Cody Wayne Prater's 25th birthday was June 9th. I realize that today is not June 9th. I haven't done a very good job of celebrating Cody's birthday this year. I didn't even wrap a present. I got him a card that is still sitting in a drawer in our kitchen. I really dropped the ball in other words. In an attempt to make up for a less than noteworthy birthday celebration, I am going to devote a blog post solely to Cody and all that he does for me. Here goes!
Cody's 25th birthday falls ten days before our one year wedding anniversary. This close occurrence of such important events that both deal with Cody got me thinking the other day about where in the world I would be without my husband. I decided that I would make a list of 25 reasons why I love Cody and write them down for him. Then, I remembered that I made a list of 365 reasons why I loved Cody for our one year anniversary years ago. I didn't want to undermine the coolness of my list of 25 with the list of 365. So I started thinking about just our past year of marriage. What have I learned from being legally bound to Cody for almost an entire year? What I determined I have learned are a few lessons that Cody has probably been teaching me for a lot more than just our one year of marriage.
Lesson #1: Don't take things too seriously.
Cody is the king of silliness. I used to think that his over-the-top antics were somewhat hard to stomach when I first met him. I realize now that Cody may have the right idea. I am naturally very serious and extremely focused on serious things. Cody keeps me laughing. He reminds me that there is more to life than following a path that someone else laid out for you. Cody is a constant reminder of loving everyday that you get to wake up and go out and do something good and positive with your time. With a smile on your face. Or at least a smile closer to the surface of your overly intimidating demeanor than it was seven years ago when you came in contact with Cody.
Lesson #2: Dream a little.
Cody is a dreamer through and through. He thinks that the world is his playground, and there is nothing that could ever stop him from accomplishing what he wants to do. I am much more realistic about my life. I am always on the lookout for roadblocks and hurdles along the way. Cody continues to defy the odds of the real world. He gives true meaning to the idea that dreams can come true. I have not wholeheartedly adopted this motto with my life. I am afraid that if we both did nothing but dream, we would most likely find our home foreclosed upon with no money in the bank standing in the unemployment line. I do find myself trying to open my mind to things that once seemed ridiculous to me. I have learned that with Cody there are lots of odds that can be defied.
Lesson #3: Believe in a power that is bigger than yourself.
I am not a huge religion philosopher. I don't like writing or speaking about my beliefs in God, because I think that everyone's religious ideas are unique and honestly none of my business. One of the things that struck me very early on in getting to know Cody was that he is religious unlike anyone in my family or anyone that I've ever known very well. Cody believes in God. He believes in God with more conviction and confidence than I have ever found. In my time being with Cody I have learned that all things in this world are controlled by someone bigger than us. I still cannot rattle off Bible verses. I will not stop a stranger on the sidewalk to tell them about Jesus. But having Cody as a constant reminder of the good things that come from believing in God helps me to continue working toward what is right for me from a religious stand point. And being married to a man that is so strongly rooted in his faith allows me to sleep at night knowing that Cody is good and just and kind. There is nothing more important than that.
Lesson #4: Cody loves me.
I realize this is weird. You're probably wondering how did I just now realize that Cody loves me? In my almost seven years of knowing and being with Cody, I was never confronted with a whole lot of controversy in my personal life. Cody got to know the completely level-headed, calm and collected Katy Schrodt. I was blessed to have a few years of relative calm in my life. Along the way I found myself occasionally wondering why in the world Cody would have ever picked me out of all the other girls he found. I always questioned his motives on some weird level. Years went by. He never faltered in his devotion to me. He never gave me any reason to believe anything other than the words that came out of his mouth. Yet, I always figured I would eventually be struck with some catastrophic event in my life that would require me to be depressed and angry and upset and a little crazy and Cody would finally see the writing on the wall. While we were dating, I always worried I was just holding it all together well enough to sneak the craziness by him. Close to the wedding I have to say some of my insecurities surfaced. I was irrational at times. I was weird and girly all the way around. He didn't flinch. I cried. I complained. I made crazy requests. He didn't blink an eye. And in our first year of marriage I have again been faced with things that simply require me to be a little unstable. A little raw. And again, Cody has not faltered. He is a strong man who stands by the people he loves. And with every year older I see Cody turn, I find myself a little more in love with that guy that seemed so silly years ago. I love so much about him that's it's hard for me to believe that I am the one that caught this smokin' hunk of a man. And then again I come back to remembering that there is a map that we are all following that doesn't involve me or Cody making decisions. And I'm okay with that.
Happy birthday, Cody Prater! You're the best husband I have ever had. I hope your next 25 are as blessing-filled as your first!
