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9:48- 10:20

I am feeling completely frustrated. [tear running down my cheek]

I am frustrated with my class. I feel like so much is expected of the students and SO LITTLE INFORMATION IS GIVEN ABOUT WHAT WE ARE SUPPOSED TO DO. Maybe no one else is feeling that way but I am. I am lost. I have tried to e-mail the professor, but I have received not response. I have included these concerns in my self assessments and it goes completely unrecognized. Maybe I should just call on the telephone. [crying] This is my 8^th class out of 12. You would think that I could catch on by now, but I do NOT understand what is expected of me and I am so upset when I get counted off of points and there is true explanation as to why. Please tell me what is wanted from me so that I can do it. I am so willing, so wanting to do good in this class, but without guidance I can do nothing!!!!!! HELP. [Utterly sobbing]

On top of that (the above mentioned frustration causes me considerable anguish) I am feeling completely overwhelmed in my daily life. I spend all my free time doing my coursework that I feel like I have so little time for my family – AND I DON’T EVEN WORK. I cannot imagine how terrible it would be if I had a job on top of this.

[still crying, but getting a hold of myself]

I have never used my blog to gripe before, but that is all that I can think about today. Since that’s all I can think about that might just be all I can write about. Either I can complain (which I gave up for lent and I have been doing so good not complaining, but I can’t hold it in any longer) or I should just spend the next half hour of this blog time writing what I am thankful for so that maybe I can put life into perspective as not to be so utterly frustrated.

I am thankful. . . .

For my caring and considerate husband, who is always so forgiving and hard working.

For my strong marriage – 10 years this year.

For my wonderful daughter who is usually such a positive person, so fun to be with, very smart, sporty, friendly, capable and cuddly.

For my adorable son who is a good little baby and almost always puts a smile on my face.

For my parents, who utterly cherish me – and let me know it – who support me, love me, help me, care for me, do everything in the world for me and truly, truly ask for nothing in return.

For my the opportunity I have afforded to live abroad, multiple times in various cultures.

For my experiences in seeing much of the world and learning about its varying and interesting people.

For my belief in God the Father, his son Christ Jesus and the Holy Spirit.

For my friends, who at times can be refreshing and comforting.

For my prayer time, which I often cut short in a terrible panic that I don’t have “the time.”

For yoga, which centers me, which I have completely cut out of my life because I “don’t have the time” for that either.

For my continuing education, both they type that I play for which I thrive on and which I usually get great pleasure from, and also the type that is graciously lavished upon me due to my husband’s position, which enriches my life and expands my experience in life.

For my health since I am not in pain, not disabled, not sick and not diseased, instead I am healthy, capable, lively, energetic, spirited, strong, and intelligent.

For my house, which keeps me warm in the winter and has so many helpful ammenities.

For my car (s) which are simple, yet adequate, one is even stylish and comfy. I am lucky to have them when so many people in the world do not.

For my time here on this earth. I should really be thankful for that because without that I won‘t have to worry about much else.

[Feeling much more composed, not nearly as frustrated, but still upset about the class assignments and lack of direction.]

My half an hour is up. Hopefully getting my feelings out will help me to focus on my assignment in order to get that done today. J

Each morning the three children sat on the grand patio which overlooked the gardens behind the magnificent Tudor style castle home. Well-kept gardens followed by stately lawns extended as far as one could see. The royal cook routinely brought out the delicious morning meal for the children to eat at their fancifully decorated table. Sitting at the table beside the trio was their governess, Lady Fournier, whom they called Lady Jennie. Lady Jennie’s nose was always buried in a book. She was a smart and devoted governess, but she had an addiction to reading and sometimes had problems tearing herself away from her pleasure.

Springtime had recently arrived. Every morning this week a beautiful blue butterfly greeted the children, dancing and delighting the children at the start of their day. They were so fond of the graceful butterfly that they created a nickname for the him – Flitter. Flitter happily visited the nearby flowering plants, bushes and trees. Prince Bruce was always quite curious to know where the butterfly lived. His tutor, Lady Lisa, had been teaching him about butterflies and Prince Bruce was mesmerized with Flitter.

