Relaxed, Finally

The last Saturday before spring break ends is a hard day - there is no urgency to complete the to-do list that has followed me around all week (that can happen tomorrow), and there is no motivation for me to do much of anything (although there is lots to do).  So, I helped my nieces and nephews color Easter eggs - and I came home and read my book, until it was done, without interruption. 

And it felt awesome.  Relaxed.  Finally. 

Spent last evening with some of my siblings and their kids at my parent's house.  It's never really relaxing these days, six nieces and nephews under the age of six means there is not much adult chat, and someone is always in need of attention (diaper, crying, hungry...).  As the oldest in the family, it's with mixed feelings that I reflect on these evenings.  Not long ago it was me with the crying children, but with mine off to college, I feel both the freedom from having little ones and a longing for them as well. 

R texted me from college randomly the other day and said, "Mom, I can't wait to have a kid.  You'd be a great grandparent."  Picking up the phone, I had to check that there wasn't another message woven in. I was relieved when she said, "No, I just meant you would have so much fun with the little ones, and wouldn't that be fun."  

Whew, I thought. I'm perfectly happy with the freedom I have now, and I'm not ready to head on to that next phase in life.  Sometime, though, won't that be fun.  

Facebook Vacuum

It's so easy to get lost on Facebook.  I tell myself that I'm just going to check and see if any family member or friend has posted anything interesting...Three hours later, I've...

• checked out three amazing weight loss apps
• closely read multiple recipes for yummy food I'm never going to make, and often I watch the how to video as well
• read hundreds of comments on the politically charged post that my cousin posted, gasping regularly at what many people express
• watched puppies slide down a slide
• watched kittens curled up in flower pots
• learned how to reuse plastic bottles to make really fascinating things 
• checked out a cool guinea pig haircut
• checked up on my children's most recent posts
• stalked friends of friends, who are not my friends but whom I know, and look at the pictures of their beautiful lives
• learned how to paint jars to look like antiques
• taken a few quizzes - where I should live (of course, not where I do), grammar quiz (of course, I'm a pro!)
• watched videos of speeches, protests, and comedy shows
• watched my favorite education videos (Gerry Brooks) and laughed hysterically
• read articles on how to adjust to your kids growing up and going to college (and cried, usually)
• traveled vicariously by exploring my adventurous friends travel pictures

It is a very interesting and engaging way to learn new things - and hard to pull away from sometimes.  

Love This Southern Tradition

Today the hubby and I went out for breakfast.  I had the special, eggs benedict and avacado, and he had a western omelet.  Both were good, really, but we both agreed that the best part of breakfast were the grits. 

I had to look up what they really are.  "Small grains of minced white corn boiled in milk or water," this dictionary.com description just doesn't do them justice.  These grits were creamy white, with a velvety smooth texture in my mouth.  They were not watery, but not so thick and dry that the spoon stood up. These were not instant grits - these had been cooked by an expert, for a long time.  A pat of whipped butter sat right on top of the pale pile, waiting for a shake of salt and pepper, or Tabasco if you wish.  A quick stir streaked the white with yellow, and I dove in. 

There are many people who don't love grits, but before you say you won't eat them, I totally recommend finding the right place to try them.  City Diner in Falls Church is the right place if you live in Northern Virginia! 

Can't Take the Middle Schooler Out...

Whoever thought it was a good idea to send middle schoolers to school when there was even one flake of snow on the ground, was obviously not thinking.  Our March snow arrived yesterday - and we all quite enjoyed the day off because of this snow.  But this morning, as hundreds of middle schoolers unfurled themselves from the confines of the buses and onto school property, all I could think was "Mayhem, we will have mayhem." 

And sure enough, I spent most of my 45 minutes of duty this morning hollering, "Put the snow down.  Yep, you, Put. The. Snow. Down.  Drop it," and gesturing with my hand an opening of the fist and downward swing. And I repeated this exercise this afternoon.  Ludicrous, I know, but they all got where they were going safely.

