Holly-daze

Fa la la la la... I just couldn't get into the holidays this year for some reason. Oh, I know what it was, I'm too busy. I almost titled this post, "Portrait of a Working Mother in 2009" but then felt guilty not having something about Thanksgiving, Christmas, et al in the post name. Feeling guilty about sums it up though these days. Between teaching 32 hours/week (including a new plan which requires hours and hours of prep work), I am back in graduate school finishing my M.Ed. It's wrestling season so Bo has practice 3X/week from 6-7:15 and Robert is Mr. Wells Fargo which means long hours and crazy commuting. I'm really tired. It's all that I can do most nights to throw takeout in the microwave and turn Cartoon Network on for the boy so I can pay bills, do laundry or pour myself a huge glass of wine.

Gram and Papa came up for Thanksgiving which was super fun. Gram made gingerbread houses with the boys and all of us went out to eat a lot which made me happy. Oh, and Robert got the H1N1 that week. The following week a frozen pipe burst in the attic which landed us in a hotel for a few nights. Admittedly, I loved that portion of the inconvenience.

Christmas time this year brought snow, ice skating, more legos than necessary and a trip to Christmas Mass which has not happened since before we had kids. Honestly, I'm surprised that the church didn't open up and suck us right into the bowels of hell. Upon leaving Robert said to me, "I would rather run on the treadmill for 60 minutes every Sunday that do that again." Nice.

We're heading into the New Year - 2010 and while life is really good it's only going to get crazier. We are listing our house come spring and moving upward on onward. Where? We don't know- just bigger and closer to...anything.

Goodbye 2009 with your manic schedule and many blessings. Enjoy this video of me taking the boys ice skating which was just before I took them out to lunch and shopping due to overcompensating a la working mommy.

Roc(k)tober!

Busy month at Casa de Munly.
Robert is ending his first quarter at a new position for Wells Fargo Investments SO PROUD OF HIM! I'm starting my 3rd out of 6th course for my M.Ed. and I have no idea honestly how I am juggling teaching, school, being a mom, friend, wife, etc. I think that I'm slacking on the personal side of things :( Bo was student of the week earlier this month and met his 2nd grade math and reading benchmarks...in October. His teacher is really amazing. Mrs. Krueger - she's giving him "extra" math and Bo calls it. Division, percentages and the like. Jake is rocking pre-K. He can write his name and I find it EVERYWHERE. Important documents, his WALL...little stinker. He's also somehow inherited the math gene (from whom?) and is breezing through double digit addition problems.

Pumpkins, Duck Football, and drinking dark beer. October.

Waitress

“Holly, you’ve got a 38-top on table 1 and their lives are depending on you!”
I stand before the room, slugging down coffee that is homebrewed and lukewarm. I have a quiet kind of calm overtake me, much like one feels before entering a war zone or shark tank.
“I can handle this.” I reassure myself.
Before I turn the door handle, a fellow server slaps me on the back and says, “rough crowd in there. I’ve served some of them before. You’ve got your hands full.”
“Thanks a lot.” I say sheepishly well knowing what I’m in for. I’ve got 38 customers for the next 90 minutes and two of them have to sit on the heating and cooling unit because there isn’t enough room for them to sit elsewhere. Out of those customers, four are on IEPs, two have a 504 plan, two have epi pens in which I had to undergo training, and five have been deemed, “gifted and talented”. I am to differentiate and plan accordingly for these thirteen customers while at the same time not forget about the twenty-five who just want to order the daily special.

What we serve up is pretty special. It’s education. After twelve years working with these customers (teenagers) I can honestly say that there is no other place that I would rather clock in or out of each day, September- June. What makes this year so special though is the fact that due to state and federal budget cuts, class sizes are up and resources are down. Our once luxurious classes of 25, some with aides, an IT person in the building, surplus of administrative backing, not to mention the abundance of department money is poof, gone, much like the morale of many of my co-workers. It’s disconcerting to watch great teachers leave the country to teach where they can have abundant resources, or just give up all together and join the private sector.

We are like waiters and waitresses with too many plates on each arm. Don’t look down! Don’t misstep! Look ahead! Be careful! Don’t drop the plates! Smile! The kids, their parents, the administration, the district, the state, the county, the world…is watching.

I know that I personally wake up most nights in a cold sweat, anxiety ridden about how I can best serve “my” kids. Because really, they are not customers, they are someone’s daughter or son and somewhere in the year, they become my kids as well. I, like many of my fellow teacher colleagues, will not surrender to the act of simply surviving and continue to inspire and serve up the best the educational kitchen has to offer.