This morning Flitter visited with the Prince and Princesses while they nibbled their tasty breakfast. The two princesses finished their meal and headed for the greenhouse to see if Kate the Gardener would be able to show them new flowers about to bloom. Prince Bruce instead, began to slowly follow the butterfly wherever he flew. Prince Bruce skipped along merrily, stopping where the butterfly stopped and running when the butterfly soared. Finally after some time, Prince Bruce became lost. The well-manicured garden eventually gave way to less maintained lawns, then the land turned into fields of wildflowers and other natural plants. Soon Prince Bruce was lost and didn’t know where he was. He began to be quite lonely and tired so he curled up on a bed of clover and took a nap in the warm sunshine while a gentle breeze sung sweetly in his ear.

After Princess Paige and Princess Noelle spent time with Kate the Gardener learning about the most recent flower to bloom, they abounded out of the royal greenhouse and returned back to the breakfast table to ask Prince Bruce if he would like to join them on their stroll into the bushy maze. Upon returning to the patio they could see from a distance that Lady Jennie had not touched her delicious strawberry crepes, but was still reading her fascinating book. It was unlikely that she would know where Prince Bruce had wondered. The girls decided to set out to find him themselves.

The exceptionally intelligent princesses sat down on the stone wall to figure out where Prince Bruce could be.

11:04-11:13, 2:10-2:31

I am continuing to work on my princess story for my daughter. I am cutting part of Friday’s writing out and pasting it into today, but with that I will do some editing and continuation of writing. Here is what I am finishing with today. . . .

Once upon a time there were two little amazing princesses , so grand and so wonderful that no other princess has ever come close to compare. Princess Paige and Princess Noelle were the light of the Kingdom and a joy to all the Kingdom’s people. Princess Paige of Bennardia had dark sandy colored hair that bobbed gaily to her shoulders as she skipped amongst the flowers in the gardens. Almost always wearing a vibrant yellow gown, Princess Paige’s favorite place to be in all of the world was outside. Princess Paige sometimes sat ladylike on the stone stools, curled up with a good book, and sometimes she tom-boyishly scaled the garden walls and dug ditches in the fields. Princess Paige’s best friend in the entire world was Princess Noelle of Faulkland who was a petite framed young lady with eyes as brilliant and as big as the crown jewels. She glided wherever she want, almost dancing as she walked. She could often be found twirling in the grassy lawns and doing cartwheels in the well-kept dirt paths.

Princess Noelle, with her silky fine hair and her fairy-like demenour, was the perfect companion for Princess Paige. Both girls were much smarter than the average princess and they both were quick-witted, knowledgable and kind. These two beautiful princesses were part of the Kyle court in the vast land of Bramptonion during the days of the rein of Queen Donna the First and King Bruce III. Princess Paige had a mischievous little brother, Prince Bruce IV. Prince Bruce constantly got into things, especially things that were cherished by Princess Paige.

Each morning Princess Paige, Princess Noelle and Prince Bruce would sit on the grand patio which overlooked the gardens behind the magnificent Tudor style castle home. As far as one could see were well-kept gardens, then stately lawns. The royal cook routinely brought out the delicious morning meal for the children to eat at their posh, decorated table. Beside them was their governess, whose nose was always burried in a book. Governess Fournier was a devoted governess, but had an addiction to reading and could not tear herself away from her pleasure.

This spring the three children were greeted every morning by a beautiful blue butterfly

They created a nickname for the butterfly – Flitter.

Prince Bruce was always quite curious to know where the butterfly lived. His tutor had been teaching him about butterflies and Prince Bruce was mesmerized with Flitter, the butterfly.

Once morning Flitter was visiting with the Prince and Princesses while they nibbled their morning meal. The two princesses finished their meal and then headed for the greenhouse to see if Kate the Gardener would be able to show them any new flowers about to bloom. Prince Bruce instead, began to slowly follow the butterfly wherever he flew. Prince Bruce skipped along, stopping where the butterfly stopped and running when the butterfly soared. Finally after some time, Prince Bruce became lost. The well manicured garden gave way to less maintained lawns, then became fields of wildflowers and other natural plants. Soon Prince Bruce was lost and didn’t know where he was.

He began to be quite lonely and tired so he curled up on a bed of clover and took a nap in the warm sunshine while a gentle breeze sung sweetly in his ear.

10:31 – 11:00, 1:59p-2:02

In honor of reading Star girl with my two students, I asked them to do a writing assignment where they had to think of another name that they would go by (just like Stargirl changed her name) and tell me what it is and why. Every time I meet with the girls we do a 15 minute writing assignment during class and this was yesterday’s assignment.

