Dear Gen X: I Quit

There are a great many things in the world I don't understand. For instance, all things Kardashian; "cat people"; math; politicians; Justin Bieber's fabulous hair, the no-text-back, Celine Dion's career. I'd like to venture into my confusion about the lack of Grammy nominations for Kanye but I'm choosing to focus my attention on a confusion I can hope to clarify with some hard work and commitment from all of us. I'm very fortunate to work at a shop that sells products I love, believe in, and proudly wear. As a matter of fact, the urge to buy every new fabulous thing we bring out is one of the difficulties of my job. However, I have noticed a recent decline in my attraction for a few simple reasons. Neon colors and  metallic shine for starters. I'm certainly not criticising Victoria's Secret, because I've seen it in other shops too. Jeans looking suspiciously acid-washed, big feather earrings, patterned tights, ankle boots, bubble skirts. I know where this is headed; as my daughter said the other day "The '80's are back, Mom" (insert teen eye roll here). To which I say "Noooooooo." "Stop It" "Not on my Watch."

(Do you want to dress like this?)

Don't get me wrong, I have a healthy respect for some of the best products of the 80's, and by best products I mean movies. Ferris Bueller, Pretty in Pink, Sixteen Candles, Mermaids, are just a few of the wonderful examples of cinema excellence that should be revered for their contributions to society; but there is a fine line between healthy respect and revival, my friends. And that line is here-watch Flashdance if you'd like but don't wear the clothes. Or feel free to watch if I made good on my threat to publicly recreate dance scenes from that movie in protest if I see anymore 80's inspired fashion cross the threshold of my usually adorable work place. I can find some leg warmers and cut the neck out of a sweatshirt pretty easily-leg warmers are just one of the nasty little fashion nightmares I've noticed slithering back into acceptance.

It starts here and the next thing you know, we're all teasing our hair with some White Rain and Guns-n-Roses has a career again. Do you want tight-rolled jeans to come back. (By the way, Justin Timberlake officially has permission to bitchslap me if I ever attempt to tight roll my William Rasts) That's why I beg, plead, insist that you work with me to stop it. It may seem shocking-especially if you believe the bold face lie I call a "birth date" on Facebook-that I could remember so much from the '80's. After all I was only a few years old. Right? Let's just assume I've only researched this, or maybe my OLDER sisters told vivid stories; but memories and experience aside-I detest most things '80's.

Which brings me to my next point-I'm officially resigning from Generation X. I'm sure Gen X is behind this forcing of all things big, loud and shoulder-padded on a younger unsuspecting generation; and it's not just the evil fashion plot that makes me want out. I just don't fit in here, it's time to find a new crew (as a rapper would say) After I told my brother about my Britney blog, he told me very patiently "you know you are Gen X, not Y.." But I think I am a true Y at heart. To me, old school music is early Eminem, TLC, Destiny's Child, Puff Daddy or Tupac. The Fresh Prince of Bel-Aire is classic sitcom, not Family Ties. Harry Potter is the movie event of "my" generation, not  ET.  Sorry, Madonna but Beyonce is my icon-"Independent Women" defines me much more than "Material Girl." JT is my heartthrob not Rick Springfield. Don't call me, text me.  It only makes sense that I should just officially join Gen.Y.  I don't really have a lot in common with some of those clinging desperately at the fragments of yesteryear. And by yesteryear, I mean stop listening to RATT and calling it classic rock. Perhaps this is why I struggle so much in the dating world, sometimes it's hard to find common ground when your idea of "straight up now tell me" is J.Cole, and the person trying to relate to you is still stuck in Paula Abdul.

(Not Paula)

My mother says I have a Peter Pan complex, I say I just really love the Jay-Z song Young Forever. I don't understand people who say things like "I'm feeling my age." What does that mean? People who say this generally enjoy a lot of AC/DC and sitting on the couch. People who say this live in a safe comfortable environment and accept the rules/roles of their parent's generation. People who say this are using it as an excuse for being tired, depressed or just worn out. Sometimes, at the end of the day, my feet and back hurt. Sometimes I'm exhausted. But it's not "feeling my age" to me, it's feeling hours on a tile floor in 4 in heels, or a 6 mile run and time on the heavy bag. I like to think of life a bit like I think of sports talk radio guys-it's not about rehashing, and move on. Stop just talking about it.

I would stay young forever, if I could afford it. But Botox and surgery are expensive (maybe, someday!), so I make do the best I can with attitude and activity. I won't watch life go by, commenting on how much better things "used to be." Jersey Shore may be obnoxious, but so was Miami Vice. Living and learning is what keeps us young, or ages us beyond our years if we don't open our minds and ideas. It's like that (old school) song "you only get one shot" so Lose Yourself in the Now instead of the mirror and the memories. Somewhere out there is a new adventure, and it should not be attempted in neon clothing and twister beads. Leave the past where it belongs and live in today. You may decide to join a new generation, too.