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Monday, May 2, 2011
Caught in a Wildfire
One summer when I was about 14 years old, part of Fort Chaffee caught on fire. It was mid-July, 100 degrees, and we hadn't had any rain in weeks. My parents' house is very close to Fort Chaffee. I remember frantically running around dousing our back yard with a water hose. The news channels were updating us on the progress of the fire. I remember smelling the smoke, hearing an occasional crack of fire. As the flames continued to approach our house, my mom finally gave in and instructed my brother and me to help her grab the most valuable things from our home and store them in our Suburban in preparation for a speedy escape. I remember running into my home and quickly evaluating what in that house that I had to save. My mother grabbed family pictures, important documents, and other stuff like that. I don't think my brother grabbed anything because he was never one for directions. I understood the seriousness, though. I wasn't that old, but I remember understanding the significance of your life being altered in one smoldering afternoon. That day I walked out of my house holding only a few things. I salvaged my MVP plaque from the softball Little League World Series that my team, the Whiskers, had won a couple of summers before. I grabbed my diary mainly because I had recently read The Diary of Anne Frank and dreamed of being so famous one day. And I grabbed a few pictures because those were the things my mother saved, so I figured I would follow suit. In the end, the fire never jumped the highway that acted as the fortress around my neighborhood. The cops stopped driving up and down our street with their megaphones booming a warning of evacuation. We unloaded our Suburban. My brother scoffed at our unwarranted fear. And we went back to the way things were before Fort Chaffee caught on fire.
In the past couple of weeks, I have found myself in a different type of fire. My entire life has been engulfed by a looming force that my family has not been able to define quite yet. My mom has been diagnosed with cancer...again. Those of you who have known me for some time are probably aware that this is round three of the cancer fight for my mother. We are not positive of all of the details, but we know that regardless of the whereabouts or size of the flame, it's coming. We learned about the diagnosis on Good Friday (the irony, right?). We have spent the past days running tests and concocting some sort of game plan. We are dousing our yard with water hoses. Gathering our most treasured possessions. And preparing for the arrival of the catastrophe that is cancer.
I went back and forth on whether or not to blog about this. I recognize that the news of my mother's diagnosis will eventually spread. We are asking for prayers and thoughts from whomever is willing to give them. I just know that my mom gets so exhausted by the incessant questions, the pitiful looks, the defeated greetings from people who learn of this news. At the same time, I know that this is part of our story now. This time in our lives will be notable for not just my mom but for our entire family. I know that Good Friday is one of those days that will stand out as a bridge between the way my life was before my mother was diagnosed and after she was diagnosed.
I have done this three times now. I have sifted through the debris that remains after a loved one is diagnosed with a serious illness. Each time cancer has come and gone from our lives, I have thought to myself that at least the next time I will be better prepared. I will know what to expect. I will be more emotionally stable. As a 24 year old I assumed I would handle this situation with more grace and rational thinking than I did as a 16 year old. I think now I am wrong. Each time the fire approaches our home, I get a little more nervous. I worry a little more. I want to protect my belongings better than the last time. My family is working together to rally the troops. We are going to find all the water in this world to fight for my mom. We will build walls, gather supplies, make game plans, and attack the flames if need be. One thing that I have learned from fighting this fight twice before is that if there is a worthy opponent against cancer, it is my mother. I have all the faith in the world in her endurance, persistence, and faith that is necessary to fight for a day when the flames are left as nothing more than a smoky shadow in the distance.
I don't want to answer questions. I don't need your help. I have a support system around me and my family that will carry us through whatever comes of this experience. I do need your thoughts and prayers, however. I will accept them freely and openly. And most importantly, so will my mom.
I don't know when exactly the flames will die out. I don't know how long we will fight. I do know that I have faith in a power that is bigger than any fire in this world. I know that the same force that extinguished the flames on that hot day in July will protect our most treasured possessions this time around as well. Again, thoughts and prayers are greatly appreciated.
In the past couple of weeks, I have found myself in a different type of fire. My entire life has been engulfed by a looming force that my family has not been able to define quite yet. My mom has been diagnosed with cancer...again. Those of you who have known me for some time are probably aware that this is round three of the cancer fight for my mother. We are not positive of all of the details, but we know that regardless of the whereabouts or size of the flame, it's coming. We learned about the diagnosis on Good Friday (the irony, right?). We have spent the past days running tests and concocting some sort of game plan. We are dousing our yard with water hoses. Gathering our most treasured possessions. And preparing for the arrival of the catastrophe that is cancer.