My general rule with “my girls” (that’s what I call them) is that whatever assignment that I give them I require of myself so here goes:

My name would be changed to Moonlight.

I pick moon light because it deals with nature and I want to be more in tune with nature.

Moonlight reflects the brightness of the sun and I want to be a person that reflects the brightness of “The Son.” and Moonlight shines in the dark, which is what I would like to be – lightness in the dark.

So, as much as I don’t think that I am a writer, I have been creating short stories for my writing class about my past family members (grandparents, mainly). I have been writing them for a child’s audience so that I can read them to my daughter so that her ancesters/family members can be real to her. Well, I read these stories to my daughter and she really loves them. So, even though I don’t consider myself a writer – she does. It completely baffled me and made me smile.

There was a quote once that said something to the effect that children never think that their mother’s singing is bad. Well, I would extend that to say that they never think their parent’s writing skills are bad if their parents truly make an effort to make up stories.

My daughter asked me to make up a story for her about a princess and a prince.

Today that is what I am going to do for the rest of my time. . .

Once upon a time there were two little amazing princesses that so grand and so wonderful that no other princess have ever become close to compare. Princess Paige and Princess Noelle were the light of the Kingdom and a joy to all its people. Princess Paige of Bernardia had dark sandy colored hair that bobbed gaily to her shoulders as she skipped amongst the flowers in the gardens.

Princess Noelle of Faulkland, with her silky fine she glided wherever she went, almost dancing as if she walked.

Both girls were smarter than the average princess,

Wise, knowledgable, funny Paige

Quick witted, smart, Noelle

These two beautiful princesses were part of the Kyle court in the vast land of Bramptonion during the days of the rein of Queen Donna the First and King Bruce III.

Princess Paige had a mischievous little brother, Prince Bruce IV. Prince Bruce constantly got into things, especially things that were cherished by Princess Paige.

Tell about a special butterfly that comes to visit the three while they dine on their morning breakfast on the patio overlooking the well-kept gardens below. They created a nickname for the butterfly – Flitter.

Prince Bruce was always quite curious to know where the butterfly lived. His tutor had been teaching him about butterflies and Prince Bruce was mezmorized with Flitter, the butterfly.

Once morning Flitter was visiting with the Prince and Princesses while they nibbled their morning meal. The two princesses finished their meal and then headed for the greenhouse to see if Kate the Gardener would be able to show them any new flowers about to bloom. Prince Bruce instead, began to slowly follow the butterfly wherever he flew. Prince Bruce skipped along, stopping where the butterfly stopped and running when the butterfly soared. Finally after some time, Prince Bruce became lost. The well manicured garden gave way to less maintained lawns, then became fields of wildflowers and other natural plants. Soon Prince Bruce was lost and didn’t know where he was.

He began to be quite lonely and tired so he curled up on a bed of clover and took a nap in the warm sunshine while a gentle breeze sung sweetly in his ear.

9:21a-9:42, 11:41-11:52

As I do periodically, I would like to write about my experience volunteering in Paige’s classroom yesterday. Like I have said before, I think that Paige’s teacher is absolutely wonderful. I learn so much from her.

I actually don’t remember all of the things that I have written before about her and the classroom, so please forgive me if I repeat.

After lunch today she did the roll call. In the UK it is customary that the teacher say the students’ name and the student answers back politely with a greeting and the teacher’s name. Usually the assistant will say, “Good Afternoon, Carla” and Carla will say, “Good afternoon, Mrs. Sykes.” But Paige’s teacher, while she sometimes does that, she also sometimes introduces greeting in other languages. She used to teach in Africa so sometimes she will use the African greeting from Tanzania. Sometimes, like today, they had read a book with a French saying in it so they used “bonjour” today instead. One day she used all the students’ last names instead of their first names. What I learn from this is that she adds variety to the day while still keeping it orderly and structured.

