Affecting Eternity: World Teachers' Day

A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops. - Henry Adams

Today is World Teachers' Day, and having had a lot of teachers myself, having teachers teach my kids, and being friends with a number of teachers, I want to give some shout outs to those teachers who have made the biggest impact on my life, my kids' lives and others.

The first teacher who truly made a significant impact on me was my third grade teacher, Mrs Hayden. I *loved* Mrs Hayden. When I entered third grade, I was already starting to enjoy reading, but Mrs Hayden cultivated in me an insatiable appetite for books that has persisted to this day. She would have special reading days planned, where we'd bring in sleeping bags, pillows and our favorite books, and spend half the day just reading on the floor, cozied up in our pallets. She also read to us - books that I've never forgotten like Maniac Magee, Snot Stew, and some book about a boy climbing a mountain and all the horrific things that happened to him and his fellow travelers. (I've got to ask her what the name of that book was.) She would sometimes let us bring in a book for her to read aloud to us, and she graciously tolerated my Babysitters Club books far more than she needed to. With her love of reading, can you see what an impact she made on me?!

Then there was Mrs Davis in 9th grade, affectionately referred to then and forever after as the Divine Mrs Lynn Davis by many of us AP English students. She had a passion for literature that was infectious, and my love of reading expanded to the classics, thanks to her. She made books like Tess of the d'Ubervilles and Jane Eyre come alive. She made grammar a priority and would not let anything slide. She pushed us to write better essays, and instilled in me the importance of a strong opening paragraph and an even stronger conclusion. To this day, I think of Mrs Davis every time I write. That opening line (while I don't always put the effort into it that I should - such as the extremely weak one in this post, "Today is World Teachers' Day") is always something I think about, and I remember her insistence that the opening paragraph capture the reader in a creative and magical way. The Divine Mrs Lynn Davis passed away several years ago, and I can speak for all of us who loved her so much that she will never be forgotten.

The Divine Mrs Lynn Davis

Mrs Balgavy, now known as simply "Jane" to her former students was our GT teacher in junior high and our forensics and debate coach in high school. Mrs Balgavy took public speaking, acting and the theater extremely seriously, teaching us never to break character, never break the fourth wall, and to always be sure we know our shit.  She taught us the proper attire to wear to a theater production. She also had a zero tolerance policy on alcohol, drugs and smoking, putting the fear of God in us if ever we should step out. She taught us to fake-it-til-you-make-it, a skill that I honed and practiced for five years under her guidance. All those skills I learned from her, including how to overcome stage fright, how to speak extemporaneously, and how to convince anyone of anything you are passionate about, are skills I use every single day of my adult life.

Forensics coaches Jane Balgavy and Ashley Wyatt

In college, I had a series of professors who also shaped my writing skills and love of literature and reading. Dr Candido made me fall in love with Shakespeare. The way he read passages aloud to us with such conviction and passion made Shakespeare waltz into the twenty-first century and capture our attention. (Not to mention, Dr Candido was ridiculously sexy to me, with his bowties and bald head, and the way he propped his foot up on a chair as he leaned in on his knee towards us to really emphasize a beautiful line or a significant point... ahhh. I loved him.)  My creative writing professors, Skip Hays, Davis McCombs and Michael Heffernan all taught me to be a better writer in so many ways. While I still think I graduated college with a very pretentious writing style, the lessons they each taught with me have never left, and I continue to learn from them even now. Avoiding cliches, imagining creative metaphors, and incorporating intelligent allusions are things I consider every time I write. Again, I don't always adhere to those standards in blogging, but they are on my mind every single time!

I know I've left out a number of other teachers who impacted me in significant ways. Mrs Hirsch who I had for math at least three times and who tried her damnedest to teach me pre-algebra, algebra and geometry with all her might, Ms Ursery who tried her damnedest to teach me chemistry, Dr MacRae who was a crazy lady with an obsession for all things Scottish and took me to my first Burns Supper, and Dr Cochran who taught the most interesting college class I ever took: Folk & Popular Music Traditions. These are just a few of the teachers I had in my life who have shaped me into who I am today.

Fifi, Mrs McArthur & Lolly

Mrs Campbell & Lolly

My kids now have teachers who are shaping them too. They will learn something from all of them but, like me, will remember some of them more acutely and more fondly than others. For me, I'll never forget Fifi and Lolly's Gaelic teachers at Highlanders Academy and Whinhill Primary, Mrs MacLeod, Mrs Campbell and Mrs McArthur. Mrs MacLeod had my five year old Fifi speaking fluent Gaelic by the end of P1; how amazing is that? She taught with a firm yet motherly approach, and every child in her class adored her. Leaving Scotland and the Gaelic unit was one of the hardest decisions we ever had to make. A part of me will always feel a small pang of regret that our kids didn't get to finish Gaelic medium education. Mrs MacLeod has now retired, and I cannot thank her enough for the amazing start she gave to my daughter's education.

Jaguar & his kindergarten teacher Ms Wilson

Through the years, my kids have already had some awesome teachers, and this year is no different. They are patient, firm, encouraging and challenging to our three children. How can I ever express my deepest gratitude for what they do every single day to educate my kids?

And finally, I can't forget my friends who have chosen education as their careers. It's not the most lucrative career they could've chosen. It can certainly be thankless, and I imagine there are days (weeks? months?) where the pressure and stress is overwhelming. But for whatever their own personal reasons, they keep doing it, they choose year after year to spend their days educating the next generation and future leaders of our society, hoping that something will stick and they will make some kind of impact on some student's life. It's one of the most selfless and most difficult jobs in the world, and probably one of the most underappreciated.