(He really did bring Sexy Back)

Angels

I love a good countdown. I used to keep countdowns on my board at school for important world events so my students could prepare themselves appropriately. And by important events, I mean Harry Potter movies, of course. My current countdown is for the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show. I'm pretty excited about this. Why? Because I work there. Actually, to be perfectally honest I would be more excited if I was attending the Kanye-Jay-Z concert the same night in Kansas City-but unless some extremely generous benefactor presents themselves at the last minute (Kanye can you hear me?) I will probably be watching the Fashion Show at home. I think I'm going to try and have a party. You can come.
I have a lot to celebrate, when it comes to the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show (besides the fact that Kanye will be performing, pre-recorded). For one, it is after Black Friday. I have never worked in retail on a Black Friday and I'm pretty excited about working my first one. I may feel differently after an 8 hour day of it. But I doubt it. I believe everything happens for a reason and that God has a plan for me, I admit sometimes my faith waivers but it never crumbles. My last year of teaching it waivered like wheat in the wind, I wasn't sure what my life had become or who I was. I spent most of my days hiding in my room, my free periods or lunch periods under my headphones trying to use music as an diversion. One of the few places I really felt happy was when I escaped for some retail therapy at my favorite store, Victoria's Secret. I liked how I felt when I was there. I liked how I was treated. I liked the pink striped bags and tissue paper; I stacked them in the corner of my room because they seemed too pretty to throw away. I was thrilled when I was hired, but nervous. I had no retail experience and I was overwhelmed with all I had to learn. I wanted to be the best IMMEDIATLY and I was not. I was kind of like the girl at the club that you want to tell stop trying so hard-you're awkward and even though we feel sorry for you honey, no thanks.
I kept trying and my managers and coworkers patiently showed me how to improve. And, eventually, I did. I am naturally shy, but moreso I had retreated into a protective shell at school that I slowly crawled out of at my new job. I began to notice that people smiled at me when I came to work. They seemed happy to see me. If I didn't know how to do something they gave a suggestion- one I could try on one person instead of a room full of thirty 15 year olds. My managers gave genuine positive feedback, the people I worked with seemed so happy to be at work. I slowly started talking instead of just watching and listening. People seemed to like me...I seemed to fit in a little bit. My last day at Willard-one with many tears-I worked that evening at Victoria's Secret, it seemed a natural transition. I had moved on, I was okay. Now it's hard to believe I've only been there a little over six months; the goals, terms and mindset of retail is normal, not awkward, to me now. 

(Still, not me)

Just like those who will be walking the runway in a few weeks, I am (technically) an Angel. No, I don't run around announcing that or using it as a pick up line. But, I am very proud to work for the company that calls me an Angel, even if I am not beautiful. The "Angel Gang" I work with has accepted me-as I am-and helped me learn a job I really love. One of the best things about working at store 349 are the events we have and the time we, as a store celebrate together. We had another successful Pink Nation event the other night and I was fortunate enough to begin what I believe will be my future as a Victoria's Secret model. I am sure once Associate Monthly sees the photos of me sporting my Pink jacket, I will be asked to don it and the angel wings next year. But even if corporate is not looking for 29 year old (cough, cough) 5 foot 5 models, I will cherish my Pink Nation jacket memory; not only for my brush with fabulousness, but mostly for the look on my manager Abby's face when she brought it to me. She was laughing, I was laughing and it was the laughter shared by people who know and are comfortable with each other. As we all laughed and hammed it up through out the night, it is the feeling of being a part of something that I will celebrate as I watch the Show in a few weeks.
I had to stop by my old workplace the other day to drop something off, the one where I used to hide and duck my head as I walked the halls. I was on my way to work, dressed in my black clothes, my "Lindsay heels", wearing that new sparkle eye shadow we have. I walked in with my head held high, my shoulders back, and a sense of self I hadn't had in the last time I'd been in the building. The office secretary looked at me with that look where you think you recognise someone but aren't sure, and I can see why. Confidence and happiness can change a person. It wasn't until I was back in my car, pulling out of the parking lot and listening to Kanye's Stronger that I really realized the difference in how I'd carried myself and how I'd felt. That, I believe, was my runway walk. The only thing missing was the coat.

