I try not to be negative. So this rant will be brief. Why can people be so selfish? When I feel overwhelmed, I withdraw and "go through the motions"... and it's interesting so see who notices.
It's a terrible feeling to be there for people when they need you, but then realize it's a one-way street.
Oh well. Tomorrow will be a better day. When someone slaps you in the face, turn the other cheek! I'll do my best.
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
Matt-isms (most effective said with deep voice and lisp)
"Mom, Florida is awesome." (Me: "Sweetie, this is the Detroit airport.")
"Mom, I look good on these"
"I'm thinking about somethin... colored fishy crackers!"
"I can tell my shirt fits well when it stops at my penis."
"Mom, I know that fish poop, but do they fart?"
"God really is the best person ever... well, except maybe Jesus."
"This t-shirt has pictures of most of my favorite sports: basketball, baseball, football... it's too bad it doesn't have tether-ball."
"Dad, do you want to be Aaron Rodgers?"... "Sure, buddy, want me to throw you some passes?"... "Nope, I'm Ray Nitschke and I'm going to chase you down and tackle you."
"God really is the best person ever... well, except maybe Jesus."
"This t-shirt has pictures of most of my favorite sports: basketball, baseball, football... it's too bad it doesn't have tether-ball."
"Dad, do you want to be Aaron Rodgers?"... "Sure, buddy, want me to throw you some passes?"... "Nope, I'm Ray Nitschke and I'm going to chase you down and tackle you."
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
Good-bye Harley
One of my mom's legacies will surly be her ability to love the unlovable. Maybe that's a trait that all mothers posses, based on the saying "a face only a mother could love", but with my mom it's to the infinite degree, especially when it comes to babies and dogs.
Working next to her at the daycare center, I noticed she had a gravitational pull toward the babies that were most "difficult"... the ones with Colic, or sour-smelling from frequent spitting up-- quirky babies with annoying tendencies to whine, cry a lot, or be way too needy, underfoot, or clingy. The average person would get frustrated, annoyed, and find it very trying on their patience to give quality care. My mom embraced these babies, searched to find their true happy selves hidden beneath their challenging exterior. She would coax, nurture, and somehow pull the beauty outward and make each child their mother's version of the best.
And then there is the continuing story of my mother and her dogs.
If there was any dog that carried the "unlovable" label, it would have to be Harley. The first time I met Harley was in a small duplex rented by Harley's first owners, who my mother worked for as an in-home childcare provider. She let him up from a dark urine-and-dog-poop smelling basement, and as he tore wildly around the room, knocking over plants with his tail and making a figure 8 trail around the living room (launching himself across the top of the couch to complete each loop), my mother explained what a nice dog he was once he settled down after his initial "greeting period" for a new house guest. The only thing I saw of Harley at first sight was a streak of orange. Once he "calmed down", which equated to my mom desperately clamping onto his collar and holding on with her entire weight to keep him from taking off again, all I saw a wild, out-of-control, panting maniac of a golden retriever with excessive drool and house-training issues. He blazed a trail of mud, chewed furniture, and scratch marks in his wake. When put in a kennel, he would climb the fence trying to escape. His owners, at a loss as to how to try and train him, came to the sad conclusion that their only choice was to surrender him to a shelter.
Harley was the dog only my mother could love.
Fast forward a few years, and Harley was now my mom's beloved adopted 4-legged loyal friend. Neurotic and skiddish, still with a propensity to run away, Harley was found by most to be very hyper, annoying, somewhat stinky, and to be honest, quite a nuisance. I can still remember being 8 months pregnant, taking care of him at our house, trying to pull him to the outside chain to tie him up when he slipped away. In the .23 seconds it took me to see all I was holding was a collar, Harley was an orange blur in the distance. It was all I could take to contain my rage, clap my hands happily and call "Come on Harley, TREATS!", and lure him back to the house where I threw food into the open basement door, slamming it behind him once he trotted in with that typical dopey grin on his face as if to say "Hey! Isn't life great?".
I was late for a doctor appointment, the only time in 5 pregnancies that my blood pressure measured "high".
But Mom was hooked on Harley.
She swore he was "so nice and so gentle", such a good dog if you looked past his quirks, like his fear of thunder storms. He wasn't just deathly afraid, he was jump-through-a-glass-window afraid. Yes, he did that too... screen and all.