After the roster, one of the students asked Miss Machin what was wrong. To be honest, I really didn’t notice that anything was wrong, but her students are very in tune with her and did notice. She explained to them that today was a day when all sorts of things go wrong – even things that you think are going to go right. She gave a few examples of how things were going wrong and finally ended it on how she spilled her hot soup all over her outfit and somehow while trying to clean it up, got some in her hair. It just so happens that the dramatic play center is currently a hair salon. One of the troublesome students went over to the dramatic play center and got a comb and told her that he would help her comb out her hair. He did, briefly and then Miss went on to teach her next mini-lesson on geography. During the whole time she is teaching geography, this student who usually causes many disruptions combed her hair, walked over to the salon, got a towel, put it over her shoulders, combed some more, got a pretend shampoo bottle, pretended to wash her hair and comb it some more. She never acknowledged that he was doing this – he never said a word. The students didn’t say anything. He wasn’t disrupting the class and she didn’t disrupt the class by saying anything to him about it. What I learned from this is that sometimes there are students who don’t always sit still for a typical lesson so sometimes it is okay to allow the student to be engaged in a different type of learning activity for the sake of allowing the class to learn without being interrupted.

On the white computer projected screen she put up Google Earth. First she did a brief introduction. She talked about the earth and the shape, the colors on the earth, the parts of the earth (land, ocean, snow – things that are visible from the satelite view). Then she related Google Earth to the globe that the students are already using in the classroom. She talked about how they turn the globe in the classroom and how they can also turn the globe on the computer. So they did and she allowed the students to dictate to her for a few short minutes where they would look. They talked about how Penguins might live in the white land (Greenland). So she typed in Penguin City on the google earth search key and a Penguin City Pizza popped up in Wiscoson. They also looked at the UK and where we live. Then she turned it to Tanzania where she used to teach. She showed them her old house and school and swimming pool. It was so captivating for the students, but just as their attention in it started to wain, she wrapped it up. From that I learned to keep the lessons short – no more than 10-15 minutes per lesson with this age students.

She them read the students a book that talks about being the same while still being different. It was a good book and they were interested, but then they moved into center time. Some students were not finished with the last activity that they had done so they were instructed to finish while others were given opportunities to go to centers they had not yet visited today.

Since my first few sessions of volunteering, I have yet to have any more Amelia Bedelia experiences, which is good, although I notice that the assistant explains things to me in much greater detail than she did originally. I feel like I am finally getting the grasp of things I can do without being specifically asked and the assistant seems to appreciate it. Miss Machin, the teacher, really doesn’t deal with the helpers – she sincerely focuses on the students. Her assistant is the person who gives the tasks to helpers.

While filing students’ work into the respective folders (I put their math work in their numeracy portfolios, artwork into their art portfolios, science work into their science portfolios, writing work into their writing journals, and so on) I passed by my daughter while she was working with the assistant on writing. The assistant had the student write something. I could see that my daughter’s paper was not nearly as progressed as her peer’s. I mentioned to the teacher later what I saw and asked the teacher what I should work on at home to help her out. She said that actually that is up to my daughter. She said there are a lot of things that the students, in general, can work on, but what their philosophy is is to teach mini lessons to the class as a whole about what good writing looks like and THEN have the students write something, look at it and then determine what they need to work on, individually to make their writing better. She said writing is a subject that they are just beginning to introduce (the students have always been encouraged to write in class, but this is the first time that they are teaching writing in the classroom). She told me a list of popular answers given by the students and then she told me that Paige can determine what she needs to work on next and then I can help her with that at home. I learned a lot of things from this conversation with her teacher. First of all, I learned to make students aware of their own learning by having students to determine what they will work on and learn making them the driving force and self-motivated to do so. Also I learned that it is best to show students excellent examples of writing and then allow them to write and analyze one thing that the student can do to become a better writer.

I think that I could earn an entire master’s degree in teaching just by watching my daughter’s classroom. I learn so much.

Picking up where I left off yesterday (****Read yesterday‘s blog FIRST, this is the second half***):

Over the next few days Mother worked carefully washing and ironing and trying to bring the new, crisp life back to the smashed straw hat. Neither Molly or Mother said a word about the hat. Late Saturday night Mother hung the hat back in its original location, then affectionately kissed Molly goodnight.

Easter Sunday arrived. Brilliant sunlight streamed into her room through the lace covered window. Molly could hear her parents moving about in their bedroom next to her own. Eventually she got up and donned her new beautiful Easter dress. She combed her bobbed hair and carefully placed a bow on one side. When she walked into the kitchen both of her parents were smartly dressed in their Sunday best, ready to go to church. She joined her parents at the table. Mother served Molly and her father first, then made a plate for herself just before she sat down to the table. Mother talked all of the time and conversation flowed freely at the kitchen table.

Finally as they were all ready to walk out the door, Molly’s father remembered, “I nearly forgot my hat. Excuse me while I go get it.”

