#EveryDayinMay - Living in the Moment

Go check out Crystal's post on New Orleans streetcars today!

Tonight's post was supposed to be all about my exciting date night in the woods, hiking in my fancy new boots for the first time.

Supposed is a funny sort of word, isn't it?

The day started out just as intended. A meeting with cherished North Star of Texas friends to discuss the upcoming year of Professional Development. Helping Dos prepare for his prom night. Delighting in a little mini-photography session with Dos and the girlfriend.

Afterwards, The Husband and I had planned a simple evening -- a trip to REI so he could check out their shoes, I could grab some nifty long wool socks, and we could take a quick peek at their sleeping pads. Apparently there is more to think about when it comes to sleeping in the woods after days of hiking than I originally anticipated.

By the time we were headed to REI, I already knew the hiking trip was beyond our reach. Traffic had been touch and go, the photo session took longer than anticipated, and I knew once we entered the store, we'd have a difficult time getting back out quickly.

I looked over at The Husband as we sped away to the store and smiled. Hiking trip or not, the rest of the night was ours. I was happy to simply sit in the moment and enjoy it.

So plans have been made. The boy is off dancing the night away. I have nifty long wool socks (with purple toes!). We grabbed some barbecue, rented a movie, and eased into the evening. No rushing about, no worries, no stress.

I'm perfectly thankful for what is, even if it's not what was supposed to be.

#SOL14 - Family Matters

Today slipped by too quickly. I woke at 4:45 to the sound of a puppy needing to go out, and it seems that we never stopped moving from the time my feet hit the floor. I'm thankful for these busy days -- The Husband didn't have to work today, and I celebrate the weekends when we are together, even when they are so full they slip by all too quickly.

This evening my mother-in-law came over. I don't like that term, preferring mother of my heart, because she truly is just that -- a wonderful friend that I cherish. She arrived with a surprise bag of goodies -- homemade granola, ingredients to make red pepper hummus, a few cucumbers, and a delicious healthy chicken salad with sprouted grain tortillas. She loves to cook, and had recently bought a new cookbook filled with healthy recipes she wanted to share with us. This was a perfect surprise because after our long day, The Husband and I had barely eaten and hadn't made plans for dinner.

We spread everything out on the coffee table and snacked while we talked. Most of the evening was spent showing her some tips on using her new iPad Mini and iPhone. It's fun listening to The Husband and her banter back and forth -- mostly because he always tells me he can't understand the way Uno and I talk to each other; he says we don't sound like any other mother and son he's ever listened to. But when I listen to them, I catch many glimpses of Uno and me. Quick witted, playful, sarcastic -- lots of laughter. They're very comfortable together, so although I spent most of the night just listening, it was time well spent.

I hope that when Uno and Dos and the Littles are older, we'll share this same closeness. I hope they'll know they can call on us for help, and are welcome to show up at our doorstep any time. And most of all, I hope these relationships stay strong and close. Seeing The Husband with his mom always reminds me that just because my children are growing up, it doesn't mean they're growing away.

#SOL14 - Blissfully Busy

Today's post will probably be late, and I'm okay with that. It's been one of those too-full days -- full of family, activity, conversation, creativity, playfulness -- full of life. It's been a beautiful day.

Last night my seventeen year old, Dos, called to say he was coming over because he needed help making a piñata for a class project. He had assembled all the necessary items, but wanted help putting it together. He arrived late (late, people) last night and we talked until our eyelids became too heavy to ignore, said our goodnights and went off to bed.

In the morning, his girlfriend found she had some extra time, so we ended up with some extra help in the piñata giraffe creating project. This was excellent for me -- now I could clean house and supervise their work. I love the times when the house is full of activity and laughter; I especially love when it involves Dos. He decided four years ago he wanted to go live with his dad to spend more time with him, and though I'm glad he's building a stronger relationship with his father, I miss him endlessly.

Dos hoping a blow dryer will speed up the process!

After she left, I took over the assisting duties. It wasn't long before The Husband and the Littles arrived home, which meant it was time to introduce them to the new puppy.

Turbo and Grimm already in love.

