On living communally and sucking the marrow out of life

                When I decided to spend two years teaching only part-time at Oakland so I could finish up my PhD coursework and experience a graduate assistantship, it was Jayme Pingrey who helped make that possible.

                When I was too cheap to buy Tessa BPA free bottles and just wanted to use the ones that Avery thrived on, it was Jayme who organized my book club to chip in and keep those nasty chemicals away from Tess J. 

                When I had to work with an editor for the first time on a piece about Missouri Writing Project’s Youth Programs commissioned by the National Writing Project, it was Jayme who helped make it bearable  by rolling her eyes with me at having to change one more revised section back to the way we  had it written in the first place.

                When I was stupid enough to take a pregnancy test at work (long story) and was dying to tell someone and had no access to Sephus, it was Jayme who holed up with me in her office to decide if that faint line really meant I would be a mom for the third time. 

                And when I went to Orlando, Florida and checked into a crappy two bed hotel room with the Pingreys and Nick Kremer late at night and didn’t want to spend a restless night curled up next to a male co-worker… well that time it was Ryan Pingrey who helped me out by letting me sleep next to Jayme but you get the picture…

                So, when Jayme and Ryan sold their house after just over a week on the market, I didn’t have to think twice about offering our extra space in the basement up to them as they were displaced waiting for their new home to be built.  I ran it by Sephus, and he didn’t have to think long either.  This would make the fifth time we had someone live with us since getting married (Leia as she waited for her home to be built, Roger as he prepped for the Bar exam, Treena as she completed a rotation at University hospital and Jon as he completed his M.A. in teaching degree and his first year of teaching.)  Of course, this would be the first time that kids came along, but honestly, we still didn’t think long.  We have decided that thinking too hard about things can sometimes keep you from embracing life’s next adventure, but more about that later. 

                When people heard what we were doing they wavered between curious fascination, pure amusement, kind concern, and shocked judgment.  We heard things such as:

 “Better you than me!”

“How are things at the commune?” 

“I couldn’t do it…”

“You guys are good people!”

“What are you going to do about…?”

Each time I heard the last question I thought, “Oh… I really hadn’t thought about that…” and then quickly decided I was glad I hadn’t.  If I did, I might have said no.  Details work themselves   out.  Sixty days into it we are a well-oiled machine and have grown accustomed to each other’s presence.  I love to cook, so I handle most of the meals.  Jayme knows how to simplify and maintain sanity so she cleans up after me whispering and repeating, it’s okay to throw things away… it’s okay to say no…  The kids think it’s one big vacation and spend hours playing and laughing.  Dinners are noisy, “I want to sit by Weston or I want the Princess plate,” but they are so much fun.  Last night, Corinne turned to Avery and said, “Avery, would you like to say something?”  It made me think about how all five are growing together.  Months mean so much more the first five years of life.  I love watching our good friends’ children mature right in front of our eyes, and I love watching how our children adjust to and welcome these new players in our daily lives.   I think Americans are so into independent, we forget that life is meant to be communal.  Now I am not suggesting that we all turn into two family households, and I am sure there will be things we welcome about returning to our own separate addresses, but for now I am embracing this experience that others will never get to have and that we would never have had if we thought too much about how it would all work out before we jumped in. Each new person we have brought into our home has helped us reflect on our marriage, or our parenting style and therefore, make us better people.  Plus, we enjoy a lot more wine and Dairy Queen with built in friends.   

                I think that this life is about collecting as many experiences as you can before you pass on to something else, and I think those experiences are best when they let those around us get a little bit closer to who we are at our core.  Thoreau gets at this by telling us to suck the marrow out of life so that when it comes time to die we don’t discover that we never really lived.  We are meant to travel to as many places as we can, read as many books as we can, try as many foods as we can (or are willing to – I’m kind of picky), sing as many songs as we can and most importantly, let  many people  crawl deeply into our lives.  So don’t think of us as some sort of heroes; we are getting way more than we are giving as we are allowed to enact our life philosophy yet again.  And don’t say you could never do this; If you are kind enough to read my blog, you are the kind of person who lets people into your head (and hopefully heart) so your home is not too far of a stretch.

