Category Archives: holidays

>Post-holiday let-down and laundry, again, still.

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>I didn’t have enough baskets to sort laundry this weekend. You guessed it; the daughter’s home! And she brought her entire wardrobe, dirty! I think the only clean clothes she brought home were the pieces she was wearing. Add that to my holiday stresses and my PMS, and there is one unhappy mama in this house.
She’d been home two days when she asked, “Mom, are you, like, going to do laundry anytime soon? I need pants and underwear.” This was in the evening on a school night, mind you. I was worn out from dealing with kiddos too wired for learning and too old to believe that “Santa’s watching, you’d better behave.” Well, I did it anyway: she sorted out the main necessary items, I threw them in the wash, and she made it a few more days.
The day after Christmas I sorted ours and then asked for hers. She gave me a hamper full of hoodie sweatshirts, sweaters, and tanks and thin tees for layering. Almost everything was to go in the delicate cycle.
The result? Four overflowing baskets for the delicate cycle, not enough Woolite, and one cranky mama off her routine.
I’m ready for a coffee break, I’ve filled two baskets with clean, and the laundry room still looks like a tornado hit and left the contents of her closet behind. How did she ever manage to last that long without doing laundry on her own?
Last year I stocked up on underwear for the entire family with the goal that any one of us could go at least two weeks without washing clothes. I think I bought her too much!

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>Holiday troubles pile on

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>Then there was the year when everything seemed to go wrong around Christmas. I fought with the snowblower and lost, with the penalty being a soft tissue injury that hurt like heck and didn’t get better.

We brought daughter home from school after final exams to have her wisdom teeth out, planned it perfectly for my last day of school before break so that her younger brother wouldn’t need a sitter, and voila! we had an ice storm that closed schools. Grandma saw the school closing report on TV and called up to offer her assistance. We crept across town on icy-coated streets to take La Petite to her surgery. I didn’t relax until the car stopped moving in the parking lot.

Later that day, after getting La Petite’s pain meds and antibiotics and changing her dressing every hour on the hour, I went to my own doctor and had my still aching wrist X-rayed. No fracture, luckily, but she confirmed that soft tissue injuries hurt like heck and then offered a splint and anti-inflammatories. Back to the pharmacy I went, then over to Grandma’s to pick up Amigo and finally settle at home.

La Petite’s mouth healed slowly but surely. I wore the splint faithfully for my seven to ten days, taking it off only to shower and to stretch twice a day. On Spint Day Ten we got a phone call: my father had died in Missouri.

Husband couldn’t take off from work. One of his co-workers had broken a leg, and Husband was the only other one trained to run the equipment and drive the truck. He had just been sick, too, and was dragging himself to and from work and sleeping as much as he could at home. The kids and I piled our luggage, sore mouth, and splinted wrist into Husband’s Saturn and headed south.

We survived the trip, grieved, shared memories, and stopped at my brother’s house near Chicago on the way home. I apologized to daughter for “ruining” her New Year’s Eve, and she said she hadn’t even thought about it. Son did remarkably well, given his Asperger’s. He was thoughtful and well-behaved on the trip and at the ceremony. We were all exhausted.

Then I went back to school. In hindsight (always 20-20), I should have taken time off. I taught for three days (with my splint still on, wrist aching from driving 12 hours each way), and then said I had to rest. I took two days “death days” allowed by contract, and slept. And slept. And slept.

Life is much better now. Wrist has relapses now and then, but very seldom. I don’t touch the snowblower any more, but if I need to we have a new one with electric start. Amigo and La Petite remember the trip and the funeral, but they weren’t overwhelmed or traumatized by it. They survived, as did I. In fact, the multiple trouble of that holiday and the months that followed inspired me to start blogging as a therapeutic outlet. The rest, dear readers, is history.

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>Random thoughts on Christmas Day

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>Last night Amigo suggested we set our alarms and all get up to open presents together. Unfortunately, the bunnies didn’t follow the plan. Peanut was up on our bed 45 minutes before the alarm was due to go off. Husband went downstairs to feed Buttercup, and she made a beeline for the tree and began nibbling on wrapped presents. The result: one bunny back in her cage, all three bunnies fed, and a lot of laughter before we heard Amigo moving around his room in his jingle bell necklace.