I went back and forth on whether or not to blog about this. I recognize that the news of my mother's diagnosis will eventually spread. We are asking for prayers and thoughts from whomever is willing to give them. I just know that my mom gets so exhausted by the incessant questions, the pitiful looks, the defeated greetings from people who learn of this news. At the same time, I know that this is part of our story now. This time in our lives will be notable for not just my mom but for our entire family. I know that Good Friday is one of those days that will stand out as a bridge between the way my life was before my mother was diagnosed and after she was diagnosed.
I have done this three times now. I have sifted through the debris that remains after a loved one is diagnosed with a serious illness. Each time cancer has come and gone from our lives, I have thought to myself that at least the next time I will be better prepared. I will know what to expect. I will be more emotionally stable. As a 24 year old I assumed I would handle this situation with more grace and rational thinking than I did as a 16 year old. I think now I am wrong. Each time the fire approaches our home, I get a little more nervous. I worry a little more. I want to protect my belongings better than the last time. My family is working together to rally the troops. We are going to find all the water in this world to fight for my mom. We will build walls, gather supplies, make game plans, and attack the flames if need be. One thing that I have learned from fighting this fight twice before is that if there is a worthy opponent against cancer, it is my mother. I have all the faith in the world in her endurance, persistence, and faith that is necessary to fight for a day when the flames are left as nothing more than a smoky shadow in the distance.
I don't want to answer questions. I don't need your help. I have a support system around me and my family that will carry us through whatever comes of this experience. I do need your thoughts and prayers, however. I will accept them freely and openly. And most importantly, so will my mom.
I don't know when exactly the flames will die out. I don't know how long we will fight. I do know that I have faith in a power that is bigger than any fire in this world. I know that the same force that extinguished the flames on that hot day in July will protect our most treasured possessions this time around as well. Again, thoughts and prayers are greatly appreciated.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Random things I come up with when the majority of my students are taking standardized tests and I have nothing to do at work.
Recently, I have been considering becoming a National Board Certified Teacher. For those of you who are not in the education field, this pretty much means that you do a whole bunch of work and take a few tests over the course of a year or two in hopes of passing the tests and work to get a raise in your salary. The idea seems like a good one, but for some reason I just can't seem to get it together.
Ever since I graduated college (and perhaps more specifically high school), I feel like I have really fallen off the successful, intelligent, hard-working, over-achiever map. My high school career was chalked full of an endless number of ridiculously unnecessary awards and achievements. I made all A's, took every AP class ever, joined clubs, excelled at sports, and everything in between. It was exhausting. It was time-consuming. It was addictive. It was more than any teenager should ever have to juggle all at once. Nonetheless, I succeeded with lots of trophies and a flawless transcript as proof. It was good. I guess.
I then went on to college to do pretty much the same thing as high school. However, I was at UA Fort Smith which most people discount as being worthy of mention when it comes to recounting where you graduated from. I was a Lion and not a Razorback or Sooner or Hurricane or some other mascot from schools so prestigious and terrible at sports that I am not even familiar with their mascot. I think my decision to go to UA Fort Smith was the beginning of me accepting that it was my decision alone to enter myself in the race that all of my friends from high school were in. I was okay with wanting to be a teacher and a coach, as opposed to getting numerous degrees and travelling abroad and going to graduate school. I was okay with not having a cool response to rattle off when I ran into a kid from Southside who had sat next to me in all of our AP classes. I was okay with it.
Even though I went to UA Fort Smith, I still achieved and did well. I maintained most of my over-achiever mentality and accomplished everyting I wanted to accomplish. When I graduated from college I remember wanting to teach AP English to really intelligent students at a big high school much like Southside. I wanted to save the world and become National Board Certified as soon as possible. I wanted to continue winning all of the awards and maintaining my flawless resume...And now, I can't even get myself to look at the National Board website much less actually decide to undertake a program specifically designed to identify the best teachers in America. I don't think I care if I'm one of the best teachers in America. I don't think I care if I do a lot of the things I once thought were essential to life. I don't care how much money I make. I don't care how big my house is. I don't care what kind of clothes I wear. I just don't care. I'm okay with being status quo when it comes to areas of my life that I once envisioned very differently than they are today. I'm okay with working at a small school, teaching average kids, and coaching average athletes. I feel so detached from the constant competition that once was my life that sometimes it seems so weird to me that my life used to be the way it was. It's like when I graduated from college I took my life back to the store and asked to exchange it for something else.
So what does this all mean? Heck if I know. Maybe I've had some fundamental shift in the determination of worth in my life. Maybe it has something to do with my acceptance that it's the people in your life that mean the most. Or maybe it has something to do with some other cliche quote about life being about something other than always being the best. Or maybe it means that I used up all of the winner in me years ago. Maybe everyone only has so much energy to exert toward being good at stuff and mine is all gone. Maybe I am sentenced to a life of the perpetual has-been. Maybe I was never that exceptional in the first place.