Sass helped me make dinner while the rest of the guys played with the dogs, played video games, and enjoyed some down time. The house was bursting with love and more laughter. It was the very best kind of evening possible.

Now the Littles (and all the dogs!) are sound asleep. The Husband and I are relaxing on the couch as Dos plays a video game, and the darling paper mache giraffe has it's final layer on and is drying (sans blow dryer) on the table.

Soon, to bed. But for now, bliss -- only bliss.

#SOL14 - Growing Pains

I'm sitting on the couch, listening to the Husband talk about the shelves he just built in the garage. My phone buzzes; I look down to see that my oldest son has texted me.

It's the weekend, when he typically hermits himself away with his friends, so I'm surprised.

"Just a sec," I tell the Husband, holding my phone up to show him I have a text.

I slide my finger across the screen and tap open the text. As I read, my chest tightens. The Husband is still talking. I shake my head at him.

"No, wait" I say, my eyes fixating on my phone.

He's been in a car accident. The other guy was on a motorcycle. No helmet.

The images that cloud my brain are ugly.

The texts continue. I'm wishing he had called instead.

It wasn't his fault; the guy ran into him while trying to pass him. He's fine, just shaken up. The other guy was bleeding from the back of his head, but it wasn't a serious injury.

He says it all happened more than thirty minutes ago. He was just texting to let me know, but he took care of everything himself.

We exchange a few more texts, and I let him go, knowing we'll talk later.

The ugly images clear a little, but not by much. This is an unwelcome reminder that my little boys are out roaming the world without me now, that I can't fix everything anymore -- that ever thinking I could fix it all was a silly ruse I played on myself.

But it is also a welcome reminder. They don't need me to fix it all, and that's a good thing.

#Slice2013 - Day 19 of 31

Dos rests on the couch, his bandaged leg propped up on two pillows borrowed from my bed. An ice pack slips from his knee, landing beside the small dog that has stood guard at his feet all day. But Dos is oblivious to this. He stares intently at the screen on his laptop, eyes flickering up and down, left to right. The ghost of a smile touches his mouth.

To my left, The Husband sits with another laptop. From the corner of my eye, I catch images as they slide across the screen. Unaware of my observation, he sighs and grunts as he scans through the pictures. He clicks, scrolls, clicks some more. Eyes roaming the screen, he whirls the laptop around to face Dos.

"How about this one?" The Husband asks.

Dos looks up, nodding.

"Yeah, but I'm not going to be working on that!" He laughs, and looks back down at his own screen. "But this is more like it," he laughs, turning the laptop to show The Husband.

The Husband nods, laughing along with Dos.

"Not gonna be able to haul anything with that, though," he adds as he resumes his hunt.

Dos shakes his head, launching into a passionate argument about the benefit of one body style over another.

This continues for thirty minutes, and then an hour, the two of them laughing and exchanging words and phrases about cars and trucks. Most of it I barely understand, but they are two men on a mission.

I am merely the silent scribe for the evening. Listening, smiling, and writing the minutes down to remember for another day.

#Slice2013 - Day 18 of 31

I should be sleeping, but
tonight is the night before
the morning of
Dos' surgery.

We talked on the phone, and
the boy is as restless as
his mother is sleepless, because
tonight is the night before
the morning of
Dos' surgery.

So while I wait for sleep,
my brain spins round, thinking
tonight is the night before
the morning of
Dos' surgery.

#Slice2013 - Day 14 of 31

I would like to say that I'm enjoying watching my kids grow up. But honestly, I can't pin down a word that wholly describes what it feels like to watch a child cross over from dependent to independent.

I mean, okay fine, I am proud of them. I love seeing them become more responsible. I love sharing in the joys of things like first jobs, first cars, graduating high school, first week of college. Those are good moments.

I enjoy the humor we share. I love trading music and funny videos, and love even more the quiet sharing in more serious moments. It even makes me a little giddy that these once-small boys both are as big or bigger than me. I am glad we are close enough that they come to me with big decisions. I'm happy to see them both trying to figure out the balance between school and work, between spending all their money on just "stuff" and saving for the future.

There is a certain something gratifying in watching a child come into his own.