As the last bus pulled away this afternoon, one of my colleagues lobbed a huge snowball towards our school resource officer, hitting him perfectly.  There is something about middle school students and staff that is just drawn to that snow. 

Next time, they're not coming back until it's all melted, none of them. 

Changing Terms

Negotiating communication with one's spouse, in the newly empty nest, can be challenging. For the last 21 years our communications have centered on, or been impacted by, the presence of our little people; now we have been abandoned in this nest by those little people to rediscover each other.

My husband's parents shared a piece of wisdom with us early in our marriage: "Give yourself a couple of years before you have kids," they said, "and get to know each other better, because when the kids are gone, you will want a "couple" relationship to return to."  We followed this suggestion, but now find ourselves returning to (rather quickly, it seems) couple status, and I'm struggling a little with the increased communication that occurs because two people spend a lot of time together again.

Early on in our marriage, communication was easy and unfettered.  We talked about what we wanted, when we wanted, typically uninterrupted.  Soon, however, our attempts at communication were interrupted by wails and whines of nonverbal need. Typically when these things happened, one, or both of us dropped what we were doing, a conversation was postponed, or a project put down, to address the immediate needs of our progeny.

Later, our communication focused on the physical needs of the kids, ranging from, "Are you able to fix dinner?" to "I've got a late meeting, are you able to do pick up?" And, the days flew by so swiftly that there wasn't much time for additional communication.

Most recently, during the last years of high school our conversations have gone like this: "Did you see R this morning?  What were her plans tonight?  Was she driving?  Who was she with? Did she say when she might be home?"

Now, spending more time than ever together, even with both of us working, communication (how and what we say to each other) needs to perhaps be more carefully considered, before it is begun.  While the emptying of the nest may make some aspects of life more simple, there are other aspects that rise in complexity.  Continuing to reflect on this, for me, will be important.

Snow Day?

The prediction of snow still, even after all of these years, makes my heart skip a beat and my mood swing upwards.  Yesterday I spent in a slump, mostly doubting the varied predictions that were being thrown our way by our local meteorologists.  "Well, it could really be bad," said one, while another stated, "There is a chance that nothing could come our way." 

Today it poured rain, all day long; and the temperature slowly dropped over the course from when the kids were dropped off until they got picked up this afternoon.  As the temperature dropped my hope began to pick up.  Maybe the snow that may or may not arrive will give us a day off of school?!?

The irony is, even if school is cancelled, administrators often still report - so I might not have the day off - but, the energy is contagious and the excitement for a day off leaps like a flame from one staff member to the next.  When the children walk out to the buses, they too have caught it...."See you Thursday, Ms. E. Smith!" one hollers. 

"Ice cubes in the freezer tonight, pajamas on backwards," I hollered back, smiling and waving as the buses pulled away.   

Monday Blues

I wasn't my usual smiley self this morning, greeting the children as they got off the buses.  I could feel it - and I wasn't sure why.  Is it because it's the week before Spring Break?  Maybe...maybe it's just a Monday...

"Hi Olivia," I said, scrubbing my hands under the faucets in the Seventh Grade girls bathroom.  "How are you?"  Olivia is a bright, young assistant, former student in fact, that works in some of our classrooms. 

"Oh my gosh, I'm having a Monday," she replied, leaning forward in the mirror adjust her hair.  "I took my acrylic nails off this weekend and didn't replace them, without them I just don't feel myself.  And, I spilled my coffee this morning; see this coffee stain on my sweater?  It will be there all day!" she exclaimed. 

"I totally know what you mean," I responded, drying my hands on my skirt.  "I've got on a pair of tights that I swear must be my daughter's.  I'm going to be in the bathroom all day tugging, to make sure my tights don't fall.  You know that uncomfortable feeling, right?"

We smiled at each other. "Yep," she said.  "But, we can make it a great day, right?"

"We can!  Four days until spring break!  We can do anything!"

