Let's Run Together 26.2 (2011)

So my brother said to me, "How about we run the Chicago marathon?"

Over 500 miles of training, running in four different states and six months later, there we were.

The whole experience of the marathon was incredible. First off, it was amazing to walk around the city and see so many other people who you knew would be running on Sunday (you could recognize them because everyone had to cart their "Participant Bag" around the city). There was a great sense of community from both participants and spectators. Over 45,000 people were slated to run, and over 1.4 million people were going to be lining the course along the way. It was the experience of a lifetime for so many reasons. Here are several of the highlights/details of the race:

Mileage exertion:

miles 1-10: no work at all At the beginning of the race I kept getting zings of energy. I was so excited and pumped up that I thought I could probably just float to the finish line. It was still relatively cool at this point, and the sights and sounds of the crowd were incredible. I have a mental snapshot of running under the bridge at about mile 1; there were people lining both sides of the streets, going up to the bridge, and on top of the bridge. Everyone was going crazy, and the energy swell was something you could literally feel.

11-16: work At this point the sun was up and beating down on us pretty good. The blacktop was warming, so I was starting to feel baked. I started running through every sprinkler station. I also started drinking 2-3 cups of water at every aid station. Which is also when I made the first bathroom stop.

16-20: a struggle I needed to find a bathroom again. Stat. This was where I was running a mile at a time, waiting for the next aid station where I could get some more water. Thinking to myself, there's a banana coming up, there's a Gu packet coming up....

20-22: i think i can One foot in front of another.

22-26.2: pure gut Almost there. Gut it out. You can do it. Walk a little if you need to. Pick it back up. Walk a bit more. Pick it back up. I hit the wall at about 22 miles. I knew I'd finish, but it was sheer will power putting one foot in front of the other. The night before the race, the door of the L sliced my toe and so I was really feeling it toward the end. I knew my sock was bloodied and my toenails were aching. But I knew it was almost done. This is where we saw Aaron along the course. He ran with us briefly & told us he was hoarse from screaming for us a few miles earlier on the course. I wanted to sprint the last .2, but I just didn't have it in me. I gave it everything I had, took in the last 800 meters, and crossed the finish line.

Emotions:

My emotions throughout the entire experience were eVeRyWhErE. Leading up to the race I felt strong and confident. I knew I was on track to shave some good time off of last year's race. I was so excited to be in Chicago and enjoying every minute of every experience. At the expo I was getting teary. I don't know why...maybe because it felt like the culmination of everything, but right before the main event? I can't explain it; all I know is that I was fighting for composure most of the time at the expo. While waiting to cross the starting line, I kept getting zings of energy. I felt 0% dread, only excitement. At about mile 15 I was really glad that my brother was running with me. It felt secure and comfortable knowing that I wasn't alone among 45,000 other people. At the end of the race, I felt relief and pride. I knew I'd given it my all. If the conditions were a little different, I know I would have reached my goal. But finishing in 5:15:30 felt awesome. I couldn't have done it any better for this race.

Some mental pictures I have of the race:

• standing @ the start, Millennium Park to the left, music blasting, people throwing back Gu shots, discarding sweats into piles that we had to walk over/around on our way to the Start

• mile 1, going under the bridge, spectators all around and above you on the bridge

• running in the loop to the Chicago Theater, seeing the amazing spectators, marathoner heads bobbing

• turning the corner about 800m from the finish line, energy swells, spectators scream

Awesome Neighborhoods:

The Loop--the essence of Chicago

Lincoln Park--beautiful

Boys Town--a flamboyant spectacle, a party for your eyes

Old Town--classy

Pilson--a fiesta

Nike Inspiration Zone (Mile 18?)--good music, lots of people

Chinatown--this was hands down the best part of the race, the energy completely swelled, there were dragons dancing, gongs gonging, people cheering, it was amazing

running over the river (grated beneath you so it literally felt like you were running over the river)

Best Signs

There were hundreds of signs along the course, but here are some of my favorites:

• Go complete stranger!

• Worst parade ever.

