the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen. She just loves her job at Wegmans making subs for the community at large, loves paying for her own gas and coffee at Starbucks, and can often be found playing board games with her sister and brother, after they’ve helped with dishes, laundry, cleaning and running errands for their mother. She is having so much fun in high school, and is sad about graduating and going away to school. In fact, she’ll probably go to Oregon State University and live at home because she loves us so much. Sassy is also just a doll. Aren’t all 15 year-old girls the best? She is sweet as can be, never yells at any of us for no reason, and can often be found sharing her clothes with her sister whenever she asks, or romping in the yard with her adorable 9 year-old brother. (They are very close.) She never yells at us, and is best friends with her older sister. The Golden Boy just adores his sisters as well. They never pick on him, hold him down, tickle him until he cries, spit on him, or treat him badly in front of his friends. They always go to his football games, and sometimes even go to his practices just to see him. And, when they held him down last week and told him there was no Santa, they were just kidding. He’ll probably stop crying real soon.

I am having a blast writing a monthly column for the local paper, and am trying to keep up with an accompanying blog. I still love teaching kindergarten, but am very exhausted at the end of the day, mostly from laughing, but also from keeping 20 six-year olds from hurting each other, peeing all over the bathroom floor and eating things off the carpet. Tightwad is enjoying his work on I-400 as a roadway supervisor, but has nothing to do with the road not opening on time! I’m keeping him busy trying to get him to finish all his jobs around the house, but he keeps sneaking off to camp to finish all the project out there! (Frankly, I’d rather he live THERE.)

Well, as always, peace and love to you all – The Vodka family.

P.S. If you want to read the original letter, it’s on my blog, and was read by over 4000 people. (psst…don’t tell the girls)

I told Bitchy I should not be wearing belts. (No one listens to me anymore...)

2011-12-20T21:37:00.003-05:00

I went to school today wearing an adorable pair of jeans that had an equally adorable belt to go with it. (Bitchy’s vain attempt to fashion me forward…)

We were preparing for what we knew would be a crazy day with kids stuffed with so much excitement that you can actually see it oozing from their pores.

Sasha came in dragging her lunch, folder, snack, hat, mittens and anything else she could possibly hold onto. She dropped them all in a heap and threw her arms around me for the morning hug.

“Hi, Sasha!” I said happily.

“Hey…” she said stepping back and pointing to my belt. “Is that your seat belt?”

I looked at her. “Yep!” I said. “It's my seat belt. I always wear it on the day before vacation, cause I know it’s going to be a bumpy ride!!”

Seat belt. Honestly, whoever writes HER material is golden.

Now God. You knock me out, and then send Travis to wake me up.

2011-12-19T18:26:00.002-05:00

The kids walked into school today and were performing their daily “housekeeping” rituals of signing up for lunch, putting their snacks in their cubbies and winding up to kick the teacher’s @$$

I was standing near my paraprofessional, Mrs. KeepsMeOutOfTrouble, searching for a funny spin on the whole “my car is dead and needs a tow” story. Right after the words came out of my mouth, Travis turned to me and said,

"Hey! My mom’s car is dead! Now it’s at the drunkyard.”

I looked at Mrs. Keeps and whispered, “How ironic. That’s where I plan on going tonight.”

Okay, where's the camera? (Isn't that Allen Ludden? or Allen Funt? Or Betty White? Wait,what were we talking about?)

2011-12-19T06:19:00.002-05:00

Six days until Christmas. SIX DAYS. And what do I find in my driveway all wrapped in a beautiful ribbon?

A dead car.

Now come on, Big Guy. I know you love messin' with me, but can't you PLEASE focus on someone else for a while? I'm not sure that even I can find the funny in this one.

I don't think I have enough thank you cards to go around. (So I made one BIG one. )

2011-12-17T08:01:00.004-05:00

(That angel? She lives next door....)

I’ve learned so many things on this little journey I like to call “saving my own life.” (Again, for God's sake...) I’m not just talking about changing taillights; fixing the toilet handle; programming channel changers or remembering to check the little do-hickey on top of the oil tank so that you don’t run out of OIL on the first 15-degree Saturday in December. (That resulted in a $550 bill. Apparently the oil company doesn’t care that you had $52.00 in your checking account. )

No, I’m not talking about those things.

I’m talking about the fact that God works in mysterious and marvelous ways. I know, I know, I don’t talk about God much on this blog. But that doesn’t mean that He doesn’t live in my house; because He does. And even though I’ve often joked that He loves to shake up my world and smile, I also know that He goes out of His way to make sure I’m okay.

I’ve often felt carried through some of the more painful events in my life, and for that I am thankful. But I’ve also realized that sometimes angels grab you by the shoulders and drag you along.

Last year, my angels had their work cut out for them. I spent each month just praying that I would make it; that I could pay my bills and help my children in any way I could. I spent each night lying alone in my bed, mustering the strength to continue my journey, and would discover each day that I would not be traveling alone.

And on those particular days that I felt broken, I would find a card in my mailbox or a package on my front porch. When I was pacing the floor trying to figure out what I could possibly sell to pay for Sassy’s car repairs, or some other necessary bill, I would discover that someone had sent me a donation on Paypal; and I would cry.

I just want to thank every angel out there who has held me, comforted me, listened to me and grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me up. And even though this journey is still in its infancy, I have finally gone from crawling to walking upright. And for that I am grateful.

And so Sharon, Amy, Braja, Elise, Lynn, Kevin, Leslie, MaryAnne, Anne, Suzy, my darling Anna, Sherri, Stacey, Janie, Rene, Joy, Brian, Chris, Cora, Eric, Sheila (the best bff a girl could have) and anyone else I have surely forgotten; you are the best examples of friends.

I thank you all from the bottom of my heart, and I wish you the Merriest of Christmases, the Happiest of Hanukkahs and the Fantastical of Festivuses. (Now, I'm off to try to pay it forward..)

(thanks for the pillow. It reminds me that in the end, love is all we need. But that love? It's the love you have to have for yourself.)

But SOMEONE has to feed the goats...

2011-12-16T17:18:00.000-05:00

On a snowy, December train ride into Cleveland, Ohio, in the year 1922, a five-year-old girl’s life would be changed forever. She and her mother had a chance encounter with a feverish young soldier who insisted that the girl sit on his lap. It seemed he had recently bid goodbye to a daughter just her age as he left for duty. She became deathly ill several days later with diphtheria. Fortunately for her family, they had a close friend who was a doctor that worked at the W.R.U. School of Medicine. They had a new serum that doctors were only beginning to use that would later become the diphtheria vaccine. She was one of the first children to receive the injections, for fourteen days straight, and by what was always called a Christmas miracle she lived. That little girl’s name was Genevieve, but we always just called her Aunt Jimmy.

She and my uncle Paul, along with their two boys, lived on a very sharp turn on a very busy Superior Road in Cleveland Heights, Ohio. Although we didn’t see them very often, our yearly visits were always preceded by great anticipation. As children we looked forward to these visits for many reasons, most important of which was that she was the best baker in town.

We knew that she would have freshly baked goodies. We knew that she would have lovely books for us as gifts. We knew that our Uncle Paul would take us to his musty basement and show us his newly polished stones, or other fascinating scientific discoveries. We knew we would be able to snoop through our cousin’s rooms- that were always filled with amazing toys and more scientific gadgets that they used in all their mad scientist experiments! We also knew what we thought our parents didn’t – that hidden in her attic, and tucked under large layers of clear wrapping paper was a magical, mystical, incredible candy-filled city.