Before everyone reads this and deducts that I hate my life and am completely dissatisfied with where I am, know that I am not in that situation at all. I'm perfectly happy with my life as it is today. I wouldn't change much of anything if given the opportunity. Maybe it has taken me 24 years to be confident enough with who I am to stop worrying about what everyone else thinks. Or maybe I just needed a really good guy and a couple of dogs to slow me down enough to take it all in for a minute. Maybe that's it...I'm just taking it all in. For a minute.
Ever since I graduated college (and perhaps more specifically high school), I feel like I have really fallen off the successful, intelligent, hard-working, over-achiever map. My high school career was chalked full of an endless number of ridiculously unnecessary awards and achievements. I made all A's, took every AP class ever, joined clubs, excelled at sports, and everything in between. It was exhausting. It was time-consuming. It was addictive. It was more than any teenager should ever have to juggle all at once. Nonetheless, I succeeded with lots of trophies and a flawless transcript as proof. It was good. I guess.
I then went on to college to do pretty much the same thing as high school. However, I was at UA Fort Smith which most people discount as being worthy of mention when it comes to recounting where you graduated from. I was a Lion and not a Razorback or Sooner or Hurricane or some other mascot from schools so prestigious and terrible at sports that I am not even familiar with their mascot. I think my decision to go to UA Fort Smith was the beginning of me accepting that it was my decision alone to enter myself in the race that all of my friends from high school were in. I was okay with wanting to be a teacher and a coach, as opposed to getting numerous degrees and travelling abroad and going to graduate school. I was okay with not having a cool response to rattle off when I ran into a kid from Southside who had sat next to me in all of our AP classes. I was okay with it.
Even though I went to UA Fort Smith, I still achieved and did well. I maintained most of my over-achiever mentality and accomplished everyting I wanted to accomplish. When I graduated from college I remember wanting to teach AP English to really intelligent students at a big high school much like Southside. I wanted to save the world and become National Board Certified as soon as possible. I wanted to continue winning all of the awards and maintaining my flawless resume...And now, I can't even get myself to look at the National Board website much less actually decide to undertake a program specifically designed to identify the best teachers in America. I don't think I care if I'm one of the best teachers in America. I don't think I care if I do a lot of the things I once thought were essential to life. I don't care how much money I make. I don't care how big my house is. I don't care what kind of clothes I wear. I just don't care. I'm okay with being status quo when it comes to areas of my life that I once envisioned very differently than they are today. I'm okay with working at a small school, teaching average kids, and coaching average athletes. I feel so detached from the constant competition that once was my life that sometimes it seems so weird to me that my life used to be the way it was. It's like when I graduated from college I took my life back to the store and asked to exchange it for something else.
So what does this all mean? Heck if I know. Maybe I've had some fundamental shift in the determination of worth in my life. Maybe it has something to do with my acceptance that it's the people in your life that mean the most. Or maybe it has something to do with some other cliche quote about life being about something other than always being the best. Or maybe it means that I used up all of the winner in me years ago. Maybe everyone only has so much energy to exert toward being good at stuff and mine is all gone. Maybe I am sentenced to a life of the perpetual has-been. Maybe I was never that exceptional in the first place.
Before everyone reads this and deducts that I hate my life and am completely dissatisfied with where I am, know that I am not in that situation at all. I'm perfectly happy with my life as it is today. I wouldn't change much of anything if given the opportunity. Maybe it has taken me 24 years to be confident enough with who I am to stop worrying about what everyone else thinks. Or maybe I just needed a really good guy and a couple of dogs to slow me down enough to take it all in for a minute. Maybe that's it...I'm just taking it all in. For a minute.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Blast from the Past
Last night Cody and I got in bed around 10:44 (yes, I know the exact time). We have just recently started letting our two ridiculously spoiled dogs sleep with us. So Cody, myself, Finny and Staley were all cocooned in our cozy little bed. Instead of just falling asleep as we normally do (don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere weird with this), Cody and I started singing songs. Yes, singing. Out loud. Every good song we could ever think of. Our dogs slept as we sang. The songs we sang included, but were not limited to:
“Living in Your Letters” Dashboard Confessional
“Again I Go Unnoticed” Dashboard Confessional
“Sylvia Plath” Ryan Adams (this was just me singing mainly)
“Edge of Desire” John Mayer
“Why Georgia” John Mayer
The list could go on and on. Those are just the ones I remember from the haze of the night. We literally went through every song that we could think of that had any significance to us. After we got done signing songs, we decided to transition into theme songs from television shows we used to watch. We sang songs from Full House
Saved By the Bell
(okay, I was the only one who knew Saved By the Bell’s theme song; I have no idea how I ever married this kid)
Family Matters
Doug
Hey Arnold
Ahhh! Real Monsters
Hey Dude
Salute Your Shorts
…again, the list is too long for me to remember.