So today, on this 5th of October, World Teachers' Day, I offer my appreciation to my own past teachers, my children's past, present and future teachers, and my friends who have made teaching their chosen professions. You are all amazing and deserve every bit of gratitude, support and appreciation there is to offer. You also all deserve raises. And longer planning periods. And smaller classes. And more resources and materials that don't come out of your own pockets. You deserve pencils, for heaven's sake. And wine. Lots and lots of wine.

(I can't help with most of those things, but can probably help with the pencils and wine. Just let me know what you need, guys.)

So to educators everywhere - Happy World Teachers' Day. You are the best of the best.

Most of us end up with no more than five or six people 

who remember us. Teachers have thousands of people 

who remember them for the rest of their lives. - Andy Rooney

Bathos, Stolen Corpses and Rock n' Roll

One of the coolest, most interesting classes I took in college, the kind of class that colleges should offer more of, the kind of class that is quintessentially “college”, was Folk and Pop Music Traditions. It was in the English curriculum, since we studied the lyrics as much as the history and the music itself, and was taught by a really hipster older guy professor, Dr Bob Cochran.  

Dr Cochran introduced us to all kinds of music I'd never have listened to myself, from the Carter Family to Merle Haggard to Gram Parsons. It is Gram Parsons though who's music and story has stuck with me all these years. 

He introduced us to Parsons by playing "Love Hurts" for us in class. His intent was to differentiate for us the difference between pathos and bathos.  (Pathos is the quality of evoking sympathy and sadness in someone. Bathos is when the attempt at pathos goes overboard into ludicrousy or gross sentimentalism.)  The class silently took in this song, a duet between Parsons and Emmylou Harris, whose voices blend together more beautifully than any two voices I've ever heard. When the song was over, the class sat silently, reverently. Dr Cochran laughed.

"I see you guys were taken in by that song. I was trying to show you bathos, but you all bought right in to the sentiment."

He may have forgotten that while he had all the wisdom of his 50 plus years, we were all still children living and breathing the raw truth that love hurts. 

The story of Gram Parsons is just as enticing as his music. Or maybe just the story of his death. His life was that of a typical 1960s rock star - nudie suits, tours, drugs. But his death - what a story!

He was found dead in his hotel room during a tour; the official report was drug overdose. Not uncommon. But his step-father, who had very little to do with him, requested that his body be returned to Louisiana, allegedly due to a family estate issue, and arranged a small funeral for him, excluding all of Gram's actual friends in the music industry. Gram had recently expressed wishes to be cremated when he died and have his ashes spread in Joshua Tree National Park, his favorite place on earth. So what did his loyal friends do?

They stole his dead body from the airport, of course, borrowed a hearse and drove Gram's coffin to Joshua Tree.  Unsure of how to actually cremate a body, they just poured gallons of gasoline on the coffin and lit a match, while drinking beer and sharing stories of their deceased friend. It didn't result in the small, funereal fire they expected, however, and the raging fireball resulted in a police chase. Gram's friends couldn't be arrested though, because there was no law on the books against stealing a dead body. They were fined for stealing a coffin, and that's about as much the law could muster against them. Gram's wishes were - sort of - granted.

That's friendship. That's rock n' roll. That's - bathos?

Yesterday in a coffee shop, I heard "Brass Buttons" playing in the background, another Parsons' tune that tows the line between pathos and bathos. It reminded me it's been too long since I listened to Grievous Angel, my favorite Gram Parsons album. That would be due to my CD snapping a few years ago in our move from Scotland to Arkansas. But Amazon Prime Music came to the rescue, and I was able to download Grievous Angel and listen to it three times in a row back to back. Honestly, could Emmlylou and Gram's voices weave any better?

(Apparently, Emmylou hated touring with Gram. Apparently, he was a bit of an asshole.)

Anyway, thank you, Starbucks, for reminding me of the fantastic rock fairy tale that is Gram Parsons, of the most interesting college class I've ever taken, and that love doesn't really hurt so bad in the end, once you find the good kind.

Last First First Day of School

Last week, all three of my kids started school. Fifi went into fourth grade, Lolly into second, and little Baby Jaguar - not a baby anymore - started Pre-K.

All three kids went into the same school building at the same time for the first time. For two years they will all be in the same building for the only time in their lives. Fifi will head off to Middle School, and from then on they'll all be off doing different things for the rest of their childhoods.

I remember Fifi's first day of P1 (the equivalent of first grade). It was different than when she went into Nursery (two years equivalent to Pre-K and Kindergarten). She was starting all-day school in a uniform like a real pupil. I cried a little. It was a big deal.

I remember Lolly's first day of Kindergarten. She did NOT want to go to Kindergarten, but I managed to convince her to try at least one day of it. And of course she loved it. I didn't cry. I was happy to see her excited and willing to stay.

Last Monday, Jaguar started Pre-K. It is like Nursery but much more formal. He doesn't wear a uniform, but it's all day and we pack his lunch and he gets a folder that we have to sign each night. Because it's not Kindergarten I didn't think I'd be that emotional about it. But then he went into class the first day. There were tables and chairs and backpack hooks and a place to put his signed folder every morning, and I realized, this was it. This was Jaguar starting school. This was the beginning of the routine he'll follow for the next fourteen years. 