• Chuck Norris never ran a marathon.

• Sweat = liquid awesomeness

• Holding this sign is work too

• Pain is weakness leaving the body (doesn't really make sense, but I still like it)

• After all the training, enjoy your 26.2 mile victory lap

Runners who have stuck with me:

Wazzup guys--two guys running with a sign that said "Wazzup!" These guys would yell out to the crowd throughout the race. They'd say, "Hey woman standing on the center island! Wazzzzzzuuuuuuuppp!" Or, "Hey mile seven! Wazzzzzzuuuuuuuppppp!"

Cavemen--two guys dressed as cavemen...don't know why they stand out to me

Man running with a flag--I assume military

Inspirational/teary

SO many people were running for charities or dedicating their run to someone. A few made me choke up a little bit.

• Thanks, Annie, for the kidney

• No human being is illegal

• Running a marathon is hard, living without you is harder

• People running with names written on their back of those who have died from various forms of cancer

• Every charity/group you could think of seemed to be represented: World Vision, ending aids, free Palestine

Thoughts I remember having through the race:

I'm done with gatorade.

I'll take another water. and another. and ano-ther.

Spray me with a hose, yespleaseandthankyou.

I wonder if my soles are melting.

I wish these people wouldn't keep stopping all around me, it's hard to get around them and it makes me think they know something I don't.

How can someone run AND drink beer?

I'm glad I don't need my ipod since it isn't charged anyway.

Hey, there's my old dorm window!

Need a bathroom, stat.

Vaseline? What for?

I wonder if all of this back sweat is adding to the humidity.

I highly recommend running the Chicago marathon. I thoroughly enjoyed every minute before, during, and after the race.

Assume Strength

The setting: a semi-cluttered, energy buzzing classroom

The characters: thirty-ish seventh graders who are a little on the sixth grade side (official change comes after Christmas)

The challenge: read forty books by the end of the year

Cue gasp!

When I first heard about a teacher challenging her students to read forty books in one year, I had a hefty dose of cynicism. Okay, sure, a few of the advanced students might be able to read assembly-line style, but real "If I have to look in the book for an answer I probably won't die, but why risk it?" students? Get real.

But the more I read about this teacher's program, the more I began to taste the kool-aid. And it tasted gooooood. I briefly considered if it was even possible for students to read that much; maybe I should lower the expectation to twenty.

But then I thought, why not assume strength? Why not assume that they can do it?

So, this year I started off day one of school expecting the students to read. At Open House I told students they'd better bring something to read with them the very first day of school. When I went over the this is how we do a fire drill, this is how you organize your binder, this is how you get to your seat on time expectations, I also mentioned, "And oh yeah, this is how many books you're expected to read by the end of the year: 40."

Some eyes went wide. One kid (advanced math) quickly figured out, "That's, like, one book a week!" Nodding, I assured them they could do it. We would all work on it together, and they would be so proud of themselves by the end of the year.

Some asked what would happen if they didn't reach forty books. I told them that I had NEVER had a student not reach that goal that I had set for them. Technically true. Also, I told them that I wasn't going to tell them what would happen if they didn't do it, because they would. It's not an option not to.

And you know what? They are blowing me away. I've never seen anything like it. We talk about books constantly. Kids give impromptu commercials for books they are reading. They keep a list in their planner of "Hot Reads" so they know what to check out next. Last week I told them we were going to the library as a class.

They cheered.

Every single day I have multiple students coming in to tell me that they just finished this or that book and are anxious to get started on another one.

I don't know if they all will actually read forty books by the end of the year. But I'll bet most of them will. I'll bet ALL of them will read more than they've ever read before. And that's a win.

Aversions

I think everyone has that one food that they ate before they got really, really sick. For me it was Reese's. I had been feeling sort of gross all day, and the only thing that sounded good to me was a peanut butter cup. Being a college student, I actually had some Reese's in my dresser drawer. I ate a few, thinking that they were going to be the only thing I'd eat that day.