The collective desire to better these kids transcends all other obstacles and those of us who have remained refuse to drop a plate. We look ahead, we smile, and we don’t misstep. After all, our orders are up and their lives are depending on us.

School Daze

Dazed and confused is more like it. Didn't I just bring Bo home from the hospital? All wrapped up tight in a burrito swaddle, safe. Wasn't I just announcing my pregnancy with Jacob? Me nauseous, him growing inside of me, safe. Sending your child off into the world of public education is both thrilling and scary as hell. As a public educator, I am a strong proponent of public schools for reasons that may or may not be obvious. Yes, the price is right but what they can learn from kids of other creeds, races, religions is priceless. We're pretty open minded and accepting and we want our own boys to form their own beliefs in due time.

Bo entered 2nd grade this year and in the wise words of a good friend, "he's like, a REAL kid now!" Yep. It would be much easier to keep him swaddled in my protective cocoon his entire life, both he and his Pre-K attending brother, but I know that slowly but surely they will be inched out of the nest. So off they went and not a tear was shed - just smiles and enthusiastic waves all around. And me, at the bus stop, dazed.

Red, white and happy!

The fam headed to Walnut Creek for the 4th of July Woodlands style. What this means is hot sun, a parade that consists of 200 kids on decorated bikes, pool time at the Cabana Club and a Hackett BBQ with plenty of food and beverlies to wash it down.

Before I get into the week in Walnut Creek let me address how cush a 10 hour road trip can be in our Big Black Ho. I love the Tahoe. Yes, I am responsible for the continued dependency on foreign oil but damn if she isn't a smooth ride. We made the boys wait two hours into the road trip before they could put in a movie and then, for the remaining eight hours they were either enveloped in a fine Bose sound/Pixar viewing coma or asleep. This my friends is what a road trip should be like. While the tots were engaged, the husband and I could actually have great conversations or listen to the radio ( our music). Don't judge me - they never, ever get to watch movie in the BBH unless we drive to Sunriver or California. I know that we never had this when we were kids but I can tell you that it beats the heck out of playing license plates or yelling, "mom he looked at ME!" 54,000 times a hour.

Walnut Creek was fabulous. Every Hackett member was in attendance and the Woodlands friend circle was almost complete. I almost OD'd on nostalgia on Saturday - the smells, the sounds and the sights of the 4th gave me permagrin the entire day. The boys got plenty of pool time in Walnut Creek and Robert even relearned how to do a flip off of the diving board. Good times. As much as I loved being back in Walnut Creek it's good to be home in Oregon. The cooler weather and routine of the everyday is much needed after consuming enough vitamin D, hot dogs and beverlies to fill a BBH.

This I Believe... ( an assignment for my 10th graders that I also did).

None of you in this room would recognize me as a sixteen year old. Not because I had a bad perm in 1989 or that I've since then had plastic surgery to alter my appearance. The reason that you wouldn't be able to pick me out of a crowd then vs. now, is that when I was sixteen, I wasn't smart. I'm not taking book smart, I actually did o.k. where academia was concerned. SATS? Check. Acceptance into a four year college? Check check. What box I couldn't fill in on my personal resume until a few years ago was that of a scholar. It wasn't until I became a teacher that I truly started to learn because I finally chose to be smart. What some may consider a great burden of responsibility for me is a blessing of circumstance or fate - depending which eye you're looking through. This aforementioned teenager with the bad perm had so many close calls in her life and made so many stupid choices that it's a miracle that she stands before you twenty years later to share her beliefs. I was far from poised and professional when I was your age. Not many ( if any) would describe me as hardworking, dedicated or a disciple of learning. When I write my seniors letters of recommendation, I am authentic when I wax poetic about their personal attributes but can't help (selfishly) feel jealous knowing that no adult would have written such praise about me. This is why I believe that teenagers can teach adults.

When I started teaching, I was in the same age bracket peer group as my students. 18-24, me being on the later end of that age range but still in range. Knowing that I was "Miss so and so" and not Holly woke me up quickly however - that and the fact that I had experienced not only the joys of university, but also had a leg up on the follies of adolescent stupidity seemed to give me an edge. I won't get into specifics, but the fact that I'm not dead or in jail is a miracle in itself. Growing up in the sheltered white suburban dystopia was simultaneously wonderful and awful. Wonderful because I had every opportunity given to me by a caring, supportive family. Awful because I had every opportunity given to me by a caring and supportive family.