He was so grown up. He wasn't shy. He was impressed by the toys and the alphabet rug and the other kids. He hastily gave me a hug and a kiss, and then I was extraneous. I said a feeble goodbye to the teacher, and Scott put his arm around me, seeing the tears spring in my eyes.

It was my last very first first-day-of-school. From now on, this is our family's routine. Kids to school each morning until Fifi graduates high school. No extra daycare stops. For this year and next we'll drop them off at the same school each morning, but the following year, they will all split up again. Lolly and Jaguar will be in school together, until Lolly catches up with Fifi, just in time for Fifi to head off to Junior High. They will chase each other through the school system until college.

All three of my kids are in school now. Jaguar was only a baby yesterday. Come to think of it, they all were just babies.

"Nothing is as far away as one minute ago."

Time passes too fast.

Kindergarten Concerns: A Fairy Tale

Lolly's a little uncertain about starting kindergarten next week. So I told her this story.


Once upon a time, there was a little girl called Lolly. She was getting ready for her first day of kindergarten. She was a little frightened. What if she didn't make any friends? What if her teacher didn't know her name? She didn't know how to read or add yet. She decided she didn't want to go to kindergarten after all. She hid her new Pikachu backpack and all her new school clothes under her bed.

The day before school started, Lolly said to her mummy, "I'm NOT going to kindergarten tomorrow."

Her mummy said, "But don't you want to go to school to learn to read and add?"

"NO!" she shouted. "I'm not going to kindergarten and that's THAT!"

The next morning, Lolly stayed in her pajamas. Her big sister Fifi ate her breakfast, put on her new school clothes and pretty new backpack, and got ready to go to school.

Lolly said, "I'm NOT going with you."

Her mummy sighed and said, "If you REALLY don't want to go, then you can stay home." Her big sister left without her.

Lolly played all morning, happy that she didn't have to go to school. After a few hours, she said, "I'm going next door to play with my best friend Brayden."

"But Brayden is at school," her mummy said.

Lolly frowned. Who was she going to play with? She realized she'd have to just play with her baby brother all day until Fifi came home.

Fifi came home after school full of excitement. She told Lolly all about her new teacher and all her new friends and how cool school is. She told her that Lolly's teacher had asked where she was and that all the kids wanted to meet her. "Don't you want to go to school with me tomorrow?" Fifi asked.

"NO! I'm not going to kindergarten and that's THAT!"

The next morning, Lolly stayed in her pajamas while Fifi got ready for school. Lolly played with her baby brother for a while, but he wasn't really very much fun. All he did was punch and throw toys. After a few hours, she said, "Can I go play at Emily's house?"

"But Emily is at school," her mummy said.

Lolly frowned. "Can I go play with Jonah?"

"Jonah is at school."

"Lila? Lilliana?" Lolly suggested.

"Both of them are at school too," her mummy said.

This is rubbish, Lolly thought. There was no one to play with. Not any of her friends and not her little brother. She was bored.

In the afternoon, her big sister Fifi came home. She said, "Lolly, your new teacher wants to meet you! All the kids in your class want to meet you too! Won't you come to school with me tomorrow?"

"NO! I'm not going to kindergarten and that's THAT!" she said, but a little less sure of herself now.

The next morning, Lolly stayed in her pajamas while Fifi got ready for school. She quietly watched Fifi leave and suddenly felt very lonely.

She imagined Fifi at school, learning all kinds of new things. She imagined her own class learning how to do new things like read or add. And then she got scared.

"Mummy! What if all the kids in my class learn how to read and add without me?!" she cried.

"Well, if you want, I can help you read and add here at home, so you don't get behind," her mummy replied.

Lolly sat with her mummy at the table, while they looked at the alphabet, but Lolly couldn't help but be worried. She didn't want all the other kids to learn to read without her. She wanted to learn to read, she really did. Later Fifi came home from school and told her all about how much fun school was and didn't Lolly want to go with her tomorrow?

Lolly didn't say anything. That night she couldn't sleep. She didn't want to miss out on learning to read and add. She quietly got her new Pikachu backpack and new school clothes out of their hiding spot under her bed. She thought about school all night.

The next morning, Lolly put on her new school dress. She said to her mummy, "Maybe I'll try school just this ONE time." Her mummy said that was fine. Feeling a little worried and a little shy, Lolly left with her big sister to go to school.

When she got to her new classroom, she saw the nicest looking lady she'd ever seen.

"Why, hello, Lolly! I'm your teacher, Mrs Holland. So nice to finally meet you!"

Her teacher knew her name!

"Why don't you sit at this little table with these children?" Mrs Holland said, leading her to a table with five other little boys and girls.

"Hi, Lolly! Want to sit with us?" the little boys and girls said, and they pulled out a little chair for Lolly to sit on.

That day was the funnest day Lolly ever had. They played Duck Duck Goose and did art crafts and learned about the letter D. Lolly already knew the letter D, as well as the letters she'd missed, A, B and C. She wasn't behind after all! They learned how to add 1 + 2, and Lolly already knew how to do that on her fingers too. She wasn't behind on adding either!

She ran home after school to tell her mummy what a fantastic day she'd had. She told her mummy all the wonderful things she'd done and all the friends she'd made and even showed her mummy a picture she had drawn.

"I LOVE kindergarten!" Lolly exclaimed.

"Do you think you'd like to go again tomorrow?" her mummy asked.

"Well, I'll maybe go again, just this ONE time," she replied. And she gave her mum a big cuddle.

The End.