An Escape

I love, more than almost anything, the opportunity to escape into a good historical fiction story.  If you weave in a bit of romance, and maybe some supernatural powers, I'm in my happy place.  Today I was compelled to finish an historical novel set during the 1400's in England and France. 

After running errands, I pulled out my book and disappeared into the land of political intrigue among a king, his queen and the nobles that make up their court, and the gruesome, bloody war that never ends, especially when cousins are fighting each other for the throne. 

The main character and I watched as the queen made decisions that we knew would create havoc for her (an illicit romance before the birth of the heir means that all of England is questioning the paternity of the prince and the motives of his mother), and the king sinksinto a year-long sleep that no one can explain. 

Because it is historical fiction - there is not always a happy ending.  In this case, the story ends well enough, but the epilogue reveals that the main character watches her husband and son executed and  sees her daughter successfully ascend to the throne (albeit for only a short period of time thanks to Henry VIII!) 

Totally love this escape - the reality of our world, at times, seems so hard to believe.  I can only imagine the historical fiction that will be written hundreds of years from now, looking back on the early 21st Century. 

Waiting Game

Worry, relief?

To have accomplished something

personally big

and be waiting for a result or a response

is truly challenging.  

I swing between 

anxiety and 

exhilaration

and it's stressful and

exhausting. 

There is nothing 

more challenging than

waiting...

Some Classes...

In January, in order to help myself neutralize the "empty-nester blues" I signed up for a Spanish class for adults.  I've worked in our strongly Latin school district for 27 years and could be fluent in multiple languages after that amount of time, but I never made the commitment.  This year, I did - and I have been happily going to class for the last two months, every Wednesday evening from 7:00 PM to 9:30 PM.  

Our class of 15 students range from pretty young 20 somethings, a few of us in the middle (50's I'd say), and a few in the 70-80 range.  This, along with our entertaining instructor, makes the class very interesting.  It's fascinating watching people of all ages grapple with learning something new; we all are making mistakes and supporting each other with the answers whenever possible.  

I don't think we are the teacher's favorite class.  We have a tendency to be a little rowdy (laughing at and with each other, commenting on the side, getting our teacher off track).  If this class was in my school it's very possible we would have all been sent to the office for disruption.  But, we are having fun and learning Spanish.

This evening our instructor announced that next week was our last class for this semester.  We were shocked.  Time sure went by fast.  

"Aren't we having a fiesta?" one of my classmates asked. 

"Let's have a pinata!" hollered another classmate.  And suddenly the class was totally pumped about this idea. 

"I'll bring guac and chips," the person sitting next to me volunteered, happily.  And... the teacher at that point lost control of the class.  Looking dazed, she agreed that we could have our fiesta, and she would bring a traditional flan dessert from Venezuela.  

Happily we cheered, hollered "Buenas Noches," and quickly disappeared into the night.  

  

The Big Event

T'was the night before my interview
and all through the house,
not a creature was stirring,
except me!  I can't sleep! My anxiety is ginor- mous!

Forget the cap and throwing up the sash, I'm throwing in the towel. These night before jitters are totally debilitating.  I can't think - I can't focus.

Although, I watched the school board meeting for an hour and found it fascinating...procrastination anyone?

I might have a glass of wine and go to bed...

To tomorrow!

New Clothes?

Shopping, ugh.  I absolutely hate any shopping more detailed than pick it up, look at it, throw it in the cart because it will look great on!

Today I was on a quest for a new suit.  It must...have pants, because they are often slimming, be black, because that's slimming too, and plain, because I can't do froo froo.  No problem!

My friend and I walked confidently in to the large department store in the mall I rarely go to, and then paused, at once confused and overwhelmed. "Where do we start?" I asked, glancing at the different styles of clothing arrayed along the walls, designers' names in big black blocky letters above each section.

"Well at Costco..." she began, and we both giggled, because that's really where we like to shop.  In fact, the aforementioned shopping technique works great there.