Once, around Christmas time, he ran away from home. His curious nose must have gotten the best of him and took him far away, the falling snow covering up his tracks and his way back home. I'm not sure how many days he was gone, but after many phone calls, a newspaper add, and lost dog announcement on the radio, Mom was beginning to give up hope. My sister showed up for Christmas eve dinner, having flown in from Switzerland to surprise my parents. My mom's happiness of seeing her daughter helped ease the pain of losing the dog that all of us had to admit was growing on us. Later that evening came the glorious phone call that Harley had been found, he had bounded happily into the yard of a young boy and his family, over-joyed to be welcomed with food and water. My daughter called Harley's return "A Christmas Miracle", and the tears of joy my mom shed are telling of the genuine love and appreciation she had of her dog. (We even joked Harley's homecoming was more festive than my sister's surprise visit.) Mom was beaming with a smile that could light up the whole world.
Time went by, Harley grew older. He lovingly welcomed more grandchildren to climb on him, to throw him a ball, to accept his "gifts" of stuffed toys and various things that told them he loved them. He had infinite patience and NEVER growled or lost his temper with an eager child who might tug at his collar or his ear. He had a special spot in his heart for pizza crust, and would rest his head on your knee, begging to be fed just one more morsel. He still freaked about storms, he still jumped at his own shadow, but he was a good old dog and faithfully shadowed my mom, making sure she felt loved, safe, and needed. When he curled up on his bed each night, he would exhale a sigh that said "Night has come and all is well", and the world was better because he was in it.
Harley's life ended yesterday in less-than-dramatic fashion. He was 11, had lived a good life, and his time had come to leave this world. When my mom shared the news, I wasn't surprised, based on his steadily declining health and old age. But what surprised me was the tear that trickled down my cheek when I learned Harley was gone. I know part of my sadness was for my mom, but I have to admit, in a lot of ways I was mourning the loss of a good old dog, our one-of-a-kind eternally loyal, kind, lovable, protective Harley.
We'll miss you, old boy.
Mom, you did it again.
Working next to her at the daycare center, I noticed she had a gravitational pull toward the babies that were most "difficult"... the ones with Colic, or sour-smelling from frequent spitting up-- quirky babies with annoying tendencies to whine, cry a lot, or be way too needy, underfoot, or clingy. The average person would get frustrated, annoyed, and find it very trying on their patience to give quality care. My mom embraced these babies, searched to find their true happy selves hidden beneath their challenging exterior. She would coax, nurture, and somehow pull the beauty outward and make each child their mother's version of the best.
And then there is the continuing story of my mother and her dogs.
If there was any dog that carried the "unlovable" label, it would have to be Harley. The first time I met Harley was in a small duplex rented by Harley's first owners, who my mother worked for as an in-home childcare provider. She let him up from a dark urine-and-dog-poop smelling basement, and as he tore wildly around the room, knocking over plants with his tail and making a figure 8 trail around the living room (launching himself across the top of the couch to complete each loop), my mother explained what a nice dog he was once he settled down after his initial "greeting period" for a new house guest. The only thing I saw of Harley at first sight was a streak of orange. Once he "calmed down", which equated to my mom desperately clamping onto his collar and holding on with her entire weight to keep him from taking off again, all I saw a wild, out-of-control, panting maniac of a golden retriever with excessive drool and house-training issues. He blazed a trail of mud, chewed furniture, and scratch marks in his wake. When put in a kennel, he would climb the fence trying to escape. His owners, at a loss as to how to try and train him, came to the sad conclusion that their only choice was to surrender him to a shelter.
Harley was the dog only my mother could love.
Fast forward a few years, and Harley was now my mom's beloved adopted 4-legged loyal friend. Neurotic and skiddish, still with a propensity to run away, Harley was found by most to be very hyper, annoying, somewhat stinky, and to be honest, quite a nuisance. I can still remember being 8 months pregnant, taking care of him at our house, trying to pull him to the outside chain to tie him up when he slipped away. In the .23 seconds it took me to see all I was holding was a collar, Harley was an orange blur in the distance. It was all I could take to contain my rage, clap my hands happily and call "Come on Harley, TREATS!", and lure him back to the house where I threw food into the open basement door, slamming it behind him once he trotted in with that typical dopey grin on his face as if to say "Hey! Isn't life great?".
I was late for a doctor appointment, the only time in 5 pregnancies that my blood pressure measured "high".
But Mom was hooked on Harley.
She swore he was "so nice and so gentle", such a good dog if you looked past his quirks, like his fear of thunder storms. He wasn't just deathly afraid, he was jump-through-a-glass-window afraid. Yes, he did that too... screen and all.