It didn't take long before I felt that rumble, so I ran to the dorm bathroom and made it just in time to jackknife over the toilet and spill my insides. Needless to say, watching Reese's perform an anti-gravity routine did little for my desire to indulge in any future peanut butter cups.

I developed an aversion.

And now I have a new one. But I don't have the luxury of avoiding this particular thing.

A few weeks ago I was in the Rockies of Colorado, vacationing with family. As I am officially in "training mode" for the Chicago Marathon later this year, I knew that my running schedule couldn't really afford a vacation hiatus. So I packed my running shoes and planned to suck up the few Os that I could while running at 9,000 feet.

The first half of the run was actually fine. Altitude schmeltitude. Sure, it was on a slow & steady decline, but whatev, right? The energy that I saved by going downhill would leave me with plenty of juice for going back uphill for the second half.

Not the case.

My heart rate raced to the 190s and I had to keep taking walking breaks. But worse, far worse, was the rumble I started to feel in my stomach. Before I knew what was happening, I was on the side of the road summoning up the little bit of breakfast that I had that morning.

I was mortified! I was running with my brother-in-law and we were only out for a two-miler, and here I was throwing up like I was at the end of an Olympic training session. Two. Miles.

Well, so I made it back okay. But since then I have absolutely dreaded the thought of running again. I've kept up on my training, but there is not a single positive thought that I have about it before I lace up my Asics. I've developed an aversion to running.

I've already booked a hotel room in Chicago, paid the hefty registration fee, and planned a mini-vacation around it. I don't have the option of just bowing out, really. So how do you get over an aversion?

Analyze This

So I feel like I've got an opinion about everything lately. I've been wanting to blog about Osama's death, the birther nonsense, kids these days, Time's most influential, etc. But...they end up being big topics that I keep putting off until I no longer want to talk about them anymore.

That and I don't want to feel like I'm complaining all the time. Or right all the time. Or as someone who knows something, when in reality I'm probably just another chump with a big mouth about her opinions. For whatever reason, I've been keeping it to myself.

In a weird twist, it turns out that while I'm analyzing the news & issues of my world, the world is analyzing me.

I've read that Facebook has software that analyzes your profile, then matches ads to your personality.

Here's what Facebook has most recently matched to me:

• 52% off Hot Yoga (I hate Yoga, hot or cold, but they've got me pegged with 52% off; they know I'm po' folk)
• Flowers for Mother's Day (so either they know I am a mom, or I have one; freaky)
• Free for Women (a website that is calling for all American women; they have a need for American women to deliver their---unnamed---samples. Nah.)
• Dystance4Dystonia (a website that says, "Since you've already registered for the Chicago Marathon, you should run for a cause...this cause...")

So, this is how they've pegged me. I have a mother, I'm an American woman, I'm running a race, and I must love yoga.

Khaled chooses all my books

I was looking for a new book to read a few weeks back when I hopped onto the Barnes and Noble website. Having read The Kite Runner a few years back, then A Thousand Splendid Suns, I searched to see if this favorite author had any new gems that I had yet to discover. No new ones, but I did see a feature on the website that intrigued me: Meet the Writer. About midway down on the column, Hosseini lists his ten favorite books including a "what makes them so great" spiel.

My geometry teacher would be so proud:
I (H) enjoy Khaled's books (K) (so H = K)
he enjoys several books(B) (so K = B)
therefore, by transitive property, I would also enjoy them
(H = B).

That is how I mathematically discovered Life of Pi.

There is absolutely no reason why this book should be awesome. It is an unlikely story about a boy named Pi (as in 3.14) who is lost at sea with a tiger (as in Panthera Tigris) named Richard Parker. There's a story behind the name. Pi's and Richard Parker's. At 420+ pages, there's a lot of fishing, burning, enduring storms and fighting for survival. In fact, the actual plot doesn't even get started until about 150 pages into the book.

And yet.

The story will stay with me for the rest of my days. The book is fantastic on so many levels. Its similes and metaphors, analogies, and descriptive writing alone make the book drip red velvet (yum). It creates sharp contrasts between what is expected and what happens. It compares zoology and religion. The battle is as much about boy vs. cat as it is about hopelessness vs. faith. Even in the midst of horror is humor. And the last few pages. Blew. Me. Away.