The Mighty

One of my favorite scenes in a movie (one that is a little sappy, but still one of my favorites) is Denzel's "I'm just a football coach" speech in Remember the Titans. He uses it to gently remind a community of people who are elevating him to hero status that he is "just a football coach" and he shows it through out the movie. While watching it you see the intensity and drive to succeed that pushes him, and while Herman Boone does many great things in the movie-he is ultimately a football coach, determined to win. I have thought of Herman Boone's speech several times this week as I have watched the Penn State scandal, and the fate of Joe Paterno unfold on my ESPN updates, the web, Sports Center and pretty much every other media outlet I've come in contact with.
Like most of you I know only what the media has told me. How much and just what, and who knew about it, is still unfolding and I am not nearly naive enough to believe the media has or is reporting the entire story. America loves a sex scandal, and headlines sell magazines and newspapers-which in turn sell advertising and makes publishers and web site owners more profits. I also know enough about the politics of any instituion-be it a Divison I college, a church, or a public school-that in the face of scandal and controversy, the best idea is to find a scapegoat or two, cut bait and move on in a "positive"direction...Or in other words, a few well-placed firings gives the appearance of a situation under control, whether it is-or was-or not.
So I am not here to debate the firing of Joe Paterno, or even lament the tarnished reputation that now may follow a legendary and successful football coach. What I am struck by, again and again, as a sports fan is our outrage when a hero falls from grace. When the mighty fall, we eat it up; but want to spit it out at the same time. And I wonder why? Why do we expect these men-or women- to be anything other than what they are? Whether it is a football coach,  a first baseman, a racecar driver, -we expect different behavior from "sports heroes" than everyone else....Why? And why do we take it so personally when the "let us down"?
Sports, and I love sports, is about drama. We sit on the edge of our seats for the buzzer beater shot in a tie game, the walk-off homerun in the bottom of the ninth, the Hail Mary. We are drawn to the natural drama of a conflict (what's a good hockey game without a fight?), we are drawn to almost inhuman talent, and larger than life personalities (and sometimes bodies) we see on television on Saturdays or Sundays and we expect these people to be superhuman in every way. We want to ignore that most sports are multibillion dollar businesses and those athletes are part of the business, not just the show, of sports. The words professional athlete are not synonyms for role model, or nice guy, or your best friend. They are exactly what they say-professional means they make money playing a game. Why do we get so angry when they try to negotiate what they feel is fair in the world of business? Yes, the money seems outrageous to us, but wouldn't you want to earn the same wage as your neighbor for doing the same job-espescially if you are better at it?
 Any parent who has ever turned their child over to a coach knows how vital it is to your child that this person be a basically upstanding individual of high moral character (meaning, you can drop your child off at practice and feel safe knowing someone is taking care of them) but many of us also want our children to be winners. We want our schools, our alma maters, our hometown teams to be winners. The kindhearted coach who donates to shelters and builds playgrounds at the University only keeps his (or her) job if they are also winning ballgames. Wins=ticket sales=revenue=tv deals=....You want to keep your job coaching at an elite level, win ballgames.
Many things can be overlooked if you are steering a winning program. Should they be? Maybe not, but if the winning coach at your favorite NCAA basketball school was suddenly fired a week before Selection Sunday for anything less than a capital crime, you might be among the hoardes of angry fans demanding answers. There is a reason why coaching positions aren't tenured, even the best teacher who loses the big games may need to go at your local high school. Don't believe me? Two words-youth sports. Your mailman can turn into a raving lunatic if he's placed in charge of a Mighty Mite team; I've seen parents turn on their own children in the name of "coaching"-- and by coaching, I mean winning.
 Athletes and coaches are different from you and me. Or at least from me-I am uncoordinated, pretty short and slow. I can't jump high, turn handsprings or kick a field goal. As much as I'd like to try driving a racecar, I'd probably wreck it. I have neither the concentration, patience or rational mind required to coach the athletes I am not talented enough to be. So, yes I envy and admire those who do. My son, who is athletic and competitive, espescially admires athletes and coaches; he absorbs sports knowledge like a sponge, and could sit and watch basketball intently by the time he was about 4-about the same age he started playing teeball. Sports=life for him.
A few years ago, during the summer Olympics, my family and I (who often watch sports together) were as excited as the rest of the country about Micheal Phelps...only for my son to ask me "what's marijuana?" a few months later while watching Sports Center. "What's rape?" my son asked another day after watching Sports Center...I, like many of you, want to vent my anger toward the athelte bringing up these awkward headlines. I wanted a personal apology because my child admired these "heathens". But I am not the moral authority of the world, that real (sometimes ugly) world where we all live and where uncomfortable things happen that must be explained to our children. There is learning in those moments, too.  At a high school basketball game last year, my son watched a player on the other team throw basically a tantrum on the floor. He looked at me and said (before I could open my mouth) "I know, Mom,...if I ever act like that, you'll take the basketball from me yourself."
 And I wouldn't trade the evening watching the Cardinals win the World Series together, filling out (and then erasing) those brackets in March or Superbowl Sunday with my boy on the couch for anything, even if it means sometimes explaining the very real human mistakes of the triumphs we just watched.  The key, for me, is remembering that under those pads and helmets, or scribbling all over a clipboard are real people, who may make terrible decisions that they are not entitled to our forgiveness for. Sometimes the mighty fall, and yes it is painful to watch. Sometimes the "mighty" fall-like the tantrum thrower from that high school basketball game-at the hands of of the more skilled-and that triumph is delightful to watch. The fact that we are watching makes us sports fans, the fact that we care make us people, and the fact that they sin (and sometimes fall) make the mighty people, too.

Out There

I think my Ipod is thwarting my attempts to meet men. It seems everytime a good looking guy smiles at me, gives me the eye contact thing, or looks vaguely interested in me at one of the about three places I go where single men might be, it chooses to play Nickelback. (everyone has music on their Ipod they aren't proud of, mine is Nickelback. Okay, some of mine is Nickelback). Nickelback, oddly, does not enhance a hue of sexiness.

 Not that I really expect to meet someone at Wal-Mart or the grocery store, and I would probably be a little taken aback if some dude did just come up and try to get my number. Espescially since I run many of my errands AFTER I hit the gym, so often I am just hoping someone doesn't declare my sweaty self a public health hazard. Moving on to the original point, which is ...Now that my children are older, trying to have a social life is more about finding one than having one. And by social life, I guess I must admit I mean dating life...like you know the kind where you do the talking, the hanging out...And by talking I mean texting, the phone is like a committment-I'm no overachiever.  It might come as a surprise to people who knew me in the classroom, but I am incredibly shy, which is why I often hide under my headphones in stores and malls. (headphones that usually play awesome music like...well, anything but Nickelback.)  Eye contact or conversation with (attractive) strangers is not something I just strike up randomly.

I think this meeting "people" thing can be done, though. I see friends who find people only a few months after a divorce or who discuss their dating lives all the time. These are people who have children. These are people in my age range , give or take a few years. Where are they meeting all these dates? Or are all my friends just so stunning that available men/women flock to them and beg for their company?