My aunt and uncle were known far and wide (in Cleveland) for their incredible candy creations. They weren’t your ordinary candy houses. Oh no, to these young nieces and nephew they were mansions! The biggest and bestest candy houses ever known to mankind! My sister and I would sneak up into the attic when we thought no one was looking and begin the hunt.

We would find these creations and peel away the coverings to gently reveal the treasures underneath – exposing each architectural wonder. We stood and gazed at them for what seemed like hours, and to this day I can remember the smell and the feeling I had gazing at these wonders.

I am reminded of Aunt Jimmy’s candy houses each time I get ready to tackle the task of making them in my classroom. Although we’ve had to re-name them over the years (Christmas cottages, holiday houses, candy houses and finally, teddy bear cottages) the spirit in which they are made remains the same.

With candy, icing and confectioners sugar flying, the children burst with the excitement and joy of the season. And during the cottage construction, if you’re really lucky, you’ll be privy to some enlightening conversations:

“I don’t know why Joseph and Mary couldn’t have slept on a pull out couch at a friend’s house. That’s what we do.”

“I DID see Santa. I am not kidding.”

“Mom my made me give a dollar to Jesus. Now I only have nine.”

“My cousin celebrated Hanukkah and they lighted a Menudo.”

“And I know there was a star. And when you follow the star, it leads you to SANTA!”

And finally, I sent the children out the door covered with confectioners sugar, glitter, and a package of “reindeer food” that we magically mixed together with glitter, marshmallows and love. One of my little girls was asked by a child in another room what it was. Her response?

“I think it’s for the goats.”

She sells Christmas trees by the sea shore. Or something like that.

2011-12-14T20:33:00.000-05:00

I felt a tug on my sleeve this morning, and turned to see Jennie smiling from ear to ear.

“I know a tit-muth tong.” She said.

“Say that again Jennie?”

“I THAID, I know a tit-muth tong.”

“Oh, wait! A CHRISTMAS song! Christmas! Whew. What song is it, Jennie?”

“Oh Tit-muth tee.”

I have nothing else to say.

Today, Bitchy was the new black.

2011-12-13T17:59:00.000-05:00

I was driving Bitchy back to her apartment tonight after an exciting afternoon of doing her LAUNDRY and I might have brought up the subject we never seem to discuss; her grades.

“So, how are your finals?”

“My finals aren’t cumulative, so it’s fine.”

“But how are your grades?” I asked, tentatively.

“The usual. Mom, why do you ask? You don’t really care.” She said in the kind of voice that reminded me about why I might have dubbed her Bitchy in the first place.

“WHAT? Of COURSE I care. What are you talking about?”

“Oh shush, mother. I meant that you love me anyway. Basically, you’re just happy I’m alive.”

And she NAILS the ending. (again.)

Sometimes I think I'm the one that needs the ESL class.

2011-12-12T19:43:00.000-05:00

Mrs. Smythe, I found somesing on da floor. I sink it’s a raisin!”

“Throw it away, Sasha.”

“Wait, it's NOT a raisin. It’s a cockaroach!.”

“Throw it away, please Sasha.”

“It’s ok. It was NOT a cockaroach. It was a Taco Bell.”

I remember when I used to talk to fifth graders about Stonewall Jackson, Fort Sumter, The Revolutionary War, plate tectonics, prepositions, adjectives, onomatopoeia, similies, metaphors and fractions.

Today, I spent ten minutes trying to determine exactly what Sasha had found on the carpet.

I did not succeed.

News Flash: We're ALL human..

2011-12-11T10:32:00.001-05:00

I love you, Alec Baldwin.

I love you because you @(#* up, fess up, and then make us laugh.

And THAT, my friends, is the kind of person we should all be. We wake up, we make mistakes, we own it and move on.

It's the circle of life.

(But when you can laugh at yourself, that circle doesn't hurt quite so much....)

This time I KNEW who had chili for dinner. (Capital P.U.)

2011-12-09T16:44:00.000-05:00

Top five things I learned today while I was getting my @$$ kicked in k-town.

5. Don’t ask Jack about what he is eating in the middle of a read-aloud on the carpet. Well, unless you want to lose your appetite for the rest of your life. Then by all means, do it.

4. It takes about four hours to regain a tiny bit of your appetite after being totally grossed out about what boys on the carpet will put in their mouths.

3. If a five year-old boy sitting criss-cross applesauce on the carpet smiles and leans hard to the right while lifting his butt cheeks off the carpet, you might want to thrown on your gas mask. (I dare you not to laugh.) Oh, and prepare for a total loss of control of your class, your paraprofessional, your intern and YOUR OWN composure. (Lorne Michaels, I’m your new head writer.)

2. While you are now officially on the market and looking for the real love of your life, you may stumble upon a crazy spammer who is stalking you relentlessly in the hopes that he’s the one. Call me crazy, but telling me that you are going to boycott American Woman and calling me a whore might not be the best way to get my attention. (I’m going to VERY PICKY this time. If you don’t wear a stethoscope and respond to the words Code Blue, don’t come a callin’.)

1. When stopping at Wal-mart at 7:15 a.m on a Friday morning for markers, please check to be sure they are NOT the scented markers. Also, explain in your Friday newsletter why all the children came home with marker all over their noses. (“NO, we were NOT smelling the markers.” “Um, so why do you all look like Rudolph’s cousins on CRACK? HELLO? There’s no hiding the evidence on THIS one.)

Vodka. It’s not just for breakfast anymore.

We don't need no stinkin' sponge. (aka just another day in kindergarten.)

2011-12-09T06:40:00.001-05:00

“Hey, Mrs. Smythe!! Jack wrote on the table!”

After giving directions to my reading group I walked over to the scene of the crime and there was no sign of the writing on the table. Confused, I looked at Francis.

“Yeah, he wrote there but it’s gone. He licked it off.”

The scariest part? I wasn’t surprised.

( I apologize for the comment moderation implementation, but some crazed spammer is stalking me. He knows I'm available and is hoping for a date. He's sweet talking me by calling me a whore and what not. Carry on.)

Sometimes the God's remind you that you Do make a difference...

2011-12-07T21:24:00.001-05:00

THIS was the email I received today, from an intern I had TEN years ago. I loved her more than I can say, cause she was ME TO A TEE. She challenged me, frustrated me, lifted me and reminded me that life is GOOD. (Here's the note...)

Dear Mrs. Smythe and Smythe County Graduating Class of 2012,

You are the reason I remain in education today. Period. Mrs. Smythe, as my cooperating teacher, beyond all the technical and professional aspects of becoming a classroom teacher, you showed me the importance of love, laughter, and fun in our second grade classroom. I can’t begin to count the number of times we laughed with our students, with each other, and at ourselves. How many times did we find ourselves doubled over, with tears streaming down our faces because we both found something downright hysterical? How many times did our entire class burst into giggles because of something silly that one of us managed to do? It wasn’t scientific or something that one could even study, but you always remembered the importance of having fun, enjoying what the day brought, and loving your students. You created a warm, upbeat environment and I continue to try to create that environment wherever I find myself to this day. It is easy to become wrapped up in the uptight world of standardized testing, irate parents, and frustrated teachers, however, I continue to remind myself that it’s ok to take a deep breath and laugh a little. I am lucky that you continue to crack me up to this day!

