School Year, 2020

To My Children on the Last Day of School:

This year, on the last day of school, I hope that you have learned:

-      Not everything goes as planned.  Quite often, a wrench will be thrown into your life and it’s up to you to turn that into something manageable, doable, and perhaps even better.

-      Fractions.  Yes, they seem stupid when you can’t wrap your head about changing an improper fraction of 4/3 to the proper 1 and 1/3 but is very useful when making mama’s delicious banana bread.    

-      Number lines are stupid and cross-multiplication is bomb.  Perhaps you should keep that knowledge to yourself and in September do it whatever way your teacher asks for you to do it, (that very well could be yours truly again).

-      Back to the Future is cinematic perfection and 1.21 gigawatts is super-fast.

-      Sacrifice and selflessness are part of our moral code. Sometimes we must give up what we want for the betterment of someone else. This lesson will serve you well should you learn it properly.

-      It’s important to wash your hands and cover your mouth.  This has always been important, sometimes we just need reminders.

-      Murder hornets are real. They are called susumebachi in Japanese and mom had a close encounter with one in Japan while teaching. 

-      Bridge to Terabithia is the best children’s novel – you’ll never convince me otherwise.  If I were a better teacher, I would have made you write a book report telling why you think so too, but I’m not, and I didn’t. 

-      Nothing beats a good forest adventure (just remember the snacks).

-      Skateboarding is cool. 

-      Sometimes it’s okay to break the rules if you need to break the rules.

-      Black lives matter.

-      Protesting and rioting occurs when inequality is so blatant that the world is outraged.  Be outraged with the world when something is unfair.  Make a sign and stand tall. 

-      It’s a luxury to wake up when your body wakes and fall asleep when you’re tired.  You may not have this often in life so on the days that you do, be so very thankful for this internal alarm that regulates you.

-      Pets are work and kittens poop a lot. 

-      Monopoly is a microcosm of real life. Paying taxes suck but we shouldn’t cry about it because on your next turn you may very well strike it rich (and pay more taxes for the rest of the game).

-      When the world is too much, feels too much, or appears scary, your world is here, within these four walls.  It is my job to create a safe haven for you and  my greatest hope is that you have learned this and shall never forget it.

I Can't Breathe

When I get angry, I break shit.

It’s not pretty and I hate that I let things build to the point in which my anger, rage, and frustrations get taken out irrationally, but it’s a part of me. A beautiful part of me.  You’ll know when I’ve had enough, when my boundaries have been so violated that something else takes over to let you know just how far past that line you’ve gone.

Destruction out of frustration started for me early.  Maybe I was born with it? Maybe we all are?  I can remember clenching a pencil in my tiny hands and drawing big dark circles on the page in my journal until that page ripped, under the constant pressure from my pencil. I’d keep going, around and around, with my HB pencil, tears staining the pages, making them easier to rip under my pencil tip. Sometimes, I’d shred through a dozen or more pages before my arm tired and my tears dried.  I’d collapse into my lead dust, exhausted. 

Fuck, that felt good. 

Soon, I realized how good the sound of a smash felt.  Picture frames of boyfriends, vases, plates, phones.  I’m lucky I have anything breakable left after burying a baby.  I never hurt a soul with my rage, that was never the intention of the break.  Rather, the break was attached to how broken I felt, a visual representation of my soul in the moment.  I’d stand, when the rage ended, over shattered pieces, breath escaping me.  I don’t know who it was for, the display of anger, because it was never put on for others.  I guess, in effect, It was just for me.  Look at this, look at how broken you are.  Fucking clean it up!

Fucking clean it up. 

Perhaps this is where the cathartic part of rage comes in -  the tidying.  Put it all back together, better than before.  Rip out the pages from the journal, toss them in the fire, smooth the cover, and place it back on the shelf.  That journal will never remain the same, and neither will I.  This isn’t always a bad thing.  Sweep the glass from the floor -and, if you are lucky enough, you will have someone to hold the dustpan for you, someone who doesn’t judge and who is there to remind you that it is time to rise up.

So, I get it.  I’m not judging, and I hear you.  I rage with you.  I watched the video, horrified like everyone else.  A man’s life was extinguished under the knee of an officer of the law while others stood guard, while others watched, hopelessly, their cries falling on deaf ears.  It’s inconceivable that the pleas of the bystanders fell on the same deaf ears.  He can’t breathe.

Now we all can’t breathe.

So, rage on.  I get it.  Don’t hurt anyone. Show the world how hurt you are, how broken the system is.  And, when the time comes, lets fucking clean it up.  Everyone needs to clean this up. I’ll be standing there with the dustpan.

This Year

This year, the last of my thirties, I promise a few things to myself:

-      I promise to lead by example.  Each year my children’s’ eyes become wider and more skilled at interpretation, for every year that I age, they do too.

-      I promise to always let kindness win. I can be right, or I can be kind; the older I get, the more I’d rather be the latter.

-      I promise to hold tight the things and people that matter and let go of those that no longer fit. I won’t grieve the pieces that no longer fit.  I promise to let go easier.

-      I promise my children that i will sit still with them for longer; I’m learning it takes a moment or two of stillness for them to remember the things they’d saved to tell me.

-      The same goes for you, my love, I promise to sit still for longer with you: I will marvel at the night sky, sip our coffee on the deck, and snuggle a moment or two longer before making you choose the nights movie selection.

-      I’m a priority too.  I promise to carve out time for me; I’ll sit down at my wheel and play in the clay until something beautiful forms under my hands.  In these moments, I’ll remove the endless lists from my mind and focus solely on the spinning beneath my hands. 

-      I will practice gratitude; I know how very blessed I am, and I promise to never let that get muddled with the mundane stresses of the everyday.

-      I have 365 days left of this chapter – I promise to make them count. I’ll remain wild, crazy, open, free, ambitious, and kind.

These are my promises for this year, the last of my thirties.

***Thank you for all of the birthday love***

Notepad

Sometimes I craft my replies in Notepad.  I craft them there because there is no send button.  I don’t do well with temptation and love the removal of the urge to hit send.  The momentary rush of fuck you in one simple button.  That’s all it is – momentary.  I can break your heart three sentences, shatter your reality in two, but I abstain.

Rather than use my words as weapons, I use them as a Band-Aid. They soothe my own soul.  I know things that you don’t, things I choose not to share, things I have locked away inside. Not everything needs to be shared, explained, or replied to.  Sometimes there is value in letting you vent, feel powerful, and moving forward. You’re fucking welcome.

So, instead of a crafted reply to for you, I open Notepad and remind myself that I am bigger than that.  I pour my heart out, rage, vent, explain myself, and then ultimately close it, only to reopen and delete it when your words sting less, when I’m stronger and a minute wiser.