It wasn't until I saw others fail while teaching that I realized that success doesn't come easily for everyone. It wasn't until I shopped for supplies for my students because they didn't have the money to even purchase a notebook and pens that I had the epiphany that not everyone got an allowance, let alone a college fund set up for them since their birth. And it wasn't until I saw teenagers make the same mistakes that I made with relationships, underage drinking, and other risky behaviors that I came to the conclusion that what I was doing then was in fact not cool but completely stupid. At this turning point in my life, I was finally learning. Learning to put down the compact mirror and look around at others. Learning to talk less and listen more. Learning that the world does not end in my immediate circle of consciousness but expands further than any realm of possibility.

Since that first year of teaching I have learned more than 500 words could possibly ever explain. I have learned through speaking to and engaging with my students about social studies. Faiths and customs that I had only read about are now embedded in my notebook because of 1st person accounts. I have taught students from over forty, countries ; heard stories about living in a refugee camp in Kenya, fleeing Iraq, and crossing the border at age twelve in the trunk of a car. My students have also taught me economics. They have inadvertently shown me the value that a personal connection can make. That a positive comment either on a paper that I pass back or in the hallway costs nothing but at the same time is priceless. My students have taught me languages: Arabic, Spanish, Russian, Korean, Somalian, and Vietnamese just to name a few. I have learned psychology from my students - that teenage boys are more sensitive than they let on and that their counterparts are tougher than I ever was at that age. In the eleven years that I have been teaching, I can honestly say that the best teachers that I have had have been the students that I have had the honor, and pleasure of teaching. I have grown up with them and it gives me solace to know that the dumb girl at sixteen is now, thanks to over 1,500 students, is a true scholar.

I know you can see me....

I have many super powers being a mom and one of them is being able to see and hear all around me. The other day I caught the boys doing something that they shouldn't have been doing because as I told them matter of fact, "I have eyes on the back of my head."
"No you do not!" Bo quickly came back with.
"Yes I do! When you have a baby, they give you the baby and also hand
you a new set of eyes for the back of your head. " I smugly shot back.
Bo shook his head is disbelief but Jake wasn't so sure. He squinted his eyes, cocked his head as if to ask," mom or alien amongst us?"
That night as I was tucking Jake into bed and giving him his 100th hug and kiss, I felt his little hands rubbing the back of my head. "Is mommy's hair soft buddy?"
In the softest and most serious voice he responded, "I'm looking for your eyes."

Four is the magic number...

Jacob Jingleheimer turned four years old this week. Jake has many 'o nicknames: Tenacious J, Poli-bear, Mr. Bacon, Willy and Snake. Jake is a multifaceted boy wonder. I could wax poetic for-e-ver about my boys but to keep this short I will condense my praise to under 500 words. (you're welcome).
One of the coolest things about Jake is that he is indeed tenacious. He has to have a skill mastered yesterday once he sets his mind to it. Having an older brother I suspect fosters some of his tenacity but most of it? Self-imposed. Last month he was in the backyard putting a golf ball into a red party cup with a plastic putter for over thirty minutes; he wouldn't stop until he could get five in a row. No tantrums, no throwing of the golf balls; just a wee one out there, in the rain, until he got it right.
Another great thing about Jake is that he is so damn fun to be around. He's up for most anything. He's fearless and enjoys taking risks. We went to Hawaii in October and he had no problem going down the "Volcano Express" at the water park. ( youtube it!) No, he wasn't quite tall enough, don't you judge me! Last weekend Jake rode over 20 miles on his bike ( no training wheels) on the Vernonia-Banks trail. He's ridden crazy roller coasters at Six Flaggs, skateboarded down our steep driveway on his feet and tubed down Mt. Hood sans parents.
The "thing" that impresses me most about my second born though is that Jake, at age four, knows exactly who he is. He never hesitates in words or actions. Like moths to a flame, people of all ages are drawn to Tenacious-J. His laughter is infectious, he's sunny, he's...magic.

Feats of Strength

The title says it all. DNA is a crazy thing and these boys have been blessed with their father's freakish strength.