As far as you, class of 2012, you have certainly come a long way in the past ten years! It seems like yesterday we were all navigating the unknown world of sink and float, odd and even, and reading Magic Tree House books together. When I was graduating, you all wrote me letters filled with advice for graduation day and beyond. Now, it’s my turn to share some of that advice back with you. Remember, on graduation day, smile and be proud of yourself, and try not to spin the little tassel on your hat during graduation - it will distract you! When you get your first job: do your best, don’t be late, and don’t give up! When you throw your hat up on graduation day, give it some power, and finally, ALWAYS smile, eat a healthy breakfast, wear something under your gown, and HAVE FUN!!

You are truly a unique group of individuals who has proven to me that education can and should be filled with fun, love, and laughter! As promised, I will see you on graduation day!

Love,

Miss ANONYMOUS

Today’s entry in the book of Kindergartenese. (This is the advanced class.)

2011-12-05T20:05:00.001-05:00

Buckle up.

1. Bair. “Dat’s not bair!”

2. Mishta. “Hasta la mishta, Mrs. Smythe!”

3. Peanuts a tenshun. “Mrs. Smythe, what did you say? I wasn’t peanuts a tenshun.” (No one listens to me. NO ONE.)

4. Crap. “Da kids went to Miss B’s room? Crap!” This is what the ESL child will say when she realizes that all the ESL children went to ESL without her. (Cause she wasn’t peanuts a tenshun.)

Crap? CRAP? I smell a rat: a tiny, adorable Chinese rat.

Note to the ESL teacher: When they can say curse words appropriately, I think they’ve tested OUT of ESL. Don’t you?

The top ten items you should buy for your newly separated friend who moved out of her house cause the other person wouldn’t. (aka The Divorced Woman’s Christmas List)

2011-12-04T07:37:00.002-05:00

My top ten must-haves for any friends you have might be thinking about shaking up their whole lives before the holidays. (But don’t actually count ‘em cause I’ve been known to get distracted and lose count.

10. A large wipe off calendar to hang in her pantry/kitchen/basement or garage. Please fill in said calendar for her with activities, coffee dates, happy hours and projects to keep her occupied and keep her mind off of the incredible challenges that will surely lie ahead. Sometimes if we have an inkling of what dangers lay ahead, we are too afraid to complete the quest. Distract her, my friends. Distract her.

9. A large shop-vac with many attachments. Odds are great that she won’t even realize she needs this until she moves into her new place and discovers that she needs to clean corners, fireplaces, closets, under sinks and other spots where mice might conveniently hide their poop.

8. Hundreds of mousetraps. If this person refuses to get a cat because she doesn’t want to become the lonely cat woman that everyone makes fun of, then be sure to give her plenty of mousetraps, rubber gloves, nose plugs and tiny garbage bags. (Also, please refer to item #1.)

7. Batteries; ALL kinds of batteries; D’s, C’s, AAA’s, AA’, AAAAA’s, X’s, and flat round ones. Also don’t forget the square ones for the smoke detectors that will go off in the middle of the night when not working and might force her to call her hunky neighbor who is still hiding from her after a crazy “Who’s your Daddy” microphone debacle. (Did I just use TWO semi-colons in one sentence? Jesus, I’m even impressing myself today.)

6. Flashlights. These go surprisingly well with the previous item, and are a must have when fixing the toilet, locating the fuse box, checking the fireplace flue and finding the cat who has gotten himself lodged into a space that was previously undiscovered. The flashlights are a must have, but are not something you remember to grab when leaving the home you’ve lovingly tended for 16 years. (And grab some extensions cords. For God's sake- grab the cords.)

5. A fully stocked spice cabinet. She’s gonna need ALL of it. Salt, pepper, paprika, celery salt, saffron, hot pepper flakes, vermouth, paprika, cinnamon, nutmeg, chicken broth, bitters, beef broth, vermouth, brown sugar, and all that other shit that you need in the middle of a recipe but have run out of. (Also refer to item #1.)

4. Stamps, envelopes, clips, sharpies and other various office supplies. She will use said envelopes and stamps to send notes, bills, child/spousal support payments to people who refuse to get a real job and anonymous gifts to others in need.

3. Cigars. Those small, deliciously flavored cigars are a lovely addition to the late night relaxing sessions on her quiet, lovely front porch. She will spend many an evening on said front porch swing using various items from her spice cabinet (Please refer to item #1), looking out at the incredible countryside and counting her amazing blessings.

2. A tool kit; a great big complete tool kit. She will use items from this tool kit EVERY SINGLE DAY. (You might want to tuck an extra toilet handle kit, a few gift cards to the local hardware store and some super glue. Trust me.)

1. Liquor; plenty and plenty of liquor. (Any vodka will do...)

Fred, Ted, Ned, Bed, Head, Thread, Dead. (My life is one big rhyme.)

2011-12-02T18:53:00.000-05:00

“What’s wrong, Sasha? You don’t seem like yourself this morning.”

“Nah. I don’t feel so good. I cranky!” she said with a pout.

“Well, I guess you got up on the wrong side of the bed.” I said with a smile.

Coloring, Francis said, “That never happens to me.” She looked at up and stated matter-of factly, “My bed is up against the wall.”

Of course it is.

I don't need to play the lottery, cause I've already won a million bucks. (aka you are your OWN knight in shining armor.)

2011-11-30T06:00:00.002-05:00


Two years ago when my daughters were home for Christmas Break, I looked at them and thought about the dreams I held in my heart for their futures.  Like any other parent, I wanted them to be strong, independent women. I wanted them to be appreciated, loved, honored, respected, treasured, and successful.

I wanted them to be everything that I wasn’t. Everything my mother probably hoped for me, but things that I had yet to find. That threw me for a loop.


I thought for a long time about what I had achieved in the fifty years I had been on this earth.


I treasured the wonderful childhood I had with two incredible parents and two equally great siblings. Oh sure, we fought like cats and dogs,and threw things through the house as we flexed our childhood muscles and our lungs. We were the busy family on the corner of Small Town Avenue and Navy Brat Street.


I thought about the ups and downs I had weathered over the years: the loss of my parents at an all too young age, the mistaken marriage to a person who was less than truthful about what our life could be.


I remembered the years in law school and the following decision to become a teacher, and that made me smile. Who needs a billion dollars and a life without worrying about bills when you can live month to month, drive a used Honda Accord and avoid the phone calls from creditors. Money? I laugh at the thought. I mold the minds of our future leaders. I can’t be bothered with a tiny thing like the phone bill.


I knew I was incredibly thankful for my three amazing children and the career I had fallen into. I couldn’t have asked for a more noble profession, to be sure. I was sorry, however, that I couldn’t provide the many perks that the friends of my children all enjoyed, and that made my heart a bit heavy.


I still remember taking my son to play at a fellow teacher’s house, and he said to her son, “Wow. Are you rich?” That was the first seed that was planted in my heart that slowly grew into my realization.


While I was proud of the fact that I have a great job and have supported our family for most of my marriage, I was heartbroken about the kind of life my children had witnessed.
And I vowed to change it. I vowed to take responsibility for my life. I knew that I was responsible for my own happiness and my own life. I had to take the reins and change my course to ensure my very survival. I knew that this, and this alone, would ensure the survival and the success of my own children.


I chose to show them through my own actions that we are in control of our own destiny. So now here I am, thankful for the woman I am and the woman I am yet to be.


I am the woman who has gone back to the gym, joined Yoga classes, started hiking in the woods, and still can’t lose those last 15 pounds. See that white flag? I’m flying it, people.