Once, around Christmas time, he ran away from home. His curious nose must have gotten the best of him and took him far away, the falling snow covering up his tracks and his way back home. I'm not sure how many days he was gone, but after many phone calls, a newspaper add, and lost dog announcement on the radio, Mom was beginning to give up hope. My sister showed up for Christmas eve dinner, having flown in from Switzerland to surprise my parents. My mom's happiness of seeing her daughter helped ease the pain of losing the dog that all of us had to admit was growing on us. Later that evening came the glorious phone call that Harley had been found, he had bounded happily into the yard of a young boy and his family, over-joyed to be welcomed with food and water. My daughter called Harley's return "A Christmas Miracle", and the tears of joy my mom shed are telling of the genuine love and appreciation she had of her dog. (We even joked Harley's homecoming was more festive than my sister's surprise visit.) Mom was beaming with a smile that could light up the whole world.
Time went by, Harley grew older. He lovingly welcomed more grandchildren to climb on him, to throw him a ball, to accept his "gifts" of stuffed toys and various things that told them he loved them. He had infinite patience and NEVER growled or lost his temper with an eager child who might tug at his collar or his ear. He had a special spot in his heart for pizza crust, and would rest his head on your knee, begging to be fed just one more morsel. He still freaked about storms, he still jumped at his own shadow, but he was a good old dog and faithfully shadowed my mom, making sure she felt loved, safe, and needed. When he curled up on his bed each night, he would exhale a sigh that said "Night has come and all is well", and the world was better because he was in it.
Harley's life ended yesterday in less-than-dramatic fashion. He was 11, had lived a good life, and his time had come to leave this world. When my mom shared the news, I wasn't surprised, based on his steadily declining health and old age. But what surprised me was the tear that trickled down my cheek when I learned Harley was gone. I know part of my sadness was for my mom, but I have to admit, in a lot of ways I was mourning the loss of a good old dog, our one-of-a-kind eternally loyal, kind, lovable, protective Harley.
We'll miss you, old boy.
Mom, you did it again.
Friday, June 27, 2014
Remembering a Coach
Said good-bye to a great man last week. The very first coach I ever had in organized sports playing little league baseball. I was the only girl on the team and the first girl he ever coached, and thankfully he treated me no differently than he treated the boys. He was tough, "old school", and could really let you have it, but he had a gentle loving soul that peeked through with a pat on the head or a punch in the shoulder when you did something well. Even later in life when the a punch in the arm turned into an embrace, the intensity in his eyes never left. He was a kind, giving, dedicated father,husband and grandfather. Thank you, Donny, for all that you taught me (and all of us) about the sport I love, about being tough through adversity, and about being loyal and dedicated to your children and family. You will be missed!
http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/greenbaypressgazette/obituary.aspx?pid=171366871
http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/greenbaypressgazette/obituary.aspx?pid=171366871
Thursday, June 26, 2014
Happy Birthday, Dad!
The man, the legend, the one who gave us gritty determination, sarcastic wit and humor, a passion for knowledge and problem solving, the one who makes us shake our heads as he proudly rebels against boring meetings (can we quit talking about doing things and just do them?) and defies the laws of safety and physics... turns 70 today! A toast (300 people, how many clinks would there be?) to the oldest full-time teacher in the state of Wisconsin, the most loyal fan I ever had, and the most wonderful father and grandfather anyone could ask for. You are truly a blessing. I love this man! Cheers!!!
Happy 70th birthday, Dad!
Happy 70th birthday, Dad!
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
The Beginning
To make this simple: I am a mom. I am a high school math teacher. I am a coach. I have a special place in my heart for writing. This blog is for me. It's not for affirmation, for approval, or for an audience. This is my outlet, my escape, my place to put words to "paper". When I'm an old lady with a few marbles left rolling around in my head, this will be where I look back and recall, reflect, remember... if only for a moment. Here is where I will document life's celebrations.
Writing is amazing. I may not be amazing at it, but I love it. It gets inside of me and lights me up. I decided not to teach English-- a hobby that becomes a career often gets the life and passion beat out of it. Math feeds my logical, reasonable, "make sense of things" self. The creative side is filled in by the rest of my life, including writing.
My life's philosophy: Balance.
My blog philosophy: Step one: begin. Step 2: see what happens. Step 3: that's it.
Hmmm... that may have other applications!
Less than 3
Writing is amazing. I may not be amazing at it, but I love it. It gets inside of me and lights me up. I decided not to teach English-- a hobby that becomes a career often gets the life and passion beat out of it. Math feeds my logical, reasonable, "make sense of things" self. The creative side is filled in by the rest of my life, including writing.
My life's philosophy: Balance.
My blog philosophy: Step one: begin. Step 2: see what happens. Step 3: that's it.
Hmmm... that may have other applications!
Less than 3
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