A Plague Upon This House
I have no idea when Mercutio spoke that line, or if he even did. And I would definitely fact check it, but I am actually physically so worn out that I don’t even care. We have a plague upon our house. It started a couple […]
Recent Posts
A Bento Lunch Fable (Love, Lunch, and Fancy Shapes)
I have become obsessed with lunch boxes. There. I said it. Its out there. Now we can all move forward into the dilemma that comes with obsessing over something like a lunch box post elementary school. I think for most people lunch boxes arent a […]
Remember Well (a reflection on 9/11)
This year was the most normal I have ever felt on 9/11. I cried on the way to work, but didnt really think about it once I was teaching, and honestly, not a single one of my students asked about it. I handled storytime and activities, a research project, finding band aids for small cuts and bruises normally and soon the day was over and I was out on the Greenway running.
13 years ago, I was 19 years old. I was in the process of rushing, and I was in early morning classes, and I was busy almost all the time. That was during the time of my most successful yoga practice too. On the morning of September 11, 2001, I got up early and ran from my apartment to the gym (it was about 1 mile). Once there I was running on the track, listening to a morning show, when it was interrupted in what I thought was a joke at first. There was someone talking about a plane crashing into the North Tower of the WTC. I thought it was the most awful prank I had ever heard. Then, at some point, I slowed down, and looked around me. I realized that no one else on the track was listening to what I was listening to. I stepped to the railing and looked down onto the basketball courts, where people were already playing. Everything seemed to be normal. But somehow, it wasnt. The run from the gym back to my apartment was the fastest mile run I have ever clocked. It took me less than six minutes. I remember unlocking the door and grabbing frantically for our remote, turning on the TV at exactly 9:03 a.m., in time to see Flight 175 fly into the South Tower. I will never forget that moment of realization that something truly terrible is happening. I yelled for my roommates to wake up, to come in the living room, that something was happening.
We sat silent, watching, as the smoke poured out. I started crying when I realized that the falling things I was seeing were people leaping. And then, amazing, we had to make the choice about whether or not to go to class. There wasnt anything about whether or not class had been cancelled. One of my roommates was desperately dialing a friend she knew lived in downtown Manhattan, crying that she couldnt get through. It was before they asked us to stop calling, before we knew that the phone lines were so overloaded they werent working. I was unsure of what to do so I biked to school, and walked a few minutes late into a somber, silent 9:30 English class and sat down. A girl at the back was listening to her Walkman. She continued listening even as our professor came in, a kind, middle aged man who made 18th century literature as interesting as he could for 20 year olds. He asked if we had heard what happened and everyone nodded. He paused and then said, There havent been any official announcements from the University, so we will have our regular class today. He might have been about to say something else when the girl with the Walkman broke in.
The Pentagon! A plane hit the Pentagon! Oh my God. She burst into tears and we stared.
What? I thought that was impossible. I said slowly, and then there was a growing murmur. I had watched a special on the Pentagon only a few weeks before, about how it was the most secure building in the world, about things that made it secure.
Im sorry. This was a mistake. I am officially canceling class. Please go and find who you need to find. Our professor looked at us again, with what I would come to know as an expression of realization. The realization that he had watched our innocence taken away at about 9:45 on a beautiful Tuesday morning. We couldnt possibly know how our world would change after this. But even as we left, as we walked out onto a somber quad, we knew that nothing would ever really be the same again.
The days that followed were ones of sadness, and grief. Watching the news was watching people holding up pictures of the missing, of firefighters digging through the rubble, of our President telling us that the United States would find who did this and punish them. We were so nave we believed it would be that easy. People cancelled travel, cancelled weddings, even. Parents grieved just a little bit that their babies birth would be linked to a tragic event. The next year we grieved even more. The year after did we grieve a little less? With each passing year, the memory becomes more of a memorial, a day in which I remember every detail of that morning, but also know that we no longer need to be sad during the day, that wonderful things can and do happen on September 11th. That it’s okay to fly somewhere, okay to complain about the cable bill or go shopping.
Now, it is a day we stop for a moment (or maybe several), but it is also a reminder that we move on. In the midst of tragedy we learned and grew (although how much can be debated) and our children dont know a different world. I can barely remember a world before September 11th. Babies are born, couples are wed, children go home to fight homework and play outside. In the back of our minds, we know that the day is a little quieter than most days, and we might tear up as we remember where we were on that day. But I know that each time the anniversary passes I am reminded of all the good that is still in our world, and that mindfulness, I hope, will lead the hard discussions I have coming with SL. We will never forget. 
Pay Decreases Are NOT Raises…Yet Again….
Our sweet, always diligent legislature passed the new teacher pay schedule this summer, and with it touted the “largest teacher pay raise” in NC history. Except is it really a pay raise? Again, I question it, this time with numbers in front of […]
But First, They Are Our Babies
Before I could publish my post about Ferguson, another article popped up in my newsfeed. This time about a 9 year old who shot a shooting instructor at a shooting range:9 Year Old Shoots Instructor. It actually wouldnt have bothered me that much- after all, […]
The American Dream Home (Spoiler Alert: We Don’t Own It…. Or Do We?)
