has Friday become a dreaded yet welcome oxymoron– the end of the week but an entry to the weekend where once, after work hours of happiness clinking glasses full of endings and beginnings now are more work than mondays that make one want to go home and crawl into a hole?
#morning #doughnutboy #spiderman #actionfigure #coffee #LEGObuild #makerspace #mlacitations #lessons #overduebooks
#lunch #turkeychilli #salad #again #friends #checkin #marcopolo #chat #calendar #evening
#bribes #jollyranchers #readaloud #afterschool #detention #whenteachersskip #kidsgotafreebie
#threemoredays #springbreak #sotired
#highschool #parentmeeting #already #staylittleforever
25 in teacher years, half a century in human years. Information sleuth and scientist employed as a middle school librarian where she has cosplayed as General (Sweet) Mayhem and Mabel Pines. On superhero days, Alice goes by The Garzinator.
Slow reader. Writer-ish. Former 6th grade ELA teacher. Spanish is his her second language.
Subscribing to a monthly sparkly sticker club, she hoards stickers, especially the sparkly ones, in a large binder. An AFOL, she collects and builds literary themed LEGO sets, but recently built a Vespa 125 and only needed her 20 year old son’s assistance twice via Face Time. She taps into her inner 12 year old daily. Alice breaks technology frequently due to an alien implant in her pinkie toe that she noticed after being temporarily abducted at the age of three. They like to visit at 3:00 a.m. for regular updates.
Writing credits include piles of journals full of the mundane, (sometimes) boring, everyday musings and glimmers of creativity, piles of poems written to her parents starting in third grade, lesson plans, Facebook posts, and blog posts on Nerds Beget Nerds where she occasionally writes to Judy Blume.
When she isn’t writing, Alice enjoys puttering, strong coffee, and wondering why she entered the next room.
She lives in the middle of Texas with her husband, 13 year old, and pure-bred mutt named Reeses, but hails from the Panhandle where she ate dirt on long two-block walks home in horrid dust storms.
Sticky shoeboxes covered with construction paper long slot cut through the top where little envelopes drop one for every classmate wiggly heart shaped Jell-O Cindy's mom brought to the class party shiny gold boxes wrapped in red cellophane holding chocolates the popular girls got from their little boyfriends, gross! Outgrown class parties replaced with little messages delivered between classes are any of those for me? No, they're all for those girls a pile of them I wonder what they say They sigh as if annoyed, but we all know they like attention "I have so many!" Oh, shut up but secretly, I wish they were mine First boyfriend and my first "real" Valentine's Day gift a thin gold bracelet with a heart slipped through the chain I never wanted to take it off until that one day several months later where it made its way to the back of my jewelry box do I dare wear it again? Galentine's Day before it became a word ditch the study sesh none of us have boyfriends so why not go to dinner together? No tables available at the one cafe, of course not, couples got first dibs because people plan for these things we drive around, it's late now, and we find a little Italian restaurant where I taste fried calamari for the first time order our entrees and realize we don't mind being single A rainy weekend greets the rare Saturday Valentine's Day No plans made, but we have each other Where do we go to dinner? Everything is booked Let's just go to our regular place My gift is first should be perfect, it's something he enjoys then I open the card what? and he hands me a small box what? okay, I say what? and there it is, the ring I had been eyeing YES! I say yes he slips it on, call my mom and we head out to dinner, nothing fancy but I can't stop staring at glittery possibilities of forever More valentines cute pencils with fun erasers, stickers, snacks, a book for each one goodie bag assembly line load my car and brace myself for my first classroom party on the other side every student gets something it isn't fun being left out even if it's from the teacher chocolate candy and cute little notes pile up on my desk sugar comas (I'm glad I'm not the parent!) chocolate fountain and goodies from PTA in the staff lounge and bonus points for the one who brought a small bottle of Champagne flavored jelly beans Craft stick picture frames with my little cherubs inside them, trimmed with sparkly hearts googly eyes, and glitter whipped cream topped pancake with berries and hot cocoa fluffy stuffed animals heart covered pajamas bedtime stories "I lovey dovey you!" Gift bags with snacks because they're always hungry can't go wrong with candy lemonade for one, a root beer for the other decide against deodorant and find a silly squishy plush toy because they still like getting them "Oh, by the way, can I get something for my friends?" It's 9:30 p.m. the day before VDay No, just no. We should be getting ready for bed "I'll ask Dad!" No. You won't Wrestle with insomnia get up and find my seasonal purchases place them on the table, one of those shiny gold heart shaped boxes wrapped in red cellophane for hubster and a green squishy love bug plushie flanked with a red Ring Pop and a tube of mini-M&Ms she skips down the stairs as if on cue the minute I put everything down she picks up the love bug twirling it in a dance and sings her happy theme song announcing "You're going to school with me today!" At work the office calls I have a delivery For me? a bouquet of flowers unexpected and appreciated homemade dinner text message exchange with my oldest who stopped by to visit on Sunday I pour myself a glass of cheap Champagne fill the sink with dishwater and toast all of the ways people love me
I don’t like getting those notices from my kid’s school about her not showing up to class. Must’ve missed the bus. Again. Sometimes it’s a mistake so I have to make a call or send an email to get it cleared up. Not my favorite thing to do.