I am the woman who wakes up each morning and knows that each day is a new day. I greet the day with a smile and the hope that I don’t step into it at any time during the day. Sure, I usually do, but these days I have to laugh about it.


I am the woman who is not worried about who might have pissed me off or done me wrong because odds are great that I’ll forget all about it tomorrow and greet that person like a long lost friend. Time is short, people. Too short to be pissed.


I am the woman who doesn’t care if her mail is alphabetized or chronolologicalized. I pay the bills when they come, place them in a folder and sleep very well at night. (Just don’t look in my desk drawers if you’re OCD.)


I am the woman who will meet you for coffee, buy you a drink, pay for your coffee at starbucks if you are the car behind me, make you dinner, or share a funny story with you if you are in need. It lifts me more than it does you, and I am selfish that way.


I am thankful for my naturally brown hair (one of many gifts from my mother that kicks ass), my sense of humor, and my horrible long-term memory. My children are thankful for that, as well.


But today I am thankful for Francis. She’s the little girl in my class who handed me a magic eraser today. “Here, Mrs. Smythe, use THIS eraser! It erases lines!! I used it on my forehead and look! No more lines!! You should use it-cause if you got rid of those lines, you would look JUST like a little kid!”


And that, my friends, is one of the best parts of this journey. The little friends who lift me up push me forward and give me hope everyday that there is good in the world. And I am determined to be part of it.

Do you have a story about returning to a better version of yourself?  Leave me a comment and tell me about it; I'd love to share your success with you!
Also, check out the Pfizer page on BlogHer.com to read more blogger stories and prepare to be inspired!

Six days is entirely too long to be away from these people.

2011-11-29T15:37:00.000-05:00

The kids ran into school smiling, eager to share every single detail of their Thanksgiving Break. I welcomed them with open arms, having sorely missed their smiles and unconditional love. They filled me with tales of turkey dinner, grandmas and grandpas, trips on planes and swimming in motel pools. I was totally disausted ten minutes later, and shooed them into the classroom to take care of their morning housekeeping duties.

Sasha was a bit late as her bus is typically the last one to drop off students. She smiled, hung up her jacket and grabbed onto me for a big, big hug.

“I missed you SO SO much, Sasha! Did you have a wonderful Thanksgiving?” I asked with a smile.

“YES!” she exclaimed with a little jump into the air. And then she stood still and quickly frowned, remembering something very important.

“Well, I am also mad cause Santa didn’t bring me ANY presents!”

Um.

I looked at her. “Wait, is it January? Did I miss Christmas completely?” I turned to Ms. Perky, “Oh God I really DO have dementia.”

What I did on my Thanksgiving vacation. (AKA Even old cough dogs can learn new tricks.)

2011-11-28T09:32:00.001-05:00

The top six things I’ve learned over the last four days in no particular order. (The number 10 is highly overrated.)

6. If the billion-dollar spiral honey ham is “pre-cooked”, do NOT put it in the oven and go for a two-hour hike up the mountain. Unless, of course, you wanted to serve ham jerky for Thanksgiving dinner; then you’re golden.

5. When you smash your finger in the door after letting the dog in and then you throw your head down in pain and SMASH it into the skull of your dog, you won’t even remember the finger. Trust me. (What’s my name again? And why is my nail purple?)

4. Do NOT text your helpful hunky neighbor by using the microphone key on your phone. Instead of texting “This is Shmebbie” it might say “Who’s your DADDY?” and send it to him before you have a chance to cancel it. Yeah. He and his adorable girlfriend are hiding from me right about now.

3. The college campus police station is cleverly hidden behind the new five BILLION dollar science building. However, if you take your daughter there to discuss a minor infraction, they might be impressed that she didn’t HIDE it from her mother and in fact had said mother help her replace broken brake lights that caused the problem in the first place. (Note to everyone else- it takes 92 days for a 19 year-year old girl to get pulled over with a broken taillight.)

2. If you use the stupid microphone feature AGAIN on your phone (cause you like to learn lessons many times over) you might text your friend that you “want a picture of Zac Ephron” instead of “I need a pinch of saffron.” And of course, it will SEND and she will probably laugh at you ALL NIGHT LONG. And send you a picture of Zac Ephron.

1. You know those huge tires that are on your SUV? Well, apparently you have to put air INTO them. If you’re blissfully unaware of this and your vehicle runs like crap, your DAUGHTER might remind you of this and take you to a gas station. When adding said air to tires that have 15 pounds of pressure, (which means absolutely nothing to me) she may lecture you about car maintenance until you look at her in wonder. When were our roles reversed? WHEN?

Some day I’ll know all there is to know. (But by then I’ll be too damn old to enjoy it.)

Another Thanksgiving Column. (It's Groundhog's Day, only with Turkey.)

2011-11-25T19:42:00.000-05:00

(This was one of my earliest columns. I read it this morning and laughed all over again. I hope you do the same. I am in the midst of crazy divorce stuff, need some laughs and could use some positive thoughts. Send 'em quick, people. Send 'em quick.)

Every month after I finish my column I breathe a deep sigh of relief. Whew! Then each month, I panic! “What can I possibly write about next month? I’ll never think of anything! I’m doomed. “ It’s the same routine every month.

But, as Ray Barrone so eloquently put it at his brother Robert’s wedding, sometimes material just presents itself. (Remember when Marie Barrone stopped the wedding? I cracked up!) Well, what better way to end up with material in your lap, than Thanksgiving time? This month, as we all know, Thanksgiving comes early, which works out perfectly for me considering my deadline is right smack in the middle of the month. In kindergarten, we’ve started singing turkey songs, made turkey headbands, disguised our turkeys, colored our turkeys, and have even made turkeys out of apples. (Note to self- don’t give pointy toothpicks to 5 and 6 year old boys. Bad things happen.)

As we journey into this land of thankfulness, we have many discussions about why we celebrate this holiday. I asked the class what Thanksgiving was, and I got a variety of answers. Some said it was day where we thanked people, but most said it was a holiday about eating. Now, for some of us (okay, me) every day is a holiday about eating. There is definitely something to celebrate every day, right? I personally like to celebrate the fact that I made it through another day. Anyone with teenagers knows what I’m talking about.

Back to the Thanksgiving discussion- I proceeded to explain to the children why we eat on Thanksgiving. I got to the part where I told them that the pilgrims came across the ocean on the Mayflower and landed in our country, and at this point one young fella (the unfortunate guy who was absent when the Nittany Lion made the surprise visit to our classroom) piped up with a loud moan. “Aw, man!!! I always miss the good stuff! I was at my nona and poppie’s all weekend.” He felt better when I explained that this happened a long, long time ago. After a lengthy and confusing discussion, we talked about what we were thankful for. I told them some of the things I was thankful for, hoping to be a good example, and this is what they told me,

· I am thankful for my sister Heather’s kitty Pepper. I love her!

· I am thankful for my dog. He’s dead now. But, I am thankful for him.

· I don’t really know, but there is something stuck on my shoe.

· I am thankful for my Illinois Jersey

· I am thankful for my fish.

· I am thankful for my family. (YEAH!)

· I am thankful for macaroni and cheese.

· I am thankful for toys.

· I am thankful my mom borned me.

· I’m thankful for tissues. (So is the teacher.)

Some days it is hard to conjure up things that I am thankful for. There are many days when things just don’t go right. The bills are due, someone needs lunch money, it’s time for new winter coats (Why do kids have to grow?), that winter sport is not free, they need new shoes, haircuts, and the car battery is really, really dead. On top of that, the dog needs to go to the vet, grandma’s birthday is next week, the laptop died, Schlow library needs to be paid for that missing book, someone is screaming for money, and we could use a few groceries.