I had the best time with my husband last night. Laying in our bed singing songs and remembering some of the best times of our lives. Every time I hear Cody talk about his childhood I wish so badly that I could have been there with him. I wish we could have watched Full House together. Not as boyfriend and girlfriend, but as friends. I wish I knew Cody when he was wholeheartedly engulfed in episodes of Ninja Turtles. Also, at the same time, I appreciate that Cody and I are so close in age that we both understand the references to things of our past. I think it would be weird to be with someone who was much older (or younger). I take a lot of comfort in remembering the way things used to be. Somehow commonalities in our past make me feel closer to Cody today. It’s weird the way that works.
After we had sung all the songs we could sing and recounted all of the best TV shows of our lives, Cody and I found ourselves thinking about how one of these days not too long from now we will think back on last night. We will remember our bed with our two puppies as one of those places that defined us for just a minute. Just like we remember sitting in front of televisions each week to watch TGIF on ABC, we will remember just me and him in our first house with our first dogs. Just us. No kids. No responsibilities to speak of. We will remember last night just like we remember TV shows of our childhood. Cody said it best when he noted that one day, “This will be our place.” The place we remember with a smile on our face, and a recognition that only Cody and I share with one another. As I get older, I not only take comfort in the good times of the past, but I also take comfort in the good times that I know will come in the future. I look forward to many more nights with Cody (and my baby dogs) in our bed. I take comfort in it right now, and I will one day remember it fondly. Just like Saved By the Bell.
And you're welcome for the pictures of Zack Morris and AC Slater with a mullet. Some things never get old.
“Living in Your Letters” Dashboard Confessional
“Again I Go Unnoticed” Dashboard Confessional
“Sylvia Plath” Ryan Adams (this was just me singing mainly)
“Edge of Desire” John Mayer
“Why Georgia” John Mayer
The list could go on and on. Those are just the ones I remember from the haze of the night. We literally went through every song that we could think of that had any significance to us. After we got done signing songs, we decided to transition into theme songs from television shows we used to watch. We sang songs from Full House
Saved By the Bell
(okay, I was the only one who knew Saved By the Bell’s theme song; I have no idea how I ever married this kid)
Family Matters
Doug
Hey Arnold
Ahhh! Real Monsters
Hey Dude
Salute Your Shorts
…again, the list is too long for me to remember.
I had the best time with my husband last night. Laying in our bed singing songs and remembering some of the best times of our lives. Every time I hear Cody talk about his childhood I wish so badly that I could have been there with him. I wish we could have watched Full House together. Not as boyfriend and girlfriend, but as friends. I wish I knew Cody when he was wholeheartedly engulfed in episodes of Ninja Turtles. Also, at the same time, I appreciate that Cody and I are so close in age that we both understand the references to things of our past. I think it would be weird to be with someone who was much older (or younger). I take a lot of comfort in remembering the way things used to be. Somehow commonalities in our past make me feel closer to Cody today. It’s weird the way that works.
After we had sung all the songs we could sing and recounted all of the best TV shows of our lives, Cody and I found ourselves thinking about how one of these days not too long from now we will think back on last night. We will remember our bed with our two puppies as one of those places that defined us for just a minute. Just like we remember sitting in front of televisions each week to watch TGIF on ABC, we will remember just me and him in our first house with our first dogs. Just us. No kids. No responsibilities to speak of. We will remember last night just like we remember TV shows of our childhood. Cody said it best when he noted that one day, “This will be our place.” The place we remember with a smile on our face, and a recognition that only Cody and I share with one another. As I get older, I not only take comfort in the good times of the past, but I also take comfort in the good times that I know will come in the future. I look forward to many more nights with Cody (and my baby dogs) in our bed. I take comfort in it right now, and I will one day remember it fondly. Just like Saved By the Bell.
And you're welcome for the pictures of Zack Morris and AC Slater with a mullet. Some things never get old.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Poem in a Pinch
In my English classes, I am working with my students to help them write a narrative poem. One of the most important things that I emphasize to my students is that a narrative poem needs only to tell a story of some kind, not necessarily a story about some monumental moment in your life. Most of my kids feed me the "nothing has ever happened to me" line to which I have to prove that some of the greatest poems are about the most random happenings of someone's life that simply made an impact for whatever reason.