We ducked left into one of the designer alcoves and moved intently through the surrounding spaces touching clothes, stopping occasionally when something caught our attention.  After 15 minutes we realized that we had gone through most of the floor, and yet had seen nothing I was willing to try on.

"Ok, I think we need to start again," I sighed to her - and back we rolled to the first alcove, where, surprisingly we found two suits with matching tops that looked great on, too.

Really, the clothes looked great on - funny how you can tell when you actually try the clothes on before you buy them.  I've decided I will invest a little more in my clothes, perhaps shop the sales at the mall before nickel and diming my way through Costco for clothes again.    

Road Trip - Finally

I have been longing for a road-trip... I need just a car, a direction, and a companion or two. I relish the freedom of flying down the highway, or wending my way over sloping hill and around hairpin curves; the point, really, to escape the beautiful suburbia that we have made our home, that can stifle with its sameness. 

Today I got that need met.  We loaded the white car we've named Gandalf (or Gimli, depending on the need and mood) with bags, backpacks, groceries, one ginormous stuffed duck and three youngsters headed back to college.  And, a road-trip was born. 

We headed out of town on the highway, plenty of cars to keep us company.  The car was pretty silent, perhaps the "spring" forward was impacting everyone, perhaps the reality of back to school was overwhelming them.  At one point though, the road rose and the vista in front of us opened up; we saw mountains.  I gasped loudly and the car-full awoke.  The layers that spread out in front of us began with the dusty, tired, green-brown color of winter's last gasp.  Above that the blue that our mountains are famous for layered from a dark midnight up close, to a dusty cornflower further away.  A gray haze tinged yellow with sunlight spread over the mountains and into the sky. 

Our mood shifted, our DJ put on music (she selected classic 80s for the ride), the car hummed and buzzed for the next 6 hours as our heads spun to catch glimpses of such a different world.  Black cows, brown and white goats, short vanilla-colored sheep grazed nonchalantly, the red clay of Virginia lining their legs and underbellies.  A shout from the back directed us all towards the right, where the most beautiful white barn with a red roof and red trim stood proudly on the top of a hill.  A gesture from the front directed our eyes to the left side of the road and the gorgeous red brick home, four chimneys standing tall and white shutters balancing its facade.  Based on the chimneys, we agreed, this one must be from the late 1800's. 

Soon we left the Blue Ridge Mountain region of the state and headed East.  Over the tree-filled pass we flew on the twisty roads, watching for downed trees and root balls flipped into the air.  Small villages whipped by, framed by faded signs advertising the best apples and honey that could only be bought there.  We glided gently into the Piedmont region of Central Virginia where farms again dominated our views; we were all startled when we saw Civil War cannons on the side of the road and signs for the Battle of the Wilderness.  Houses lined the road and the battlefield memorial site, and I couldn't help but wonder how difficult it might be to live right there.

Our last one dropped of at his school, my husband and I optimistically turned the car north towards home and came to an immediate stop; hundreds of red brake lights glared at us, as if mocking the notion that we wanted to get home tonight.  The least enjoyable stretch of our road, no great vistas and lots of unfettered civilization, was going to be a haul.  We missed our companions for that last section, but made it home safely. 

Time Flies, Days Drag

In the kitchen again this evening, before the kids head back to college tomorrow.   The hubs is cooking and my daughter is hanging out chatting, dj'ing our evening with Amazon Music, and mashing the potatoes for dinner.  My son is doing his laundry and stopping in occasionally to dip a pita into the best hummus in Arlington (Atilla's, for those of you around here) and guess the title of the current tune that's playing.

These are the kinds of memories I will hold onto, treasure, and replay until both kids come back in early May. 

It's Painful Sometimes

Around this time, every year, I have spent a certain amount of time blogging about my role as an Irish Dance Mom.  This year, my Irish dancer is in college - and we are not primping curls, doctoring makeup, or ensuring that blinged out costumes smell ok and are ready to be taken on stage.