I got another call yesterday, but it was expected. Well check appointment in the morning to affect first and second period attendance, orthodontist appointment during the last two periods of the day. I took care of the morning and hubster took care of the afternoon.
It was a long appointment. No time for breakfast so I promised to swing by Chick-fil-A on the way to drop her off at school. We got into the car, buckled in and were ready to go. Except for one thing. Despite the other piles of well-check advice sheets, I forgot to request a doctor’s note to submit to the attendance office. I blamed the blood work that was ordered and a death grip on my arm as the distraction.
Back into the office I go. Of course, I had to wait, but it wasn’t as long as I expected. With the proof of skipping school in hand, I exited the building. Taking a deep breath, I realized I could remove my mask again. As I pulled off one side of the mask, a wind gust snapped that paper right out of my hand. It went up and up and up, swirled a bit and kept climbing. I hoped it might get caught on a car’s tire or in a hedge or something.
Nope, it kept flying, like a paper airplane with a jet engine. It got caught high in a tree, flapping wildly like a mean little kid sticking out his tongue, waving his fingers on either side of his head singing “Nanny-nanny-boo-boo, you can’t catch me!”
And I didn’t. Never mind. I know she wasn’t skipping.
Is the day after a year long party where we sit back looking at unwrapped gifts expectations ups and downs laughter frustration tears quiet moments and noisy ones bubbles fizzing, sipping life's goodness A toast to presence!
What do you do when you’re waiting? When you’re stuck between past and future? When you have to be in the moment, but you’re unsure about what to do while you’re there? Doom scroll. Start cleaning. Baking. Pour another cup of coffee and shake the coconut milk to oblivion to get it a little frothy, even though nothing will save the burned coffee taste? But you drink it anyway. Do you dare go upstairs? Stop thinking about what’s to come? Over think what’s about to come?
It isn’t bad. It’s bittersweet. I keep playing back all of my failures, but will myself to shove those out. I play back all of the successes. Setting up his room, soon after we moved in. Pale blues and purples with John Lennon themed nursery decor we found at Babies R Us. The nights I’d army crawl out of his room on my belly after putting him to sleep–this kid rarely slept–so he wouldn’t see me and start screaming. The itsy bitsy spider my hand puppeted every morning to wake him up, running up and down his arm and ending in a tickle fest. His Thomas the Tank Engine train table we scored on Craigslist and all of his trains. Then the Disney Cars. A stint with SpongeBob. Then the LEGO sets. So many LEGO sets.
A big boy bed. Birthday sleepovers. Stuffed animals. Foxy. Kisser, a red and white giraffe with heart shaped spots I bought him one Valentine’s day that got left behind at a department store. Some gentle soul took Kisser to the shoe department and we drove back to pick it up. Turtley, a plush sea turtle I bought him on a field trip. A bulletin board tacked with letters from Grandma and a few teachers, notes I’d leave in his lunch box. Pictures of K from across the street, friends since 5th grade. Prayer cards.
Later, I stopped going into his room. “I need my privacy.” A cello took up my space. Then a keyboard. Guitar. A desk with my old laptop. Pandemic learning when we rarely saw him, but there wasn’t much learning going on, or so I thought. Online senior year because that’s how it turned out. But I’m supposed to focus on successes. Despite the bumpy last few years, he composed a piece of music, played in a community orchestra for a year, found a job the week after graduation, saved money, made a plan to move out, researched apartments, asked questions, found a roommate, combed through an apartment lease, made deposits, and packed his room.
He’s on his way to pick up the key. My husband will help him load those first boxes, then his roommate will stop by to help. I can only watch because I can’t lift anything heavy right now (doctor’s orders). I don’t know how I’ll react yet. Make jokes. Laugh. Cry. Most likely, I’ll give lots of reminders.
The big LEGO sets will move into our living room for a few days until he can transport them. Since he enrolled in The University of Life (pandemic killed his quest for higher education for now), he’s been home. However, we didn’t see him often because of work and time with his friends. I should be ready for this. He’s ready for this.
I haven’t looked in his room yet. I sit here and wait.