Most of my family and friends have given me the same advice: go Online. This idea appeals to me about as much as running a marathon. I admire those of you who do, but no thanks- not for me. Perhaps it is the idea of having to describe myself in a profile. How do you do that and not sound like a total narcisst or a nutter?

Fun loving single mom of two enjoys reading, sports, exercising and plotting to move to England....Likes Harry Potter, Tosh.0,listening to rap/hip hop music, Will Smith movies, working at Victoria's Secret, going to church and spending time with my darling children....I'm two sentences in and I feel like a farce. I like to watch sports, not play them, so I'm not exactly down for some Kennedy style touch football. Of course I like to exercise, I buy $200 jeans, I want them to fit...Sometimes I yell at my darling children because they have trashed the house, broken the furniture, or refused to do chores. I've been known to oversleep Mass. So, I'm already a disappointment for the guy expecting an athletic, homeroom mother to arrive on his doorstop and begin crafting a Bible cover. 

Of course, I don't know, maybe  Prince Harry likes Kid Cudi, understands Quidditch and makes pound town jokes, too. Who knows? And let's face it, who doesn't like Will Smith movies? Maybe I'm not as weird as I think I am.

In the end, though, I don't understand the idea of picking someone from a description. How do you get that "feel", that gut instinct, or have the ability to explain yourself? Yes, I love rappers, but that doesn't mean I only want to date Wocka Flocka Flame. I'm just not a person who can sort and categorize people based on one trait or another. No to this guy because of his job, yes to this one because he, too, is a St. Louis Cardinals fan. I don't want someone to look at me that way-No because she seems a bit flaky or immature ( the pound town jokes, I guess); yes because she works at Victoria's Secret and is probably dying to show everyone her Dream Angels ( Oh yeah, those guys are out there, usually at the bar, drinking alone)

 (Not Me)

Online is out for me, I'm just too-um-unique.  I'd never make it past the profile anyway, I have ADD, I'd get distracted before I actually looked long enough to meet someone. I'd read two, have to Twitter about it, respond to one of my celebrity friends...and two hours later it would be time to go  to work, class, clean the house, or live my real life and my cyber dating would end before it started.

So  what else? The answer is...I don't know. When you are single and not in college anymore ( wait, I am in college...), Springfield doesn't offer many possibilities-or it seems. Unless there is a whole happening scene I'm not aware of, and maybe there is. I'm Catholic, so my church isn't exactly a hotbed of hook up action and as endearing as those Facebook stories of old flames are, I prefer to read about them in People. Most of my male friends from high school or college are married, and if they aren't- they are the people I've spoken about earlier in new happy relationships.

When I think of how hard it is to meet people, I am reminded again of how easy it is to curl up with a book or study every weekend when my kids are gone and simply not try. I think that is ultimately my problem. I am okay alone, I've been alone for a long time. I fill my time and quite frankly, I don't want anyone telling me what to do with it. I have days and weeks where I am so exhausted  or busy taking care of myself and the two people who already fill my heart, I really don't have a lot of room or energy left for anyone else, no matter how fabulous.  My job has helped me make new friends who seem to want to hang out with me. Even for a shy possibly immature nerd, I'm building a social life, slowly but surely.  I am aware I am not getting any younger and my employer isn't exactly asking me to model what I'm selling, so I know this "dating" thing isn't going to get any easier; but I am also aware of the high costs of a bad relationship. I've been there and I don't need someone to complete me, reassure me, or take care of me.

So, I don't know...maybe out there is the perfect person for me. But I doubt it, because perfect only happens in the Nicholas Sparks books I don't read. I don't need perfect, I'm fine with fun or makes me laugh & looks like Will Smith wouldn't hurt either. Is Peyton Manning married? Justin is still available, right? Where is Kanye when you need him?  But back to reality, I guess it's time to admit I'm "out there" (what's the worst that can happen, right?) Nickelback and all.

Wasted

When I purchased my Iphone, one of the features I was most impressed with was the ability to lock it. I was still teaching then and the desk barnicles (my mother's name for thos kids who sort of move into your desk..) had a tendency to pick up my ancient open faced phone for inspection. I was tired of snooping teenagers in my life. Of course I bragged about my new Iphone and my locked screen.
"Let me see that," replied one of my students, who had been around a while. I think we were working on our third year together at that point. He had my phone unlocked in about 11 seconds. I was stunned. He looked at me and replied in that voice teenagers use when dealing with very slow or mentally impaired parents,
"Your favorite football player and race car driver...duh"

