Pickles?

You're anxiously awaiting a post about pickles, right? Isn't that what I promised at the end of the last post nearly 6 months ago? Well, then slice up a cucumber and pack it in a sugary vinegar liquid with lots of salt. Maybe there's a bit more than that to it, but seriously -- those are some ridiculously good pickles. Too bad cucumbers don't get good for another 6 months.

Apparently, nothing has gotten good for 6 months. Oh, how now? Why no blogging? There's the Internet savvy 5th graders who might find that Mrs. Teacher has a life outside of them, the inherent narcissism of this act, and just plain old lack of time. The days are absolutely packed with things I have to do, with plenty of things I want to do in que. But just as soon as I get over this nasty bathing and feeding my kids habit, I'm totally going to be a more diligent blogger. E would totally be down with that. She couldn't care less about either of those acts. On the other hand, her brother DEMANDS food every few hours (will flat chase you around the house with a snack sized cup repeating "MORE" if you don't respond quickly enough), and after a long day, lays outside the bathroom door and cries until we open it and let him climb into the bath tub. Whether or not there is water in it is negotiable. He just loves that tub.

The days, they are full. Full of stuff I love most -- literature, discussion, interaction. Full of affection and child-like wonderment. Sometimes, between my students and my own family, I feel like I experience more connectedness in a day than most people do in a year. I love it. We're crying, laughing, sharing, and learning. And that can all be in the span of one math class or dinner time, depending on the day. Seriously. Yet the days are full of crap too. Just this week, its been insinuated that my very vivacious and vibrant son could have cerebral palsy or autism. (No reason to believe that he has either.) There have also been allusions to the idea that my mom might have M.S. even though they ruled it out months ago. Yet she still can't walk a straight line because her balance is so inexplicably bad. My sweet little abode suddenly appeared on the Internet and a For Sale appeared in my yard-- someone, with the right amount of money, could actually take my mini-palace away from me. I willfully signed the papers to make this happen, but that doesn't mean I'm happy about it. And just crap -- crap is crappy.

When the crap is crappy, we find ourselves in a mental space that we're not used to occupying. A space that feels like the breathing room is minimal and the sanity a hot commodity. This is not my usual dwelling. Yet, like it usually is, there is not one thing I can do to control, alter, or liquidate any of the current dilemmas. So if you can't change the situation, you must change how you deal with the situation. I always deal better, with anything, when I'm writing, eating, and exercising.

So I eat food...good food. For energy and clarity of mind. And I exercise, sometimes, because I do feel better when I move and exert myself. And now, I write. When Pat asked why, if I'm kind of uncomfortable with blogging, do I not just scribble it all down in a diary or journal, the journal he gave me for Christmas no less. The answer: Blogging has spoiled me. Albeit it a small audience knowing someone reads your words has its own high. And something about this medium is more satisfying and accessible. Not to mention that I can type a helluva a lot faster than I can write. All of that couples to make me a blogger when in need of a place to write. Write about what? Anything. Sometimes the very act of words to "paper" is all I need.

So, Blogger, my free web based therapist, I return to thee. Maybe.