Let me hear your body talk

Drake knows that he came out of my belly via C-section.  He knows that mommies of all kinds feed their babies milk from their bodies.  He was very concerned that milk does not come out of his nipples (or "niffles", as Flynn calls them).  He almost cried while wondering aloud, "But, if milk doesn't come out of my nipples, how will I feed my babies?"  I thought I had covered the basic biological differences between boys and girls.  He's been in attendance when I have been in the shower or going to the bathroom. Maybe he is just being nurturing. Or, he will invent a way for boys to feed babies with their own nipples.

Flynn is quite focused his own body.  He was very concerned the other day while sitting on the couch, naked.  He was stretching his penis up to his belly button.  "Mommy, why can't it go up to my head?"  How does one explain to a small boy that his penis isn't designed to stretch that far?  If it does, he is going to be very popular.

And life keeps going...

The light in the living room is dimming.  I am alone on the couch; Tim has crawled into bed.  My boys are "camping" in a play tent in Drake's room.  I can hear them talking and singing and having a brotherly bonding moment.  I am trying to settle my brain and my spirit after a roller coaster week.  Here's what happened, in no particular order:

• Drake was suspended from school
• Write In
• The greatest Mother's Day ever!
• Drake's five hour allergist appointment
• Tim leaving his job 
• Starting a new business venture
• Getting caught up on all class work
• The most painfully long soccer game
• A dear friend's mother died (F cancer!!!)
• The first fuzzy caterpillar of the season
• Campus parking ticket while attending a department meeting on campus
• New essay to grade
• Attempting to complete the LazyMan Iron Triathlon
• Moved a tree
• Saved $40 at Safeway in one shopping trip
• Nice weather

The room is almost dark.  I should close my laptop and crawl into bed, too.  I need my strength for whatever next week throws my way.

Library adventures

I have been volunteering in the library at Drake's school all year.  Yes, I am required to fulfill thirty hours of work, but I wanted to do something that I enjoyed (as opposed to getting roped into something really boring or having to chaperone a herd of boys).  I can tell it is the end of the school year, because parents are coming out of the woodwork to help.  Help is always welcome, for sure, but... um... apparently, the nuances of the Dewey decimal system are too difficult for some to grasp.  [Yes, I am being a snob.]  What runs through my head every time?  A line from UHF.  "Don't you know the Dewey decimal system?!?- Conan the Librarian."  I usually re-shelve some of the books, but not all.  The kids don't seem to notice much.

I have been working with a class of first graders.  They are so cute, and they have some fascinating interests.  The Guinness Books are a hot commodity.  They sprint to that section.  Dogs books, too.  Those kids are way interested in dogs.  There is one boy who already knows what he wants to be when he grows up: a meteorologist.  He only checks out books on weather phenomena.  [I'm 38, and I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up.]

Student work is on display throughout the year. The seventh graders' work is the current display: medieval castles.  I had to take pictures, because I am amazed at the ingenuity and I couldn't stop laughing at some of the details.

This was the first submitted- Such awesome detail.	...especially the blood dripping off the wounded guy.
That's some extreme recycling!	The rare "All Tile" castle
I liked the all cork castle...	...until I saw what was guarding it.
Boy 1: Is that the sensei from Star Wars? Boy 2: You mean Yoda?	Hello, Indy! (On the same castle as Yoda)
No kidding!	My favorite from the day.

Other notable materials: an empty Costco cake box; pink duct tape with a Hello, Kitty duct tape drawbridge and ice cream cone spires; reclaimed sticks from the backyard (all cut precisely to fit); Popsicle sticks; glitter and a necklace used to raise the drawbridge; and, of course, Legos.  Lots and lots of Legos.

I recall doing a similar project in Mr. Relph's World History class.  I don't remember any of the results being as creative as these.

Identity crisis

My mind wanders frequently, more frequently as of late.  If it were a child, it would have been grounded long ago for not checking in.  My brain is scattered.  This must be what ADHD is like.  When I become overwhelmed, I just shut down.  I didn't used to do that; the pressure used to make be buckle down and work more diligently.  I'm fairly certain I will be receiving negative reviews from my students this quarter.

I'm sitting at a Write-In, using the time to write for the blog.  I haven't had opportunity much during the last few crazy weeks.  When I'm writing, I'm thinking of other things.  When I'm working or doing other miscellaneous tasks, I want to be/thinking of writing.  In my heart, I know I want to write.  When I'm around these creative people, I feel like a fraud.  I am sitting in a room with a dozen books published among these people.  One has been published by an honest to goodness publisher (complete with contract).  I read the blogs from others I know, and I feel like a fraud, too.