He walked half-hurriedly to Molly’s door, as not to make the family late. Without even stepping into her room he reached his hand around her door and carefully grasped the straw hat. As he brought the hat to his head he paused for a moment and stared at it. The hat looked almost like new. He couldn’t quite tell what was the matter. Something about the hat just didn’t seem right.

“What’s wrong with my hat?” he asked.

Molly quickly inhaled and silently held her breath.

“Howard, what are you talkin about?” Mother asked in a sweet southern voice.

“There’s something wrong with my hat. It doesn’t look right.”

“Howard, we’ll soon be late. Please put on your hat so that we can go.” Mother answered.

“Pauline, look at this hat. Something’s different. I think it looks like it’s been smashed and then someone tried to straighten it back out. Look at these creases. They are flat, but they’re still there.”

Father was getting angry. That was easy to see. Molly felt guilty. Her eyes were growing as big as half dollars watching her parents talk about the situation she knew she had caused. However, her mother remained calm and never led on that anything was the matter.

“*&^%#$%^, Pauline. I can’t wear this hat. I would rather not wear any hat than to wear a hat that looks like it was mangled and then straightened out.”

“Suit yourself, Howard, but I do believe it is time for us to leave.” Mother retorted.

And with that father determined that he would rather destroy the new straw hat than leave it at home to mock him on his return. He picked up his foot, held down the hat and tried to put his foot through the top of the hat, but the strong straw would not give him the satisfaction. He tried to rip it, stomp it, tear it into pieces, but he the hat would not be destroyed. Minutes passed. Mother remained calm, still standing by the door as if she they would all walk out on their way to church any minute. Molly on the other hand had to cover her mouth to refrain from laughing. Her father, in his anger, was actually quite humorous to watch. Finally, her father determined that nothing he could do would demolish the hat, so, still sputtering expletives out of his mouth, he opened the wood burning stove’s door and threw the hat inside. The hat quickly went up in flames and he stood back to watch in utter satisfaction. Then, he regained his composure, straightened out his suit and calmly walked over to his loving wife and daughter. He opened the front door for them, waited for them to exit the house, then held out his arms on either side. Mother romantically slid her slender arm through one of his arms while Molly eagerly grabbed the other and they headed off to church, then Sunday-dinner afterwards.

Even without the hat they still had a fine time. Granddaddy Glass played the fiddle. Mae Fannie and Mother played the organ. Everyone sang songs, danced and had a grand time.

9:37-9:45, 9:57-9:58, 10:37-11:05

The sun rose early Wednesday morning. Molly hopped out of bed and ran excitedly into the kitchen to see what her mother was doing. Mother was always up early getting a head start on the day. There was never a lack of work to do in the house or on the farm. This morning Mother was busy in the kitchen chipping off the scraps of ham left on the hambone from dinner last night. For tonight’s supper her mother was making a delicious ham pot pie, one of Molly’s favorites.

Mother turned. “Good morning, Molly. Did you sleep well?” Her mother said as she greeted her.

“Yes, mother.” Molly responded as she walked happily over to her mother. Her mother bent down and Molly gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“I’m makin you some biscuits and eggs this morn’en for breakfast. Hurry back to your room and get dressed for school while I finish up.”

“Yes, Mama” was Molly’s reply as she joyfully walked back to her room. Molly’s mother was a happy-go-lucky woman who was full of fun and her personality rubbed off on Molly. As Molly entered her room she swung open her bedroom door. But to her surprise it swung back at her. Something was wedged between her door and the wall that did not allow her door to open fully. Wonder what’s back there, Molly thought to herself. She cocked her head to the side and peeked her head gingerly around the door to see what was the matter and to her horror she found her father’s brand new straw hat.

In preparation for Easter Sunday her father purchased a new, expensive straw hat to wear to the large family gathering. He had looked all over the house for a place to put his new hat and on the back of Molly’s door hung an unused hook, so he hung the hat there for safe keeping, but Molly had simply forgotten. Now his new had was ruined. She knew that he would be upset and she was worried what she should do.

Molly knew that her father had already left the house for the day to work on the farm. Spring had arrived and there was a lot of work to be done to get the land ready for this year’s crops. America had entered the second world war just four short months earlier and there was already talk in the air about gas and food rationing. Her father knew that he could help the war effort by growing abundant crops of much needed food and ensuring the food arrives to the local farmers markets throughout the season.