True Story. I am not a minimalist. Don’t be shocked. Over the years, I have read a ton of books about organizing, decluttering, making room for more by having less. I went through a phase when I was a teenager (thus procuring me the nickname “Buddha”) when I tried to get rid of everything. I remember reading some novel in which the main character’s sister did this, and the parents ended up just sneaking all of her stuff up into the attic. In the story she subsisted on something like three pairs of socks and a pair of jeans. It didn’t work out for her. It didn’t work out for me. I was fantasizing about living out of a backpack, kind of like a hitchhiker. Doesn’t fly for a southern girl. In what kind of world do you not hang on to your mother/aunt/grandmother/someone you met once’s….something.
If you’ve been a reader for a while, this might not sound like anything exciting or new from me. “She’s reading a new organizational book, she’s hoping it will be the key to transforming her life, etc.” So I’m done with that. I’m going in a completely different direction. I’m embracing NOT being a minimalist. Still reading?
When I started really going through stuff this summer, I packed up bags and boxes with things to give away. And I smiled when those things disappeared from our foyer, hopefully going to make someone else’s life better. I pledged to do this more often and I plan to stick to that pledge. When I returned to school, I cleaned out files and drawers from the past year, put stuff out to head to new homes, found teachers whose belongings I had somehow ended up with. And that’s a beautiful thing. Starting the school year “fresh” is important to me. But equally important is finding what you need. I love that I saved most of my books from childhood and can find one at the drop of a hat. I love knowing that we have enough pens to outlast the Bic company.
My feeling is that our lives are full. We live in a time in which people are available literally twenty four hours a day. In which we are never without means of communication. Car phones considered luxury devices have now become cell phones that are standard devices. My nieces have phones, and they are in elementary school. While I can’t imagine why an elementary aged child needs a cell phone- after all, a parent should always know where they are- I also imagine that this is their normal and am confident they are not the only ones with them. Our lives are packed with appointments, activities, TV shows, new books, magazines, emails, along with the day-to-day necessities of living. No wonder we collapse into a bed at the end of the day, our minds already whirring with the dizzying prospects the next 24 hours will bring. We actually have enough excess that we have a need to get rid of it- don’t believe me? Check out the gyms at 5:30 p.m. on any day. Check out infomercials at 5:30 a.m. on any day. We have so much food we have to burn off the extra calories! We have so much clothing we give it away! We have so much money we pay to fly to third world countries! Wow!
Which brings me back to the stuff. It’s everywhere in our lives. Part of this is what we have come to accept as the norm. According to this blogpost, American homes in 2012 were an average of 2505 square feet. In 1973, that number was just over 1600 square feet. Here’s the census link: http://www.census.gov/construction/chars/pdf/medavgsqft.pdf
Think this:
Currently, this is what I’m seeing a lot of:
See the differences? If you’re really interested in 1970s homes, click on the ranch house image to be taken to an article about what we can learn from them (energy efficiency, bigger isn’t always better).
Ironically we are living in a house right on the cusp of the American average. And so far, we love it. I love having a guest room and a nursery, having usable common spaces, and having small things, like a mudroom and a foyer. But when I’m cleaning it, it’s definitely a different story. That’s when I remember how much easier it is to keep an apartment or condo clean. And then I watched a documentary this summer about truly tiny homes- less than 500 square feet and often on trailers due to restrictions on building sizes in many cities and states. It’s called Tiny and it’s a cool look at tiny houses. I mean, really tiny houses. And people living “off the grid”. Lifestyle is not really for me, but I loved learning about it.
Each time we talk about the enormous number of projects that are left within our home, I get antsy and a little stressed and a lot excited about the possibility that comes with owning a home you think you’re going to be in for a long time. The prospects seem endless. But with each project there is a price tag. Often it is a large price tag. The not so big price tag is the one that comes with taking a look at what you already own and deciding if it can be used, repurposed or it is time to let it go to a new home. I’m so thankful I was able to do a lot of that over the summer. And I’m thankful I found so many home blogs to get addicted to. Because with all that crazy free time I have, I’m going to do so many of the projects they claim will bring that special something to my own home (sarcasm, yes?). Fortunately I’m aware that for us what is realistic might not be placing breakable items anywhere near a coffee table or ground level. Ever. Again.
Mainly, what sorting through my stuff has given me is the freedom of knowing that I am passing things on to people who need them, I am literally decreasing the environmental impact of having things in my home, I am finding things I haven’t seen in ages and realizing I don’t need to purchase something new, and I am finding an energy in doing it I haven’t had before. Today I will have to do laundry, dishes, cleaning, emailing, bill paying, and keep my baby healthy and happy. And if I succeed at those tasks each day I am living the American Dream.
The House is Silent.