I've avoided coming to a definite conclusion about the book mostly because I think that the way I interpret the book will say something about me. Kind of like the old "how do you see the glass?" type thing.

I'd love to sit and chat with you about what you think it's all about.

Since he's proven reliable, I've decided to stick with Khaled's choices for a while.

Next on my list is Wally Lamb's I Know This Much is True.

Loose Lips

Judgey Pudgey. That's what he called me. The year was 1996 and I was in Mr. Jones's Social Studies room participating in a mock trial. I was the judge. One of my classmates started saying, "Here comes Judgey Pudgey," when I would walk down the hallway.

In terms of terrible taunts, that registers pretty low on the seismograph. But I remember it. And I remember how it made me feel.

I've been thinking lately about the power of words. It's simply not true that sticks & stones will break your bones, but words will never hurt you. They can break your spirit, demoralize you and even steal your dreams. Not only that, but they do literally hurt you. A recent report in Psychology Today reveals the actual physical effects that bullying and hurtful words have on the brain.

The good news, however, is that as destructive as words can be, the opposite is also true. The right word said at the right time can build you up, encourage or inspire you.

Nothing brings this more to my attention than when I'm hanging out with my husband's family. My in-laws and extended in-law family are excellent at encouraging, praising, thanking, showing appreciation; you know, living in the good word world. The result is that after spending some time with them, I feel renewed, invigorated, and a new sense of strength.

They are better than a full night's sleep.

With enough of those types of words, the hurtful words lose some of their power.

I'm Here and I'm Literate!

Now that Caeden is learning to write, we find pieces of him everywhere. This is our shopping list, hanging on the fridge.

(magnifying glass)

Celebrity Mash Up

So I signed up to run the Chicago marathon in October of 2011.

My goal for this second marathon is to beat my first marathon's time. Not that my first time was horrible. I finished right around the same time as Katie Holmes, and my foot hit 26.2 well before both Mario Lopez and Freddie Prinze Jr. I figure that's a win.

But Lady O kicked my A. So did funny man Ferrell, every-step-I-take Puffy, and the notorious GWB. Even Jared Fogle the Subway guy beat me.

So this year, my plan is to kick it into higher gear. At the very least, I'd like to out-pace the guy who is famous for chowing a foot-long a day. I think that's reasonable.

The four letter word

So a friend of mine--a teacher--was sitting in a meeting when he let it slip that he has noticed that many students are getting more and more lazy. Cue gasp! No, no, no, he was assured. No student is lazy. We have to discover the underlying reason why they are not performing.

In the world of education where we don't let anyone fall behind, we fire off interventions like heat-seeking missiles whose aim is to seek and destroy, and save the day (and also our schools). Implied in several interventions is the idea that the student really wants to do well, but can't due to circumstances beyond his/her control. I buy into that for some students, but that shouldn't be true for the majority of a school population.

So when do interventions help, and when do they enable? When do they legitimately aid a student, and when do they encourage, well, laziness.

If being lazy is becoming an epidemic, how do you cure it? And why has it become a four-letter-word in education?

I recently read an article about Tiger Moms. While there is a LOT to disagree with in the article, one point that really stuck out to me is the research-based idea that is important for students to grapple with a challenging task. That is how students develop self-esteem and the belief that they can do something. Without developing that, we are basically facilitating a bunch of quitters. So many students look at a challenging task, decide it is too hard for them, and don't even attempt. They quit. However, in education, we can't let someone quit (our pay could even depend on it!).

In most everything in life, one must have a dedicated and focused work ethic. One must encounter a challenge, perhaps fail, try again, devote time, learn from mistakes, learn from others, and keep trying until one reaches success.

Sometimes, however, we are too lazy to go through that process. The path of least resistance is easier. The human body is designed to become more efficient in order to output the least amount of energy required. Laziness is tempting. And if we reward laziness, then it is not just a temptation, it is a cycle that will continue. And I think we need to realize that laziness is real; it's not a four-letter-word. It's something we can't afford putting off to deal with later. Especially in education.

