What the what

That’s how this mama is feeling. What the what? What is happening? Why are you crying? Are you mad, why? Calm down. Chill out. Take a break. What the what is going on?!

Sometimes that’s me talking to my family, but mostly lately, that’s my self talk. I’m pretty sure I’m losing at life’s game of jumanji and I cannot remember when the game began. Wait, I’m pretty sure that I started sucking at the game like two years ago. Unfortunately now I’m stuck in the jungle and running low on lives.

How does this happen? When I feel like I’m mastering the game in the school world, I’m a shoddy mother and inferior parent and spouse at home. Or when the family is filled with warm fuzzies and life is rosy, at school someone or something is like a lion devouring its final meal, me.

So as I ponder during futsal practice, my nagging brain is stuck in what the what mode.

Is this motherhood?

Just grin and bear it.

The Sound of Silence

A thousand tiny leaves silently waving hello. Watching the birds gently flapping to and fro. Feeling the cool water filling my ears. My body is hovering. Or is it? I stare at the yellow beach ball in the high afternoon sky. I hear. Nothing.

My favorite pool activity is floating. Not on a raft, or tube, or noodle. Just an unhindered back skimming the surface of the blue cool. Once I lean back and my ears begin the slow fill of water, sound leaves. I’m left in silence. It is then that I truly hear and more thoroughly see. All my thoughts inside, observe more intricately the sights above, and enter my own world.

So next time I’m seen gliding across a watery surface, don’t be alarmed. I’ve entered Julie world for a bit.*photo not mine*dissolve photo stock*

Can’t do it all

My husband and I are both in education and have three kids at home. Each night we get home and look at their shining, eager, happy faces and see the joy and appreciate the life we live.

But looking into their eyes also reminds us of students we meet each day. The students with rough home lives, an absent parent, missing life essentials, and those struggling to navigate life. There are days as educator parents where are hearts are filled with these souls, wondering about what is happening each night, or thinking of ways to help support him or her.

Somedays our three children feel the stress of our work. Our worries for the future of education. Our fears over the home life of some. Our frustrations with a system short on funds for supporting us. Our longing to do what’s best. Our ideals about testing overcoming students. Our hopes to make a difference when sometimes it means fighting upstream. What our kids do know, is that we are passionate about education and the lives of our students.

It’s hard to shut down these feelings and thoughts when the final bell rings. We carry it in our hearts, minds, and often those mean our souls are hurting when we get home. Parenting through means we often have family meetings about what life is like for others, teaching them to be a helper and see the hurt in others, but most importantly, talking through our stress. It is hard. We can’t do it all, and often, we need time to process in order to be better parents at home.

Just a stressed filled mama trying to raise and support a Village.

We’re Village People

Moms and dads, let’s talk.

Raising kids is soul searching, boundless lovely, work. And Exhausting. I want, need help along the way. As I get older, the less I want to worry about how this looks and sounds and the more I want to rely on others to support in “raising” our kids. No I’m not asking for handouts or free babysitting, just good ole support from my village.

I’d like to know if my kid is being a jerk or my daughter, a mean girl. Similarly I’d be ecstatic to learn that one sat with the lonely, talked with the new kid, or helped the aging. I have one entering preteen female drama years and another less than a year from teenagehood! The girl already sees and experiences the drama; you’re my friend but now not, I’m too good for you, I only talk to older girls now, yada yada yada crap. If we’re hanging out and my son is ignoring your kid, let me know. As our children grow and explore functions, events without us, you might encounter them while with friends or perhaps teammates, I hope and pray that they remember to speak to you, our village. I’d appreciate knowing either way, it’s what generations of villagers did, looked out for others small and big. As friends, I’ll lend a hand, an ear, or friendly face to you and yours. If our kids had been friends but suddenly not, I might ask. When your daughter blows off my daughter, perhaps I’ll inquire. Hopefully you, my parental posse of support, would do the same. Parenting means a village scaffolding of sorts. I’ll get your back, if you’ll support mine.

I’m not talking helicoptering, I’m talking the village, our village. I remember growing up and being acutely aware that most places I went, someone was watching. Not as in the boogie man, but the “village”. My parents people, extensions of our family. Did I mess up sometimes? Yep. Did my parents occasionally get insider information? Yep. Once, when I was 16 and out driving who knows where with a friend, I was driving a bit fast and perhaps a bit reckless. They found out, I’m not sure from whom, but I have my suspicions. And you know what, it was good. My village, the one surrounding me as I traversed my teenage years, let me grow and stumble.