Saying Goodbye To Summer

My alarm woke me up a little too early this morning at 6am. Though I promised myself I wouldn't, I hit snooze until 6.20. The girls' alarm went off at 6.30; Fifi got up and went back to sleep on the couch, and Lolly stayed in bed.

School starts next week meaning this week is that dreaded time where we start getting used to going to bed early at night and waking up early in the morning. While the girls very obediently went to bed at 8pm last night, I on the other hand stayed up way too late.

I crawled out of bed when I heard Jaguar in his room shouting 'Mama! Mama!' and stumbled through to get the kids their breakfast. The goal was to be 'school ready' by 7.30, as if it was a real school day. The girls whined and moaned as I prodded them out of bed (or off the couch as the situation may be), coaxed them to eat their breakfast, cajoled them into appropriate clothing and nudged them to brush their teeth. Amongst all that, they had to do their morning chores, like feed the cats and organize the shoe rack at the door. And guess what? They were ready by 7.30! Hair brushed, socks on and everything. I even had myself dressed and Jaguar, well, somewhat dressed. It was a successful dress rehearsal for the real thing next Monday.

Morning Checklist

***

This morning we went to the gym, where the girls went to their last Monday KidFifit class. The very last KidFifit class for them will be on Wednesday. On Mondays, they play games in the gym, and on Wednesdays they get into the pool. It was kind of sad for me. Lolly has been going to KidFifit twice a week since February. Fifi was excited to get to join her all summer. But now, my little Lolly is starting Kindergarten, so our little routine is about to change. It makes me feel a little weepy, not so much because she went to her last gym-room KidFifit class, but because our little year together is coming to a close. I'm looking forward to easier days with just Jaguar, but I'll miss my little Lolly.

Furthermore, there were noticeable absences at my own Kickboxing class. All the summer regulars - the teachers - were back at work today. The class felt kind of empty.

Socks and Shoes

***

In the mail this afternoon, both girls got postcards from the school telling them about Open House on Thursday and providing their teacher's names. I don't know who either teacher is, but I guess I'll meet them on Thursday. Just another little reminder that school is starting very, very soon.

You've Got Mail

***

Fifi and Lolly went over to a friend's house today. It's just me and Jaguar, a little taste of things to come. I love the quiet, the no-fighting, the relaxed atmosphere, the running errands with ease, but I think I might just miss the little monsters next week when they are at school. They drive me freaking crazy, but gosh, I love them anyway. Without two big sisters to lug around, Jaguar and I came home from the gym and took a bubble bath, got dressed leisurely, took a bag of clothes to Goodwill that has been in my room for over 7 months, went to Sally's Beauty Supply to buy pink wash-out hair dye (for Fifi and Lolly) and bought some groceries at Walmart. It was easy peasy. We came home and had lunch, then I made a meatloaf. In a few minutes, I'm going to make a recipe to take to my Pampered Chef meeting tonight. All with leisure. I really can get used to this; I'll miss the girls, but wow, life is so easy with just a single child! (If you'd told me that when I had just Fifi, though, I might've hated or at least glared at you.)

Mummy/Son Selfie

It's just about time to say goodbye to summer.

Spelling Bees Are Awful

Last week I attended Fifi's 1st Grade Play and Spelling Bee. The play was an adorable Mister Rogers' Neighborhood play, which I'm not gonna lie, had me welling up at a few places. Mister Rogers was a lovely man.

Following the play was a spelling bee. Now, I know spelling bees are a total thing so I'm probably in the minority with this, but after that day I decided spelling bees are awful. Watching it was, well, torture.

The top three class spelling bee winners from each 1st grade class made it to this public spelling bee. Fifi had come home earlier that week to tell me she had almost made it into the spelling bee, but she got knocked out at the very end, coming in fourth. At first I was disappointed for her - remembering my own similar spelling bee experience in fifth grade - but after watching the spelling bee that day, I was really glad she didn't make it.

Twelve 6-7 year olds stood in a line on the stage in front of all the mommies and daddies, grandparents and siblings, teachers and fellow first graders. They began the rote... " 'Dog'. As in 'I have a dog for a pet.' 'Dog'." Then the first child spelled 'dog', and so it went on.

The first round of words were simple three-letter words, which assumably was to allow each child to get through the first round perfectly. But nerves, and all those faces looking at them, and nerves... and, well, the last little child misspelled "hug" and had to sit down.

The next round was four-letter words, all with consonant combinations at the beginning like "drop", "frog" and "star". Most of the kids got their words right, but you know, nerves... one little child got his word wrong. He sat down. The next round was four-letter words with consonant combinations at the end like "sing", "fork" and "rock". And so on, round after round.

My original thoughts were, "Oh my gosh this is going to take forever." Until a little boy misspelled "knock", went to sit down and burst into tears.

My heart broke for him. Poor kid! I could just imagine how he felt, because I remembered that feeling so well. The humiliation of misspelling a word in front of all those people. Believing they all must think you are so stupid. All your friends seeing you fail. Your parents seeing you fail. The whole world seeing you fail.

After that, the words got longer and harder. "Because". "Although". "Choice". Kids started getting knocked out of the running much more quickly. And more tears fell down little cheeks.

****

When I was in fifth grade, I wanted to go to the spelling bee so badly. I was an excellent speller. I got 100% on all my spelling tests. I loved spelling words. We had our class spelling bee to determine who would participate in the school-wide bee, and it came down to just me and one other boy in the class, a boy who was a clown and didn't care about spelling bees, even though he was fairly smart, who didn't like school and was always disruptive. We spelled off word after word until I was given the word "balloon".

