Fish in a Tree

You know how sometimes you read that one book that really speaks to you, the one that makes your life make sense? I am reading that book right now. I didn't expect this book to touch me so deeply. I picked it up because it is a Rebecca Caudill book and I want to read at least 3 to my class, so they are eligible to vote in March.

Quick summary: Ally a middle school student has always been misunderstood in school. She always found herself accidentally in trouble and was labeled as a trouble maker. To make matters worse, her dad was in the military so her family moved a lot. She wasn't ever in one school for very long. Through out the course of the story we learn that Ally is dyslexic. This story beautifully illustrates how a person with a learning disability feels in a variety of situations. 

I have been reading this to my jr high class. The students in that class can all relate to Ally and what she is going through. This book has sparked so many awesome discussions. I am amazed by the way the students are hanging on every word and usually are bummed when the chapter is over. Yesterday we read about the class student counsel election. It brought up a lot of current event topics. I am so impressed by the connections my class is making between this book and real life!

Last week the book hit me in the feels. Ally described how it felt living with a learning disability. I actually got choked up while I was reading.

It made things so clear. I couldn't help but think about A2. This is her struggle. Every day.

Then I thought about my students. This is their struggle. Every day. 

This book gave me a new sense of importance and urgency in my job. I could be the "lifeline" for these struggling students. I want to be that person. I want to make learning easier. I want to make learning make sense for them. I want to help them keep their bikes together while they ride. 

I hope every teacher adds this book to their personal reading list. It is Y.A. It isn't a challenging read. It is probably a a 4 hour uninterrupted read. This will give a whole new perspective on those kids who need more help than others. 

I can't wait to share this book with the A Team!

Clown Invasion

Late night writing can only mean one thing... I have something on my mind. Let me tell you, I do!

What do I have on my mind?

Clowns. That is right. I have clowns on my mind.

In light of the recent clown outbreak that seems to have taken over the entire country, I can't stop thinking and worrying about clowns. I am anticipating having one show up out of no where. I look out the kitchen door and expect to see a clown sitting in our back yard, watching and waiting for us to come out and play. I look past our fence and imagine a puff of menacing red hair poke out the the corn field. I drive down the road and search for clowns in the distance, clowns on porches, clowns in ditches, and clowns crossing the street. I can't stop thinking about them.

I started sending clown siting updates to friends. Every time a new clown incident pops up on fb, I forward it on. I was half laughing at the clowns until I read a fb status that clowns were spotted walking along a cornfield 10 miles south of us and then another report of clowns walking through neighborhoods 15 miles north of us. I feel surrounded.

I decided I needed to warn the girls about not talking to clowns. I thought it would be best to tell them if a clown shows up in the cornfield behind us they need to run. Obviously, this was not the best idea, since I have answered 500 questions about clowns in the last 20 minutes and my parents both reported there was constant clown talk ALL NIGHT LONG. I simply wanted my super trusting children to be aware of the dangers associated with the large shoe wearing, giant makeup smile painted creatures. I don't want them to be the next victims of clowns.

I am now officially obsessed with clowns. Like a for real, full on obsession. I am completely consumed with clown thoughts. Tonight while I was sitting out dealing with ulcer pain while the rest of my friends danced the night away, I figured out what is going on with the clowns...

We are dealing with a clown revolution. Clowns have been treated badly for years. Ever since the movie It, clowns have gotten a bad wrap. I believed the only clown you can trust is Ronald McDonald. Then out of the blue it dawned on me, he is the leader of this clown-invasion. This clown-coop has been in the works for years, even BEFORE the movie It. Ronald's entire mission involves two steps. First to trick kids into trusting clowns. "Love me and my crazy giant red shoes and I will give you fries." "Trust me, I will give you junky toys that break before you get home in your happy meals." Then after Ronald has a nation of kids loving clowns, he feeds them unhealthy food. Step two is to fatten up the children of America, so they can't outrun the clowns. With childhood obesity at an all time high, Ronald's plan is a success.