In order to prove my point that poems can be about random stuff, I allow each of my three classes to decide on a topic that I am required to write a poem about in front of the class. It's a fun activity because my students are generally amazed that I can write much of anything with 30 pairs of eyes staring at me and giggling behind my back. It's requires me to think on my feet, and I always approach it as a game which I must win because I always beat my students at everything. Always.
Today I wrote three poems. My first poem topic was muddin' (yah, I know I teach in Lavaca). My second hour class requested I write about dogs, which was super easy by the way and made a great little poem that I will present to Finny and Staley on their second birthday. My forth hour class came up with a more difficult topic. Some of my more clever boys worked really hard to think of a topic that they deemed impossible to write an entire poem about. They asked me to write about washing dishes. At first I was a little taken aback. I took about 30 seconds to brainstorm and went crazy on my poem about dish washing. As I stood in front of all of my kids, a poem just sort of fell out of me. The kids didn't even have time to make fun of the words I was writing. After the fact, I stood back and read it and realized it's probably pretty indicative of my last year of life. It's a poem that is very closely about an actual experience I once had. I thought I would share.
The scalding water ambushes the mixing bowl; overcomes my hands.
Jars me back to my new reality.
Dish washing will never be the same.
Wives wash dishes for husbands and children.
Will I always be a wife?
Ever a mother?
He does his part; dish dryer.
Crisp, clean towel squeaking across our new bowl.
Why would any two people need so many bowls?
Unopened gifts, fluffy white bows, mountains of paper;
Well-wishes for a life neither of us predicted.
Scalding turns to temperate--I turn the water off.
Needless to say, my students were a little freaked out by the poem. They had already heard about my previous classes with poems about muddin' and puppies. All of the sudden I had a poem about a huge transition in my life. It was funny to see their reaction. They all analyzed it to mean that I hate Cody and I want a divorce. I was just glad they finally read something and tried to find a meaning beyond a surface level reading. This is my first official poem to post. Get some!
In order to prove my point that poems can be about random stuff, I allow each of my three classes to decide on a topic that I am required to write a poem about in front of the class. It's a fun activity because my students are generally amazed that I can write much of anything with 30 pairs of eyes staring at me and giggling behind my back. It's requires me to think on my feet, and I always approach it as a game which I must win because I always beat my students at everything. Always.
Today I wrote three poems. My first poem topic was muddin' (yah, I know I teach in Lavaca). My second hour class requested I write about dogs, which was super easy by the way and made a great little poem that I will present to Finny and Staley on their second birthday. My forth hour class came up with a more difficult topic. Some of my more clever boys worked really hard to think of a topic that they deemed impossible to write an entire poem about. They asked me to write about washing dishes. At first I was a little taken aback. I took about 30 seconds to brainstorm and went crazy on my poem about dish washing. As I stood in front of all of my kids, a poem just sort of fell out of me. The kids didn't even have time to make fun of the words I was writing. After the fact, I stood back and read it and realized it's probably pretty indicative of my last year of life. It's a poem that is very closely about an actual experience I once had. I thought I would share.
The scalding water ambushes the mixing bowl; overcomes my hands.
Jars me back to my new reality.
Dish washing will never be the same.
Wives wash dishes for husbands and children.
Will I always be a wife?
Ever a mother?
He does his part; dish dryer.
Crisp, clean towel squeaking across our new bowl.
Why would any two people need so many bowls?
Unopened gifts, fluffy white bows, mountains of paper;
Well-wishes for a life neither of us predicted.
Scalding turns to temperate--I turn the water off.
Needless to say, my students were a little freaked out by the poem. They had already heard about my previous classes with poems about muddin' and puppies. All of the sudden I had a poem about a huge transition in my life. It was funny to see their reaction. They all analyzed it to mean that I hate Cody and I want a divorce. I was just glad they finally read something and tried to find a meaning beyond a surface level reading. This is my first official poem to post. Get some!
Monday, March 28, 2011
I have nothing to write about...
One of the annoying things about blogging is that when I don't blog I feel a little bit guilty. It's the same way I feel when I haven't seen my grandmother in a few too many weeks. Yesterday, I found myself in Poteau listening to Norma Jean talk about rain, gas prices, and the danger in getting mugged when I go to Europe this summer. Since I visited Mamaw, I feel that I need to visit my blog too.
I have not a lot to share. I have not been in the mood to write recently. I have decided to stray away from my normal "don't write about random happenings in your life as if anyone cares" attitude and bore you with my life the past two weeks.
1. My dogs have Ehrlichiosis. Yah, I know. It's a disease transmitted by a tick. Both of my dogs randomly started to experience partial paralysis of their hind legs. Cody and I found ourselves in an Emergency Vet Clinic with a vet that didn't know what she was doing and the terrible realization that if I ever have a human child and something happens to them, I may have a heart attack. Both of my boys are better. They are recovering with some antibiotics. And no, I'm not bitter that the whole thing cost us around $700. It's not a big deal. Who's even keeping count?