Yes, it appears the CIA won't be hiring me for my security skills anytime soon. This class of kids was a bit like the one Michelle Pfieffer teaches in that movie Gangsta's Paradise (not the real name of the movie, but the name of the Coolio song I remember from the movie)-or any of a number of other movies where you have an unmanageable group of kids that a fun, unconventional teacher comes in and turns into Rhodes scholars or inner city poets who love literature. Unfortunately--here's a teaching secret--that only happens in the movies or for the one in a million teacher -who promptly writes a book, quits teaching, and tours about telling other teachers how to be a better teacher while staying the hell away from an actual classroom. In the real world, those kinds of classes usually stay unruly, dislike everything you ask them to read, and produce not Tupac-style verses of raw, yet powerful voice; but dirty poems you threaten to show their mother unless they rewrite them.
Once my code was cracked, my  facebook status became interesting for a few days as I was hacked by the little pirates. In general though, that "bad" class of kids, like most other challenging classes, ultimately produced more laughter than anything else. They did not, contrary to a number of increasingly more creative (and at times destructive) rumors, drive me from teaching. Although I was overwhelmed, exhausted and extremely frustrated when I left teaching in May, in the months between I have a deeper understanding of all the reasons why I don't want to teach anymore. And  while part of it may be my desire to find a career where I can be my authentic, true self without the repercussions of small town politics, most of my desire to be out of Education is Education itself.
However, an afternoon of looking through photo albums and seeing images of my children grow and change over the years led me to the question: was it wasted? Teaching is an incredibly time consuming job. For every day off in the summer, there's extra hours of planning and grading each night, and on the weekends. The nights I sent my kids to bed early because of the stacks of papers, the tea parties or dress up games I could have played, the games of catch or afternoons with babies now half grown...I'll never get those back. What do I have to show for it?
When I really want to know something about myself or just have one of those days when you need a laugh really bad, I text my friend Chase. He's probably the funniest person I know, and one of the people in my contacts I can always talk sports with. I've known him for ten years, ten years ago he was a sophomore who one-by-one collected the English II books from the room I taught in and stacked them in his locker. Every day, I'd ask "where are all the books?" and blame the other teacher who taught in the room. His senior year he had me as a teacher for three hours a day, I think. Now, as adults, we are friends. When people ask me who was your all-time favorite student (which is a bit like asking your all time favorite book, it's hard to choose just one) the answer is always the same: Chase. Perhaps friendships are what I have to show for years in the classroom. Is one enough?
I thought teachers were supposed to change lives, build better tomorrows, give hope...(maybe that's the United Way and I've got my slogans messed up here). I doubt I did that...Every so often I run into a person who likes to comandeer me and remind me "you hated me.." . They always seem so gleeful, I never have the heart to tell them the truth. I didn't hate you, I just forgot you the minute you walked out the door, because the next pain in the butt was already on their way. Someone else was doing your material, kiddo. The moments, and the kids, I rememebr are the ones who touched me, changed me, or made me laugh. Moments like Drew Crook slamming shut a book in summer school after he finished it and yelling at me about the way it ended...or Kyle Govero coming into my before school his sophomore year and saying "I can't believe they found him guilty." He'd read ahead in To Kill A Mockingbird. I had the same conversation with my daughter a few days ago, when she came into my bathroom while I was straightening my hair and said the same thing. Those were the times I felt like I had accomplished something as a teacher, I'd made someone think.

For every criticism I've ever heard of self centered teenagers, I have a story of one who went out of their way for me and my children for no reason other than they were good kids who are now the kind of adults I want in this world. I don't take credit for that, but I remember it fondly when I look back over the years. The year Katey, who is not a competitive athlete in any sense of the word, wanted to play soccer Kyle Govero volunteered to coach her. The year Aaron turned 5, his only request for guests at his birthday party? High school basketball players,  Aaron is a competitive athlete in every sense of the word and attended his first basketball camp at 4.  Luckily, I knew several players-except of course number one on Aaron's list, the star of the team..a kid I'd never talked to in my life. If I'd had a twitter back then, I'm pretty sure the first ever conversation I had with Jon Huskisson would have a #thatawkardmomentwhen tag. But he came. A few years later, Aaron would have another party with the basketball team, even go bowling with some of them. Different kids, same thoughtfulness. All of those kids came and spent time with him, not for extra credit or bonus but out of the goodness of their hearts. My kids always had the best babysitters because I had such a plethora of volunteers. Some of those girls, like Tabitha or Hannah, are mothers now and I delight in seeing pictures of their children just as they used to love spending time with mine. Sprinkled through out thosephoto albums that made me so weepy the other day are graduation pictures, senior pictures, faces (or families, Wilmes girls) who remain part of our family memories.... A picture from Aaron's 5th birthday sits in a  amongst pictures of nephews, brothers, and grandparents in a Family frame on top of the tv. Years wasted? or one-of-a-kind memories for my unconventional family?
The interview for the PTA program is looming in a few weeks. Whatever happens, I know I won't return to the classroom. If  OTC doesn't work out, I'll  find another way to get by. I know I can't keep working part time forever, as the stack of billls and dwindling savings remind me and my anxiety. I have a new sense of self, I am no longer Ms. Nichols and I am at peace with that decision now. When people look at me curiously and ask "do you work at.." I finish the sentence with Victoria's Secret. I don't always want to explain my life to random people. However a lovely young woman came into the store the other day and looked at me with that same searching expression before saying "Ms. Nichols?" It took me a moment to recognize the adult version of Laura England, but once I did we had a lovely conversation. Much like the one I had had with Kristen Bagley a few weeks before, and the one I had with the aforementioned Kyle in the Halloween store last Saturday. None of them seemed scarred by their experience in The Greatest English II Class Ever (grammar tee shirts=fun) and all of them are adults who are doing good things with their lives. I'd like to think I was a part of that, if only for a pleasant memory. Their memories are important, too.
When I left Willard High School in May, one of the rowdy, but endearing, members of my last class (the Gangsta's Paradise from the first paragraph) made a power point for me. As a rather obnoxious freshman, this wasn't a kid I'd been excited to see on my roster as a sophomore; however, by the end of his junior year, he was one of those kids who was close to Aaron and like family. His powerpoint made me cry, espescially the part that said "you did a good thing here.." I watched it again before I wrote this and I realized again those years weren't wasted. All those "kids"...they did a good thing here.