I still have it my first adult address book brown leather binder purchased with my Hallmark discount It started out small including my family's addresses memorized, but initiating the space nonetheless Will I ever fill this up? All of the aunts and uncles, grandparents college friends work friends a work mom, two, three Inked in print, building my own network I'd have a stack of Christmas cards to send Each year, I take it out and start writing notes a book or two of stamps waiting to send greetings on a little trip across Texas, mostly Texas, but other states too I start with the A and go down each name lost touch with that one last year's card was returned where is she now? After a few years, I draw an x through those names that moved on but were not forgotten, remembering the good times, wondering of current whereabouts It's easier to draw an x over those who moved still there, but picking up to a new place normal for post-college friends trying to figure things out going on fun adventures accepting new jobs getting married Siblings got their own sections as they left the nest, Never expecting to re-write my parents' address twice, after two moves from what I considered home I've added more friends but as years have passed, I've had to mark out a name here and there permanently mail doesn't go where they are Sara, my grandma, has an invisible permanent X over her little maroon housed address I can't bring myself to mark her out of my address book
I scrolled and noticed the post, Bono & Brené Brown in Conversation.
No. Freakin’. Way.
I didn’t miss it. There’s time to get tickets, they don’t go on sale until TOMORROW! Check the calendar, check the calendar, check the dang calendar. Who’s working? Is there a musical rehearsal after school that day? Doesn’t matter, I’ll arrange my reinforcements. But wait, 4:00. I’m at work until 3:45. Traffic. How much? Ticket prices are not available until sales open.
Wait. Nope. You have to at least try. It’s BONO and BRENÉ! Calm down. You don’t have a ticket. I have to try. I check the calendar and decided to take the afternoon off. I made imaginary arrangements for S to get picked up from rehearsal. And the price? I have unspent summer school and birthday money waiting for a big, fun, for me purchase and this is where it will go.
I set the alarm to go off at 9:50 a.m. on November 4th. I open the site for ticket sales to have it ready. I have classes coming in that day, but by the time I’m done, students will be checking out their books and getting ready to leave. Okay, calm down. It’s okay, don’t get your hopes up.
November 4th, 9:50 a.m. my alarm goes off as planned. I slip into my office and open the website. An updated message appears saying something like “Ticket sales for Bono and Brené in Conversation, another event, followed by another event, and another event will open at 10:00 a.m. …”
“Yes, I KNOW,” I fuss at my phone. I retrieve my purse from a cabinet and thunk it on the counter next to my desk. I dig for my bank card. How many more minutes? I refresh the page to make sure it doesn’t get stuck. Our building is notorious for clogging up anything you want to pull up on cell networks.
My heart throbs…
I refresh the page.
10:03 a.m.
Let’s do this, I don’t care how much it costs.
And I’m stuck in a queue. A virtual line. They rub it in and show virtual me standing in a cyber line. Lucky number 3,405 with 3,285 people ahead of me. The theater’s capacity is 1,270. Sigh. I found what I was looking for, but there weren’t any left for me.
In a real line I could have met a bunch of other people and been part of a collective disappointed groan. Instead, I put my card back in my purse, return it to the cabinet, and await the arrival of the next class.
I almost cried. Almost.
Taking a picture of a teen is like taking a picture of Bigfoot. The Loch Ness monster. Chupacabra. Results are hard to decipher. You get a blur of hair or a running body. You get the back of one standing with others, a line-up of sorts, in reverse. They’re all dressed alike, same height, same hair.
Mine gets on a tire swing and for a split second, I see her little-hood oozing out in her smile. She sees the camera and immediately gets back into her grumpy character where everything about life is horrid, brows furrowed, braced teeth gritted, and a small grumble eking out “Mo-O-m! Ugh! I hate pictures!” because she also hates speaking.
I got what I could, sifted through a hundred photo bursts, and found a glimmer of hope, one capturing the essence of who she really is deep inside all of those defensive teen-aged layers–even if that first teen year is the only layer there. It’s tough and almost impenetrable. Almost.
“Get one of me with Dad.” We stand, stiffly posed along the bank of the San Gabriel river. The light is perfect. We’re both not grumbly middle-aged parents. We’ve shed our own layers for a while.
“Give us a warning, at least,” I remind her, because we know she’ll capture us mid-yawn. Eyes closed. Mouths opened.
Brows furrowed with a small grumble starts out a whiny “F-i-ah! You’re taking selfies! Take the picture so we can move on and let other people get a turn.”
Laughter ensues, she shows BFF the screen, pretends to run, but first returns the phone and then runs. We take a look and there we are. It’s a good one.
Even better are the selfies. There she is. They’re good ones.
All layers–the one layer–shed because she played. Dimples in their original location. Braced teeth. A sparkle in her eyes. She’s still there.
Nerds Beget Nerds 