We, my husband and I, are village people. We’re in it with you and we’d like you to be along for the journey. Happily we’ll be a part of your village too. Let’s together support each other’s offspring as they stumble and soar and wind their way. Villagers, friends, let’s be in it together.

An Almost Missed Moment

Driving to the youngest’s field trip to the zoo, I envisioned a day spent with his friends and a time for me to connect with other parents. Upon getting off the bus, my son shared his plans; a solo day, a day alone, no friends, no moms. I longfully glanced over at the moms and dads and kids venturing off together, envious of their shared time together.

But then something magical happened. My son wrapped me his arms around me and announced that I smelled good. Afterwards he stared up at me, then announced it was the best mama date ever. And we hadn’t even looked at any animals yet!

What happened next sealed the deal. He grabbed my hand. Yep in public. With classmates around.

We ventured off on our own path, own adventure, occasionally seeing friends, but it was his time. His agenda.

Our plan was to have an early dinner afterwards. When I heard of others heading to a nearby Mexican restaurant, I attempted to tag along. He asked to think about it. Later he said no, I want hibachi, sushi, and only you.

What did we do? We ended our time with a hibachi table and chef to ourselves, many laughs, and lots of moments that would have been missed if I didn’t stop and listen.

Life is a Jar of Rocks

Some say life is a highway; road that winds through calm, quaint areas leading to roads that blast through mountains and past life moments.

That’s where I’ve been stuck, on this coiling motherhood path.

A much needed teaching position change, an increase in family activities, and well, kids in general.  Life has been like a meat and three plate; exhilarating with sides of exhausting, exciting, and essentially fast.  2 years without a post?!

Reading and writing and cooking, my jar fillers.  Without them, my jar of life rocks, seems full, in reality, it’s just sand and pebbles.  My highway left me focusing on life’s sand and pebbles, both of which are less than stable and non-fulfilling.  My rocks, I need to get back to my rocks.

Some say put your feet in sand to feel better, I’m focusing on becoming a rock collector.

 

What is a friend?

Do you know the value in a close friend? One there through life’s ups and downs, heart aches and triumphs, and sets a side ones life and time to care for another. That’s my definition, I watched it define itself.

Over the last few years it has been honor to watch such an amazing friendship, one that someday I hope to find. My mom and my “Aunt” June had this incredible, inspiring friendship. I cannot recall the history of their friendship or even when I started calling her Aunt, in the end it does not matter. She was always a part of my growing up years, the title fit.

Aunt June fought multiple cancers in her life time, a Muhammad Ali of sorts. The last few years as age and health compacted with the cancer, my mom’s friendship evolved. Caretaker, nightly “life alert” caller”, chauffeur…most importantly true friend. Countless trips to doctors, treatments, chemotherapy. In any weather, distress, or time. Her calendar reflected two lives, hers and Aunt June’s. During these times, almost nightly phone calls. It didn’t matter that just a few short hours ago they were sitting at radiation or chemo together, mom called to check in and they talked. And talked. If I called in the evening and the line rang endlessly, I knew the two were catching up. Mere hours since their last conversation and still they shared.

What my mom did the last few years is amazing. Her friend needed her beyond trips to the mall or the latest movie. She needed time; precious, endless time. Perhaps and ideally, my mom did too. Their friendship is an inspirational mix of gratitude and unselfishness. Laughter and tears. Heartache and joy. And deep love.

This time, their time together, has come to an end.

Their testament of devotion carries on in each who watched these two giggle through the good days and support through the tough days. Someday, should life grant me such an honorable friend, I’ll never let go, never give up. I know how to, because I watched the true definition of friendship grow and write itself.

3 years and still so much to say

Received a text that today is small town jules’ 3 year anniversary! (insert silly string and party streamers here)

Wow.  Three years, 168 posts, 18,122 views, views from over 20 different countries…and still so much to say.

Slacker is a good place to start.  Prior to this school year. Monday was blogging night.  Kids all snug as bugs, hubby away for guy time, a cup of tea and words would flow.  Mondays are now filled with trying to bolster up support for a local twitter chat I created.  The fast flying half hour often leaves cramped hands and a dull brain.