And...I miss it.  I have missed driving to dance classes multiple times every week; I have missed communing with other dance moms, kvetching about the amount of time we spend sitting and waiting while our kids dance their hearts out through hours and hours of classes.  Mostly though, I have missed the time in the car back and forth to class, during which my dancer and I grapple with the serious issues of friends and priorities and classes that are driving her nuts.  I miss the intense connection with a driven adolescent, who was willing to/skilled at talking through the issues that she faced daily.

Today, I took a half day off - hoping to recreate this closeness before she goes back to college, spring break over and done.  We lunched at the Stray Cat restaurant, and while we were eating appetizers, I watched Rebecca recoil during our conversation; and stepping outside of myself in the moment, I listened to myself proselytize in full lecture mode - what are your plans, classes, money? How will you do this, college student?

What the hell?  Rebecca's tone changed, her body language went from open to crossed arms and sideways posture (I read this as... not listening to you).  And, while I was busy trying to recreate the past, this young one was processing and moving forward with complex issues around her way of life and her choices.  There is nothing as eye-opening as your 18 year old reminding you that you are not in control of her life choices, and subtly, sending the message about how arrogant you are to even consider that that is a possibility.

Ugh - humility - it sucks, but it is powerful in reminding me of my place.  While I seek to be an educational leader on a broader scale - my role as parent keeps me real and grounded in the experience of a generation much younger than mine.  It's painful sometimes.   I miss those days when our most complex decision was  around what Irish Dance Costume will be worn in the DC Parade and whether my dancer would be wearing hard shoes or soft shoes as she danced down Constitution Avenue. 

Regardless, my role is support - I've got the backpack with a change of everything (shoes, wig, clothes, mascara) in it.

Inspired

I spent four hours this morning working with other members of our school district on the Baldrige Framework for organizational improvement.  Our school district is implementing the Baldrige Framework as an effort towards continuous improvement.  

It was interesting to talk to other staff members about topics like organizational excellence or workforce engagement and have conversations about what processes that we could put into place that would support our achievement of the mission and vision of the school system.  

One of my favorite conversations was around the concept of Supply Chain Management.  Typically in businesses, this means who is your supplier and are they providing you with the high quality product that you need to do your job.  So, in education we could think about students as our supply chain - and the statement that we often make to eighth graders, in that case - could be true.  Our job in middle school is to prepare you for high school (and beyond).  

The conversation around the other end of the chain was interesting as well.  So, the product you are sending to kindergarten cannot recognize their letters or count to ten?  Hmm - perhaps we need to re-look at our supplier...

As  if - I'm really being facetious here. We have put programs in to place to support all of our young ones in meeting the "ready for kinder" levels, the supplier, then, becoming our school system, just from a younger age.  

I learned a lot about our organization by listening to so many intelligent and passionate people who work to make our system a better learning environment for young people.  None of the group were teachers, interestingly, and the passion for student success was still incredibly high.  

Feeling the Lack of Sleep

It's great to have the kids home from college for spring break - I'm truly so glad to see either one (or both) of them when I walk in the door in the evening.

But, I mentioned to my husband this evening as we ate out on our usual date night, that having them home incurred a mental presence that I hadn't had to exercise since they were home for Christmas.  For example, last night my daughter had dinner with a friend at the friend's house - "I'll be home early," she said, so I listened for her to come home at 9:30, 10, 10;30 and again at 11:00.  As I sent the text at 11:00 saying, "Hey, when will you be home?" I heard the car park in the front of the house.  "Whew," I thought, and then I glanced at my phone as it chimed..."Mom, I'm home, but Natalie is hanging out here for a while.  She'll be gone before you wake up!"

Really?  I'm gonna be awake a little while longer, I thought.

The reality is, when they are at college, I don't worry about where they are, what they are doing, and when they will be home.  Perhaps I should be more....

When they are home and sleeping at home, I have an extra-sensory perception that causes me to worry more about these things - and it's totally unreasonable, I get it.  But it is instinct, or genetic, not sure.