Single Mom Manifesto

I wear entirely too much makeup to the grocery store. I wear designer jeans and sparkle eye shadow to football games. Its kind of embarassing, but it's true...Why? because the grocery store, football games, the Mall, these are major social outings for me. I am a single mom. If I have free time, sometimes I go to the library, where I might check out books to read because other than running or going to the gym, that is my only hobby, reading books. So, I am a nerdy, shy single mom.
I love Harry Potter. It is not even normal for an adult to be as obsessed with the Harry Potter books as I am. I only read them-for the first time- about 4 years ago, so while I may have been slow to jump on the Hogwarts bandwagon (Express, if you will), I more than made up for my late arrival with my enthusiasm. I quote Potter trivia and character quotes like the nerd I am, and one of my favorite quotes is from Albus Dumbledore (beloved Headmaster of Hogwarts) that says "it is our choices, Harry, that show who we truly are, far more than our abilities." -Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.
I made the choice, to be a single mom, to put my kids first and I don't regret that. As a matter of fact, if you read my last blog, you know for most of their lives my children have shared me with "ed" and I do regret that. Very much, but I can't change what was. As my kids are older and are beginning to have their own lives, I have become more aware that being a single mom isn't the Halmark feel good stories we hear about in NBA player profiles or Lifetime movies. You know the ones, single mom works two jobs, kids find unbelievable success because of inhuman ability to play sport/act/model/write songs/use autotunes...whatever.  Or my personal favorite, single mom puts herself through school with the help and support of her children and loving family....and everyone smiles as she becomes a raving success and goes on Oprah. Please. 
I have a wonderfully supportive family, I do. My dad, who only sighed and wrote another check through four major changes and a baby in college, has bailed me out financially so many times I've lost count. And when I quit my full time teaching job to take a chance at  new career while working a job I love, but which pays by the hour, he's right there....My mom has literally provded most of the clothes on my children's backs and the shoes on their feet as I attend class and work in a retail job and try to make this new life work. My brother takes my son to practice on nights I am in class, my family is as supportive as they can be; but even the greatest family doesn't always fill that ALONE you feel when at the end of the day it is YOU who has to make the decisions, pay the bills, clean up the mess or fill the free hours when the kids are at their other parent's.
 My kids have made the adjustment from having a mom that is on the same schedule they are to a mom that works two jobs at times, works nights, works weekends....and while my daughter enjoys my discount there are not a lot of benefits for an 11 year old boy when your mom works for Victoria's Secret. But, they don't complain, I miss band competitions, football practices, school events,  and they don't complain.
And I am not complaining. I made my choices. I chose my children years ago when I could have chosen a social life. And I am not sorry. No mother would trade her children for anything in this world. But it's a lonely life, as a single parent. When your child walks for the first time, there is no one to call to come and see. When you attend the ball games, you sit alone. When you are not smart enough to figure out the math homework, there is no one to ask. And when you are exhausted and crabby, there is no one else to deal with whiney children (and if your children never whine-congratulations, perfect parent. Stop reading this and go shine your halo)
I look in the mirror as I "pretty up" for work, and I see an aging former sorority girl wearing more make up than I did a few years ago. It hides dark circles from lack of sleep worrying about bills, future, school, children left alone too long  while I work. I look out the window and I see a beautiful fall day and think of a dozen fun things I'd love to do with "somebody"-take a walk, run a trail, pick out a pumpkin...I notice the grass that needs to be cut, but which I haven't the time for and I am reminded of all that waits when you have the job of two and are one. I pet my cat and think of what a cliche I am as I put down my book...I am a single mom, I made this choice. I think of my daughter, performing in a band competition I won't see as I have to work, my son spending the day with his dad (because that's how split custody works) and I finish up and go to work....because that is how this life works.

Marshall, Ed, and Me.....