But then, when the hectic day is coming to an end, I sit back and relax. I think I can come up with one or two things I am thankful for. My children are healthy, fairly happy, and safe asleep in their beds right now. (The best time of day, don’t you think?) My parents might be gone, but I have a wonderful brother and sister that I am truly thankful for. I have great friends and co-workers who graciously carried my family through two tragic losses last year. (You know that social fund to which we all contribute each year to ensure that flowers and cards are sent to colleagues when needed? Well, it is not a good sign when you end up with all the cards and flowers.) I have a wonderful class this year, as always, with children who are caring, loving, and very, very funny.

Yeah, I’m thankful. When everyone’s in bed, the house is quiet and the day is done, you’re damn right I’m thankful.

You put WHAT in the pie????

2011-11-24T10:32:00.000-05:00

My first Thanksgiving after graduating from college was spent in gorgeous, sunny San Diego, a far cry from Clearstone, Pa! I was living with two friends, one girl from Tasmania (yeah, home of the devil) and another from West Virginia. (I’m not gonna say it.) Tasmanian Annie was unfamiliar with the many traditions that surround American Thanksgiving. Two high school friends of mine, Gregg and B.J., were stationed at the Navy base in San Diego, and together we all tried to explain to her some of the basics of Thanksgiving Day. After listening to what we had to say, Annie eagerly volunteered to make the pumpkin pie.

Thanksgiving finally arrived and we gathered for an incredible feast with B.J. and his wife. Everything was delicious! And then it was time for dessert…

Annie took the idea of pumpkin pie very literally. She had used the whole pumpkin to make the pie – every single part of the pumpkin. It was a crunchy, vegetably, salty mess. It was the most disgusting thing I have ever eaten in my life, and I still have nightmares about it at this time of year.

That pumpkin pie recipe quickly came to mind after a discussion of recipes with my kindergarten class. This, of course, was preceded by a hilarious discussion about what Thanksgiving was all about. When I asked them what it meant, I got the stuff I know you've been waiting for:

“Thanksgiving? That’s when Jesus was born! “

“No, Thanksgiving is when Jesus died…”

“Thanksgiving is when we sit in our dining room and pray. We just pray.”

“Yeah, it’s when we put lots of stuff on the table and eat!”

“It’s the time for mashed potatoes!”

“It’s when you hang up yellow, red and orange around your house!”

“Thanksgiving is when we eat Matzo.”

As we talked about the Thanksgiving feast, and what kinds of foods are typically eaten, the children began telling me how to prepare the foods. This was such an impressive discussion, that the children decided that people in State College needed their recipes. So, here are some tried and true recipes to make your Thanksgiving meal a success.

Turkey:

Dan- You put wrapping paper all over it and put it in the oven for 29 minutes. Make sure the tempature is 49 degrees.

Jimmy: You take the turkey out of the bag, you put salt and pepper on it, and cook it for 20 minutes at 42 degrees.

Mashed Potatoes:

Ruth- You take the mashed potatoes out of the bag, you microwave for 20 minutes, squish it all togedder and that’s it.

Stuffing:

Ethan: You take peas, carrots and celery and you mix it all together for stuffing.

Gravy:

Jimmy and Ethan together – you take water, ketchup and mustard and salt and pepper and you put it on the counter for 20 minutes. Then you mix it with ½ inch of salt and that’s gravy.

Pumpkin Pie:

Jimmy – You put crust in the pan, put the seeds and everything in it; you put some batter in it and cook it in the oven for 26 minutes on 20 degrees. It burns very easily, so you have to watch it. Ethan added “you do NOT put the goo in it.”

Taylor – For the pie you just cut the pumpkin in half, mix it all together and cook it in the oven for 10 minutes at 80 degrees. (I think that perhaps Taylor got her pumpkin recipe from Tasmanian Annie.)

Sure, Thanksgiving revolves around the food, but mostly I think that Thanksgiving is about memories. My memories are tucked away inside my heart like gifts that I open every November. They include many a gathering at 6 Turnpike Avenue; the smell of a stuffed Butterball turkey baking in the oven; the sight of my mother Annabelle, laughing with my sister in the kitchen with an apron tied around her waist; and the sound coming through the window of my brother and his friends playing a rousing game of football in the vacant lot behind our house.

These memories mingle together, along with those forged far away from home, and warm my heart at this special, special time of year. Now, if only I could forget about the putrid pumpkin pie, the day would be perfect.

(I am thankful for all of you this year, my friends. More than you know...)

Sometimes we have to reach way back for the strength we will need tomorrow.

2011-11-22T22:28:00.001-05:00

I am reposting this for the hundredth time today, because I am in need my mother's love. Some days I feel her arms around me, and can almost hear the whisper of her voice…if I listen very, very carefully.

Her Name was AnnaBelle...

Dear Mom,

I’m getting really good at not thinking about you. In fact, sometimes I go many days without remembering the fact that you’ve been gone for over 25 years now.

However, when I saw on the news that Natasha Richardson had died - the very same way you did, it shook me to the core. I remember when you fell in your kitchen, and had a terrible headache that night. They sent you home from the ER, and the next day you lost your sense of taste. On your next trip to the ER, they kept you and put you in ICU after discovering that hematoma at the base of your skull. You didn't want anyone cutting into your head, and convinced them to try to dissolve it with medication. It wasn’t many days after that we lost you.

You were 48 years old.

So, forgive me if I allow myself a little moment tonight to think about you.

I miss your incredible sense of humor.

I miss the way you would pretend to be on sit-up number 50 in the living room when I would walk in.

I miss the way you would pee your pants from laughing so hard on the phone with your closest sister, Aunt Shirley.

I miss the smell of fresh baked sour-dough bread.

I miss the way you would scream in horror in the middle of my beam routines in gymnastics. I knew it was you.

I miss the way you would scream at me when I talked back to you and never did anything you said. (And now I can totally relate.)

I miss the way you always made me feel special, valuable, intelligent, beautiful and strong.

Mostly, I just miss you.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m thinking I need to go back to Starbucks and let the girl at the drive-in window know the reason I was crying when I picked up my coffee today.

I caught myself off-guard with some tucked away memories.

The mailman cometh...

2011-11-21T17:54:00.001-05:00

Most days I come home from school and find my mailbox stuffed with various items.

Typically the items are bills from crazy people wanting money. People like, say, the power company, the water company, the trash company, the phone company, the lawyer company, the insurance company, the credit card companies, the oil company, the child support/spousal support company, the company I borrowed money from to pay the other companies and others I'm too exhausted to mention.

But, once in a while, I get something that helps me sleep at night without worrying about all the above-mentioned companies.

Thank you Maine Made Superior Vodka Company. Today, you made my mailbox smile.

And I for one needed a lift right about now. (If it only held million dollar doubloons, then my life would be just about perfect.)

Made in China. (If Frank doesn't have a TV show soon, then someone has clearly missed the boat.)

2011-11-18T21:56:00.003-05:00

I ran into Frank yesterday.

I was leaving the cafeteria and he was walking down the hall towards his classroom. He was as thrilled to see me as I was to see him, and he grabbed my hand as we walked together down the hall. (Sure he ran a hundred miles an hour and practically knocked me over, but who's counting.)