A challenge to anyone still reading along - Humor me; say yes to something that seems crazy or impractical or out of your interactive comfort zone, and let me know how it goes.  Consider it one more experience in this wonderful life. 

On the Decision to Teach

            When I graduated from college in 2000 with a degree to teach high school English I received a gift from a family friend who had been teaching math for many years.  I grew up baby-sitting her children in Bartlett and even continued heading back in the summers to care for her sons the week before school started so she could attend hours of PD and pour over endlessly new curriculum.  (This was the fate of math teachers in the early 90’s).  We had grown rather close from these experiences, so I was not surprised to receive an inspirational book with a carefully prepared personal message in the inside flap.  I was, however, very surprised to read her closing line.  “Just remember, even if you decide to leave the field of teaching, the world will still be better for the time you did teach.”  The message left me very confused.  Was this a secret warning from a veteran?  Should I expect to want to leave?  Was she unhappy?  I had been excited to embark on this career adventure, and her words left me nervous and contemplative.

            After thirteen years in, I find myself remembering these words and feeling kinship with this woman I have not spoken to in ages.  I have often wondered how much I would push my own children into teaching knowing what I now know about the field of education.  One of them will inevitably go into teaching.  Both their parents are teachers, two of their uncles are teachers, one surrogate aunt is a teacher…  Though my parents were not teachers, my dad was an avid baseball coach who challenged and supported his players in ways that makes him memorable to many still today.  My mom also coached, was my girl scout troop leader, and even taught some after school craft classes at my elementary school.  Her humor and way of making everyone feel like they were the most special child in the room caused many to tell me how lucky I was to call her mine.  Children of people who dedicate their lives in this way, often grow up wanting to do the same.  In fact, not too long ago, my friends and I had to break up a fight at our house as our children argued over who would be prinicipal as they played school.  We laughed that this would only happen at a gathering where all in attendance were teachers.   I wonder how many of them will choose teaching as a career.  Should they?

            Did you know that 50% of teachers leave the field after 5 years?  Imagine schools trying to seek significant improvement gains with constant turnover.  Why might they be leaving?  A quick answer could be because they could make a lot more money somewhere else.  It is strange to be only 34 years old and know that I will never make significantly more money than I do now.  I am about maxed out on the salary schedule, and there will be no bonus years for high sales.   However, that is not the reason.  It’s hard to complain about my salary when I work in a building where over 50% of the kids cannot afford lunch.  We are comfortable enough and income is steady.  I never will have to call the office the day of a school dance and ask the STUCO sponsor (read me) if she will waive the two dollar entrance fee because we have tried all week but could not gather the money.  For those who have never experienced it, that kind of poverty is real, and I cannot claim to be a pauper when faced with it on a daily basis.  Besides, how else could I really make money with my love of reading and writing.  (I do, however, sometimes dream of things Sephus could do with his crazy smart math skills besides teach 9^th graders how to do Algebra and Geometry and the salary that would result…)

            The real reason people leave is the emotional drain it takes to get through the average year, week or even day.  I can’t think of too many fields where you are required to pleasantly serve people who at times emotionally abuse you.  (No I will not walk out of this class with you!  Why don’t you go for a walk?  Looks like you could use a few walks around the block.)  Imagine planning a sales pitch and then walking in to be heckled for fifty minutes straight.  (This is BORING!!!!!!  We will never use this in REAL life!!!!! – by the way a dancing seal juggling 14 balls could be seen as boring by some junior high students)  Imagine taking time away from your family to plan a school dance only to have a sassy 9^th grade girl say, “I hope you know no one is going to that stupid dance.  Someone on facebook said it was going to be lame.”  Imagine caring so deeply about the well being of a child and having to know the terror they go home to at night and despite multiple attempts, no one at the state level being able to do anything about it.  Imagine having parents cuss you out, or in my worst parent moment ever, having a parent say she was glad your brother was in the hospital because you are bad person for making her daughter feel bad about herself just because she stole your cell phone.  Imagine trying to sleep at night as the mother of young daughters after reading a journal entry about a student losing her virginity at age thirteen.  Imagine having a kid yell that teaching isn’t a real job even after you asked your colleague to leave his conference hour to teach him math despite the fact that he was in the office awaiting officer referral sentencing.  Imagine having to read 150 of theses blogs in a row (I am impressed if you are still with this ONE J and then having to write feedback on each and every one paying attention to content, organization, usage, etc.)   Imagine never really knowing if you were accomplishing anything at all… 