Molly quickly put on her flowered school dress and sheepishly walked back into the kitchen. Immediately her mother knew that something was wrong.

“What’s wrong, Molly?” Her mother questioned.

From behind her back the eight year old girl pulled a crushed and rather sorry looking straw hat.“Mama, It was an accident. I didn’t mean to mash it. I forgot that it was hangin on the back of my door and. . .” before Molly could even finish the sentence, her mother scooped the hat from her and quietly hushed, “Don’t worry about it.”

9:48-9:50, 12:30-12:44, 6:28-6:48

My feelings about my friend’s child: 

Sweet Pea Natalie,

How can I love you as if you were my own child?

I have never even met you and yet I just want to embrace you,

Wrap you in my arms and whisper that I adore you.

Here is poem I wrote about the frequent sick nights my son has had. . . .

Late Night, Early Morning

The baby has a fever.

He and I are up for hours in the middle of the night.

Stuffy nose.

He only wants to cuddle in my arms.

Then he falls asleep.

He howls when I put him in his crib.

The hours pass, two, three, four o‘clock.

My eyes are droopy.

My mind stops functioning correctly.

The sun rises.

I start my day exhausted.

There’s not time for being tired.

My husband has to go to work.

I have to take my daughter to school.

I am a zombe.

The baby is fussy. He wants constant attention.

His nap time comes.

He is tired.

Finally, sleep comes his way.

Twenty-eight short minutes later he awakes.

I did not sleep.

I sluggishly make my way to his bedroom.

When is the day going to be over so I can snuggle in comfy bed?

I hear cranky noises outside of his door.

I am so tired.

I peek into his room.

His eyes light up.

He flashes me his giant tic-tac grin.

He utterly adores me, and I him.

My tiredness washes away.

I smile in return.

He continues to follow me with his eyes as I walk to the side of his crib.

He lets out a deep belly chuckle, still ear-to-ear grin.

I pick him up and say, “I am so happy to see you.”

And I mean it.

This might very well be the poem that I have written in which I am the most pleased with. Wow.

I finished the book, Stargirl, today. It was great and I recommend it highly. Although it is a young adult read it is very interesting to read as an adult. One sees it quite differently and can relate differently to the characters. I have come up with some pretty creative activities that I will do with my two students in regards to this book.

My granny B once told me a story that I would like to try to write as a short story. Here is what she said, put in my own words from a conversation I had with her:

“I messed up daddy’s new straw hat. It was expensive and he hadn’t worn it yet. It was hanging on the back of my bedroom door and I accidentally mashed it between the door and the wall. I told my mom and she tried to fix it. She washed and ironed it and put it back, hoping he would not notice but he did. When he brought it to her, she said that she had done it. He was upset. He was cussing and yelling. He set in his mind that if he couldn’t wear it, he would destroy it. He tried and tried, but it would not break. He even tried to stick his foot through the top but it held together. He finely threw it in the fire and we went to Sunday dinner without him wearing any hat at all.”

Misc. thoughts about the story

57F sunny, Easter April 5, 1942, Molly was 8 years old.

The house was fancy with built-in cupboard, which were a luxury at that time.

Sunday dinner without any hat at all. They still had a fine time, though. Granddaddy Glass played the fiddle. Mae Fannie and Mom played the organ. We all sang songs, danced and had a grand time.

8:53p

Random thoughts to finish out the week. . .

I was nursing my son last night and I was beginning to notice that he has parts of his body that take after different people. Different parts of himself resemble various people from his parents’ lineage, but it all mixes together to make a new and different person. I was wondering if there was some way to write a poem about it, but I don’t know what form the poem would take so I thought that I would first start by just cataloging who the children take after, that I know of

B – has his great grampy by’s lips – has his father’s toes – has his granny B’s arch in his foot

P – has her granny B’s big toe – has my grandmother’s eyes – has her father’s stubbornness and his alertness at night – Has Howard O’s teeth spacing and crook on the bottom two teeth – has my mother’s thick hair – she has my sister’s fingers and my mom’s fingernails