He began to fill me in on everything he could think of, and it didn’t take him long to get to the punch line. “And I was watching a show called Family Guy last night!” he said quickly, “They kept talking about China.”

“China?” I asked. “You mean the country China?”

“No, China!” he shouted. “CHINA!” He said emphatically as he pointed to his nether-regions.

Oh good Lord.

China.

In the tiny part of the world where life is always good.

2011-11-17T19:12:00.000-05:00

I was preparing a cute game for math today, but wanted to try it with someone first to see if they could do it. The kids were working in their journals, and I whispered to Francis who was conveniently at my table.

“Psst! Francis! Can you take a break from journal writing? I need you to be my guinea pig!”

She smiled and said “Sure!” She closed her journal and looked at me.

I handed her the dice, paper and markers and started to explain the game when she interrupted me.

“Wait, Mrs. Smythe,” she said dramatically, “I don’t really WANT to be a guinea pig. Can I just be a unicorn instead?”

(Pause while I laugh out loud again.)

“You bet.” I said.

And so we played “Unicorns toss the dice and decorate muffins.”

And it was splendid.

Even the devil is horrified. (I'll lose a billion followers, but I don't know how to count past 20 anyway.)

2011-11-15T21:13:00.002-05:00

SNL?? I have never loved you more than I do now.

Cause even the devil knows when something wicked this way comes.

(Buckle up, everyone. I have a feeling it's going to be a long, bumpy ride...)

Multiply this conversation by 20 and you have my day.

2011-11-15T06:57:00.000-05:00

“Boys and girls it’s time for gym! If you’re a packer please get your lunch and line up. The rest of you may line up as well. We’re going to leave our lunches outside the gym like we always do, and then we’ll just head next door when gym is over."

“But Mrs. Smythe, Mrs. Smythe, Mrs. SMYTHE! I’m hungry NOW! I’m hungry right now!” Sasha whined as she stood beside me and yelled relentlessly at me during my whole line- up speech.

“Sasha, please wait." I said calmly, "I have to yell at everyone before I can talk to you.”

“NO!” She yelled s she stomped her foot. “I want to eat lunch right now!”

“Sasha, we just had our snack 30 minutes ago, and will go to lunch right after gym. You have to take your lunch and please line up.” I explained, in my best firm teacher voice.

“If I don’t eat my lunch right now, my stomach is going to get very mad!” She pouted.

“And if you don’t line up right now, the teacher is going to get very mad and then we might have to call mommy and talk to her about it.” I explained quietly.

She looked at me intently, turned, grabbed her lunch and marched to the end of the line.

And that’s how we roll in kindergarten.

Things the Barefoot Contessa WON’T tell you. (aka, It might look delicious and amazing, but it wasn’t pretty.)

2011-11-13T19:21:00.002-05:00

People do many different things when under stress. Some people eat, some people go on a run; some people pull out all their hair, some people bite their fingernails, some people clean their houses like a crazy madwoman.

Unfortunately, I like to cook.

Typically, as all my friends know, I bake bread. If they come to my house and I have bread rising on the stove, or cooling on the counter they know something is up. Today, after all that we’ve been through around here, I decided to up the ante. I pulled out all of the items I stole from my sister’s pantry the last time I visited her. (That’s another story in itself, but you could live for five years on the items in her pantry. Well, as long as you’re not afraid of a tiny thing like expiration dates.)

I scoured my pantry and discovered a bag of caramels, blocks of semi-sweet chocolate, some cake mixes and a lovely bag of what appeared to be chopped hazelnuts. Those I purchased myself last summer for a reason that currently escapes me.

After googling that combination, I discovered what appeared to be a simple recipe. That was my first mistake.

First, mix the cake mix with evaporated milk and melted butter. Be sure not to melt the butter in a microwave without covering it, and for God’s sake DON’T press the wrong button and cook it for twice as long as you should. (Butter is not meant to be brown. Note to self.)

Then, spread the very thick batter in a brownie pan. It will be thick and might require a five- ton rolling pin to spread it around. If you’re lucky, you’ll realize about 3 minutes into baking it, that you are to spread HALF of the mixture in the pan and save the rest for the TOP. Oooops.

The first three minutes of the eight minute baking time will soften the mixture enough to allow you to SCOOP out half of it with a spoon and makes the spreading of the rest of the batter still in the pan MUCH easier. (I’m going to email the Contessa this little recommendation. I’m sure she won’t mind.)

In the middle of this hectic oopsy daisy fix-up of the mix-up, you are to be melting the caramel with some evaporated milk in a double boiler. (Not the birdy-boiler! I can’t help it. I think of that EVERY time I hear the word boiler.)

Do you know how long it takes to unwrap a 14-oz bag of probably expired individually wrapped caramels? A long, damn time. (Start a week before you want to cook.)

When you finally MacGuyver a double boiler out of pans in your cupboard and begin the melting process, you’re a tad behind schedule. This requires a glas of wine, maybe TWO, and a deep breath.

While the caramels are cooking, you are supposed to spread the semi-sweet chocolate chips on top of the first layer of cake/brownie mixture. Now, because you only have blocks of semi-sweet chocolate, you’ll have to put them in a baggie and smash them with your heavy Kitchen Aid can opener. Handy Tip: Use the smooth end and not the one with the sharp opener contraption on it. Just trust me on that one. Oh, and cover the counter before you attempt to smash the hell out of the blocks of chocolate.

Spread the incredibly ugly chunks along the first layer, and then drizzle the melted caramel on top. Be sure to hold the pan with your right hand/arm, and not the one that you injured when you tried to lift the five thousand pounds of salt out of your car this morning. That’s when you might discover that you probably tore something mighty important in your arm.

After dropping the remainder of the cake mix on top of this brownie/caramel extravaganza, you can finally put it in the oven for 20 more minutes. Don’t bother cleaning up. Just take the bottle of wine into the living room and ignore the kitchen.

Sure, the caramel brownies are amazingly sweet and decadent. But I don’t think I’ll be performing on the Food Network anytime soon. Unless they want me for cooking bloopers; then, I’m their girl.

Hands-DOWN I’m their girl.

Ill winds mark it's fearsome flight,  and autumn branches creak with fright.  The landscape turns to ashen crumbs,  when something wicked this way comes...

2011-11-11T21:03:00.002-05:00

I wanted to share a funny story today. I wanted to share one yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. But I can’t.

It’s so hard to put into words what is happening to the hearts of all who have made their homes here in the happiest of valleys. It’s hard, hard, hard, but I’ve got to give it a shot. I’ve got to talk about it one more time, and then maybe I can find a place to store it in my heart and my mind. I don’t intend to hide it, but I want to try to find a place where it won’t stop me from functioning.

Most of us here are walking around in a shell-shocked daze. We are numb. We are so horrified that we can’t even clear our minds enough to grasp the magnitude of what has happened.

But we know it’s bad.

We live in a small town. We have seven elementary schools, two middle schools and one large high school. There are five grocery stores, (not including the Wal-Mart superstores) two community pools, one library, a small mall and a number of stores downtown. We also are the home of one large university with award-winning academic programs; numerous professors who are highly regarded in their fields; a new law school; and a well-known football program.

We know each other.

We teach the children of most people who work at the university, along with the kids in our own neighborhoods. All of our children, from main street to alley, know each other. They all play sports together, attend banquets together, go to parties, playoffs, dances and so many other things that I can’t even begin to name them.

We know each other.

And so we are all trying to come to terms with what our hearts are feeling. We are mourning the loss of innocence and the endless number of lives that were destroyed by the actions of one terrible person. We are also mourning the lives of those that will be destroyed by the lack of action of many people.