            So why I am still here thirteen years later…  Why did I not run away when I was greeted by a supervising teacher during field work who said, “So you want to be a teacher huh?  Hope you’re ready for a life in hell!”  The truth is I love my job more today than I did thirteen years ago.  If you can find some way to love the quirks and challenges all children bring, you can find the joy and humor in a life of service to the young.  Educational Researcher, Marc Lemont Hill, talks about the culture of youth.  He explains that we have to realize that all adolescents have to reject adults.  It is part of youth culture to think anything the old do is totally uncool.  In the process you confirm what you value and who you are.  I also try to sympathize during emotional break downs by thinking, “Oh you poor thing trying to manage with all those hormones inside you right now.”  Adolescence is turmoil! 

            In teaching, we have to accept slow results.  I once told my students that I loved baking.  I could come home from a job where I was never really sure if I was getting through to anyone and where my plans sometimes failed, and I could follow a recipe and know that one hour later a perfect cake would be sitting in front of me to be enjoyed.  One of my supposedly at-risk students had the wisdom to turn to me and say, “We’re your cakes Mrs. Johnson.  Some of us just take a little longer to bake.”  My struggling readers often said things so intelligent that they would stop me in my tracks.  For every frustrating moment, there are equally powerful moments like this one that sustain you on the darkest of days. 

            Teaching allows me to explore so many passions.  When I was younger I wanted to be a child psychologist, lawyer or actress.  I get to do all three of those things every day.  Especially the acting…  I try to tell my students who escalate so easily that it is perfectly acceptable to smile, comply and proceed to cuss teachers out in their head.  That is acting my friends!  So is pretending like arrowheads are the most exciting thing you have ever seen in your life because that boy in third hour has finally accepted your attempts at a personal relationship and has brought in his entire collection to share with you. 

            Teaching is an act of power.  Some students complain about how much teachers like to be in control.  Of course we do, I responded.  The bossy kids on the playground who love school are the ones who end up in front of the classroom.  We get to make (suggest?) hundreds of people follow our rules every day.  We get a captive audience who must laugh at least some of our jokes on a regular basis.  We make comments in passing and don’t realize that those comments are sometimes the reason people choose the careers they do or develop the self-images that shape lives.  We must be careful with this power. 

            All of this has been on my mind this week because of a great honor I received.   I teach a class at MU preparing future middle school teachers to be ready for all that adolescents bring with them to the classroom.  One sudent of mine was chosen as part of the MU 39, an organization that honors 39 of the most outstanding seniors on campus.  As one of them, she was able to choose one mentor that inspired her to attend a banquet last night.  When asked why she chose me, she wrote, “Danielle challenged and inspired me and the whole class to take hold of the opportunity that being a teacher presents.”  I read that after an emotionally exhausting week where I missed my own children terribly, and I burst into tears.  She reminded me of something that I can sometimes forget.  Teaching is a wonderful opportunity.  If I should be lucky enough to have a child choose it, I will tell them how lucky they are to hang out with young people all day in moments that will forever impact who they are and likewise, what the world becomes. 

Imagine being able to say that….

On the love of dinner

I'm not going to lie...  Dinner is about my favorite time of each day.  Work is over; the whole family is back together; and the craze of baths and bedtimes has not yet begun.  As a child, my family talked and laughed so much at the dinner table that it baffled me to visit a friend's house where they would scarf down food in silence.  Of course, enjoying dinner means having some quick go to recipes when things get crazy.  Though I tweak about every recipe I get, I want it to be clear that all of these came initially from somewhere else.  Also, I am not here to write a cookbook so forgive the inconistent format.