I need to stop comparing myself to others.  My self-esteem is stunted and immature.  I need to follow my passion, even if it is still in its formative stage.  I've claimed to be a writer for years, but I never did anything about it.  It's been less than two years since I have truly been pursuing it.  I forget these other people have been actively doing this for years/decades.  You don't make a free throw the first time you try, and you don't publish your first work (not without significant revision).  I will evolve into the writer I want to be.  And when I do, I will get that inkwell tattoo, officially branding myself as one.

Over-documentation

We, as first worlders, are in a uniquely communicative era. We can talk to any one, any time, any where. We document (or can document) every move of every day: what we read, liked, ate, drank, visited, disliked, viewed. This over-sharing has created a feeling of self-importance. Do all of our "friends" need to know what and where we ate for lunch? More importantly- do they care? So many complain about the level of over-sharing on Facebook and Twitter, yet most of those people don't give up the websites. So, why are we so addicted? Why am I so addicted? Is it strictly FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out), or is it more profound than that? I happen to think it stems from a much deeper desire and need to be remembered, to have our legacy carry on, and to secure our place in the vastness of existence. Think of all the people who have gone before us. Men, women, peasants, royalty, merchants, shepherds, whores, politicians, nurses, everyone. They all had stories to tell, too, yet we (the current living) know little, if anything, about these people. Unless the person was famous and the subject of a book/poem/play/ballad, their stories have been lost to time.

A couple weeks ago, I was finally told some interesting (and scandalous) stories of my family. Had my father not told me, I never would have known. A series of stories would have died out after three generations. At one point, our family had five generations living. Those stories have lasted a little longer, but if I don't pass them on, they will fade, too.

I want my story to be remembered, too.  (And my stories... let's not forget those...)  Those stories are our ticket to immortality.  How do we live on?  Through the memories of others.  I hope this is why I am addicted to Facebook, and not that I have poor self-esteem and want people to pay attention to me.  If I just wanted that, I should become a street mime.  No one can ignore a mime, not matter how hard one tries.

If you give a 5 year old a microphone

Drake came into my room while I was grading essays using the Dragon software.  He thought it was the greatest thing, hearing me talk then seeing the words on the screen.  I let him try it.  This was the result.

Had come out and I'll and then I'll argue that robot went to my gameplay Dragon Dr. launcher it comes down to the elephants. Had to knock cleanup I can't barely had in its ability to Malcolm Flagg LIH methane Lamar eight San Pledge of Allegiance to the flat and states in America and to the pilot for which its patents one nation under God indivisible solidity and justice for all

Dragon has difficulty interpreting the speech of a small child.  At least most of the Pledge is correct.  :)

Maybe we play too many video games...

The boys and I were in the car, and I was slowly backing out of the parking space.  A white Dodge Charger driven by a younger man comes tearing through the parking lot, almost hitting us.  I stop abruptly and mutter something about the crazy driver.

"What happened, Mommy?"  Drakes asks from the backseat.

"That white car is driving too crazy.  This is a parking lot, and someone could get hurt."

Flynn pipes up.  "I know what we need to do.  We need to go to the store and buy some guns and put them on the front of the car and shoot it."

How do I break it to him that we don't live in the Road Warrior movie?

Soccer Season

Yes, indeed, I am now officially a soccer mom.  I have to say... parents of soccer players are nuts!  Maybe it's because we are outside and the kids are running constantly that they (we) feel the need to yell so loudly.  Not sure.  It has rained heavily for every practice thus far, and he hasn't been fazed by it.  [For the record, my practices in AZ were cancelled because of rain.  Here, not so much.] Drake has embraced the "Soccer Diva" role: the tiniest touch, and he falls to the ground.  He's on the ground more than he was in basketball, which is saying something.  Here he is, in his first game.  (He's wearing brown pants and a long sleeved shirt.)  He has two diva-on-the-ground moments.  The better of the two is at :43.

I had to ply him with a snack during halftime.  I wish he would just eat like we asked him to.  Tim and I knew he was going to be hungry.  [Seriously, why does anyone schedule a kids' sporting event during lunchtime?]  He sat out for a couple minutes during the start of second half.  And then, he was put in as goalie.  All the whining stopped.  He was interested in the game. He didn't have to run. He didn't fall on the ground.  I think he has found his niche.

Oh, and the team's name?  The Blue Alligators.  I was rooting for the Ninjas, but I didn't get to vote.