But Uno is rounding the corner from uncertain adolescent to fully independent adult. And in that, I feel I am losing him a little. It's not a bad thing, exactly, it's the normal course of events. He's making his way, opening new doors, branching out. He has friends now that I've never met. Goes places I don't know about. Has new interests not shared with me.

He's doing exactly what he's supposed to do. He's figuring things out on his own.

But there's a quiet around the house now that I just don't know what to do with. It's reminiscent of when my sister got married. She had lived with me for so long that we had more of a mother/daughter relationship than a sisterly one. When she moved out, and when I saw her walk back down the aisle and out of the small lakeside chapel, hand in hand with the love of her life, I bawled like a baby.

I was so tenderly and powerfully happy for her. And a little brokenhearted at the same time.

She didn't really need me anymore, not like she had before.

I feel that way with Uno now.

My heart bursts simultaneously with joy and sorrow, anticipation of his future and worry for his safety.

He was so tiny when he was born; so fragile. And it feels a little like I have just released this tiny, fragile being out into the world and I want to yell, "Hey! World! Be kind! He's new to you, but I've had him all these long years, and I won't survive if you ruin him."

#Slice2013 - Day 6 of 31

I'm writing this with eyelids that want to fall like anchors, and a sandbag body.

It's been a long day. It's been a long week.

This afternoon I sat in the office of an orthopedic surgeon with Dos. His knee is wobbly and knocky and not at all 16-year-old sturdy. It's been this way too long, but I'm doing my best not to focus on the bits that make me angry. (If you're new to this circus, read here. And perhaps here.)

The surgeon, in a tornado of words and quips, quickly pointed out that we had exhausted all other options. It is time for surgery. A small surgery, one to two hours and back home again, with a few weeks of physical therapy and my boy should be back to normal. My eyes filled with tears, but The Husband felt me tense up beside him. He squeezed my leg. He grabbed my hand. I exhaled and let the anger go.

(Oh, but those angry thoughts want out of their cage tonight ... this shouldn't have taken so long, this might not have gotten so bad, he's been hurting for so long ... shoulda, woulda, coulda ... )

We left the specialist's office, enjoyed dinner together, and headed over to GoodWill to grab a pair of crutches. Doctor's orders -- Dos has to stay off that leg until the surgery.

He was good natured about it all, in typical Dos fashion. He apologized for doing "dumb stuff" that ended up costing us money (I told him to enjoy the time in his life when he can do dumb stuff and have someone else worry about the cost to repair his bones). He worried that his boss might not let him work until after the surgery (I told him to enjoy light duty, girls carrying his books for him, and less chores). He made jokes about hitting people with his crutches (I told him he wasn't very funny. He hit me with his crutches.)

I asked if he was scared.

"Scared? Heck yeah, I'm scared!"

I nodded, not sure what to say.

He's never had any real medical issues like this before. No broken bones or slings or splints or even a stitch. When he was little, he always stuck quite close to me. All the struggles we ever dealt with came from Asperger's, not broken bits inside his bones.

After finding just the right pair of crutches for a 6'1" boy, I took him home to his Dad.

(That phrase is still unnatural, those words don't fit in my head, saying goodbye still brings tears to my eyes...)

He hugged me with his crutches wrapped around my back (laughing at his own hilariousness), then hobbled up the steps and disappeared through the door.

Tonight as I lay on the couch, surrounded by my snuggle-loving dogs, my eyes begging to be released from duty for the day, a line  from Dos' favorite childhood book popped into my mind. I don't even remember the last time I thought about it, but it fits.

The book is called Turtle Time by Sandol Stoddard. It's about a child that finds a turtle and keeps it for a pet, and how turtle time is so different from our own.

The line he loved so much is the same that wrapped itself around me this evening: "Turtle time is very slow, it waits until it wants to go."

Maybe I need to practice some turtle time. I think Dos has always understood.

Slice of Life

There are many things I should be doing tonight.

There are grades (they don't matter, anyway)
lesson plans (I'll change them the minute the kids walk in the door)
papers to file (just like any other day)
a 3 mile run that doesn't seem likely (there's always tomorrow?)
and a stack of books that want reading (I miss you!)

But I'm not doing the things I should be doing.

