rain forest

Every summer, I would spend time with my cousins at my grandma's house. It was the best time I've ever had in my whole life. It was the joy of a week long sleepover, picking right up with best friends as if no time had passed at all, even though in fact, a year had passed.

Each summer we would go to the zoo and in particular the rain forest exhibit. I've been back since and it's pretty nice. But as a kid, to me it was not just an exhibit, it was The Rain Forest. And most importantly, it was a signpost in the large world of my childhood.

The summer I was ten, while visiting the rain forest with my cousins, I sat down on a bench and really noticed where I was. I remember clearly thinking, I am here. I will think of this all year and for the rest of my life, but right now, I am here.

Every once in awhile, I am able to notice that this life of ours, this short little burst, is a love affair.

"hold it" - my kid is cute

In the name of keeping this blog going while I finish up my paper, I am now going to tell Cute Kid Stories.

Ramona is pathologically fearful of loud noises. When she hears a loud noise outside she shouts, "elephants!" And these are not the friendly type elephants either. These are the kind that charge. She runs to me, grabs my leg and says, "it's okay".

She does these sweet little pat pats on my shoulder. She tells us "I yove you".

When she wants us to pick her up she says, "hold it".

A few weeks ago when we would ask her what her name was she would say, "mount". Now she includes what she is doing, like, "Monut eating yogurt!"

And she counts everything. two, nine, ten, eleven, eight. Today she diligently counted her peanut butter.

And in one week Monut will be two. (but she says she will be four, nine, ten, eleven, eight.)

the best moms of my generation

I might have blogger's block. I had hoped by now my paper would be done and I could get to the redemption part of my story. However, that is not the case and so I get scared every time I try to write. So, I'm going to just start throwing some small stories out there, because a blank blog hurts worse than a silly blog.

Small Story:

Conversation between Nova and Husband Brian this morning:

Nova: I'm like Allen Ginsberg. You know, like in Howl.
Brian: oh really.
Nova: Yes, all the best minds of my generations are being driven mad.
Brian: laughs....do you mean, like, just yours?
Nova: Nope, everyone I know is really crazy right now. It's not just me.

nothing, right now

I grasp with two hands. Lately I grasp with the hands I don't even have yet. This is not a resolve to postpone the writing of this blog until I have my paper written. This is not a resolve to take vitamins. Be a better Buddhist. Take better care of my skin. Write my words in a small notebook at the bottom of my purse. Write a blog post that tells you what's in my heart and asks what's in yours. This is not my resignation. This is not a new plan to maximize my productivity. This is nothing. I am a poet with no poems.

the madeleine

Perhaps you have heard, I'm reading Proust's Rememberance of Things Past, Vol. 1 Swann's Way. Yesterday, I read about The Madeleine. The small shell shaped cake that had the power to evoke a flood of memories.

This is the most famous "thing" in literature. Little Marcel sits down to tea with his mother and takes a small bite of tea soaked madeleine....

"but at the very instant when the mouthful of tea mixed with the cake crumbs touched my palate, I quivered, attentive to the extraordinary thing that was happening inside of me."

Then he tries to hold onto this fleeting memory. This powerful, joyful thing.

I wish I had not known about the madeleine. I wish I could have tasted it for myself.

that's my heart in there

I've been writing a lot. But not on this blog. What I have been doing is finishing my thesis, for real. It went from being an impossible burden, to a list of things I'm crossing off one at a time. Sometimes I look at what I've written and it's strange to see nothing of myself on that page. Even if I squint, I can't see myself in there. I wonder if it is possible to put your heart into academic writing?

See this picture? This is me, in front of the library at my University at the start of my graduate program.

I love this girl. This non-mother person. This hard working, small dreaming girl.

I'm not that girl anymore. I have huge dreams. I have so much counting on me. But still, I can write a poem. And then another. I'm going to write a book. A text message. A letter. I'm going to write the thing that makes your heart sing, yearn, hurt, take refuge. I'm going to make you feel more like yourself. Because see, I'm writing my favorite story. And so are you. Get out a pencil, see if you aren't.

It is all wide open now. Let's wash a floor. Let's make some art. Let's make some heads shake.

union maid

You know what's a bad idea? Taking this sweet blog about my baby and my spirit, and writing about politics. But I write this because watching Wisconsin this week has reminded me that I was taught to be a political activist. My parents were serious union people during the 80s and 90s. I know what to sing at a political demonstration.

My dad worked as an unskilled laborer my whole childhood and was paid a living wage because it was a union job. I was able to go to a state university and get a good job as a teacher. It's easier to raise your children well if you make a living wage.

Poverty is what's wrong with America's schools. My students live in poverty. I have sad stories.

You know what's not poor? The way we feel about our students. Honestly, I think my co-workers are catty bitches, but they are competitive and proud. The teachers at my school care about their kids and care about teaching well. We want to do well, because we want our kids to learn.

I have no idea who these bad teachers are that everyone talks about. They don't work at my school. Oh sure, I've seen bad teachers. But they don't last. This job is too horrible to endure if you do it badly. Did you know that half of all teachers don't make it to their fifth year? It's an unforgiving profession. If you aren't good at it, you cry every night until you either get good or you quit.

Merit pay? You can't afford us.

There is a bill being considered in Missouri that would recall all teacher tenure. My union will fight it. Teachers will fight it. I doubt we do a proper job explaining why we think it's important. It's pretty clear to me that this is about money. This isn't about getting rid of bad teachers. This is about making it easier to cut positions. This is about making class size huge. It's about shortchanging your child of their American right to the best education in the world (challenge me on that one....I'm ready). It's about breaking American schools.

And pay attention to where the money is shifted to. Pay attention to who's getting it. They aren't building roads with it and they aren't giving it back to tax payers.