But the one thing that I think about each night before I fall asleep is this.

I see the face of a young boy. He is in the shower, being tortured by a man he trusts– and he sees the face of another, the face of someone who can save him! And then just when he thinks he’s saved, that person turns his back, and walks away.

And he is left alone.

That, my friend, is the only thing I think about at the end of each day. And it makes me sick.

You knew it was coming. (Things aren't so happy in the valley.)

2011-11-08T19:06:00.002-05:00

I have been a teacher for 24 years.

I have been a mother for 22 years.

I have been a person with a beating heart for 52 years. I have had a conscience and a high level of empathy for at LEAST 30 of those years. (Let’s just forget about those teenage years, shall we?)

As a teacher, mother, and most importantly a person who cares for the welfare and well being of children, I am both horrified and heartbroken over what is transpiring tonight over there in the happiest of valleys.

Yes, I’m talking about the scandal that has finally been uncovered at Smith and Wesson University. It’s not one of embezzling; it’s not one of money laundering; it’s not one of forgery; or even gambling or paying off recruits. It’s a scandal that hits to the heart of what is evil in this world. And you know of what I speak.

I am not going to go on and on about this person or that person. I am not going to blame a young assistant who was listening to the advice of the very men he trusted and respected. I am going to talk about what we can all learn from this horrific turn of events, and how we might be sure that each of us is vigilant when protecting the youth of our community.

THIS is our most important charge: protecting those who cannot protect themselves.

We cannot cover our ears when we hear something that we don’t want to hear. We cannot harden our hearts when we think that surely an accusation against someone we have come to trust cannot be true. We cannot pass the buck and purge it from our hearts and minds.

Yes, we must be careful to weigh the facts to ensure that people are not unjustly slandered or wronged. We must allow voices to be heard and decisions to be made, but it must be done in the proper venue- and I don’t mean behind the closed door of an office in the middle of a college town. And when it involves a child? A CHILD? We must use our best, most incredible due diligence to ensure that what is whispered about behind closed doors is brought to light.

But that cannot happen if the most horrific of crimes are locked in a closet: a closet that is only opened when the long and heart-wrenching distant cries of a mother are finally heard.

May God help those children who have suffered; may he wrap the children, the mothers, and the families in comfort and love.

And I ask that we find it in our hearts to keep from pointing at others, and that we remember that truth begins in our own hearts.

If you see a wrong, it is your responsibility to try to make it right.

It begins right here. Right. Here. (And you know where I’m pointing, people. It’s big, red, and beats a billion times a minute.)

Let us pray.

(We are crying for many reasons, here in Smythe, Oregon. Crying, Reeling, and searching for ways to reach out to those who really need our comfort. )

The Frank Man Come-eth. (aka You can check out, but you can never leave.)

2011-11-08T06:42:00.000-05:00

Our little rascal has been busy learning all about what happens in the "real world" in his first grade classroom. Yes, I miss him terribly.

Fortunately, he has found a way to keep me smiling.

I was walking down the hall after depositing the children in the lunchroom, when I heard Suzy yelling my name.

"Mrs. Smythe! Mrs. SMYTHE!!!"

She was leaving the Title One classroom and was heading back to her own room. We hugged, and she took my hand as we made our way down the hall. At that moment, Frank's class was making their way to the lunchroom.

He smiled and gave me a high-five, and then he and Suzy gave each other a quick, enthusiastic hug. (Yeah, we're huggers. We're the Hugger Family- five thousand and counting.)

As Frank walked (RAN) away to join his class, Suzy yelled after him, "Frank! I hafta talk to you at recess. And it's BAD!"

She turned back to me and we continued down the hall. "What was that about?" I asked her.

"Well, he flipped me over on the bus!" she said dramatically. "He flipped me OVER! And that is BAD!"

"Yikes!" I said. "He flipped you over??What happened?"

We stopped in the hall as she turned to face me. She looked at me wide-eyed and held up her fist. She held her fist in her other hand and said, "He did this, and he used THIS finger and he flipped me OVER! And that is BAD! That is a BAD FING!"

And as she held her middle finger up and shook it with all her might, I had to agree. It was a bad, bad fing.

But that's a particular talent he learned all on his own.

Some Days I think Tim Gunn is going to jump out of the closet. (Cause we are fashion, people. WE. R. FASHION.)

2011-11-03T17:37:00.000-04:00

Sure, Francis rocked the Shoes of the Day (Minnetonkas, no less)...

But her bestest friend Sasha hands-DOWN had the Ensemble of the Day.

And, to quote her verbatim after she read a Level B book all by herself, "Holla!"

Holla, indeed!!!

Operation Occupy Candyland. (AKA Halloween + Candy + little kids who steal candy in the morning = Bedlam.)

2011-11-02T17:31:00.002-04:00

At the end of SOME days, I choose children to take a trip to the prize box. It’s an incredible classroom management tool that works WONDERS. (Honestly, whoever said bribery doesn’t work has NEVER worked with children.)

I try to ensure that most kids make a trip at least once a week, and it has really helped some children think about their actions, and how those actions impact others. (Well, at least I pretend that it does.)

At the end of the day today Jackson (aka The Spoon that Stirs the Pot) came up to me and said in a whiny voice, “Why can’t I go to the prize box?”

I looked at him in shock.

“Really? You don’t have any idea at ALL about why you are not going?” I asked surprisingly.

“No!” he said honestly, shrugging his shoulders.

“Well, let me see.

FIRST, you were yelling at the ipad center this morning, and playing on everyone else’s iPad. Then when you turned around to see if I was looking, you knocked the billion-dollar iPad to the floor.

THEN, at the Play Doh center, I saw you putting Play Doh in your mouth, nose and on your eyes. You didn’t see me coming, because your EYES were covered with black PLAY DOH.

THIRD, you were chasing everyone around the track screaming like a banshee when we were doing Track and Snack. The WALKING Track and Snack that we’ve tried to WALK for the last 44 days of school.

FOURTH, you were cocking your pretend rifle and shooting everyone in the cafeteria during lunch. The WHOLE TIME during lunch, according to the four different lunch helpers who tried to convince you to put your “weapon” away.

FIFTH, during my read-aloud after lunch, you decided to throw grenades at everyone throughout the story. And while I might find that amusing if I were teaching an ROTC program, I don’t typically encourage that in kindergarten.

And LASTLY, after all the reminders and attempts at re-directing your energy, you decided to play WWW SMACK-DOWN during recess and might have been the reigning champion if Francis hadn’t come to tattle about what was happening behind the climbing wall. Her bloody lip and wounded pride compelled her to protect the others. I’m pretty sure.

But you know that even ONE of those reasons is enough to get you off the prize box list. All of them TOGETHER earns you something else entirely."

He looked at me. “I get something ELSE? What is it? Is it good?”

“Just let your mom and dad know I’ll be calling tonight. Then tomorrow morning you can tell me if it was good.

Now, hand over the lego man in your pocket, get your coat and backpack and get ready to go. I’m happy to say that his day is FINALLY OVER.”

Would you like fries with that?

2011-10-31T17:16:00.000-04:00

Today was the day we celebrated Halloween in kindergarten, which was quite convenient, as it really IS Halloween! (My head is pounding and to be honest I'm not sure I lived through it.)

I wore an adorable and uncomfortable “hot dog” costume that belonged to the son of another kindergarten teacher, and my paraprofessional wore a hamburger costume that was worn by her son last year.