I'm researching a culture,
because of a boy
who doesn't know his last name.

Today we explored poetry and talked about identity and shared our name stories.

Only...
Only -- in this new school,
it was presumptuous to expect them to know.

So I'm researching,
and I'm learning,
and eventually,
I'll get to all the things I should be doing.

Something I Can Still Do

It's 11pm, but I'm hurriedly doing a once-over on the house because we have friends coming over first thing in the morning. My husband and our 15 year old are pilfering the freezer for ice cream, laughing and talking about the trip we're taking tomorrow. I'm sort of half aware of this, but mostly I wondering where my oldest son is right now. He's been at an all day music festival today, and I'm expecting to hear from him soon. Although 18 now, I think I worry more every time he leaves the house. He's not just shooting baskets in the driveway or riding his bike down the street anymore. These days, when he walks out the door he could be headed pretty much anywhere.

My mom-brain hasn't worked out the right neural pathways to deal with this yet.

As I shove too many dishes into my groaning dishwasher, fill it too full of detergent, and ignore the arched eyebrow of my darling husband, my mind wanders to a discussion I overheard earlier tonight. I only picked up bits and pieces of it, but they were talking about a group of teenagers, reckless driving, a death, and possible jail time.

I silently curse myself for allowing these kinds of things to pop into my brain. The faces of Steven and all his friends, being driven around in a big old van by one of Steven's best friends, drifts through my thoughts. I slam a cabinet shut and start scrubbing countertops.

My phone rings, and I must look like an Olympic track and field gold medalist, hurdling past our slumbering dog to answer it.

"Hey Mom, it's me. So... I'm okay, but... the concert was great! But, so, I fell and I'm hurt and there's a lot of blood..."

Neurons fire. Pathways form. Time for my brain to learn how to deal with 18 year old Steven.

"Okay, Steven, just explain what happened."

And he does. A lot of rambling words about racing his friends back to the van, a curb that appeared out of nowhere like the boogey man, causing him to basically launch forward and slide across the pavement for what his friends estimate was a good ten feet.

I breathe. I grab a countertop. I ask more questions.

"Where are you right now?"

"We're still in Grand Prairie, we haven't left yet, so Ryan's going to drive me up to the front of the arena. There's a first aid center there, and we'll have them check me out. There's a lot of blood. There is just a lot of blood."

Yes, I think, my stomach curling in on itself, I believe you have mentioned the blood several times.

I want to teleport myself there. Grand Prairie is a good 30-45 minute drive from us, and I just want to be there in that van with those kids -- with my kid -- and fix this whole situation right now.

"Ok, man. That sounds like a good plan. Go see First Aid and give me a call as soon as you've talked to them."

"All right, Mom. I love you."

And we hang up. Simple. Easy. The kids-become-adults have got the situation under control. There's an unknown amount of blood pouring out of my son's body, but not to worry. Some kid in a First Aid clinic out in the middle of nowhere can treat him and send him on his way, lickety-split.

I look up at my husband, suddenly aware that he and Daegan have stopped kidding around and are staring at me. I give them a short recap of the conversation. Isaac just shakes his head.

I go back to cleaning, to shuffling things around, the way I used to shuffle these boys around from school to soccer practice to birthday parties and home again, when they were younger. It was so much easier then, when I had the illusion that I was in control of their tiny little worlds. Now their world is huge and open and as wide as they can imagine it to be, and I love that the possibilities in front of them are endless.

And I hate it, just a little bit, too.

A second phone call lets me know that he is fine, although the people at the First Aid center only looked at him, didn't treat him. He has some road rash, a little dehydration -- nothing major.

I breathe. I put the phone back down. I calm my mind. I think again of the teenagers affected by the car accident earlier this week. I don't know how people put the pieces back together after something that tragic. I count my blessings.

By the time he walks in the door I'm waiting, first aid kit in hand, ready to help.

Because for now, that is something I can still do for him.

Thursday's are Bittersweet

This is seriously rough. But this has been tumbling around in my head, refusing to let me write anything I'd actually want to share. If, after reading it, you find yourself wondering what on earth I'm talking about, go here.

Most days,

I’m okay.