In my head I knew it was one of those words with a double letter. But was it a double O or a double L? The "oon" sound was obviously a double O so I spelled "Balloon. B-A-L-O-O-N. Balloon." The teacher shook her head and the boy took his turn. He spelled it right. He won the spelling bee. I lost.

I was devastated. Not just because of how badly I wanted to be in the spelling bee, but because of the humiliation. Everyone (I thought) thought I was stupid. Everyone else (I thought) could spell "balloon" but me. Even the teacher (I thought) was disappointed in me for making such a colossal mistake. I went back to my desk and cried into my arms. The boy even graciously came over and said, "You can take my spot. I don't want to go to the stupid spelling bee anyway." But it wasn't his choice to hand over his spot to me. He went to the school wide spelling bee, because he was the better speller.

****

Fifi's first grade spelling bee was coming to an end. One boy from her class was left, so we cheered him on (just as we cheered on all the children, correct spelling or not). When he misspelled his word and had to sit down, we could see the look of being totally crushed on his face. The remaining three children spelled off until there was a first, second and third place winner. Each winner got a medal, and the spelling bee was over.

The children were allowed to go see their parents. As I made my way to Fifi, I passed by nine crying children, who were hugging their parents, burying their shame- and disappointment-covered faces into their parents' shoulders. It was awful. I touched the shoulder of the boy in Fifi's class and told him how great he did. He looked up from his mom's lap with tear-stained cheeks, and barely acknowledged the compliment before a new flood of tears gushed.

I decided that day that spelling bees are awful.

Setting up children that young for public "failure" is cruel. While all the teachers and parents are thinking, "Great job, you did so good!", kids don't feel that. They only feel embarrassed, disappointed, and "stupid". Yay for the kid who wins, but all the others? It was heartbreaking seeing so many upset kids. I was glad at that point that Fifi hadn't made it into the final spelling bee. Misspelling her word in the classroom setting was a disappointment for her, but there were no tears. Yet had she misspelled a word in that setting, in front of all those strangers, I know for a fact she'd have been one of the criers. And trying to console her, trying to get her to believe she wasn't a failure in anyone's eyes or dumb or not a good speller would have been tough. I'm glad she was spared that humiliation.

Had I not been there, I'd have thought all that I've just said above was taking it too far, taking it too seriously. I'd have thought, "Competition is good. It's in the real world, and kids need to learn to deal with disappointment." But I was there, and I saw the faces and tears of those children, and I'm not taking it too far. I have decided that public spelling bees are AWFUL.

Kids will discover the real world soon enough. Can't we spend these early years building up their confidence first before letting the world try to tear it down?

High School Musical

Last night, I took my two little girls to see Disney's Beauty & the Beast performed at my old high school. Though the Spring musical was held in the exact same fine arts building I used to perform in as a high schooler, the auditorium has been completely renovated since fifteen years ago into a genuinely exquisite theater.

My daughters and I, along with Devon and Liz, my two best buds from high school, and Devon's daughter, drove into the same parking lot I used to park in and walked the same footsteps I used to walk everyday into the building I spent my teenage life in.

The foyer is nothing like it was years ago, when the dingy carpets were brown and the three long steps crossing the foyer taking you up to the auditorium doors were perfect for sitting on to do homework or having gossip sessions, and the "box office" was just a folding table decorated with a plastic tablecloth. Now, there are real box office booths with glass windows for ticketing, and the building's structure is entirely different. Inside the auditorium, there is still the same incredibly large black stage with possibly the same red curtains, but the seats are now separated with aisles and rather than a couple of speakers and a light/sound board in the back row shut off with plywood walls, the sound booth is now a fully equipped media room in the balcony.

Despite looking so different, I was taken back years ago (when the budget was obviously not so generous), to the countless hours I spent practicing on that stage, watching performances in those seats, hall talks in those corridors and even a tornado warning lined up against those walls with books over our heads acting as very dubious protection should the roof by blown off.

My children, of course, did not have the same flood of memories. They ran around excited through the aisles to the seats we pointed them towards. Confusion and indecision broke out about who was sitting with whom, and we exchanged seats a dozen times before the kids were happy with their seating arrangements.

Mrs Tarvin - I'm allowed to call her Ashley now, even though it still seems a bit weird - said a few words before the play began. Ashley had been one of my Forensics coaches in high school, and hearing her speak, I still couldn't quite grasp the concept that she's not still my teacher.

The student pit band started up.

New memories rushed over me.

A few years ago, in Scotland, I asked my daughter's dance teacher about the local amateur dramatics groups, and how one gets involved. Scott and I had gone to the Arts Guild to see RENT, and I only discovered they were a local drama group when I heard the woman behind me say her co-worker was in the show. I realized then how much I missed acting and decided to find out more. Fifi's dance teacher, Linda, told me about a group that was soon holding auditions for Footloose, and I gathered up some (okay, a lot of) courage and auditioned. Little had I realized until that point just how much I had missed being on stage, and, well, that was me hooked. About a year later, the Greenock Light Opera Club (GLOC) did Beauty & the Beast. I had an absolute blast dancing around as a gold fork in some scenes, and singing savagely as an angry villager in others.


As the opening music filled the CHS theater, emitting from the same pit our fellow classmates used to play in, I was transported not only back in time but in space. I was in high school, I was in Scotland and I was right there with my wonderful daughters and friends, all at once.