Today is SL’s second day of daycare. You might be wondering why, considering I’m still off for the summer and have a few weeks left. But right now, as I sit and type this, my baby is being fed lunch by someone else. […]
Raise Our Babies Well.
Over the last few weeks, I have heard the term “misogyny” more than any other specialized word in the English language. It has been all over the news, the internet , and of course Facebook. Misogyny: the hatred or dislike of women or girls. The […]
Race Recap: Tar Heel 10 Miler
Disclaimer: I DID NOT run the Tar Heel 10 Miler. It is a race I absolutely love and adore and run almost every year, but this year, it just wasn’t going to happen. SL has done a great job of turning “training days” into “reigning days”- meaning, she reigns and I listen. But I knew I could eek out the Fleet Foot 4 miler, plus Laurel Hill is included (good thing? bad thing? still not sure) so I just signed up for it and told Matt that I was going to voluntarily wake up at 4 a.m. and go run in Chapel Hill.
There are so many things I love about the Tar Heel 10 miler, but my favorite is easily the fact that it’s such a comfortable race. 10 really might be the perfect number, and the race attracts so many different people- from serious runners interested in a fast training course, to novice run/walkers who know the pace time will allow them to finish in a reasonable amount of time. Plus it starts early- 7:30 a.m.- so you can be at Sunrise Biscuit before 10 if you’re organized.
We had it planned out. I would wake up early and head over there. Matt and SL would follow as soon as she woke up (usually around 6:30) and they would meet me at the finish line. It was going to be one of those Hallmark movie quality scenes- me running across triumphantly as my infant daughter waves/speaks/claps/does something besides look for dogs. It was going to be beautiful. And the start of the morning was beautiful. Temperature was perfect and projected to be around 60. I got up on time, shockingly, considering that Sweet Pea lost it at about 12:30 a.m. and only wanted one person in her life. I ate a snack and my colleague and friend Ginnie swung by to pick me up. Originally I was going to drive and we were just going to use two cars but Friday afternoon I found out Ginnie was running the 10 and she kindly offered to take me there.
So Ginnie picks me up and we head to Chapel Hill. It had been well over a year since I had had a race morning and I have to say I still love/hate them. Getting up so early it feels like you didn’t go to bed- hate. Anticipating finishing a race and eating pancakes- Love. Having someone to talk to on the way over- Really Love. We got there and PARKED. Now, in past years this has been a serious issue but I will say they got it right this year. The last time Matt and I ran the 10 miler, we were running towards Kenan as the National Anthem was being sung. This was much more pleasant. We actually had a surprising amount of time to kill pre race. So we walked around, and talked about campus and I kind of sort of played around with stretching (normally I don’t before a race).
Then, it was time to go. I said a quick prayer and thought about my goals. Which were: 1. To finish. and 2. To finish before the 10 miler people started coming in. I mean, it’s 4 miles. I used to do 4 miles on an easy day. And when we started I remembered how it felt to run easy. But only until we crossed the actual start line, which is when things began to move a little faster than I like- literally. I found myself in a mad dash down South Road, past the gym, the Intramural fields, and down that ginormous hill heading towards 15-501. When we hit Mile 1, the winner was looping back through the neighborhood, on his own mad dash, followed by police officers and…no one else. I picked up my feet a little more.
It was almost weird to be running so early in the morning, baby free, and knowing that I could do whatever I wanted with this race. The main goal, as it is every year, was to run the whole way up Laurel Hill. Here is a chart of the elevation of Laurel Hill:
I’m actually not really sure how useful that chart is, but aren’t the colors really interesting looking? Anyway, each year I set out to run the whole way up Laurel Hill after the first year of running the race. The first year I was probably 200 yards in and realized I couldn’t do it without my heart exploding or something. This year, I hit the bottom of the hill with plenty of energy (cutting out those extra miles really helps with that). And I started to climb. There was a man playing an alphorn. I tried and failed to get a photo of him, but imagine this during a race:
It was awesome. And surprisingly energizing. Fantasizing about being in Switzerland helped push me up the incline, and I felt…FINE. Completely fine. When I hit the top I got a second burst of energy and realized I could keep on going. Would you like to know why? Because I was RUNNING WITHOUT A STROLLER. It takes away about 30 pounds and boom. You’re flying- or at least feel like you’re flying.
So when I crossed the finish line, I was on cloud nine. And in a way it got better as I looked around and realized that my family hadn’t even arrived yet. That’s how ahead of the game I was.
Since race day, I have run a total of 4 times, slipping out after Sweet Pea was sleeping and on Mother’s Day for a solo run. But I went ahead and signed up for 2015. 1) Because I’m a sucker, and 2) Because next year the stroller will weigh like 50 pounds, so I should speed by every other runner out there on Laurel Hill. Disclaimer: SELFIE below.
My Friend Has Died.
My friend died. Those are words I struggle to say. I havent lost a friend in a long time, and when I found out on Thursday night what happened, the words stuck in my throat. When I checked […]