Unisex

So I was in a public place searching for a bathroom yesterday, when I stumbled upon a typical nondiscriminating bathroom sign: it had a little female figure (indicated by a dress), a male figure, and the ubiquitous skinny wheelchair person whose sex isn't determined.

Come to think of it, they were all white, so maybe I was wrong about the nondiscriminating part.

I'm no stranger to the unisex bathroom, so I opened the door.

It took me a second to recognize what was wrong. It was like looking at those two pictures where you have to find the differences; you know something is off with that guy's shirt, but it takes you a while to realize that the stripes are going in the other direction.

So it took me a few seconds to realize: this bathroom has stalls.

Now maybe I'm not forward thinking enough, or maybe I'm more prudish than I should be, but it seems to me that some things should just be left a mystery to the opposite sex. I know, I know, everyone goes, but I guess I prefer a private privy.

I have no problem doing business with an unknown man, but next to an unknown man? I'll pass.

The Bright Side

Boy was the news a downer tonight. Massive earthquake and destruction in New Zealand, four American yachtists dead after being held hostage/executed by pirates, the standoff in Wisconsin over the governor's ambition to bust up the middle class (don't be fooled), Crazy McCrazerton Gadhafi willing to sacrifice his own people (and send oil prices soaring), baby dolphins washing up on shore because of the massive BP oil spill....it's easy to get discouraged. I've often wondered, am I just getting older and more aware, or are these some really crazy times?

I've got to admit, my heart has been getting more and more heavy as I sympathize with so many of the hurting.

But

I have also been feeling extremely blessed. Even among all of this, there is hope.

One recent way in which I've felt palpable hope is in watching my son. I know, I know, cliche parent thing to say. But it's cliche because it's true.

My son recently colored a cute little picture and gave it to me for Valentine's Day. Sure, it was colored in nicely; he gave it some careful attention and time. But best, down at the bottom of the picture in shaky, sometimes backward, not really in line, all capital letters were four words: Mom, Dad, Caeden and Avery.

And I realized, my son is learning to read and write. If you've never seen this process take place, I hope you get to experience it some day. Truly, it is amazing. This little bug who at one point couldn't even hold up his own head, recognizes that letters have sounds, sounds work together to form words, and words have meanings. And that he can make those himself; he can write what he thinks is important. And, important to him, is us.

Not only that, but he, at four years old, can do what probably less than half of the entire world is able to do. He is literate. We are blessed to live in a country where he can become that. We are blessed that he has the ability to do that.

And that is amazing.

Selling Mexican Food, Selling Out Mexican Workers

So back in January, Chipotle was audited and some workers were found to be illegal. Following the audit, it appears that 700 of Chipotle's 1200 Minnesotan workers were fired without much explanation or without the opportunity to provide proper documentation. (In some cases, workers showed driver's licenses, but those alone aren't sufficient to show status. I wonder what I would have to show in order to prove that I'm a citizen. Not that I would ever be asked.)

Reading the paper, I doubt that I will ever get the full, real story of what happened, newspapers being unbiased and presenting both sides and all...

If you've ever been to a Chipotle, you know what I'm talking about when I say that you can feel the energy, enthusiasm, and excitement the moment you walk in. Things are hopping. The workers are quick, engaging, and....well, happy. They seem to like stuffing those mammoth burritos.

I'm not making a comment about illegal immigration, mostly because I'm not sure how I feel about it. In fact, I think that maybe my position changes when I'm viewing it from an American perspective and when I'm viewing it from a humanity stand-point. I don't claim to know the ripple effect of illegal immigration either.

But, I did go to Chipotle a couple weekends ago. And it was obviously less brown, and conspicuously more white. The lady who took my order rolled her eyes both at me and at her fellow colleagues. The workers chopping chicken were quiet. And it was ssssslllllllooooooowwww.

So I don't know everything about illegal immigration, or the real story about why 700 employees were let go. All I'm saying is that my last visit was different. And not for the better.