Now the clowns have gathered in secret clown clan meetings. They have organized. They are ready to take over the country by any means necessary. Clown cells are emerging from the underground lairs they have been inhabiting.  We are under attack. No one is safe from clowns. No one.

Until clowns are stopped, I will continue to pass on the sighting information. I will continue to watch for clowns in parking lots, in the back of my car, and in the pew in front of me at church. I will not take this laying down. Mostly because the heartburn is really bad right now...I am going to be ready for a clown ambush. I am not going to leave my house without being armed with makeup wipes and a spray bottle. (Without the makeup, a clown is nothing.)

I won't be a victim.

I can't wait until the field behind us is plowed. I don't even care that I will be sneezing for days. Allergies are better than clowns. 

Floundering Flutist

*Warning you are about to read the ramblings of mom on the brink of losing it. Thank you 5th grade band.


FLUTE. Oh flute. Little flute you have caused so much stress in my life. A1 decided before school started she was going to be in the band.  She was going to play the flute. She was going to be awesome. School started. She missed school. She missed a flute lesson. She missed another day of school. She missed another flute lesson. She is behind the other kids in her group. She is finding flute is hard. She refuses to practice. She isn't a natural flute player. She has to work. She doesn't like to work. She wants to quit. She isn't going to quit, I won't let her. I am the worst mom in the world. I am horrible. I am ruining her life. I am the cause of her needing to drop out of school. I am ruining my life. I am ruining peace. I am ruining relaxation. 

Normally my motto is "If it causes stress and it isn't necessary, get rid of it." Is the flute causing stress in my life? YES!!! Is it necessary? NO!!! I am I getting rid of it? NO... wait, what? I have to stick to my guns on this one. A1 has never had a challenge. She is capable of doing anything she has ever tired. This is the first thing she has EVER had to work at and she isn't coping very well. (I am not either.) Tonight we had tears, temper tantrums, and screaming. I forced her to practice tonight. I worked with her. I stuck with it. She stuck with it. She practiced for 30 minutes tonight (that includes all the self imposed interruptions).

My skills are basic at best, but that is what she needs right now so we are good, except I am not the most patient person when it comes to her tween-itude. Eye rolls are my rage button. Huffy puffy breathing is my combat trigger. Stompy feet are my quarrel switch.

Tonight was a rough night. The flute is a major problem in my life. A1 is not giving up on the flute. I am not giving up on A1. She will learn from this. I will learn from this. She has to stick with this until the end of the school year. The school year is almost over, right?

In the event that I don't survive the year with the flute, please promise me no one will play the flute at my funeral! Actually, please everyone do! I hope they pass out flutes and make everyone play Hot Cross Buns over and over and over again. I know I will be laughing. 

P.S. I am very impressed at my ability to play Hot Cross Buns even if no one else at my house was impressed at all!  

Ramblings are over.

Super-mom Is Not a Super Mom

I love this picture.

I love this picture so much.

I didn't remember this night until I saw the picture. We were all playing in our rooms while my mom was busy doing something, probably cleaning up a mess we made. Chris and I were supposed to be watching Caley, but you know what happens when you ask a 4 year old and a 7 year old to watch the baby...

Markers, markers happen, that is what happens.  I also believe Caley left graffiti on the underside of the bunk bed, but we aren't talking about that. I am pretty sure my mom was mad, I would have been. BUT I don't remember that part.

I love this picture, because even if my mom was mad (and she should have been) and her lips probably disappeared, as we came to notice they always did when she was mad, I don't remember her being mad. That means there is a good chance that when they are older the A Team won't remember all the times I have been mad at them . I can stop beating myself up over all the less than patient moments in my life, they won't remember, probably.