Lucky #7

My first baby turned seven last week and we are the lucky ones to have such an amazing person in our lives. From the time that he was days old, Bo has been one of the most inquisitive humans to have crossed our paths. As a newborn while other babies were content to chew on their fists and drool, Bo was looking around - wide eyed and curious. So wide eyed and curious was this wee one that he often had a hard time sleeping through the night (didn't until he was two!).
Bo was an early talker ( had over 200 words at 18 months), could ride a bike without training wheels at age 3, and can now, at seven, figure out square root problems, does multiplication problems with ease and can create Lego structures enviable by the world's top engineers.
What is the "best" thing about Bo however are none of the aforementioned. Bo is one of the most kindhearted people that you will ever meet. He always knows what to say and when to say it. He is complimentary without being facetious; so much so that on many of occasion - perfect strangers will comment on his possible future as a senator or the like. Bo is pretty special and if you know him I know that you'll agree. So what does one do to celebrate such a special guy? Take him to Yucky Chucky's of course and let he and his brother go hog wild on skee ball, air hockey and enough junk food to last the year.

Spring Break - down...

The kids and I had a blast in California over Spring Break. While Robert was slaving away at the mines to pay for our trip, we enjoyed: sun, blue skies, Six Flags, blue skies, The San Francisco Aquarium, many normal parks, family, friends, good food, sun, and did I mention sun and blue skies? My boys didn't come inside the entire week. It was baseball, bubbles and sidewalk chalk every waking moment. You could hear their heads hit their pillows every night with pure exhaustion laced with vitamin D absorption. I'll post pictures later because I have to go and fix a clogged rain gutter right now. That's right, I left 75 and sunny for 46 and raining.

* le sigh*

Cheap mortgage, cheap mortgage, cheap mortgage, cheap mortgage. Wash, rinse and repeat.

Belated Love

This is what we did for Valentine's Day this year. Yeah, I know it's "pretty" even "breathtaking" but it's not champagne and a massage and/or chocolate covered strawberries. Long gone are the overpriced, four course meals from a set menu - hello Subway $5 foot long! Bitter? Me? Never! I LOVE my family and besides, V-day is a commercially enhanced crock of propaganda right? Robert and I decided that we wouldn't "do" gifts this year and I was fine with that. Really, how many times can a girl get sent a dozen long stemmed roses to work? As many times as it takes. Who needs Moonstruck chocolates on their pillow? Me!Me!Me! Pish posh! Hiking Multnomah Falls was uber romantic and yes, breathtaking.

Who am I kidding... It was cold, I was sweaty, and Fun Bobby had to carry Jakers all the way up on his shoulders. Next year? Cupid needs to hit us up with a room at The Heathman.

El Lechero!

My students crack me up on a regular basis but today something especially funny happened - and it wasn't lost in translation. One of my teaching assignments for the past decade has been to teach ESL students. These kids come from all corners of the world and this year I have the opportunity to share 3rd period with two Iraquis, one Somalian, one Korean, one Vietnamese, one Romanian, one Armenian, one El Salvadorian and nine Mexicans. Exausting yet rewarding, these students (whom I have for two years in a row) are my pride and joy.

Today I was asking some of them who they looked like - their mom or their dad. Irene said, "my mommy." Jaime (whose nickname is Osoto) said, "Los dos" ( both of them). Other kids chimed in with whose DNA they most resembled.

My sons don't look much alike. Bo is dark skinned and haired like Robert whereas Jake is blond as can be and more rosy in palor. For those who knew me in my youth, I had blond hair as well - which is now a lovely shade of chocolate thanks to Eric at Aveda. My students were looking at my family photo and Luis said, "yeah Miss, you're older son - he looks like your husband. I don't know about the baby though." A couple more kids gathered 'round the photo and Ricardo said very quietly, "El Lechero". ( the milkman). The other Hispanic kids nodded somberly with smirks on their faces.

I laughed so hard that tears streamed down my face. My students know that I have a working knowledge of Spanish and I speak it to them all of the time. Sometimes though, they fail to forget this fact. What made me laugh is a) the thought of me and the milkman and b) that even though these kids and I couldn't be from more different worlds - humor is universal. You tell me, does Jake look like he could come from el lechero? Yo no se, pero pienso que el nino es el mismo de yo. Si or no?

Hibernate

We live in the best neighborhood out there. In the spring, summer and fall months it's not uncommon to hear the laughter and squeals of a handful of kids on our cul-de-sac. Games of "army" being organized by the boys, the girls with their silver scooters and pink helmets pretending to be either war wives or Hannah Montana (is there a difference?). People are washing their cars, the moms are camped out on my front lawn on my big rainbow quilt enjoying a beverage or three.... Popsicles, fruit leathers, and Capri Suns are passed around. Kids with dirty hands and equally dirty of face run through sprinklers and exclaim, "see I don't need a bath tonight!". Those months are amazing. They make me so grateful for where we live and who we live by.