And the Oscar Goes To

I used to go to movies all the time. My dad and I had a standing Friday night date. I saw anything with little to no discretion: the good, the bad, the ugly, romantic comedies. Actually, I did draw the line at romantic comedies; a gal's got to have some standards. Plus, once you've seen one, you've seen 'em all.

When kid #1 & kid #2 came, I entered a four-year long movie drought. Correction, I did see one movie: Freedom Writers. But the kids behind me were so loud & obnoxious that I could barely see past Hillary Swank's pearls to the deeper aspects, like, say, the plot. I went home & cried after that one. And not because it was so good.

Full disclosure, I did accidentally see one romantic comedy during that movie hiatus, but only because I was out-voted and, without wanting to cause a big scene, swallowed the bile and reverted to silent judging and forecasting the entire script verbatim long before the characters delivered their lines. That, by the way, is an hour and a half of my life that I will never get back.

But this year, ah, this year, I have seen several movies. And they're current. And most of them have been really, really good.

Here is what I think of several of this year's Oscar noms, in twenty words or less:

• The Fighter--Incredible story, fine acting by Bale & Wahlberg both. Laugh out loud funny and still dramatic.
  
• Toy Story 3--Sentimental favorite. The "memory montage" of Andy before he leaves for college gets me every time.
  
• The King's Speech--Difficult to see HBC in royalty role after her performance in Fight Club; girl's got chops.
• The Town--Jeremy Renner's tattoos do most of the character work; great heist flick.
• True Grit--A true favorite. Bridges is brilliant and Damon, as always, plays a fantastic self-deprecater.
• The Kids Are Alright--Wasn't. Blech.
• The Social Network--I'll bet Mark Z wishes he were the Jesse Eisenberg cool-quick-witted-some-people-think-I'm-a-nerd-but-I'm-misunderstood version. Justin Timberlake as Napster founder is poetic.
• How to Train Your Dragon--Recycled theme, but super cute Hiccup with his, "You just gestured to all of me."
• Inception--Interesting movie, kind of Matrix-y. Read a review that said it had several plot holes; I'd never find 'em.

After watching The Social Network, I wondered who would play me in a movie of my life. I think it would have to be Renee Zellweger. The chubby version. And Aaron? Dave Matthews. The skinny version.

I don't know how each film and/or actor will fare at the Oscars, but it's been a great year of movie-going.

The Grind

I've been terribly absent. That's what happens when you have young children. The day begins like this:
6:00 am--Mom, can I get up now?
6:00 am--Not yet.
6:01 am--Now?
6:01 am--Hmmm Mmmm
6:02 am--Mom will you get up with me?
6:02 am--Just a minute.
6:02:30 am--Now?
6:02:31--Sigh
6:03--Mom can I watch a movie?
6:03--When it's time to get up, which is in a few minutes.
Pause for about a minute. Then they bring out the big dogs.
6:04--Mom, my bed is wet.

The one thing my kids know will pull me out of bed. I just can't stand the thought of them laying there in a pool of wet. That, plus the fact our house hovers at a temp that is perfect for, say, any of the Happy Feet crew, and I don't want their little hineys to be frozen to the sheets.

So my days start early and end late. I'm not making excuses, that's just a fact. Also, by the time I do get to settle in at night, all I want to do is watch Parenthood. Or Glee. I can't get me enough of those sponge-head square chin zingers.

But I've been inspired by my blogging friends of late, and I may want to throw in a word or two. So, here goes.