Crock Pot Chicken Tacos (Stolen initially from Lori Johnson)- Love these as you can make one pound as easily as ten pounds so it is good for crowds or for freezing.
For every pound of raw chicken, you will need one cup of water, one package of taco seasoning and one bell pepper.  I like to make three pounds at a time so I can use one of each color b/c it is just prettier that way! 
Place the raw chicken in the crock pot.  Mix the water and taco seasoning thoroughly and pour on top of chicken.  Slice the peppers into fajita strips.  If your kids need their vegetables to dissapear, place all the peppers in on top of the chicken.  They will literally almost disappear by the time you are ready to serve.  Cook for 4-6 hours on low in the crock pot.  If you like a little visible veggie presence, save back half of the peppers and add them to to crock pot 30 min. to 1 hr. before serving.  At this same time use two forks to poke around and shred the chicken. 
This chicken will taste just like shredded chicken from a mexican restaurant and can be used in flour tortillas, on taco salads or can be tossed with Mexican rice and black beans.  You can even use it in all those creamy chicken enchilada recipes floating around out there. 

Crock Pot French Dip (Stolen from Christine Sedgwick)
2 to 3 pound pot roast
1 can beef broth (Campbells)
1 can beef consume
(there is an accent on the e---Campbell's)
1 can French onion soup (Campbell's)
Rolls
Cheese (we like provolone)
Cut the roast into big chunks. Put all ingredients in the slow-cooker; cook on Low for 8 to 10 hours. After at least 8 hours, shred the meat. Spoon meat into rolls, top with cheese, and serve with beef juice.

World's Easiest Roast
Place a 3-4 pound beef roast in the crock pot (any kind)
Mix one packet of French Onion Soup Mix with one cup of creamy Italian dressing and pour on top of the roast.  Shred or slice after cooking on low for 6 hours.

World's Easiest Chicken Casserole
Cube one pound of raw chicken
Mix in an 8X8 dish with one packet of chicken flavored rice, one can of creamy chicken soup and one soup can of water.  Cook for 40 minutes at 350 degrees.  We serve broccoli on the side when we have this but I have cooked it with a head of broccoli in it and it works well too.  You can even sprinkle a little cheddar on top about ten minutes before it is done and call it Broccoli Cheese Soup Casserole. 

Chicken Parmesean Casserole
Drizzle Olive Oil on the bottom of a 9x13 casserole dish.  Sprinkle crushed or powdered garlic and red pepper to your liking on top of the oil.  Take 6 chicken breast (cut smaller if needed) and place them on top of the oil.  Take 1/2 cup of your favorite spaghetti sauce and pour on top of the chicken.  Take 4 oz. shredded mozarella and sprinkle on top of sauce.  Cover with one bag of Salad croutons in any flavor of your choice.  Sprinkle with another 4 oz. of shredded mozarella and a good dusting of parmesean.  Bake for 45 minutes at 350. 

Finally - Dump Taco Soup. 
Mix together in a crock pot - one pound of ground beef, one package of taco seasoning and two cans of corn, two cans of black beans, and two cans of Rotel.  ONLY drain the beans.  Cook together on low in the crockpot for at least four hours or as long as you need it to sit.  The water from the corn and rotel will make the soup base. 

I also have some really fast appetizers and desserts if you are in a jam and are going somewhere/hosting.  Let me know if you have any interest in hearing some of these... or more dinners for that matter  :)

On the consequence of confidence...

Today on the way home from dance Avery became upset about something she was not allowed to do last week.  In typical Avery fashion, she was deeply caught up in the tragic unfairness of it all.  She wondered out loud, “Maybe bad things keep happening to me because I don’t like myself or maybe it’s just that I don’t know myself.”  It was all I could do not to laugh out loud.  I figure this was probably not the most logical instant reaction, but I found humor in the depth of such a comment coming from such a young brain.  Aren’t these the very issues we grapple with through the toughest parts of our lives… the big transitions…  The more I thought about it the more I realized the comment really wasn’t funny.  It was a moment that caused me pause as I contemplated some interesting conundrums all parents face.

This child raising is risky business.  Any parenting style comes with consequence – for you, your child, their future children and all people who come into the lives of each of the latter.    For some reason it came up twice last week that I was a tad bit spoiled when it came to some material things.  I was given 18 (yes 18) Cabbage Patch Kids through the course of my childhood.  The second time it came up in a matter of days I felt compelled to defend my parents and their parenting choices.  I added that we were also spoiled with love and praise, and the result was assertive, outgoing adults.  I often describe our assertiveness this way; if we are in a room full of people and only two will get their needs met, we make sure we are among those two.  (Not to say we don’t care deeply about the needs of others because being raised with so much love created a nurturing side as well.)  The person I was talking with followed this up with the recent report that incoming college students have never been more confident according to self-reporting scales or less competent according to standardized tests.  The trophy for everyone, you can do anything, all are special mindset is to blame.  Were my parents wrong to make us think we walked on water?