One of the managers of the store I work at is one of those fantistically funny, confident fearless women I have always wanted to be. Actually, all of the managers I work for are wonderful, admirable, confident women; but this one also has some priceless sayings that are all her own. Megan is the type of person who, if she hears you (And by you, I mean me) whining about something, she offers a solution or idea...which is how I came to be trying on yoga pants at the end of my shift despite my mortal fear of what they would look like on my 30+ body. (If you don't know what yoga pants are, look them up on the internet..try Urban Dictionary, it's very helpful) While browsing about for fun clothes to outfit me in my eternal quest to appear cool, she asked a simple question "what size?" and like a deer in headlights...I didn't answer.
 Don't get me wrong, I spoke but the answer didn't come from me. I know what sizes I wear in the clothes we sell, I have plenty of them at home and I can read the  tags. That wasn't the size I gave though, which prompted laughter and the question "Who are you?" from Megan as she grabbed a sweatshirt in the right size and shooed me into the fitting rooms. I'm sure my manager had no idea that at that moment she was looking not at Jean Ann who comes smiling into work every day with her Ipod headphones blaring some obscene rapper, but at Jean Ann who was hearing that voice screaming in her head that she could never possibly fit into these tiny clothes....Jean Ann who is fat and ugly...Jean Ann who doesn't deserve to have fun friends like Megan....
Anyone who has known me for very long knows that Recovery is more than just my favorite Eminem cd. I went on my first diet when I was about 9, and had a full blown eating disorder by 14. I finally started treatment and Recovery about 6 years ago, at that point it hurt to sit in chairs. I weighed about what my 11 year old does now. Everyone has their own approach, but what saved me (and I am not being overdramatic here, because I believe with every bone in my body that saved is the word I should use) was the book Life Without Ed by Jenni Schaefer. It was about the therapy approach she learned, where you see the eating disorder, or "Ed" as we call him, as an abusive relationship. A bit like the one my favorite rapper sings about in Love the Way You Lie...and slowly I have  come to understand that the feelings about my body are not mine, and I learned to "talk back" and that the image I see in the mirror is not necessarily real. I learned that I didn't "like the way it hurts" anymore, and that everything I believed about myself was lies...and the hard work of recovery began.
The last 3 years have been pretty good, Recovery is a fight but it's one I had been winning. I've become a different person, as I had never known myself as an adult without "Ed" telling me how to live. In the meantime Jenni wrote another book, about moving past Recovery-that daily battle with Ed-to Recovered, and I realized life could get even better. There is life without this voice. I've seen it, I saw it when I had the first normal shopping trip of my life about 3 years ago....I saw it when I tried on a pair of jeans and just thought "these look good!" No other voices, just mine ( I bought them, thank you Justin Timberlake). I saw it when my kids and I went to Texas and who cares if I skipped a day or two of exercise. I saw it when I started running and understood that I had to feed my body for it to work properly and I ran a 10K.
But this last year has been one of the most stressful of my life, and it seemed all of that wonderful progress of Recovery was thrown in my face.  It was a hard ugly year, full of fear and frustration and my old friend Ed has been right there to "help" me through it. Or he's been trying....calling...texting....sending me a facebook friend request...
He's noticed that those fantastic jeans are a little tight (and he's right, they are); he's pointed out that one more mile even when I'm exhausted or I don't have time is a necessity; he's noticed that tummy that is sticking out a little more than it used to; he's noticed which sizes fit and which don't. He's the guy who catches me in the mirrors at work and sees how "old" and "tired" and "heavy" I look, even though I'd knock someone out who ever spoke to one of my coworkers or clients like that. In other words, the work of Recovery has gone from work to a fight to some days an all out war again.....
September is National Recoevery Month and I write this blog not so anyone will feel sorry for me or look at me different or notice if I am eating my lunch or not. My recovery and my life are my responsibility; I may have learned that my "Ed" is not me, but I have the choice of whether to listen and obey or not. But I doubt I am the only person you know who hears him. I write this blog because chances are you know someone else who is, was, or might soon be struggling with an eating disorder. We look like you, we act like you. No one chooses to have an eating disorder. No one wakes up one day and says "I want to destroy my life with food, or I want to starve myself to death"; research tells us it is much more than that. Just as the research tells me I have literally damaged my brain to the point I really don't see what's in the mirror, research also tells me my brain chemistry may have set me up for an eating disorder long before I started worrying about "fat." Eating disorders are complex illnesses that are treated like fads in our country and ignored by insurance companies while people suffer in sillence because of social stigma. I write this for awareness and compassion, it's time to be okay talking about eating disorders and it's time to be educated.
My favorite song on Recovery-the cd- by my favorite rapper is Not Afraid. Eminem released the song and cd about the time I started struggling again. He sings about "going to that place to get to this one" and I listen to this song sometimes when I feel like I'm slipping. I remember that place and I know this life (even if I have to suck it in to wear those jeans) is better. I much prefer the voice of Marshall Mathers in my head to Ed these days, so much so that I saved up and went to see Eminem in concert this summer. I waited 10 hours...in 100 degree heat....the last 5-6 of those standing...without water...to be on the front row. My body could not have done that when Ed was in charge, it wasn't strong enough. When that little snotty girl tried to push her way to the front row,  it was my strong  legs and butt that pushed right back; those same legs Ed likes to call fat. And when Eminem asked us girls if we had ever been in a dysfunctional relationship, I screamed yes...and sang along to Love the Way You Lie. I screamed until I was hoarse, I jumped, I danced, I waved (he waved back, Youtube it, I'm not crazy) and I was by myself, Ed free. I didn't wait for any of my friends to decide to buy tickets, I wanted to see Eminem so much, so I really did go alone.  But I was not afraid, and I am not afraid now. It's time for me to do the hard work of answering that question "who are you?" for myself because I have seen too much of this Life Without Ed and I won't go back.

Our Job

One of the most embarrassing moments of my parenting career happened the other day. Unlike some of the more public parenting fiascos of my children's younger years (supermarket checkout aisles, church), this one happened in the privacy of my own home as my daughter and I were listening to the song Made in America by Kanye and Jay-Z. I was raving about how much I love the song when my daughter-after hearing the lyric "sweet Queen Coretta"- looked at my and blankly asked "who is Coretta?". I was stunned, horrified, and then right out embarrassed. How could my child know who Beyonce is but not Coretta Scott King?

My first response was to roll my eyes and mutter "what do you learn in school?" (grumble grumble) But then I realized; it's not their job-it's mine. It's my job to raise my child, both of my children, in a home that knows and understands the history of our country and the people who are important to it. And as I sit here on the eve of the tenth anniversary of 9/11, I am reminded again how important it is that we teach our children those things we remember-- simply because they don't.
I am not sure how much twentieth and twenty-first American history kids learn in school today. I know when I taught and events from the last 20-30 years would come up, they seemed woefully uninformed. Challenger, Columbine, Rodney King, Princess Diana, Waco, and the first Persian Gulf War are all discussions we have had at my house because they meant nothing to my children. Even more, I remember in the classroom, teaching a lesson to freshman about the Kennedy assassination and their complete lack of understanding that Reagan wasn't President in the 1960's. I remember explaining the Oklahoma City bombing to my children as we drove to Texas one time because we saw the sign for the memorial; the name Tim McVeigh had no significance to them.