Tidbits

Just a few thoughts from my life recently:

• I'm running a half marathon on Saturday. Last year I caught a chest cold. This year it looks like I may catch a snow storm.
• I've decided to change my answer to the question, "Why did you become a teacher?" to, "Because I love meetings. I really feel like I can be utilized well in meetings. The greater the amount of meetings, the better. I especially like meetings where we talk about how to conduct ourselves in other meetings." Cynical? A tad.
• Me + a peanut-covered caramel apple = true love
• It's weird thinking that I am raising two Minnesotans. A transplant myself, it occurs to me every once in a while that my two kids will claim the Land of 10,000 Lakes as their home. The other day Caeden said, "Mom, should I put this in the bag (long a)?" I shivered a little and said, "Caeden, we don't say that. We say b-aaaaaa-g (short a)."
• The batteries on the Atari game that we have ran out and I was worried that my high score on Super Pac Man would be lost. It wasn't.
• My husband, who is an English teacher, plays word games with the students he teaches in the Alternative school; his favorite is Scrabble. They told him that instead of putting a tatoo of a tear by his eye for every person that he has killed, he should put a comma.
  

Circle of Life

I haven't seen it since second grade.

At least I'm pretty sure it was second grade because my third grade teacher, Mr. Sam, was an abusive curmudgeon who literally picked me up by my head and moved me back to the end of the line when I budged.

Nothing good ever came out of his class.

And by fourth grade I was living in Germany and far, far away from Mexico. So I'm fairly certain it was second grade.

That was the year when our teacher, Mrs. Bivona, brought in the yellow, black and white striped monarch caterpillars. They chomped their way through milkweed leaf after milkweed leaf (they were hungry, hungry you know) until they turned into chrysalises. Every day we watched them, waiting for the moment when their little sleeping bags would wiggle and they would break free and land, wet and unable to fly, on the bottom of the insect jar. And they didn't disappoint.

So I was really glad this year when we went to the state fair and into the Butterfly House to find out that you could buy a monarch caterpillar complete with milkweed leaves. Caeden picked out a caterpillar and we brought him home to watch. Armed with his magnifying glass so that he could, "Look at the caterpillar closely," (his words) we watched that little worm climb to the top of the jar and hang down in the proverbial J shape.

Later that night we watched him spin a chrysallis around his body. Caeden and Avery were enthralled.

Every day for two weeks the kids would wake up and run out to the kitchen where the chrysalis hung and see if there was anything new.

Finally, he emerged. Unfortunately it was while we were all away for the day. But when we got home the kids were crazy with excitement. Butterflybutterflybutterfly!

The next morning we gently eased this little miracle from his jar to a flower in our yard. We watched him for a few hours while he stayed perched primly on that flower. We had some errands to run and by the time we got back home, the butterfly was gone.

"Butterfly fly away?" Avery asked.

"Yes honey. The butterfly is finding a new home," I told her.

That's what I want her to believe.

But it's probably just as likely that a bird swooped down and made a tasty meal out of our friend.

Cable Lust

My house is the Bermuda Triangle of cable.

I've never seen Project Runway.

I've heard of the Real Housewives of New Jersey, but don't know what all the hype is about.

I've been spared the Jon and Kate Plus 8 reality disaster.

But I'm not happy about it.

Every year a plucky new cable installer knocks on our front door and extols the virtues of digital television. Every year we try to explain that our house is where cable waves go to die. And yet we wind up opening our door and saying to the perennial, confident, not quite battle worn cable installer, "Do your worst."

After whizzing and whirring machines measure this or that wavelength, a shimmy is made up the power line, and various cords are tested, the cable guy inevitably returns to us, eyes round and head shaking back and forth, "I've never seen anything like it."

So you can imagine what a treat it was a couple weekends ago when my in-laws came over to babysit and we were wild and child-free in Minneapolis for a whole night. Not only would we get to go out to dinner without having to worry about our daughter climbing over the booth into the other patrons' laps, but we were also able to see a comedy act AND watch cable tv in the hotel room. A trifecta.

Dinner was divine. The comedy club was halfway funny, enough to put us in high spirits. But the cable. What is UP with cable tv?

The commercials are. Well. Weird.

That guy selling some sort of food chopper? He actually said, "You're gonna love my nuts." The guy with the super sharp knife? He cut a pineapple in midair. In slow motion. Okay, cool, but, seriously? Is that the selling point? Buy this knife for all of your midair pineapple cutting needs? Then there was the guy who said all of your car troubles could be handled with a paint pen. Keyed car? Paint pen. Runaway grocery cart? Paint pen. Won't start? Paint pen.