The curtains opened and there on the stage was the Prince, being approached by the old peasant woman. (Considering I was half in Scotland at this point, I guess it might be understandable that my first thought was, "He's awfully young to be playing the beast." A second later I realized, um, that's because I'm watching a high school musical.) Moments later, the stage was fully lit with a lovely village set and villagers in fantastic costumes in a stage freeze. Belle appeared on stage. I had wondered previously what the standard of this show would be, seeing as they were all high schoolers, but as soon as Belle opened her mouth, I wondered no more. Her voice was beautiful, sweet but powerful. From the very start, I believed she was Belle and was immediately transported to 18th century France. My memories of high school and GLOC vanished. Aside from the instinct to sing where I had once been expected to sing, and in the first soprano parts, I forgot about myself and really enjoyed the show.

All of the characters were fantastic. Maurice, Belle's father was gentle and appropriately dopey-bizarre. Gaston was incredible - great voice and commanding presence. Lumiere and Cogsworth had the audience in stitches with their often off-script jokes. Mrs Potts was sweet and motherly and very endearing. The beast was frightening at first (my five-year-old jumped into my lap when he came on stage) but genuinely grew kind and lovable by the end. The enchanted objects' costumes were dazzling. The sets were effective and realistically Disney. The singing by all the main characters was beyond what I expected for a high school production, and many of them were worthy of far greater. The choreography, especially in the Tavern song, where they all sing about Gaston, was energetic and entertaining.

My girls loved it. Keeping them in their seats was a feat and keeping Lolly quiet was impossible. Lolly even cried at the end when the Beast was stabbed by Gaston. (Was that spoiler?) The girls said to me afterwards, "Thank you SO MUCH, Mummy, for taking us here!"

After the show, the kids raced around foyer getting photos with all the characters and autographs for their playbills. They were so excited, we could barely keep them all together!


We then took the kids backstage - calling them VIP - but backstage was nothing like it was in our day. We opened the side door and found ourselves not in the short hallway separating the choir room from the two dressing rooms, but in a long school corridor with classrooms everywhere. A student, still in her actor's makeup but now wearing a Beauty & the Beast t-shirt, pointed us in the right direction. Soon, we found ourselves in that very choir room I knew so well, which still opened up into the wings of the stage.

More memories. This is where pre-show excitement electrified the air, where we were shhhhhhed a million times, where girls did the boys' make-up (especially the boys we liked), where twenty-second costume changes were somehow managed in ten. Many arguments broke out in that room, and so did many make-out sessions. It's a magical room.

We entered the wings and walked onto the stage. Devon joked that she could feel our stage ghosts, but silly as it sounds, I kind of felt we could. I saw myself fifteen years younger standing behind that red curtain, with the hush of the audience, the pit band playing, all of us making silent, exaggerated faces to warm up, noiselessly shaking out our hands and arms to build up the energy, and waiting for that breathless moment when the curtains would be pulled and the full bright lights would blind us and we would turn into fiction.

As I watched our kids run around the stage, making lots of noise, and trying to climb all over the set (which we put an instant stop to), I wondered what passions they will discover as they grow and what experiences they will remember years later. I wondered where each will end up, and if they will have high school memories worth returning back for.

I may find it extremely difficult being back in my home town again after so many years away, but one thing I can say without reservation is that I have a lot of great memories of this place that have been worth revisiting.

Cabin Fever

I have some serious cabin fever going on right now. Except for two very short excursions, I've been stuck in my house since Sunday. It's Thursday. I feel like I'm under house arrest.

Sunday morning, Scott's mum and dad took the kids to breakfast and then to church while Scott and I slept in late and had a quiet morning together. That afternoon, my dad, stepmom, brother and an aunt and uncle from Pennsylvania (here for my big brother's wedding the day before) all came over. Sunday evening is when 'thundersleet' hit Arkansas. It was the second* most amazing storm I've ever seen. Sleet, freezing rain, thunder, lightning, all at once. It was incredible.

(*Second to the time we came home from Scotland for a visit and witnessed fork lightning touching ground so close we could see where it hit, and the flashes were so bright, the street lighting kept turning off, thinking it was daylight!)

Thundersleet

Not surprisingly, given the six inches of ice topped with an inch of snow the next morning, school and Scott's workplace were both closed on Monday. It was actually a little blessing, since that was Mum and Dad's last day here in the States. The roads were a sheet of ice, so I stayed in all day with the kids. Scott's parents ventured out in the afternoon to get some last minute things taken care of, then we had t-bone steaks for dinner (mmmm) and put the kids to bed. We drank whisky. It was a good day to be 'stuck in'.

But come Tuesday morning, it was time to say goodbye. School was cancelled again, and Scott's office didn't open until noon, so Scott took his parents to the airport, while the kids and I said our goodbyes here at home. It was a sad goodbye as always. The children cried; I had to control my own tears to cope with theirs. The house felt very empty without them. Even though we didn't see much of them the last couple of weeks (they didn't even stay with us for the last two weeks!), it was still nice knowing they were somewhere nearby. I even ran into them a few times at the gym and Walmart, which made it feel like we actually lived close to each other again. Knowing they were officially going back home though made them feel very far away again.

So I kept myself busy. The house was a tip after so many guests - we'd had our Seattle friends Jonathan and Sarah and their daughters staying with us the week before - so I cleaned Jaguar's room (had been the 'guest' room), the girls' room (what a disaster!), the hall closet (just because), the kitchen and the living room. The kids bustled about, inside and outside, sometimes playing, sometimes fighting, and I really hoped they'd be back at school on Wednesday. Despite how bad the roads were, I'd have liked to have ventured out a little, but unfortunately Scott had driven to work with Jaguar's car seat still in his car.