We went together like mustard and ketchup; we were two peas in a pod. Frankly, I think we were incredibly clever. But guess what? We were not nearly as clever as Francis.

“HEY! Mrs. Smythe!” she yelled excitedly across the room, “ You know what? If YOU get hungry, you can eat Mrs. Jones. And if Mrs. Jones gets hungry then SHE can eat YOU! And since you guys are friends, it would be okay!”

Try keeping a straight face after that revelation.

(Let the candy gorging begin.)

I hope you all brought your permission slips.

2011-10-31T07:41:00.000-04:00

Yep, we're heading on a field trip. I'm over here today- after an interview with a friend of mine.

Just remember, NO singing on the bus. (I have enough around here to give me a headache.)

The (e)merge.

2011-10-29T14:30:00.000-04:00

I was alone in my classroom this morning preparing for the second day of parent/teacher conferences. I glanced at the white mesh butterfly house perched on top of the wooden kitchen in the playroom, and said a quiet good morning to the chrysalis’s sleeping inside. They were formed in the last week or so, and varied in size and shape. I knew they would need at least another week of deep sleep before they emerged as beautiful monarch butterflies. (Or at least I hoped they would.)

I was wrong.

One of the tiny pods clinging to the roof of the net house had turned a dark brown overnight, and I immediately decided it was my “gifted” butterfly. Apparently insects, as well as children, bloom when they are good and ready, and not one minute before or after. My heart leapt, a mix of excitement for what the day might bring, and disappointment that the children weren’t there to share it with me.

I returned to my table and enjoyed a busy morning of conferences, sharing successes and goals for the coming school year. During my lunch break I remembered the miracle occurring in the kitchen, and ran back to check its progress. Ms. Perky peeked into my room, and together we marveled at life's miracles. We perched on stools and watched in wonder as the monarch slowly emerged from its cocoon. Its wings slowly unfurled bit-by-bit, and its antenna rolled down its back. Each foot grasped onto the fragile cocoon, instinctively holding on while it stretched and opened for the first time in its life.

I was transfixed, speechless as this miracle unfolded along with the orange and black wings.

It spent the afternoon drying itself and stretching its wings. Before I left for the day, I reached into the cage and held out my finger as the butterfly gingerly stepped aboard. I walked carefully outside and stood in the sun with my arm outstretched. My heart skipped a beat as I gently tossed the fragile being into the air and watched it slowly flap its wings.

It flew, a bit wobbly at first, and I stepped back. I put my hand at my side and moved even farther back, allowing it to fly on its own, tentatively at first and then with the ease and grace that I knew it possessed.

I watched it fly away and knew in my heart that this simple act is what I repeat twenty times each year. It’s my charge, my life’s work and my passion.

I help the children that enter my classroom settle into their comfortable learning cocoons. I wrap them in words, sounds, stories, opportunities, challenges, wonder, security, warmth and love. They perch in the classroom, along with all the other cocoons, and they awake when they are ready. Some will open their wings and fly a bit early, and others will wait until they feel they are ready.

But in the end they will all open their wings, and I will gently toss them in the air and sit back and watch them soar.

The Morning Meeting; Frankly, it's the best part of the day.

2011-10-28T06:31:00.000-04:00

I remember my senior year at Hicktown High School I was both shocked and thrilled to be voted “Most Outgoing” by my fellow classmates. (We won’t mention the year.) I might have been even MORE thrilled had I been voted Most Beautiful or Most Likely to Succeed, but was thrilled and surprised nonetheless. I like to think that I received this honor because of my happy nature and my ability to make friends – two characteristics that I owe to my upbringing as a “Navy Brat.”

My father, a JAG officer, brought us up with some very strict rules. You treat your elders with respect, you respond when people greet you and you listen when spoken to. Some days I feel that these very basic rules of courtesy have been somewhat neglected in the busy-ness of our lives. (I’m just as guilty as everyone else.) The one rule that really sticks out to me is very basic. When meeting someone, or greeting a friend, you look them in the eyes and shake their hand. That is a rule that many teachers have incorporated into the beginning of each day with something we call “The Morning Meeting.”

Morning Meeting, a crucial part of my day, is a great way to build community, set a positive tone, increase excitement about learning and build those basic social skills. It’s founded on the principles that each child is important and should be given some time and attention each day. Let’s just say that some very important people doing very important research have published very important papers on this very important topic. Teachers incorporate Morning Meeting into their daily schedules not because research tells us to, but because we know in our hearts that it is essential to build community.

During sharing time we get a peek into their lives, and give them a peek into ours. We hear about pets being naughty, a skinned knee, brothers being bad, visits fromthe tooth fairy, and remote trips to Africa. Most of the time this sharing can snowball into a chain reaction. Here’s an example of a recent “sharing” episode:

“I went to Egypt last night.”

“Last night my mom and date had a date in the bathroom.”

“Last night my mom let my dog poop in the house.”

“My dog ate my dads chips while he was watching TV.

"Oh… one time I ate potato chips!"

"My dad got poker chips for his birthday"

"Hey, my mom's birthday was last week!"

"When’s my birthday?

“Hey, my birthday is in the next season.”

“Today is the second day of the season of fall.”

“Fall? I falled off my bed last night.”

Yeah, our morning routine is made up of many ordinary moments. We greet, we share, we play a community building game and go over the schedule of the day. But, sprinkled throughout this routine is often an extraordinary moment. The morning that our precious girl Julia, who had been a selective mute most of the year, decided to greet her neighbor Hailey, and then turned to greet Ben. That was a moment I’ll never, ever forget. It brought tears to my eyes and cheers to the mouths of her fellow students. Had we not spent many a day laying the foundation of trust, compassion and “sharing” we might have missed this special moment when Julia felt safe enough to say hello.

We know tests are important; we know kids need great scores to for college and schools need high test scores to maintain funding. (Thanks George.) We also know that parents want to be proud of their children’s achievements. But, as teachers, we never, never forget one of our most important jobs, helping EACH child feel important and valued. When we teach each child that caring about their fellow classmates and their community is an important lesson, we are helping them, their classmates, and ultimately their community.

(And a little funny story never hurts.)

If I could find it, I would totally do it.

2011-10-27T06:42:00.000-04:00

She might be the death of me. (But I'll be laughing as I draw my last breath.)

2011-10-25T19:22:00.001-04:00

The kids attend their “special” classes once a week. These include library, gym, art and music. They love these classes ALMOST as much as the teachers who drop them off do. (Bring ‘em early and pick ‘em up late. BEEPL, my friends.)

Today I slipped into the music room a bit early because I always love to watch the singing and dancing that our amazing music teacher inspires each week. (She’s hands-DOWN incredible. I kid you not.)

I tried to slip into the room unnoticed, but quickly saw Francis sitting on one of the risers a bit away from the group. (What a surprise.) Her arms were crossed and she raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders when I glanced her way.

I sat next to her without a word, and watched the class quietly. Mrs. Periwinkle said to the class very dramatically, “Now, we’re going to sing that song one more time- and use your best, most beautiful voices!!”

Francis turned to me as if we were two friends lounging at the pool talking about the woman in the bikini, and said “She always says that.” And with her hand in front of her mouth so only I would hear, “She’s kind of crazy that way.”

God I love that girl. L. O. V. E.

(And five-years old? I think THIRTY-five is more like it. Her real self is inside her mother's body combing the town for the woman with the fortune cookie who cast the spell upon them.)