Wake up.

Get dressed.

Feed dog.

Make coffee.

Drive to work.

Teach class.

Read, write.

Relate.

Communicate.

Go home.

But Thursday’s are bittersweet.

On Thursday:

Drive thirty minutes,

pick up the son

that doesn’t live here

Anymore.

Eat dinner.

Laugh.

Watch TV.

Play games.

Pretend

Everything is okay.

Time’s up.

Drive him home.

Share.

Connect.

One last hug;

One quick “I love you.”

Car door slams.

Exhale.

Swallow hard.

Push tears back.

Breathe.

Drive home.

Alone.

Missing the son

that doesn’t live here anymore.

So Quickly

They grow up.

Your mom warns you. "Don't blink, it all goes so quickly," she says. "One day you're changing diapers, the next you're sending them off to college." And she shakes her head. She chuckles.

You think she is crazy.

It all goes so quickly? What a joke! What is quick about diapers and dishes and the ever present disaster in this house? Quickly. She's off her rocker.

You're convinced you'll have these moments forever. Relaxing together after Kindergarten, reading stories at bedtime, cheering at soccer games, hunched over homework.

These days are long. It's only the night that goes quickly. That last stolen glance into the bedroom; peaceful sleeping faces nestled against Star Wars bed covers. You yawn, mentally ticking off your list of to-do's before you too, can sleep.

But still, her words echo in your mind.

You close your eyes.

Middle school dances, pizza parties, last minute research papers; an uncomfortable itch starts to settle in your mind.

Was she right?

You blink.

There are high school schedules to figure out, which may as well be a corn maze attempted with a blindfold. You sit side by side deciphering the wide world of electives, thankful that they still want your help for something besides movie money.  Suddenly: Driver's Ed, dating, football games, first jobs, and then; an order form for a cap and gown?

It all goes so quickly, you think.

Why didn't anyone warn you? You need more time to prepare!

You chuckle. You shake your head.

And want, fiercely, to call your mom.

Tuesday Slice: time for the sun

I promised myself that as school began this year I would not stop writing.

It appears that has been more difficult than originally believed.

So I am sort of proud of myself for making time to write this Tuesday, just 45 minutes before midnight.

Tonight, as I googled and researched and wrote in student files and signed papers, I chatted on the phone with my 15 year old. He's been living with his dad for the past year, and although I spent the year in a flatlining stupor, I've finally begun healing.

In fact, I was told today that I seem more at peace.  And I am.

I'm at peace enough to not let the little things feel like impossible mountains. And I'm at peace enough to spend most of the evening on the phone with my sweet boy, when I really want to be sitting by his side.

He had a poetry assignment tonight; his teacher asked him to write a poem based on Identity by Julio Polanco. He's always been a good writer. Words come easily to him. But he has always had difficulty accepting that he could actually be good at something.

I hope tonight changed his mind.

Here's what he came up with (I have left it entirely as is, no editing of grammar or spelling):

The Life Giving Sun
Let them be the moon
Always cool, mysterious, the controller of the tides,
But only able to reflect the sun

Id rather be a bright, warming sun,
Beaming down on all, like eyes in a meteor shower,
Always giving, but never taken from.

To break through the surface of clouds,
To shine, to be uncontainable in a never ending sky,
To shine in a forever lasting universe,
Day by day, it will be free,
beyond The blackholes and galaxies,

I'd rather shine on my own,
Then to be alone, in the darkness,
Only to be howled at by the wolves,
Or chased by the astaurnauts,
To be walked on.

I'd rather begin a new day,
Than shine through the night,
If I could sail through the sky independently,
I'd rather be the life giving sun


Written by Daegan Lifsey


I love what he did with this, and I love that we worked on it together, and I love that we are still close enough to do these things -- even if it is just over the phone.

Because She Is My Person

When I was very small, she pulled me in close and we snuggled and sang and told stories between tickles and giggles and screeches of delight. She taught me to swim, gave me my first Cabbage Patch dolls, and showed me how to use a curling iron. She bought me my first pair of "big-girl" shoes and my first bikini. With her, I learned how to sign, listened to stories of teaching children, and found the meaning of compassion. Each visit was more significant than the last, as each year I became a little more aware of just how special my Aunt Billie was.