2. For a few days this past week, I thought I may be pregnant. I'm not, but I had one of those "Friends" moments where I was a little bit disappointed that I am not carrying a child. I assume eventually I will have enough of these "Do I want a baby?" moments to equal enough motivation to try to have one.
3. Cody and I think we want a bigger house. I also want a bigger laundry room that doesn't attach to my garage, a kitchen island, at least 2300 square feet, a fenced yard, hardwood floors, newer construction, and location on the east side of Fort Smith. Right...
4. Spring Break was uneventful. As I caught up on sleep and read books, I thought back fondly on a time when my Spring Break was spent piercing my belly button on the beach and dancing in questionable venues. Oh college, where did you go?
That is all.
I have not a lot to share. I have not been in the mood to write recently. I have decided to stray away from my normal "don't write about random happenings in your life as if anyone cares" attitude and bore you with my life the past two weeks.
1. My dogs have Ehrlichiosis. Yah, I know. It's a disease transmitted by a tick. Both of my dogs randomly started to experience partial paralysis of their hind legs. Cody and I found ourselves in an Emergency Vet Clinic with a vet that didn't know what she was doing and the terrible realization that if I ever have a human child and something happens to them, I may have a heart attack. Both of my boys are better. They are recovering with some antibiotics. And no, I'm not bitter that the whole thing cost us around $700. It's not a big deal. Who's even keeping count?
2. For a few days this past week, I thought I may be pregnant. I'm not, but I had one of those "Friends" moments where I was a little bit disappointed that I am not carrying a child. I assume eventually I will have enough of these "Do I want a baby?" moments to equal enough motivation to try to have one.
3. Cody and I think we want a bigger house. I also want a bigger laundry room that doesn't attach to my garage, a kitchen island, at least 2300 square feet, a fenced yard, hardwood floors, newer construction, and location on the east side of Fort Smith. Right...
4. Spring Break was uneventful. As I caught up on sleep and read books, I thought back fondly on a time when my Spring Break was spent piercing my belly button on the beach and dancing in questionable venues. Oh college, where did you go?
That is all.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Romeo and Juliet for 9th Graders
I teach Romeo and Juliet every year. I remember hating reading the play when I was in ninth grade, but as a teacher, I can’t help but enjoy teaching it. I appreciate it that it’s about teenagers acting out such a dramatic part of life. I also appreciate that it is so sexually loaded without my kids interpreting it that way. Nonetheless, every year I have some rather interesting views from my students about Romeo and Juliet. I have my kids create a journal from the perspective of either Romeo or Juliet. I give the students 10 scenes from the play to summarize and analyze from the perspective of their character. One of the scenes that both the boys and girls have to write about is the honeymoon scene. I feel like the way in which my students write about having sex for the first time is very indicative of the roles men and women fulfill far behind 9th grade. Here are some of the best…
Funniest girl interpretations of the honeymoon:
“After we got in bed, Romeo told me he loved me. He made me feel so comfortable even though the sex part was really weird. ” At least she knows what to expect.
“Romeo and I made love with each other. It was great. Just like Allie and Noah from The Notebook.” I appreciated this response mainly because The Notebook does have a magnificent sex scene. I did have to remind the student that I don’t think The Notebook was out when Romeo and Juliet were around.
“Romeo stole my V card last night and it was awesome.” That good old V card.
“Romeo made love to me and opened my eyes and legs to a brand new world.” Clever. Yes, I did tell her to take out the legs part.
“Romeo and me had sex but it didn’t last long enough.” Preach it sister.
Funniest boy interpretations of the honeymoon:
“Last night I finally got to do it with Juliet. It was really hot.” So romantic.
“I went to Juliet’s room last night so I could finally have sex with her.” Mind you, when Romeo and Juliet have sex in the play, they have known one another for approximately two days.
“Juliet and me exchanged marital relations last night in her bed.” Awkward.
“All of the stress of the wedding was worth it because I got to sleep with Juliet all night. And no we didn’t do much sleeping.”
“I didn’t want to leave Juliet because I really liked having sex with her. And because I love her.” I like how the loving part of the equation is an afterthought even in the mind of a character in a play.
I can appreciate all of these responses. I think it’s funny how students this age generally don’t know how to correctly word a response that deals with sex. I also think it’s funny how the boys approach the task so differently than the girls. None of the boys made love to Juliet, while almost all of the girls made love with Romeo. The boys are also a lot more matter of fact about recapping the event. We had sex. It was good. Move on. The girls want to describe it and really bring the event to life. I think these approaches to sex will follow these kids far beyond 9th grade. You can tell by reading their journal entries the thoughts each kid has about sex already. You can also tell which kids have probably had an experience with sex themselves.