Tuesday night, I managed to sneak out for a couple of hours to buy groceries. Saturday would've been grocery day, but we were at my brother's wedding in Hot Springs. Then the weather killed the next three days' shopping opportunities. We were eating weird stuff from the back of the cupboards by Tuesday night.

Speaking of eating, we noticed lots of birds pecking around the ice, trying to find some food. So we scattered birdseed all over the back porch for the hungry birds. We were very popular on Tuesday with the feathered community. And I got some lovely shots.

"Hey, guys, over here!"

Lord Cardinal

Lady Cardinal

Wednesday morning, school was back in session and the roads were more or less clear. Fifi got all dressed up for Dr Seuss day... and then threw up. Sigh. I called the school. Fifi would not be in today. And we would not be going anywhere as planned. No gym for me, KidFifit for Lolly or library Dr Seuss party for any of us. I stayed in all day yesterday. I had errands to run, but even if Fifi could have been trusted in the car for half an hour without the threat of vomit, I had to wait home for two deliveries, which of course, didn't arrive until 4pm. (But they were worth waiting for - my new laptop and my Pampered Chef order!) My head hurt. Lolly refused to listen to a word I said. Fifi was puky and pathetic and feeling sorry for herself. I watched far too much H20 on Netflix with the kids. It was my first day back on keto too, which made me even more irritable. I wanted to cry all day. The highlight of yesterday was dinner. In honor of Dr Seuss week at Fifi's school (which due to ice and illness, she has missed all of), we had Green Eggs and Ham for dinner. 

I would like them with a fox. I'd even like them in a box.

Exhausted, though I had things I wanted to do, I went to bed super early. I slept like a log. I felt awesome waking up this morning.

However, I still couldn't send Fifi to school, since policy is to be symptom-free for 24 hours (back in Scotland it was 48), so here we are again. In the house. I can't take Fifi anywhere because she might still be sick and/or contagious, so no gym for me again this morning. I still needed to run those errands, so we paid some bills and bought a few keto life-savers from Kroger (bacon, whipping cream, Truvia for low-carb cheesecakes) and came home. Now the girls are on 'their' computer (my old laptop), Jaguar is watching a little Charlie and Lola before his nap, and I'm fiddling with my new laptop. My fingers are crossed that Fifi will be symptom-free all day, so she can go to school tomorrow. Not only am I desperate to get to the gym and to have an easier day, but she's got a field trip tomorrow I'd hate for her to miss. Plus, I just need to get out of the confines of this house!! (Lolly, Jaguar, myself, please do not catch Fifi's bug.)

****

Aside from 'cabin fever', I've got a few more updates. Since I didn't blog (or write at all for that matter) much over the last six weeks, here are a few things I'd like to remember.

Number one, Jaguar got his first haircut. I cried. Well, I cried when I got in the car; I held it together in the salon. He had such gorgeous long blonde wispy hair, that flew out to the sides like helicopter blades when he shook his head no. But it was starting to get too long, and he was to be the ring bearer in my brother's wedding, so I took him to get his 'big boy haircut'. I have to admit, as much as it saddened me, he looks adorable (and big) with his new 'do.

Before

After

(My phone takes crappy pictures.)

He looked so grown up with his new haircut, his new dress shoes and his kilt in the wedding.

A suit, a kilt and a uniform walk into a bar...

Which segues perfectly into my brother's wedding.

Fifirst, I took it upon myself to make the flower girl dresses for the three flower girls. I opted for making the dresses instead of buying them to save money. Paying $100 for a child's dress seemed ridiculous, and multiply that by two children and it's outrageous. To make sure all three dresses were the same, I made my niece Ava's dress too.

It was slightly more work than I expected. They turned out beautifully, though, if I do say so myself!

Lolly

Fifi

Ava

Then, amidst the last minute rush to finish the dresses that I'd been taking my time on, my sister-in-law's bridesmaid broke her foot, and the couple asked me to step in last minute. Which meant finding a bridesmaid dress that matched last minute. Christie (my new SIL), her mother and I went shopping for a dress on the Tuesday before the Saturday wedding. In the dress shop, there were only about five long, navy dress choices, and none of the cash-and-carry dresses were even remotely in my size. Except one. ONE. It was really pretty on the hanger, but a size too small. With no other options, aside from finding another store, I tried it on. It fit perfectly. It matched perfectly. I LOVED it. So I bought it. Twenty minute bridesmaid dress shopping, from walk-in to carrying dress home, must be some kind of record. 

(If I'm being literal, it wasn't twenty minutes before I walked out the shop with it. I had it held to the next day, which was pay day.)

I didn't get really any full length photos of me in the dress at the wedding, but here's one taken when I got home.

The wedding was beautiful and sweet. I'm so happy my brother has married such a lovely girl, and I'm delighted to have Christie as my new sis-in-law!

A Few Random Wedding Photos

Groom and Bride (Photobombed by Lolly)

Ava, Matt and Charity

My bros

My main man

The Reception

The Groom's Cake (Star Trek in case you have no idea.)

For more wedding photos: Daniel & Christie's Wedding

Out-Mothering Each Other

I could totally be one of those mothers who hijacks her child's art projects in order to make it the best in the class. I've got that competitiveness in me, and I love arts and crafts. I have fun ideas and love a well-made, mess-free final product. So when a project is assigned from school, I have to make a huge effort to stay the heck out of it and let my child take the lead.