Our kitchen contains an embarrassment of riches. The refrigerator has leftover turkey and fixings, the snack basket overflows with cookies and other treats, and the freezer hides enough turkey stock for three soups or stews. There might be a little wine left, too — or not. Did we really drink all the Door County mulled cherry?
In fact, I told the family that no one, but no one, can go out to eat for at least two weeks. Oh, okay, I might relent on New Year’s Eve.

Husband, the TV and movie guy, got me DVDs. I got him books. I’m sure there’s some deep meaning to these choices, but I think I’ll just chalk it up to sharing our pleasures. My DVDs are three seasons of the classic Muppet Show: I predict some fun family time in the den watching these!

Environmental and frugal wrapping went well. We didn’t buy a single roll of wrapping paper. The unwrapping process generated more recycling than garbage. Buttercup enjoyed chewing on the thick white packing paper. I’ll definitely continue this trend.

So on that note, I think I’ll adjourn to have lunch. Whatever leftover wins my appetite lottery will be followed by pumpkin pie.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

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>A mini-tour by the fireplace

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>Eggbert will whisk visitors off to the candy dish that looks like a fireplace. Sorry, the candy’s gone. You’ll have to wait for cookies.

The snowman on the left is so tacky it’s adorable. It has a light inside that changes colors from pale blue, to lilac, to white. It’s ridiculous, but really sweet. Yes, it was a student gift. How can you tell?


The other snowpeople are a candy jar and salt and pepper shakers. They’re really cute, too. I might just have to use the shakers at Christmas dinner. And as for the rabbit hiding on the right — did you really think we’d decorate without bunnies? Not a chance.

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>So the Grinch said

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>He didn’t stop Christmas from coming: it came!
It came without ribbons. It came without tags.
It came without packages, boxes, or bags.
He puzzled and puzzled ’til his puzzler was sore.
Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before.
What if Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store?
What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more?
–How the Grinch stole Christmas, by Dr. Seuss

I’m giving some gifts from stores (brick & mortar and online), some from my kitchen, and some from creative secondhand shopping. I’ve taken to heart the thoughts of wrapping, though. I don’t like the waste or the cost of commercial wrapping paper, so this year I’m working on alternatives.

– The bags protecting the newspaper have been red lately. Tie at each end with curling ribbon or twist ties, and the package looks like a great big piece of candy!
– Seasonal grocery bags have simple but nice graphics; cut them out, add them to the fireplace motif wrapping.
– All this wrapping material will get recycled or thrown away. Don’t get attached to it. But who gets attached to wrapping paper anyway?
– There’s always Wordle.net!
– Martha doesn’t live here. Really. And it’s okay.

This goal was born of my environmental streak. The frugal piece is a byproduct of the green, but a valid one. I haven’t purchased wrapping paper, ribbons or tags, boxes or bags. It lets me focus our budget dollars on the gifts, the keepers, rather than the byproduct that ends up in the trash. And even with my lack of scrapbooking skills, I’m having fun thinking of new ways to make the wrapping look nice.

If Dr. Seuss wrote about gift wrap, he might suggest:

What if wrapping, itself, didn’t come from a store.
What if thoughful gift wrapping meant just a bit more?
Just reuse the boxes, the ribbons, the tags.
Make use of the packaging, boxes, and bags.
If you and your clan enjoy Christmas each year,
Be nice to your budget, the message is clear.

Parent Bloggers Network and FFDA are working together to find out how families are handling this holiday season, adapting financially and in other ways to make the season less overwhelming. FFDA is an organization that provides support and counseling year round, not just at Christmas.

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>Dear Santa; a little assistance, please?

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>Dear Santa;

I know you are coping with a wildly increasing workload. Your working conditions are probably a lot like mine: more demands, fewer resources, fewer people (or elves) with which to handle more difficult tasks. We jolly old elves and not so jolly teachers keep facing the challenge of doing more and more with less and less.

Santa, I don’t ask for things for Christmas. I don’t ask you to fill my stocking. I put something out for my students so they can enjoy a little seasonal specialness at school. You don’t have to help with that part of the celebration.

But Santa, I’ve been feeling a little down lately. I could chalk it up to “Kids these days” or the worsening economy, and both are parts of the problem. My job is stable and employment secure, even though my salary is more likely to shrink than grow in today’s reality. No, Santa, I’m not asking for money.

You’re in your furs from your head to your foot, and your beard may be covered with ashes and soot. I’m clad in a holiday sweater that makes fashionistas cringe, but makes my students smile. The problem is this.