Once I started thinking about how telling these journals are about my students, I decided to go back and look at what I wrote when I was in the 9th grade (yes, I stole the idea for this assignment from my 9th grade teacher. I’m guilty). 14 year old Katy Schrodt had this to say about her interpretation of Juliet’s experience with sex: “We spent the most magical night in one another’s arms. As he held me close, I felt that nothing could be wrong.” When I read this, I was surprised that this was how I decided to allude to Juliet’s sexual encounter. It is much sweeter than I expected my version of sex to be as a 9th grader. It was tactful and not too revealing. It was mature and innocent. It kind of made me miss that kid. My 9th grade self who thought it was against the rules to say “sex” or “make love” in a school assignment. My 9th grade self who knew that no matter who it was having sex, it should be “magical” and “that nothing could be wrong.”
I feel really good about myself for not letting down that freshman in high school who had no idea when or with whom her first sexual experience would happen. I think over the rest of my high school years I definitely lost that “magical” interpretation of sex as I heard my friends recount their less than magical first experiences. I didn’t give in though. I didn’t let myself miss out on something right and good and magical. I didn’t let my 9th grade self miss out on how she knew sex should be. I think my 14 year old self would have been proud of my 23 year old self.
And yes, I did refer to myself in the third person in this blog. Deal with it.
Funniest girl interpretations of the honeymoon:
“After we got in bed, Romeo told me he loved me. He made me feel so comfortable even though the sex part was really weird. ” At least she knows what to expect.
“Romeo and I made love with each other. It was great. Just like Allie and Noah from The Notebook.” I appreciated this response mainly because The Notebook does have a magnificent sex scene. I did have to remind the student that I don’t think The Notebook was out when Romeo and Juliet were around.
“Romeo stole my V card last night and it was awesome.” That good old V card.
“Romeo made love to me and opened my eyes and legs to a brand new world.” Clever. Yes, I did tell her to take out the legs part.
“Romeo and me had sex but it didn’t last long enough.” Preach it sister.
Funniest boy interpretations of the honeymoon:
“Last night I finally got to do it with Juliet. It was really hot.” So romantic.
“I went to Juliet’s room last night so I could finally have sex with her.” Mind you, when Romeo and Juliet have sex in the play, they have known one another for approximately two days.
“Juliet and me exchanged marital relations last night in her bed.” Awkward.
“All of the stress of the wedding was worth it because I got to sleep with Juliet all night. And no we didn’t do much sleeping.”
“I didn’t want to leave Juliet because I really liked having sex with her. And because I love her.” I like how the loving part of the equation is an afterthought even in the mind of a character in a play.
I can appreciate all of these responses. I think it’s funny how students this age generally don’t know how to correctly word a response that deals with sex. I also think it’s funny how the boys approach the task so differently than the girls. None of the boys made love to Juliet, while almost all of the girls made love with Romeo. The boys are also a lot more matter of fact about recapping the event. We had sex. It was good. Move on. The girls want to describe it and really bring the event to life. I think these approaches to sex will follow these kids far beyond 9th grade. You can tell by reading their journal entries the thoughts each kid has about sex already. You can also tell which kids have probably had an experience with sex themselves.
Once I started thinking about how telling these journals are about my students, I decided to go back and look at what I wrote when I was in the 9th grade (yes, I stole the idea for this assignment from my 9th grade teacher. I’m guilty). 14 year old Katy Schrodt had this to say about her interpretation of Juliet’s experience with sex: “We spent the most magical night in one another’s arms. As he held me close, I felt that nothing could be wrong.” When I read this, I was surprised that this was how I decided to allude to Juliet’s sexual encounter. It is much sweeter than I expected my version of sex to be as a 9th grader. It was tactful and not too revealing. It was mature and innocent. It kind of made me miss that kid. My 9th grade self who thought it was against the rules to say “sex” or “make love” in a school assignment. My 9th grade self who knew that no matter who it was having sex, it should be “magical” and “that nothing could be wrong.”
I feel really good about myself for not letting down that freshman in high school who had no idea when or with whom her first sexual experience would happen. I think over the rest of my high school years I definitely lost that “magical” interpretation of sex as I heard my friends recount their less than magical first experiences. I didn’t give in though. I didn’t let myself miss out on something right and good and magical. I didn’t let my 9th grade self miss out on how she knew sex should be. I think my 14 year old self would have been proud of my 23 year old self.
And yes, I did refer to myself in the third person in this blog. Deal with it.
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