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.

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!

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.

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.

Valentine's Day for Married People

Student: "Coach Schrater, what do you think Cody will get you for Valentine's Day?

Me: Probably some flowers and whatever random stuff he can come up with beyond that.

Student: “Don’t you think it will be something extra special since it’s your first Valentine’s Day married?

Me: No.

This conversation took place this morning in the midst of my kids repeating the weather forecast ten times within a forty-five minute class period. When I immediately assumed that there would be nothing special happen for Valentine’s Day this year, I realized Cody and I have done a pretty sub-par job of being extra sweet in our first year of marriage. We are seven-ish months into marriage at this point. But perhaps more importantly, we are very near six years of being in a relationship. I always wonder what it would be like if we would have gotten married sooner. I see couples who get married who have been together maybe a year or two and I can tell that their dynamic is different than mine and Cody’s. Nonetheless, I still think that Cody and I have done a less than great job at making our first year of marriage special. We are pretty much in the routine of work, hang out, sleep, work, hang out, sleep. We throw in an occasional movie or television show. Nothing too crazy.

I think I have always known that this type of routine is inevitable in any relationship. And my mom always told me, soak up all the good stuff that Cody does for you now, because once you’re married, it will all end. And as is the case most often, my mom is right. Things are pretty boring in the Prater household. I would like to argue that we do have an awesome trip planned this summer which is very noteworthy. I would also like to make note that our routine is very comforting and calming to me. I would also like to go out on a limb and assume that Cody would argue that he doesn’t do sweet, ridiculously nauseating things for me anymore, because “you don’t like surprises” or “you would rather plan it anyway.” While these things are both true, I sometimes miss the days when Cody didn’t know I don’t like surprises and hadn’t accepted my need for control of every tiny detail of my daily life. I appreciated the Cody who used to be wide-eyed and crazy in love to the point of risking embarrassment for me. My most beloved Valentine’s Day involved Cody writing a poem (“I Carry Your Heart With Me” by e.e. cummings) in sidewalk chalk from my apartment door to the campus center at school where a huge pink sign hung reading: “Katy Schrodt, will you be my Valentine?” I melted. I knew he loved me. I just knew it.

So, I have come to this conclusion. I am probably partly to blame for Cody’s lack of really sweet things like he used to do. I realize that I am hard to please for a guy like Cody who never thinks of all of the details that need to be ironed out. I also tell myself that I have probably broken Cody’s will to be sweet anymore, because he knows that when he screws stuff up, I’ll complain. Nonetheless, I am making a vow today to be sweet for the remainder of February (screw March). Not because Valentine’s Day is coming up, but mainly because it’s the shortest month anyway and we’re already on the 8th day. I am going to do something sweet for Cody for the rest of these days. It may be a very small gesture. It may be something that Cody doesn’t even realize (I contend that I do Cody’s laundry on a regular basis and cook meals much more often than he does which are both sweet), but I will still do them. I am going to start with a list of all of the reasons I still and always will love CP…

1. He takes out the garbage.
2. He is responsible for paying the majority of the bills we have.
3. He looks really good naked.
4. He wants to go to Europe with me and let me plan and over plan and plan again every moment of every day we’re there.
5. He helps take care of the dogs.
6. He comes to all the volleyball games I coach.

Okay, I am sure there are more, but that’s as far as I got. That’s a really lame list of reasons why I love him. I’ll keep working on this. And until then, here’s a throwback to a much simpler moment in time. I plan to reenlist the 19 year old kid who slowly walked to class that day trying to pretend that she wasn’t head over heels in love with the crazy guy who took the time to write a love poem on a sidewalk. May I always love the crazy guy…and may he always want to write love poems on sidewalks. For me.

I carry your heart

I carry your heart with me (I carry it in
My heart) I am never without it (anywhere
I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
By only me is your doing, my darling)

I fear
No fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want
No world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
And it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
And whatever a sun will always sing is you

Here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(Here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
And the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
Higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
And this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)

e.e. cummings

Tennis Shoes to Cow Poo

Okay, so I have a confession. If there was ever a dream of mine, it would be to be a writer. Like a I-make-money-by-writing-random-thoughts-that-come-to-my-mind-in-a-witty-irresistible-style-that-everyone-loves writer. I am intrigued by any “job” that doesn’t require you to answer to a boss or show up at a specific time of day. I want a job like that so badly. So, one of the things I do in my spare time occasionally is read blogs or books of people who are obviously in the aforementioned category of writer. I want to know what they do that allows them to be a writer.