I don't know. Maybe we're not missing all that much after all.

Bumping up against stereotypes

Every day as I leave school, I pass a meditation center. In the front of the center is a small plot of foliage, a place where, I assume, members occasionally respite, meditate, and enjoy the simple pleasures of nature.

So was I wrong to do a double-take when I noticed a small, brown, bald man dressed in a bright orange robe of (what I think is) traditional Buddhist garb standing in the garden, not contemplating, but talking animatedly, arms flailing, with his cell phone pressed to his ear?

Holly is contemplating Facebook

A while back I joined Facebook in order to see the pics that my sisters--who live 12 hours by car and free minutes only after nine o'clock (which, in my two-kids-under-two-years-induced stupor, I can barely stay awake for) away--have posted, and yanno, keep up on their lives.

For those of you who don't have Facebook, it's kind of like, hey, I haven't heard from that person in a long time, or wow, those are cute pics of the new baby.  With all of the status updates, it's a little like SIMS in that you know what all of your friends are doing at any given time, minus the gibberish tantrums the characters throw when they aren't getting enough love, of course. 

And sometimes that too.

In other words, it's kind of fun, uuuunnnnnntillllllll the Facebook gods drop someone into your current life from your past that you still find goosebumpingly creepy.  Then your heart starts racing, your mind starts whirling, and you wonder, like the eye of Sauron, if I can see them, can they see me?  

And that's not the only weird situation that Facebook orchestrates.  

In my mind I totally understand that my friends have other friends.  But when I see their actual conversations, my hackles raise a bit.  I'm not proud of it, but I kind of wish that the lives of my friends would pause when we're not together.  And that they would be sitting at home, bored out of their minds without me.  Or if not, that they're at least chuckling about some memory of us.

Also?  I feel guilty looking through my "friends list" because I have been really bad about keeping in touch with people who were really good friends at one time.  Maybe Facebook should categorize the "friends list" into, "really, really close friends," "friends at one time," and, "I just added this one to increase my total number of friends so people are impressed when they see how many other people like me."

Of course, that really just adds pressure.  Kind of like the "relative" status.  This begs the questions, "Do I limit relatives to biology, or add close friends to this list? If I add close friends, but not other friends, will feelings be hurt?"  And then of course I have to see if I was added to their relative lists.  And then nurse my hurt feelings.

And another thing.  Seriously, how many quizzes can one take?  In one day?  And then post?

I know there's someone out there who knows what all these things mean, but it's not me.

Admittedly, I am curious about what my birth requests.  And what a superpoke is. 

BUT, it is fun to take a peek into the lives of relatives, friends, those who are merely added to increase my friendworth, creepy people who should stay in the past, and chronic quiz takers.   Even if it does elicit weird emotions and stalkerish tendencies.

Fresh Faces

I have been thoroughly enjoying my summer so far, even though I have had to sub for my husband at the alternative school (summer school) for the past few days.  Imagine my surprise when I showed up to class and saw a good handful of some cherubs that I've had in the past when they were middle school students.  I can't believe that I've been teaching long enough to see some of the scrawny, hyper sixth graders fast forwarded and graduating from high school.  

Walter, for example.  I distinctly remember Walter because he was this chubby little sixth grader with a major attitude.  Classified as having Emotional Behavior Disorder, I was nervous that this kid would wind up in jail some day.  I distinctly remember breaking up a fight between Walter and another student (kid made fun of his name), sending him to the principal's office, hearing him screaming obscenities the entire way there, and then learning out that he was curled up in the fetal position inside the principal's office, crying.  Six years later, Walter is about to graduate, talks football, is polite, courteous and has a general peaceful air around him. He gives me hope for some of my most rascally kids.

Speaking of rascally kids, we brought our two in for pics the other day.  Enjoy some updated photos!

Serious attitude, with a twinkle in the eye

Striking a pose

Trying to figure out how to smile on command

Trying to pull off the cool, casual look

Hey, they're both looking at the camera--it's a win in my book