My grandmother used to tell me where I get different parts of my looks from and I always loved it – to this day I love it when she tells me that I have Mama S’s solid stare, or when I lay next to her and see that my feet look similarly like her own – or when I was pregnant and she looked at the back of my legs and said that they resembled her own (I think she said it was like looking into a mirror of years past). I like it when I pull out a picture and see that the shape of my face is like my Aunt T’s or when I do my hair and see that the texture, the thickness and the way that it styles is just like my mother’s. I wish I knew more about what and who I look/looked like. It helps me feel like I am connected to those before me. I carry around everyday resemblances of them – maybe even part of them. I get from my mother that I can walk up to just about anyone and introduce myself and feel comfortable in the presence. I get from my father that I sometimes would prefer to just stay in my house for days on end and read a book or surf the internet. I wonder who else I resemble – who else I am like. My dad told me one time that I made meatloaf the way that his grandmother did. I was so happy because I have always grown-up with stories about what a wonderful cook she was and to be able to make just one thing the way she did was a great complement. Also, the fact that I know he loved his grandmother dearly made the compliment even more special to me.

Someone paid me a huge compliment the other day. They told me that I think about things very deeply. I appreciated that. I hope that I do. I don’t watch TV. during the day and so I feel like I have a lot of time to think. I mull things over in my mind for hours on end until I have it worked out or planned or considered. Sometimes my brain hurts from thinking so hard. I feel like the synapses in my brain are wore out from going over a certain topic hour after hour that I sometimes actually sit down and decide what I will think about that day, so whenever I find my mind wondering onto various topics I redirect it onto a new topic that I need to “think through.” My next topic to think through is my 6-week curriculum. I need to read the assignment so that I can be thinking along the right line. I missed Friday’s blog. I actually had the time, but my brain was so tired from trying to think about what to write that I couldn’t bare to sit in front of the computer. Should I try to write a story? Who should it be about? What will be my angle? Do I need to hunt through my genealogy to find a person and topic? Should I try to tackle Granny B’s story about the loss of her mother or should I do that another day? Should I try to write a poem? What is the poem going to be about? I liked my final Love is poem, but it is not the poem that I intended to write. Should I try to write the real one that I feel is out there but I haven’t captured yet? Or should I just leave it alone?

All of these thoughts were racing around in my mind from the moment I stopped writing on Thursday until now.

Then today when I sat down to write I was sure I was going to spend my time writing some poem about who my children resemble and how all those features combine to make the unique person that they are today, but that poem is not visible to me yet. I don’t know what form it will take.

I am doing lessons with two home schooled, teenage girls each week. We meet for about 2 hours weekly. We read books together; we share our writings, we share book recommendations, we critique each other’s writing, we write for 15 minutes each session, we are planning a poetry reading in April. I create lessons according to the book we are reading or I give assignments according to something we are studying. It is fun and I enjoy it, but with two kids and this class it is hard to fit it in. I actually apply a lot of my learning from this class to the girls, which is beneficial to me to see the knowledge I learn in the textbook in application in a real world setting (is it real world? Or is it really a made up kind of classroom environment?). We were reading a book called Stargirl and we were supposed to finish it last week. The clincher was that I was so behind on my studies for this class that I didn’t finish reading Stargirl. We held a whole session and I tried to bluff my way through it (although I frankly told them I had not finished it). I thought how bad it was that the students finished the read and the teacher didn’t, so I have been reading it this weekend. It is really good. I recommend it to anyone, not just young teenage girls. At the end of the last session I told the girls they could go ahead and start our next book, Little Women. But, now that I am reading and loving Stargirl we are going to revisit it this week and I have a few assignments that we are going to do with it. The girl who the fictional book is about is someone who really has to deal with two alternatives – she can either forgo who she is to be accepted by others or she can be shunned, but be true to herself. It really makes me think about myself. Am I being true to who I am or am I pretending to be someone who I’m not in order to be accepted? Am I scared too of what people will think of me, call me, say about me, act towards me to be myself? Do I really, really know who I am? I think so, but as I look back on my time here in England I can see places, areas in my life where I have been a fake in order to make friends and be accepted. And yet I realize that those friends who I was my truest self with are those people who I will walk away here with the deepest friendships. Those are the people who I will stay in contact with the most years down the road.

The nice part about being in a military family is that we have to move around every few years (1-3years) and each time I do I can use that move as a time to think and analyze myself. I can decide how I need to do things differently. I can almost, in effect, reinvent myself with each move and no one will know the wiser. This next move I want to be more true to myself – whoever that may be. And I am also learning as I get older that that self that I am being true to sometimes changes as I add experiences, knowledge, skills, and wisdom to my person.