As a teenager, our family moved overseas and a number of years went by before I saw my aunt again. When I finally made it back to her home, I was greeted once again with bearhugs and happy tears. We stayed up until the birds began singing their morning song, announcing the arrival of the sun. I shared the story of my life, stories no one else could be trusted with. It didn't matter that time had slipped by; she was still my person. She always will be.

Her children became like my own niece and nephews, and as my family grew our visits became louder and messier and filled with silliness. This is happiness to the utmost degree, family sleeping on couches and floors, cramming into too-small cars and giggling into the starlit hours while sharing stories and pictures and memories. I watched her pull my own children in close and snuggle and sing and tell stories between tickles and giggles and screeches of delight and I smiled because I knew she loved them every bit as fiercely as she loved me.

Eventually their traditional family vacation grew to include us, and we now spend two weeks each July on a road trip that takes us from Texas to Michigan and back, with a few pit stops along the way. We spend all year anticipating summer vacation, if only for this reason. Nearly a week of the trip is dedicated to The Ranch, where we spend our days tubing down a river with a cold beverage in hand and nothing but blue sky and warm sun to occupy our time. When the sun slips beyond our view and the the nights grow cold, we slip on jackets and jeans and surround the campfire. Everything about this trip is Aunt Billie; from the chili we all clamor for to the "shhhh!" that we can hear through the night when our laughter becomes too loud. Aunt Billie is in the river, too -- she taught my boys how to navigate the ice cold waters when they were little, and she's my favorite person to hitch a ride with as we slowly rock our way back to camp. The ranch is Aunt Billie. Without one, there is no reason for the other.

This year Aunt Billie won't be at the river. This year Aunt Billie has exchanged her tube for a hospital bed, her cold beverage for an IV bag, and instead of gathering by the campfire with family each night, she will spend her evenings in Bed 1 under the careful eye of the hospital staff at Good Samaritan. This year Aunt Billie has an auto-immune disorder that the doctors haven't quite figured out yet, and it is a thief that has launched a sneak attack on our family, robbing us of a precious resource we scarcely have enough of as it is: time.

This year Aunt Billie has demanded that we go to the ranch without her, not sit at her bedside and look pitiful. But I don't know how to slip down the river without hearing her laughter ringing through the trees or sit by the fire without her giving us the look and telling us it's time for bed -- even though I'm nearly 40 years old! Without her, a part of the ranch has been severed away. Because she is my person, and she always will be.

Aunt Billie, Uncle Craig, and a motley crew of kids that love them both!

Grandpa Mogk's Farm (Day 2)

Grandpa Mogk's farm meant family.
It was Damon's silhouette running,
stick-sword in hand,
across a mile of hay bales;
Devin's giddy backstroke
through a pool of golden grain;
Steven, Ryan, and Daegan
climbing a towering pyramid of hay,
fists pumping in triumph,
adventure conquered.

It was octogenarians gathered,
swapping stories on the lawn;
children hop-skip-galloping around them
or bouncing along on Buttercup's back,
dancing into their own memories.
Rustling stalks of corn stretched out,
an emerald lake rocking with
the rhythm of the wind,
and horses whinnying a welcome
upon your approach.

Grandpa Mogk's farm was Frisbees flying
as we ran, laughed, tackled each other
to snatch them from the air,
a sparkling audience of bobbing kites high above us.
Sunshine warming our faces,
breeze across our shoulders offering comfort,
clouds lazy-sailing across a blue-blue sky.
It was Welcome! and Uff da! and Nice ta meetcha!
A place where the word "stranger"
was defined by the possibility of new friendships.

It was chocolate raining on strawberries and pretzels,
stuffing and turkey and warm wheat rolls,
soft lemon cake melting on your tongue.
Fireflies twinkling like Christmas,
the boom and the bang of pyrotechnics,
tiny shadows bounding through the dark,
calling, "Ghost in the graveyard!"

But most of all,
Grandpa Mogk's farm was laughter.