So, as much as I miss them, maybe I will get a good night sleep once they get back to school; although I will continue to miss them dreadfully.  This must be a natural part of the growing up process, right?  Is it me that's growing up?

He Called Me What?

When people ask what I do, they often groan in empathetic misery...it's so classic. 

"Yes, I work with middle school students," I say, "and I think they're awesome."

"Middle school?  Whew, what do you teach?" they ask, eyebrows raised.

"I'm an assistant principal," I respond and flinch when they gasp, horrified. This interchange is often followed by, "I hated middle school," by the other party - which I find so disappointing.  

It is absolutely true that the adolescent time we spend in middle school or junior high is/was challenging for just about everyone.  But, as an adult working in one now, I love the unexpectedness that every day brings.  For example:  

Today D walked up to me, his brown, longish, curly hair floated around his head like a tarnished halo. 

"Ms. E. Smith," he hollered, walking over to me as the classes changed, "I need to go to your office."

I smiled, this was a common way for a couple of kiddos to try to escape from class.  "D, you crack me up.  No, c'mon, i'll walk you to class."

"Ms. E. Smith, Bruh, I really need to talk to you," he stated, looking intently down at me, his impish smile replaced by a serious look.  

"Okay D," I responded and we headed towards the office.  

There is no perfect middle school assistant principal experience, but I have to say, being called "Bruh" by one of my seventh grade boys was totally unexpected, and heartwarming and lovely.  I'm reading it as a vote of confidence.  Who knows what tomorrow may bring.  

Getting Physically Ready

I've an important event coming up.  So, this afternoon I played hookey (read: left work at a reasonable hour) and headed over to our local hairdresser for some TLC.  A quick snip of the bangs, a little warm wax to shape the eyebrows, and a careful trim of the finger nails, including a hand massage, left me feeling relaxed and confident. I should really do this more often, I thought.

When the ladies began to argue about which color I should put on my nails, I truly felt like I was an important member of this little beauty salon community; and it felt like the whole salon had taken on the role of helping me look my best for this exciting event.

Finally, Jenny said, "You are classic, we will go with this classic..." and she selected a lovely taupe with a hint of lavender.  It's perfect! And, what a lovely compliment.  Now, to get mentally ready!

 

It's Quiet Here...

The house is quiet again - but yesterday evening it felt like normal...

I walked in the kitchen door, mentally drained from the IB training on assessment I had attended, but anticipating seeing the kids.  The house was quiet, so I sat down in my armchair to just breathe and regather myself, wondering where they all were.  Soon, i heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs and a deep voice boomed, "Hey Mom, you're home!" and I was enveloped in my son's long, tall hug. Within minutes, my daughter bounced in the door - dropping bags, water bottles and paraphernalia everywhere. "Hey, we are all home!" she hollered, as my husband joined us in the family gathering place in our home, the kitchen.

In my comfy chair, a glass of wine in hand, two college kids teasing and talking around the table in the kitchen, and my husband producing amazing things for dinner, all felt right with the world.

Today they are gone again - headed out to camp on what looks to be a pretty chilly night - and it's quiet here.

Slice of a Nor'easter

In the black of the early morning hours I roll over, pulling the covers tighter to my neck, and squeezing my eyes shut again.  Not succumbing instantly to sleep, I realize what has woken me - the sound of the wind buffeting and raging against the house.  We had been warned that a Nor'easter was going to cause high winds, but I hadn't thought much about it.

The next few hours drag by as I drift in and out of sleep, jolting awake occasionally by huge roars of wind and fearing for the house and its surrounding trees.   When a notification chimes on my phone stating that schools and offices are closed, I move from the bedroom into the other room that shares our upper addition, and post myself, protectively, at the desk and window facing North. Now I watch the swaying of the oak trees, both close and afar, and monitor the health of my house based on the thunks and bumps that accompany the waves of whistling wind.

When it calms for a moment, I relax, until a another blast causes the windows to flex and the vent covers to vibrate and again my body tenses, bracing against the freight train that screams by.