I love this picture because it shows normal kids who have a normal mom. I have always thought of my mom as super-mom. The mom who always had her stuff together. Always had her ducks in a row. And always had her floors mopped and laundry washed AND put away. Let's be honest, she always DID have her floors mopped, laundry washed, laundry put away, windows washed, counters cleared, floors vacuumed and basically all the other things my house is lucky to have done once week, EVERY. Single. Day. This picture shows that while my mom is a super mom she wasn't super mom, the fictitious mom character we all strive to be. The one we search Pinterest to find. The one who forgets to put herself as a priority. The one we can never be, because no one is super mom. It just isn't possible. Not even for my mom.

I love this picture because it allows me to be less hard on myself when I don't get everything right all the time. It quiets that voice in my head that says "Your mom wouldn't have done that. You aren't as good as your mom." The voice that doesn't let me fail and forgive myself.

I love this picture because it shows that my girls are normal. They won't grow up to be criminals who graffiti all over town, probably. They will grow up to be successful adults, probably, like the kids in that picture mostly did.

I love this picture because it tells be I don't have to be super-mom to be a super mom.

I love this picture because it reminds me to laugh when the girls pull crazy stunts. Laugh and take a picture. Someday they will want to look back at the time A1 decided to write about her love of Jesus on the wall,

or the time A2 decided to practice writing her numbers on the couch,

or the time A3 decided to put on makeup

and laugh as much as I do every time I think back to the days they each pulled these stunts and many others. 

PS- Mom, thanks for being a great example for me to follow. I want to be a super mom like you. (I just plan on using less bleach.)

Communication Fail

I assume when I talk to the girls about something repeatedly and they answer all the questions with the correct answers, they understand what I am talking about. BUT we all know what happens when we assume.

A2 came home from school one day during the first week mad at me. I had apparently ruined her life once again. It took her a couple of hours and bedtime for her to finally open up about me most recent offence.

"Thanks a lot mom. You didn't teach me my address. My teacher asked me my address and I didn't know it. I was the only one in my class who didn't know and now she thinks I am stupid." A2 spewed at me.

I was confused. She knows her address. She has known it since she went to kindergarten. I didn't want her getting on that big bus without being able to tell someone where she lives, just in case.  I looked into her eyes and said, "Honey, you know your address." She shook her head and gave me a sassy duck/pout face. She wasn't buying it. I had to prove it to her.

"What is your street name?" I asked.

Without hesitation she said, "C___________ Lane."

What is your house number?" I asked.

Again she didn't hesitate, "####"

"See I told you, you knew your address." I was throwing a victory party in my head.

"What!?! That is my address? Why didn't you tell me THAT was my address?" Her anger increased, especially as I started to laugh at her.

Party in my head. Over. All these years she knew the information, but she didn't know what the information was. I would ask her to tell me where she lived or what our street name was or what our house number was. I am not confident I ever asked her to tell me her address. We had a major error in communication. I assumed she knew her address was where she lived. I was wrong. Communication fail.

A2, making me a better communicator since 2009.

I am fine

"How are you today?" asked an unassuming Walmart cashier.

You, sir, have no idea what a loaded question that really is.

I stare at him for an uncomfortable, awkward amount of time. How I am is swirling in my head. "I am tired. So tired. A strange tired that hurts my entire body. I can't decide if it starts in my head or if it starts in my toes. Either way the tired it is everywhere. I can't escape the tired. Even after eight hours of sleep the tired is there, weighing me down. My muscles scream. My joints ache. My legs are heavy blocks I drag with me everywhere. I am winded. I am out of breath. Climbing the stairs at home is my own personal Everest. My stomach hurts now. It didn't start hurting until I stopped drinking soda and starting taking my meds. That isn't fair. Eating hurts. Not eating hurts. My head hurts. Most days it is a dull pain that I can ignore. Some days it is blinding. Today it is in between dull and blinding. And also I have a popcorn kernel stuck in my throat, but that has nothing to do with anything else."

Instead I respond, "I am fine." in a generic socially accepted way. "How are you?" I ask. Hesitantly he responds "I am great." Deep down, I think there is more, but I go on.