Poems on the Road, Day One

While driving last night I was thinking about a teaching demo on poetry at Summer Institute. We talked about the book Locomotion and looked at a list poem from the book to create our own list poems. In the book, the main character writes a poem that describes himself.

And that's how today's poem came about.

One big white van,
pushing forward.
Seven adventurers;
three grown boys,
two little darlings,
one gum-chewing navigator
and her Monster-swigging captain.
Some sleeping, some snacking,
all eager
for sunrise,
and fourteen hours
to slip by
quickly.

Road Trip 2010 Begins

The truth is, I'm a highly anxious, easily stressed lady.  Granted, if you see me out in public, you'd probably never notice this.  Throw me into chaos at work, and I can quickly come up with solutions.  If you aren't looking closely, you might label me as patient, diplomatic, clam.  Hence the chameleon.

Fling a whopper at me when I'm just around my closest family, most trusted friends, and you get a whole different monster.  Literally.

For the past few days, we've been busily preparing for our big yearly road trip across America.  This involves a ridiculous amount of strategy, given the fact that we have to take all our camping equipment with us up to the northern most part of Michigan -- and when I say "us" I'm talking about myself, The Husband, Uno, Dos, the two Littles, and Uno's best friend Dos #2.  Whew.

Since I don't like to stop at fast food places along the way, this trip also requires that I spring into Ultra Mom mode, and bake, make, mix, and organize snacks and meals and such for our journey.  So besides everything else we're bringing, we now need a huge cooler and a box for all the other food items.

Yipes.

Then there is my nonstop fear that we're going to have some terrible malady besiege us and drain every last dollar we have.

I won't even go into all the other worries and concerns I have before we set out.

All these worries, concerns, and craziness can easily result in what I lovingly call, "Ultimate Freak Out of Doom."

Trust me.  I've done it many times.  Temper tantrums, tears, you name it, I've done.

It's really rather embarrassing.

Luckily, last year something changed this.  For the first time ever (and dude, this is a serious accomplishment), I was able to plan, prepare for, and set off on our trip -- without a nervous breakdown!

This year, we've added three more kids and two more stops along the way.  I'm beginning to wonder if I have a desire to torture myself.

But, once again, I've been able to hunt and gather the necessities, get everyone rounded up, and in about 15 minutes, we'll be out the door.

The secret ingredient to my success?

The Husband.

He calms my fears, eases the tension, sets me back up on my feet when I topple over in a tizzy.

Granted, just thirty minutes ago I was standing in the driveway as he was zipping around loading things into the van, barking orders and looking a bit like a timebomb.  It just took a few words, and hand on his shoulder, and he visibly relaxed.  Things got packed, a little less stressed.

So off we go, Iowa bound (for starters).  I am so fortunate to spend the next 17 days surrounded by laughter, silliness, and definitely some good road trippin' karaoke.  But definitely, no ultimate freak outs. And that's a nice thing.

Writing, in three voices

Tonight I am busily-happily-sleepily-weepily working on my pieces for the multigenre project I'm putting together for my NWP research on boys and literacy.  Tonight's major goal was to finish the two-voice poem I had planned to write between a boy and his teacher.

Instead, I ended up with three voices: boy, writing expert, and teacher.  Here's the first draft.

What do you think?

Boy:	Writing Expert:	Teacher:
I am a	I am a	I am a
boy
		teacher
	writer
I write because	I write because	I write because
	I love words.
I’m forced to.
		I’m teaching you.
I’m searching for	I’m searching for	I’m searching for
		a way to reach you.
	creative expression
a way to be myself.
But you don’t listen to me!		But you don’t listen to me!
	Listen to me.
Words are	Words are	Words are
a prison
	an open road
		the path to your future
Listen to me!	Listen to me!	Listen to me!
	Boys need
freedom to choose
		I’m listening.
Boys need	Boys need
action!
	adventure!
technology!
	praise!
the chance to succeed
	a teacher to hear them
Boys need acceptance	Boys need acceptance
		acceptance.
Do you see me?
	Do you see?
		I see you now.
		Boys need a teacher who sees with the heart of an adventurer.
	An explorer.
A boy.
	A writer.
		A teacher.

Inspiration for three voices, and this particular style came from Kevin's Meandering Mind