My most recent research project has been the one and only Pioneer Woman. I have heard people (i.e. Katie) talk about the PW before. I have even cooked (gasp, I know) a few of her recipes that have been quite delicious. I have even just recently purchased her most recent book Black Heels to Tractor Wheels. I have read her writing. I appreciate the way she writes and I can recognize why people everywhere would be attracted to it. I think it’s a little cheesy for my taste, but to each his…her own.

Anyway, I am on page 62 in her book which recounts her magical, fairtytale-ish love story of her and Marlboro Man..I’m not sure about the nickname for her husband quite yet…again, a little cheesy. Anyhow, I have read about the PW and her graduation from college and unlikely meeting with Marlboro Man thereafter. I have lived through the first kiss and silly moments between the two of them. I have muddled through the cute, sweet, irresistible beginning of these two people. And sure enough, I found myself sucked in. I was suddenly trying to recount my steps with Cody in those early years of our relationship. I was panicking that I didn’t run over my dog and fall into Cody’s rough, calloused cowboy hands. I was certain that without a chance encounter in a smoky bar and my making a fool of myself in so many ways around Cody years ago, we didn’t stand a chance.

So, I decided only a few moments ago that I wanted to put a face or at least a profile of a face to this Marlboro Man. From the PW’s description I had created some smoldering, delicious man who I would undoubtedly see and suddenly understand all of the to-do over her love story. I visited her website to find that she furthers the mystery of the Marlboro Man by never showing his face exactly. So I bypassed all of the hoops of her blog and googled the guy. As I sat here looking at all of the pictures of this guy, I realized I have nothing to worry about. Cody is my Marlboro Man if the magical man for the PW is the guy in the pictures without the hat and Wrangler’s on. I don’t even like Wrangler’s. And the guys is not as good looking as the person I had created in my head after reading the book. And then I realized what has happened…

The success of The Pioneer Woman is not because her husband is super hot and that her life is so thrilling that she could write any tiny thing about her existence and it would be a hit. The success of this chick comes from the fact that she’s a writer. A person who understands who’s she’s writing to and tailors those words for every sappy woman who ever dreamt of marrying someone unexpected and being swept off their feet in the world of unknown comfort simply because he is there. So, here’s to you Pioneer Woman. For getting me to buy your book and google your husband. And for getting me to appreciate the guy that I have in my life. And for writing a blog that makes you tons and tons and tons of money. Perhaps one day I will find my niche the same way the PW has done.

But I have to sayI hope I don’t have to move to the country and start cooking to make my dream a reality. Tennis Shoes to Cow Poo doesn’t really have the same ring anyway.

Vegetable Oil Wrestling and Life Lessons

One of my first experiences with Cody that has stuck with me for years dealt with vegetable oil wrestling. Now, I realize you are probably asking yourself..what do you mean by vegetable oil wrestling? Do you mean people would get really drunk in a small house with tarps over the nasty shag carpet and minimal clothing on and literally wrestle in vegetable oil? That's exactly what I mean.

I remember when we were freshmen Cody encouraged me to come to a party where there was going to be vegetable oil wrestling. I logically had never heard of, much less actually seen anyone vegetable oil wrestle (or maybe even just wrestle) but Cody was pumped about this. I remember attending the party with some of my friends. I found myself standing against the wall watching all sorts of people roll around in vegetable oil, nearly naked, groping one another, slamming each other against the wall, slipping and sliding..and having an all around great time it seemed. I remember declining Cody's incessant pleas to wrestle with him. I think I used volleyball as an excuse. I claimed I didn't want to get hurt, but I really just didn't want to step out of the box. I have never been a person to step out of the box without hesitation. I don't want to be embarrassed. I don't want to make a fool of myself. I don't want do anything that I didn't have previously scheduled. I'm a stick in the mud. I know this.

This experience early on in college was luckily the beginning of a bit of a revolution for me. The more I spent time with new people doing new things, the more I have learned to be a little more spontaneous. I would attribute a lot of this to Cody. The rest of it is probably just a little bit of growing up.

Now, how in the world does this story about vegetable oil wrestling deal with present day? Cody and I are going to go to Europe this summer. And this is a bit out of character for me. Not because I don't like to travel, but because it is going to require me to accept that some things cannot be controlled when I am in a foreign country for nearly two weeks. There will be stuff that happens that we don't plan. We will screw stuff up and not be able to figure out where to go or when to go there. Things will happen that I don't see coming. And I will be okay with those things. The older I get, the more I understand that sometimes the best memories are made when you don't mean to. It's the screw ups that are the most memorable and that's okay. Cody and I are going to hop on a plane and go somewhere new and live it up. While we're young enough to walk and without children. We are going to travel and have fun so that we don't have to refer to how we once thought about going to Europe. The way we still refer to when we (I) almost wrestled in vegetable oil.