Kids are making their Valentine's Mailboxes for school parties tomorrow. Fifi's class is no exception. A letter went home with the students informing parents that the boxes need to be made at home and brought into school, and there would be a competition for Most Creative, Most Loving, Most Whatever-else-the-teacher-could-think-of. The letter mentioned 'Cute ideas can be found on Pinterest!' Bloody Pinterest.

I haven't made a Valentine's mailbox since elementary school, and that was long before Pinterest took over our imaginations. My mailboxes were shoeboxes covered in wrapping paper (or at least brown packaging paper) and covered with stickers and marker drawings. Glitter was considered high-brow.

I took the letter's advice (BAD) and looked on Pinterest for ideas. BOY, DID THEY HAVE SOME IDEAS. I showed Fifi photo after photo of cute, intricate, creative, stylish, award-winning mailboxes. She loved all of them but didn't want to do any. Fifinally I came to my senses and like a proper mother asked, "What do you have in mind for your box then?"

She thought for a moment and said, "I'd like the top to look like a Scottish flag. On the side, I could have a picture frame or something."

There was nothing on Pinterest that looked like a Scottish flag with a picture frame on the side. I was pleased and humbled by her individual creativity.

So I bought some blue spray paint (because we all know I love spray paint), and while she was at school, I prepped her shoebox by painting it blue for her. By the way, spray paint doesn't apply well to cardboard, I've discovered. I used an entire can on that baby, about six coats, to get the Nike swoosh to finally go away.

Yesterday we got out my trusty hot glue gun and glued down two white strips of paper, creating the Scottish saltire across the top of her mailbox. We cut out a picture frame from a scrap piece of cardboard, and Fifi helped me spray paint it orange. (By helped, I mean, she picked out a color from my collection of cans and stood back while I sprayed. Baby lungs, people.) She drew a picture for inside the frame.

I thought she was done, but no sir. She had other plans. Every side needed something. So today I pulled out my craft box, and we started brainstorming. At the library this morning, Lolly got to do a project using foam Love Hearts, and it had given me an idea. I had a bag of real Love Hearts which I allowed Fifi to hot glue all over the box. I imagined a nice little frame made of candy all around the flag, but she had different ideas. So I once again, stood back and let my kid direct the project. I love what she did with them.

You'd never think she was actually having fun based on this face!

She placed them along the white cross of her flag. It wasn't what I'd have done, but it's how she wanted it, and it turned out really great. We then found some wooden letters. I've been holding onto these wooden letters for years, not wanting to waste them, but today I decided it was time to USE the craft items. She spelled out her name on the box with them. Then she colored the letters in with markers and dotted the 'i' with a Love Heart.

Won't be using those letters again, I guess.

I also had some miniature clothes pegs in my craft box, so she got the idea to peg little pictures or words along the side. I suggested 'Be Mine' or 'Love' (not wanting to use all my pegs!) but she wanted 'Valentine'. So we glued on the pegs, and I showed her how to cut hearts out of folded paper. Most of her hearts looked like those pixelated Space Invaders, but oh well! She pegged the hearts to the box. It turned out super cute!


On the next side, she drew some hearts on pink cardstock and glued a Love Heart in the middle of each. I call this the Triple Hearts side.


And finally, I let her use my pink alphabet stickers (my poor craft box!) to write a message on the last side. "Happy Valentines Day!" (There was no apostrophe sticker, much to my perturbation.)


I think the whole box looks fantastic.

I know it's easy to get caught up in our kids having the "best", most impressive projects, but really, that's not what it's all about. The real point is letting the kids get creative themselves, letting them come up with their own ideas, and then helping them see it through. I'm not criticizing ANYONE for doing awesome Pinteresty projects; if Fifi had wanted to do one, we would have, and I would've LOVED it. I'm AMAZED by how cool some of my friends' kids' mailboxes are. (I'm thinking in particular of a Facebook picture of the most awesome shark mailbox I've ever seen. I am so not criticizing this stuff!) What I'm more pointing to is the temptation to take over their projects for them, and make them do what we, as the parents, think is the best way. This not only deprives them of the opportunity to be creative and think for themselves, but it also undermines their confidence. When we shoot down their ideas in preference to our own, we're only teaching them that they are not as creative as we are nor as capable. Their ideas may not win them the class competition, but who cares? It's often, I've found, the parents, with their parental pride, that cares more about winning those competitions than the kids do. Sure Fifi mentioned that she wanted to win, and of course she wants to win. I just reminded her that winning the competition is only part of the fun. Having a blast with glue and markers, coming up with fun ideas, and making her ideas come to life is the good stuff. Whoever gets picked, I reminded her, will have worked just as hard as she did, but hopefully she'll have had the most fun!

I've seen a refreshing number of friends on Facebook remark that their kids have just colored and glued and stuck stickers on their boxes. I've seen a refreshing number of people suggest we all stop competing with other parents via our children. Furthermore, my saying I let Fifi take the lead and do her own thing is also not meant to be another version of "competition" or "out-mothering you". We can compete with each other by our non-competitiveness too. ("I'm less competitive than you, na-nana-na boo boo!") All I'm really saying is, it's the child's project. Not ours. We had our turn, back in the day. Now if we feel the need to out-craft each other, that's what bloody Pinterest is for. But let's keep the parent competition out of our kids' classrooms. They have enough peer competition to deal with as it is.