We live in an information age, kids can Youtube anything they want. When I taught the Kennedy lesson, they could youtube the Zupruder (which I probably spelled wrong, showing I am no history expert) film or look up autopsy pictures. But it can't teach them what I learned when my parents told me about how the nation mourned. They can Youtube film of the towers falling on 9/11 but only we can put into perspective what it FELT like to watch it that day. The feeling that the world had just turned upside down, the confusion and fear we felt. Kids may enjoy their day out of school on Martin Luther King, Jr., Day; but it our job to be sure they understand the work of civil rights is never done. They can find the picture of the firefighter carrying the baby from the Oklahoma City rubble, but only we can explain that an American is the person who parked that truck in front of that building and daycare.
The next generation-one I spent a lot of time with until I recently left the classroom-catches criticism because of their lack of repsect. But how do we expect them to have it if we don't teach it? This is a generation which has been raised with antibullying and Safe Schools laws, without the context to understand it. My children may know the lockdown procedure at their schools, but really have no understanding of what happened in the days before we knew what to do. It is my job to teach them. I believe it is my job to teach my children what terrorism really is, as they have never known life without a National Terror Threat (or as I call it the Color Thing). That terrorism is an idea-it is not about the way a person looks or what religion they practice (i.e. Tim McVeigh) but more about what they are trying to accomplish. That even though I am not old enough to remember a time of separate water fountains, I will never tolerate bigotry, prejuidice, or racism in our home. That my job as an American is to be part of the process, so that is why we stand in line to vote.
Is it the job of schools to teach history? Of course it is (thankfully, as my knowledge of the Civil War is limited to Denzel's seech in Remember the Titans), but it is ours too. As parents, friends, uncles, aunts, or just adults in this world it is our job to live it and show we have learned from it. Start tomorrow. Chances are, you know someone who may have been alive but too little to remember (or even not yet born) on 9/11. Tell that someone what a hero really is; explain why your neighbor or friend is in Afghanistan or Iraq; tell them wy there is a memorial in a field in Pennsylvania instead of another federal landmark; or look at an old picture of the New York skyline and explain how it felt the day it changed. It's our job.

Britney

I'm not sure if devoting my first blog to Britney Spears is the way to win followers or not, but bear with me for a few minutes because as you read-I think you will find there's more here than reflections on a pop princess. The truth is I probably don't need a blog-I have a twitter, a facebook and unlimited texting; there are plenty of opportunities for my inane opinions and obvious comments to be spread about the universe. But apparently, I feel the world needs to see "all the dirt running through my mind", (whistling...)
I was watching the VMA's the other night and found myself absolutely thrilled when Britney won for Best Pop Video (for Till the World Ends-which of course I bought as soon as I heard it on the radio). I was sort of surprised by my own reaction to be honest, as I am openly pro-Britney but am much more of a rap fan these days. (It was, after all, the rumor of a Kanye-Jay-Z performance that had kept me on the couch despite that dreadful preshow.) Yes, I have three of Britney's songs from Femme Fatale on my Ipod and  own the Singles; but I didn't expect to feel that win personally. Yet there I was cheering on the couch-
It was when I excitedly told my daughter-"guess what? Britney won! Ha,ha, take that all those people who trashed her and said she was done..." That it hit me..
  We've both seen rock bottom-or as one of my favorite authors said once, "rock bottom, then about 8 layers of s**t, then me"...we've both had a marriage fall apart and been left overwhelmed with the realities of divorce and parenthood...we've both battled the demons of depression....we've both been judged by our weight & appearance...we've both been talked about, gossiped about and given up on....we both dated Justin Timberlake (okay, not really...but you get the idea). 
I have an idea of what it's like to have your life fall apart, and I have a feeling Britney Spears does, too-but she got to watch hers over and over on television, the internet and in the tabloids. I know what it's like to make mistakes-big ones- and so does she; more importantly, it appears we both know how to recover, move on and make it work (I hope).
When my daughter was about two, Oops I Did It Again was released and I remember her watching Britney sing and dance on television one day. Oops I Did It Again became Katey's favorite song, she loved Britney even more than Disney princesses, and I worried a bit back then. I wasn't sure this was the best role model-Britney sold sex appeal long before Billy Rae had any ideas of pimping out Miley Cyrus- but now I think there are lessons to be learned from Britney and they are not all bad:
Learn to love yourself first-it's the best way to avoid a failed K-Fed marriage in your life
Don't grow up too fast- Britney became her family's cash cow at like 17, as parents its our job to raise our kids, not the other way around. Simply being in the adult world does not make you one
Do what you're good at- (Fellow pop singers listen here) You don't see Britney dragging an acoustic guitar on stage for a reason: she knows what she's good at-fun, catchy dance tunes that can cover her lack of vocal skills. When you find something that works for you-stick with it
Don't cheat on Justin Timberlake-That's just a given, he's JT for pete's sake.
 Oops, I got sidetracked again.
In the end, if my daughter looks up to Britney Spears, I can live with that. Because ultimately the lesson I want my daughter to learn in life-the one I want her to see in me and anyone else she admires-is: sometimes we fall, sometimes we fall really far and hit really hard. But we dust ourselves off, get up and are better for it. And we should always keep dancing till the world ends.