I don’t think so.  The confidence we were instilled with caused us to thrive and survive.  I am not sure we could have gotten through a move to a whole new town during the most tumultuous of adolescent years if we did not have slightly inflated egos.  Surely athletes who push themselves are confident to the point of cockiness.  The doctors who discover never tried before life-saving cures have an arrogance and stubbornness that allow them to proceed despite risks. 

Listening to Avery wonder if she didn’t like herself, or just didn’t know herself, reminded me of just how important it is to raise self-confident children.  I was once told to not tell my girls they were pretty too often or it would go to their heads.  In this often cruel world, I hope it does.  Recently the girls and I were talking about what would happen if someone was allergic to candy.  Without thinking, I said, “Well that person would be skinny.”  Immediately, I regretted it.  I struggle with how to talk to them about making healthy choices without making fat be the ultimate undesirable confidence of not eating well.  I don’t want them to think that is the most terrible thing, because I do want them to know that I like myself.  At the same time, I do want them to be healthy. 

What I am getting at is this... Every parenting style, every way we frame the world for our children, has consequences.  Some might feel I should make the correlation between overeating and weight very clear to my kids.  Some might call my brothers and I spoiled brats.  Ultimately we have to go with what feels right to us.  Perhaps this generation of overly confident college freshmen will have the courage to be the next great generation.  Maybe the standardized tests have not kept up with growing skills needed to thrive in today’s world.  Maybe we shouldn’t spend so much energy figuring out how each generation is worse than their parents while blaming the predecessors for the failure.  My parent’s style felt right to them.  It was intentional as well.  My dad told me that he wanted us to win a few battles with them now and then so we could learn to win necessary battles outside the home.  Some would say that this may have led to us being overindulged, but I don’t think so.  We are also amazingly hard workers (modeled to us through example) and I don’t think that would be true if we didn’t somehow pick up discipline despite being showered with goodies from time to time and unconditional love all the time. 

These thoughts and more flashed through my head as I slowly approached home this evening.   Avery interrupted my mind wander with a hesitant, “I do think I know myself.”  I quickly asked her, “Do you like yourself?”  “I guess so…” she decided. I hope that whatever choices I make as a parent, more often than not  they help her slowly gain her voice as she answers that same question positively and certainly.  

On being the mother of a newborn

Two months ago I completed my comps making me ABD in my pursuit of a PhD.  In the past few years I have had four articles accepted for publication.  After my first year of teaching I was nominated for first year teacher of the year.  In high school I went from being the new student at school who didn’t even have anyone to sit by at lunch to being nominated student council president.  All of these accomplishments pale in comparison to the pride I felt Monday when I was able to load Maggie into the car, pick up both of my other girls at two different schools, change them into tights and leotards, and get them into the dance classroom before the class officially started.  Or on Tuesday when I showered in between feedings and then headed off to the grocery store where I figured out how to push and load a cart while holding the pacifier in Maggie’s mouth avoiding one of her classic scream sessions.  Newborns are tough…

            Whenever I meet a new baby I tear up as I listen to the new mother talk.  My heart breaks as I sympathize with the inadequacies, hormonal outbursts and sleepless nights that will be a part of the days ahead while being a bit jealous of the soft skin snuggles that come with the territory.  The momentousness of this life change is never lost on me…  Welcoming a new baby into the world is one of the most amazing, challenging, rewarding and scariest of live events.  In the past four weeks I have performed the following searches on my IPhone:

            How often do infants sleep?           

            Infants and goop in eyes

            Normal temperature for infants

Infants and loose stool, infants and smelly gas, color of infant poop…  (and various other questions about excrement)

When can babies track?

When can babies see color?

Infants and leg twitching (even texted a bunch of friends and bugged the poor pediatrician on FB over that one…)

Rock n play sleeper safe to sleep in

How do I keep my infant from catching our family’s cold?