If an ice cream maker gets in a bad batch of blueberries, they can send them back to the plant.
If a television producer gets a poor script, it gets revised or rewritten.

When I add a student to my class, I teach that student. I can’t send him back home to re-learn how to behave, send him to his former school to learn to read, or simply say to the principal, “No, I’m sorry, this one just doesn’t measure up. I can’t take him.”

But the Joe Q. Public thinks it’s my fault if the kid doesn’t make it. Mine and mine alone.

Santa, here’s the point. All I desire for Christmas isn’t a new teacher mug or a package of caramels, although I’ll love those, too. Instead, I’d really appreciate respect. A little respect from the families of the children in my classes, a little respect from those who might not understand the challenges I face every day. A little respect from the energy-saving czar who keeps complaining that my computer uses too much electricity; a little respect from the parents who think their child is an angel, even though he’s probably getting a lump of coal from you, if you’re honest.

So Santa, you can bypass the World’s Best Teacher coffee mug for my stocking this year. I don’t even need a Congressional bail-out. I’ll take a new Public Relations director, one who can tell the world what I face each day, one who can let the lawmakers and community members know how much knowledge and passion I inject into my fascinating and exhausting work.

Thanks, Santa.

Respectfully yours,
Daisy

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>Juggling — literally and figuratively

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>In the final graduate class toward my Masters Degree, all of the class members were describing their personal growth and professional progress as they had passed through the program cycle. We were seated in a circle, my friend Sara next to me, and Deb was showing us a collection of photos that represented critical points in her educational journey. The classroom windows were tall and narrow and far apart, so only those of us sitting exactly in the right place could see outside. Beyond the window behind Deb, on an entrance road that passed rather close to the building, a juggler appeared.
Yes, a juggler. Big yellow shoes, baggy black clown pants, bowling-pin style clubs spiraling through the air. Sara and I exchanged glances, then looked back at Deb and tried to concentrate. The juggler walked on, and a parade of dog-walkers following him. This group of people — it had to be at least 75 to 100, just counting the two-legged folk — strode along as though they were marching for a cause (which was probably the case!). By this time, Sara and I could no longer look at each other. The longer the line went on, the closer we came to laughing. As the dogs and their humans paraded down the road out of sight, a helicopter landed on the campus lawn. Yes, a helicopter.
Deb had no idea.
Sara and I held onto our composure and used our best drama skills to at least feign focus until Deb was done. During our next break, we told her the whole story. Truth is stranger than fiction, and this was one of the strangest things to happen to us during grad school.
Five years later, we are still friends. Deb’s a fabulous teacher and a great juggler herself, a mother of three and teacher in a low-income school in our fair district. Her sense of humor took her through the cycle of graduate classes and served her yet again when we informed her of the sights she hadn’t even known were competing for our attention.
As the new year looms closer and my personal juggling act gathers momentum, I can’t help but think of the juggler who started the whole crazy parade outside the graduate school window. The symbolism remains strong; we might never know how many people around us are juggling. I won’t even try to address potential symbolism in the helicopter landing.

Parent Bloggers Network and BigTent asked bloggers to chronicle their goals and changes for 2009. For me, life always come down to the juggling act. This is a true story, a post renewed and revised one more time.
I’d love to get my act together and maybe even take it on the road for a while. But for now, I’d be satisfied to successfully juggle all the balls that life throws at me. Want to join my circus? Watch your step; the dogs are often a hard act to follow.

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>Fireplace brick style wrapping paper

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>La Petite showed me this technique a few years ago. I wanted to make a poster, and the brick wall motif worked well for the project. Since I’m avoiding buying wrapping paper this season, I thought I’d try it again.
The tools: iron, ironing board, spray bottle for water, marker (black or brown work well), and plain brown paper bag(s).

Step one: Crinkle the paper. Crunch it up. Crumple it.

Step two: Spritz it with water, smooth it out, press it. The water softens the paper and keeps it from scorching. Caution: it also weakens the paper, making it likely to tear.

After the pressing, draw brick shapes on the paper with the marker. I’m not an artist; mine are rough, very rough. It’s okay; wrapping paper gets torn apart and thrown out right away anyway. This batch will go in the recycling bin.

But until then, I have two pieces of “fireplace brick” with which to wrap a present or two. One bag survived the process; one didn’t. Both will look fine under the tree.

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