November- February is rough 'round these parts. We live on the edge of the urban growth boundary in our county. What is peaceful and beautiful in the fair weathered months can be isolating come what winter. Garage doors are down, curtains are drawn and if one listens closely enough, the theme song from Mario Kart can be heard from behind most locked doors. The neighbors wave to one another as we pass each other's cars on the ice lined streets or when we hurriedly drag our garbage pails down to the curb each week for pick up. However that sense of intimacy among friends is frozen during those months - much like the branches of the sweet gum trees that flank our sidewalks.

It's coming right? That thing called spring? I'm encouraged by the longer days and the crocus buds coming up through the hard soil. It's not far off...right? Here's a little tease and encouragement until the real thing comes.

Maintenance

People always ask me, being the mom of two boys if I am going to, "go for that girl?"
The answer simply is, "no". Usually I give a more colorful reply but since this is a public site I will keep it clean. Before I begin my little rant I have to say that I love my husband and children dearly. There is nothing that I wouldn't do for them. In fact....I do everything for them.
The reality is, I have three boys ;ages 6, 3 and 35. The three year old boy I don't mind doing things for. He can't tie his shoes yet, he has a hard time picking up his room and cutting his own meat. I get that. These things I can help with. The six year old I also don't mind assisting in tasks. Putting away his laundry, running his bath for him at night and packing his lunch is my pleasure. He's a kid.
The 35 year old boy on the other hand is much harder to do things for and feel good about it. Stinky running shoes and socks left in the living room since Thursday morning irk the hell out of me. The peanut butter knife left on the counter next to the crumbs from his toast this morning? Annoying. This isn't a new concept, the husband agitating the wife. For years men have been tracking mud into the cave or leaving their muskets and knives where the children could get to them.
Today I am leaving my boys. Not for good but for a good eight hours at least. Retail therapy, lunch with friends and discussing the aforementioned will revive this lady. Mama needs maintenance too.

The Bo Show

Bo likes wrestling. I mean he really likes wrestling. He's not a novice to organized sports either. He's played T-ball, soccer, dabbled in rock wall climbing but wrestling is his thing. I should have known that my first born would be pretty good at such a sport when at the tender age of two he could do elevated push ups off of the couch in the double digits. He's an Adonis of sorts - the genetics gods blessed this child with the carbon copy DNA of his father. In fact, some good friends of ours nicknamed him "Thunder" when he was just a wee infant after spotting his developing deltoid muscles, bulging underneath his duckie onesie.

Wrestling seemed like such a primordial sport to me at first. Testosterone nation at its finest, or worst depending which eye you were looking through. I have to admit though, I'm hooked. There is something about the intensity of the actions that are involved during a match that get even this pacifist mom's blood flowing. Without further adieu, I give you...The Bo Show.

Honest mistake

The other night Jake and I were watching a special on The Vatican on OPB. I was explaining to him that mommy and daddy had been there on their honeymoon years ago. "Oh Italy!" he exclaimed (thanks Little Einsteins!).

"Yes! Italy" I retorted. Both proud and admittedly a little smug that my three year old knew that The Vatican was in Italy.

"But mommy, I thought that Santa lived at the North Pole. Not Italy." he then questioned.

I couldn't figure out what he was talking about until he pointed to the t.v. screen.

"See look! It's the Polar Express! In Italy!"

So yeah, St. Peter's Square does look a little similar to the North Pole in our Pixar obsessed preschooler's eyes. Through my proud parent lens it does too.

Time flies....

Last night the fam and I watched home movies for the first time. For whatever reason we've just never done it. I have hours of taped memories collecting dust in a box and inspired by another lost tooth from Bo, we busted out the tapes. How can almost seven years fly by in the blink of an eye? Watching Bo laughing as an infant, learning to crawl, then walk is surreal;that same baby in the video is now my capable 1st grader. Watching Jake drool all over a bib in cinematic form is less shocking because he still calls me, "mama". I don't embarrass him yet, he still holds my hand in public and he still (barely) fits in my lap. It's passing us by, their childhoods and honestly it's caused me to tear up a few times today realizing that. Don't get me wrong, I am glad to be done with the middle of the night feedings, diapers, bottles and the rest of the baby paraphernalia, but there is something to be said for those sweet babies in these photos. *sigh*