So with my educational PLN knocking at the 8:30 door, I’ll sign off with a thank you for the support and a plea to not give up on small town jules.

Words haven’t left me.  And I hope you won’t either.

Those Doggone Days

Revelation.  That’s what I’m calling it.  It did not come easy.  Probably years in the making, but this week, it hit me like a fly on poop on a smoldering summer day.

I am meant to be a dog.

Realization #1 – A dog’s uncanny ability to soak up the warmth of a single sunbeam and nap for hours.  Not a care in the world.  The way life should be.

#2 – When it comes to doing “duty”, a dog knows how to pick the perfect spot.  Circling around the yard for what seems like hours until he finds the spot.  Not there.  Or there.  Or even way over there by his lucky tree.  But this spot right here, it’s perfect.  How many times is the stall, our favorite deposit location, taken?  Or the conditions are not “right”?  I think Goldilocks had it right.  Maybe she was a dog in another life.  Can we afford the luxury of roaming around, “sniffing” out a perfect spot?

#3 – Having a master, owner, parent (whatever you want to call it) to prepare the food, lead on long leisurely walks, brush out snarls, give a relaxing belly rub, and play fetch with once in a while.  If only each day I could curl up in a snuggly ball and snooze away the work day awaiting the return of my food, entertainment, and belly rub source.

#4 – A dog’s perfect ability to see snow as a source of food and fun.  Rain puddles as personal splash pads.  And falling leaves as time for frolic and play.  Back to the simpler times.

#5 – When life gets tough, the noise level too loud, or things are not going right, find a quiet, hidden “cave” to stow away until life eases up.  Yes there are days where I just want to curl up under a table, hide my eyes with long silky ears, and just sleep away the hustle.

#6 – When all else fails and bored as heck, chase the tail around until instant collapse happens.  If I could see my backside and chase it, I am pretty sure I would fall over from hysterical laughter or the result of an injury.  Probably both.  But the idea is that it looks so entertaining!

Clearly a dog’s life is the life for me.  Until then if you see me circling around, I’m either looking for a ray of sunshine to park my butt, chasing my tail for lack of other entertainment, or prepping to find the perfect unload station.  Forewarned.

Blogging Disease

It has spread.  Middle E has caught it.  If she had her own computer, almost daily posts would fly off her hunt and peck keyboard.  She scrawls letters, notes, stories on any writable surface.  If she paid me, I could retire and just be her secretary.  Yes there is enough content to sustain at least a month’s work.

She is also using her new writing skills to teach me.  A note from last weekend, “Mom we dont want too cleen any more.  It is a boor.  We do no more. Love E”  Translation from 6-year-old language, “Mom we don’t want to clean anymore.  It is a bore.  We will do no more. Love E”  Ugh, my first grader is a rhyming genius.  I KNOW cleaning is boring.  That’s why you kids were supposed to do it!  Of course I didn’t say that.  Instead I agreed.  Popcorn and a movie are better. Much better.

Sometimes she types, sometimes her secretary does.  We always sit together to proof before we hit publish.  Sometimes she does not “catch” all the errors, but those wrong word choices are what make each piece special.  The young spirit has specific plans for pictures and let’s me know how the post should look.  From the published pieces, I see growth.  This weekend we talked about post ideas and topics.  Her eyes lit up, she giggled and disappeared for an hour.  Later her notebook appeared, a few additional pieces and another series of ideas.

In Kindergarten she earned the nickname Speedy Z.  I still do not have the full story on this, but whatever the story, the name fits.  She spent time pouring over the available backgrounds and fonts.  Upon making her final choice, it was title time.  Again she thought about it and did not appreciate any of my suggestions.  What’s wrong with Middle E?  Or A Kid with a Blog?  After a few minutes of doodling, she raced in and said “what about Speedy Z’s Blog?”  Nailed it!

She is a feisty little giggle monster who has a lot to say.  In writing and in life.  What is next?  No idea, I’m just on her bandwagon and cheering her along the way.

I hesitated sharing her blog for many reasons.  It came down to a little girl wondering why she did not have any comments or questioning why no one wrote her back.  She wants readers.  Will you follow?  http://speedyzblog.wordpress.com/

Can I keep up with her posts is my next worry.