After rethinking my generic answer, I realize it really isn't all that generic. I know I am fine. I will get better. Hopefully sooner rather than later. I am actually pretty lucky. I have doctors working to fix me, medicine that will make be better. I have friends and family standing by to support me. Friends who give up their Friday nights to sit with me, chatting the night away (at least until 8:00) wrapped up in blankets on the couch, because that is all I have energy for by the end of the week. Friends who surprise me with dinner and treats just because they know that is what I need. Friends who show up to do the dishes and offer to wash the laundry. (Yes, she really does exist.)

I am fine. I got a nap. I got an infusion. I will get another nap while I wait for the headache.

I am fine. How are you?

Political Conversations

If you stop by our house anytime between now and November, there is a good chance you will have to discuss politics. For that, I am sorry. It seems the A Team has taken a bizarre interest in politics. All of them. Well, kind of. A3 mostly repeats what she hears the other two say, but she has been campaigning hard for Mermaid.

The interest started with a school project for A1 and it blossomed from there. A2, following in her sister's footsteps also got interested. A2 isn't quite as fanatical though. A1 is ride or die for her guy, while A2 is more interested in questioning and debating. Now, don't get me wrong, A1 is more than happy to debate, but she is just firm on her pick.

I have heard countless discussions on the candidates from the girls. They don't discriminate on age. They will bring up politics with anyone who can talk. A few weeks ago A1 had a friend over and of course they had to talk politics. It was pretty entertaining to listen to the doom and gloom coming from these 10 year olds. Both agreed neither candidate was a good choice, but neither could agree on who they would vote for, if they were old enough.

Yesterday, a news blurb come on about the DNC. Our friend, K, started chanting, "Trump, Trump, Trump!"

A2, with her wit and saracasam asked, "So, let me guess, you want Trump to win?"

K, surprised that someone would even question that, "Yes, don't you?"

A2, responded, "I don't really know yet. I still have time to decide. Why do you want Trump to win?"

K, slightly annoyed that A2 just wasn't getting it and that it was 8:30 AM, a little early for a deep discussion said, "Because A2, Hillary is a lair."

A2, wasn't done, "No, I know that. Why are you wanting Trump? What do you like about him?"

K, thought about it for a few seconds, "He has ideas, ideas that are good."

A2, trying to get to the bottom of this, "What ideas are good? What ideas do you like?" Who is this kid? She sounds so grown up, smart, inquisitive...

K, quick with her response, "You know, all of them."

A2, not sure where to go with the conversation, but needing it to go on added, "You know he wants to build a wall?"

K, not sure what to think of this wall, "What kind of a wall?"

A2, ready to share her info, "It will be a big wall. It will be somewhere in Mexi... Mexic... Mexicameria. It is to separate the Mexis... Mexios... Mexicas and the Am... Ameri... humans." Ok, this is where political advice from a 7 year old gets a little fuzzy. I try to stay out of their conversations, but I had to step in on this one.

"A2 the wall he wants to build is to keep Mexicans, who are people just like us, from coming into America illegally." I hoped this simple explanation would be enough, but I knew from past experiences it wouldn't be.

A2, of course, knew more than me and was ready to correct me, "No, mom. Mexicos are aliens. Aliens aren't human. I heard it on TV."

Ok, now I see where she is coming from, "That just means they are from a different place. If we went to Paris, we would be aliens. That doesn't mean they are green people from outer space."

"Oh." A2 was deep in thought and at a lose for words.

K picked up the slack in the convo, "I know Trump's daughter."

A2, absolutely impressed, "You do! How do you know her?"

K, confused, "I don't know her."

A2, really confused, "You said you knew her."

K, even more confused, "No, I didn't."

A2, confused but not ready to move on, "You did say you knew her."

K, confused and annoyed, "I don't know her. I saw her on TV. She has a weird name. Tiki, Kiko, Tovoa."

A2, "That is funny. Wanna play mind craft?"

And that was it.

It seems these two 7 and 8 year olds are just as informed as many of the adults trying to decide who to vote for in November. If you need help making a decision on who you should vote for, you are welcome to come over and talk it over with the A Team, then play a little Mine Craft after.