How much breast milk to gain the benefits

Acid reflux in infants

Best formula for AR…

Mastitis or engorgement?

C-Section scar burning after two weeks

And a variety of other postpartum healing searches not fit for print…

No matter what I typed someone else had asked the exact same thing.  It’s normal to feel totally insecure in these early days.  The funny thing is that this is my THIRD time doing this, and think I feel calmer this go round!   I truly believe Maggie will breathe through the night, and I didn’t freak out when she did catch that family cold after all…  This just all goes to show that being a new mom is hard no matter how many times you have done it.

            Being a new mom can be isolating.  I always forget how much my identity is intertwined in the productivity and socialization integral to a day’s work.  I actually was jealous of Sephus when he headed off to work Monday.  Being home all day can cut you off from people that are normally an important part of your day.  (Yesterday I watched six episodes of Frasier and when I woke up I found myself instantly wondering how these fictional characters were fairing…)  Lack of sleep can make you cranky…  (Look at all those assholes who made it to REM sleep last night.  I bet they actually ate sitting down with both hands too!!!!)  Hormones can turn getting teary while watching The Descendants into an hour long cry session where you wonder, among other things, if anyone will ever be willing to watch a baby that cries so much, and if not, will you ever be able to leave your house alone again…???

            Being a new mother is also wonderful.  There is always that moment when you go from loving your baby because all babies are loveable in their wide-eyed, soft-skin, helpless little warm radiator kind of way, to loving YOUR baby.  There is that moment when they become a real person…  when their name suddenly fits…  when you want to literally eat them up because you cannot breathe their essence back into you to the point of satisfaction.  There was a time when I was not sure I would ever have a baby of my own, and then we were blessed three times over.  Three times I was allowed to fall in love – with Avery

And then Tessa

And now Maggie. 

I anxiously await those milestones that mirror her sisters and those moments that are all her own.  I know that in five short weeks I will sit at work like a school girl with a crush who simply cannot wait for that moment when I get to lay my eyes on one of the loves of my life once more come the end of the work day. 

It is important to keep it all in perspective…  to remember how lucky I am even in the throes of a terrible tantrum…  and of course, to keep watching Frasier. 

On smells, touch and being pregnant for the last time

            I have a gold compact that used to be my Grandma Rubin’s.  It smells like her.  I can open it and breathe in the traces of Clinique loose powder and her signature perfume.  When we went through her things in the summer of 2003 this was a must have for me.  To smell it evokes memories of her kind voice saying “Je t’aime Danielle,” and distant memories of her satiny tan skin.  Of course, I can also go through boxes of pictures of her brilliant smile deeply enjoying her family, but it’s these other sensory memories that I crave the most.  These take more to conjure up and make her past presence in my life more real to me.  For now, these images have to suffice as nothing resembling a camera has been created to capture the smells and touch of loved ones. 

            This is what runs through my head on my last night of what will be my last pregnancy.  I can feel our third girl tumbling in my belly.  What was at first just flutters, like a fish side swiping a tank, has turned into gyrations that feel as if they could throw me off the couch.  Though this pregnancy has been harder than the others as I battle what feels like carpal tunnel, intense heartburn, lots of pressure, etc, tonight I am trying to relish it.  It’s strange knowing that such a fascinating sensation will never be felt again.  These little finger scratches reminding me she’s here, the frequent kicks reminding me I must make way for her, the punches that make sitting in meetings more enjoyable as I anticipate her arrival…  Of course none of this is any match for rubbing your nose against the smooth head of your baby or brushing your lips on chubby cheeks, but it is still an amazing feeling.  I look at Avery and Tessa and am amazed that they once thrived inside of me.  I look at my mom and can’t believe she was my home for nine months, and her mom hers…  Women are so lucky to be granted this privilege even as it comes with months of giving up Riesling and Mountain Dew.  Tonight I want to relish these movements for the last time. 

            Technology has come so far, but it still has not found away to capture memories outside of the sound and visual realm.  Perhaps this is why my favorite recollections come in the form of the smells and feel of the moments and people I have loved the most.  Perhaps technology would cheapen this nostalgia…