The View

I've been thinking lately about "the view." When I visited my grandparents in Florida, they always took great pains to find a restaurant with a beautiful, unique view. We always took a table by the window in order to admire the scenery.

My best friend, when she visits from Japan, also encourages me to find a restaurant with a beautiful view. We once enjoyed a picnic inside of a vine-covered gazebo in the middle of a beautiful garden. We ate tree-ripened peaches, freshly-baked bread and cheese made from unpasteurized milk (I haven't been able to top this picnic experience yet).

My great-grandmother loved to drive and look at the lights at Christmas time. She loved the circus and the spectacle of the lady in white riding an elephant. I suppose as one ages and freedom is restricted, we further savor the ability to travel.

Yesterday I took two of our young adults and one of the younger boys out for a drive. We visited several of my favorite local spots. I wanted to linger by the lake, to sit for awhile in a shady garden and to climb the steep stairs down to the river in order to see the fish and the rocks at the bottom. They, however, were "finished" with most of the sites by the time I'd begun to settle in.

I hope to teach them that "the real thing" is better than any picture or postcard. I also hope that, at a minimum, they remember a few of their mom's favorite views.

Clara's Recovery

I've been thinking lately about the children's story, Heidi, by Johanna Spyri, trying to recall details. It has been many, many years since I read the book or viewed the Shirley Temple version of the movie (I'm super excited to see that the Swiss released an updated movie version in 2015).

Apparently, my childhood "take away" from the story was that "goats milk and fresh air make you healthy."

I'd forgotten about wheelchair bound Clara, Peter's jealous behavior and the book's religious theme (I'm determined to re-read the story, however. It's now en route thanks to Amazon. I've also promised to read the story with the younger boys who sheepishly admitted that they'd never heard of Heidi).

We recently purchased a milking French Alpine goat and her doe kid.

Milking is coming along. I'm learning how to feed her properly and to reduce her stress (she is a Nervous Nelly - wary of the dog, cats, moving objects...). I look forward to the daily 6 p.m. milking hour.

Her milk is beautifully white and creamy. I add it to my coffee and pour it over cereal.

The internet tells me that goat's milk has many health benefits, not the least of which is reducing inflammation.

Call me crazy but I sense that her milk is already helping us to feel more energetic. It could also be the fresh air of spring (we won't count yesterday's May 15th snowflakes).

Fresh air + goat's milk + springtime = pure joy.

A Bucket of Wings for Dinner

This week Mr. WestBerryWorkingDad offered to take on ALL of the after-school and dinner-making duties (this is my position when he is working out of town). It was an exceptionally busy week for me at work: income tax deadline at the accounting firm and my thesis defense. Additionally, I'm searching for a "real job" now that my degree is complete so I've been spending a good deal of time interviewing and applying.

When Mr. WestBerryWorkingDad (WBWD for short) is finally working from his home base, he plays catch up from the weeks he spends away. He has also tried to juggle extra projects at home and several doctor/dentist appointments that needed to be squeezed into his schedule.

This week's pace of life bears a striking resemblance to some of the "peak weeks" I've experienced while he has been away. These are the weeks when life throws a little extra my (our) way, like freak accidents (a truck ramming in and through a wall at school, for instance). Birthdays, concerts, school dances, bills, broken doors, sick pets....an "all inclusive," exceptionally exhausting week.

Last night I came home to a familiar scene...familiar because I have reached these depths in my darkest hours. Not a clean dish in the kitchen (dirty dishes piled so high they were about to topple), loads and loads of clean laundry to fold on the dining room table, and very little real food in the fridge. Mr. WBWD had taken the kids out for a dinner to the local diner for a bucket of wings (exactly what I would have ordered at my lowest moments when the boys know I have little resistance left). He was trying to watch a hockey game but couldn't stay awake (this looks like me on the bed, trying to read my homework, fully asleep with books spread across the mattress)(I also snore).

Today I teach and then run to the winery for a "second shift." Tomorrow morning I'll be back at the winery for an all-day on-my-feet tour. But then on Sunday...I'm...(holding my breath)....going on vacation!!!!!!!

I can't wait to spend some adventuring time with the kids and see my family. Wishing Mr. WBWD could go too.

Your Encouraging Word of the Day

A "single" working mother-teacher hears very few words of encouragement. I came fully to this realization when I thought back over my day yesterday.

The boys generally ask, "where's my laundry?" and "what's for dinner," but it's fairly rare to hear them offer up words of encouragement.

Writing up discipline reports, grading papers (and realizing that a large percentage of your students failed a test), and picking up crumbled homework papers and worksheets folded into airplanes from the classroom floor really wears me down.

My husband is the guy who offers hugs at the end of the day and small acts of kindness (like helping with the dishes). I miss that when he is away on his out-of-state work rotation.

I'm grateful for the teacher who works in the classroom next door. Yesterday she surprised me with a gift bag full of treats from my favorite gourmet food store, "Honey Girl." (As fate would have it I stepped in that same honey this morning, after the boys had helped themselves to my treats and then spilled it onto the floor next to the microwave that isn't currently in service after I blew the circuit trying to make dinner last night).

I feel as if I will NEVER finish my research (I can't, after all, even finish washing up a dirty laundry pile).

A male student in my college courses is acting inappropriately toward me and toward other students in the class. He is aggressive and volatile. I reported his behavior to my mentor and the tutoring department after experiencing horrible nightmares (he called me to vent and spew bizarre complaints like "those Spanish people didn't give me a strawberry milkshake and it was hot out!")

Still, God sent a beautiful sunrise this morning.

I'm reminded to be an encouragement to others - chances are there's another "orphan" mom of boys/teacher like me out there somewhere.

The Missing 6th Grader

6th Grade (between eleven and twelve years of age) is such a clutsy time of life.

This morning, our 6th Grader almost placed his full glass of milk on the counter. Instead, it fell to the floor, spilling all over his new tackle box, the cupboard doors, the kittens and...all over me (dressed in my clean work clothes). In a rush to meet the bus, he had no time to clean up the mess.

Getting to the bus stop on time has been a hit and miss activity as well. On Monday the bus passed by without picking up W. I yelled and screamed at him and then drove him to school, an "errand" that made me late for work. This was the most stressful part of the situation (arriving late to work). I took all of my frustration out on W - delivering far more "discipline" than I should have given the circumstance.

On Tuesday he left for the bus without eating breakfast or saying goodbye. In fact, I went to his room to wake him, and then I couldn't find him five minutes later. There was no evidence that he had gotten dressed. His shoes were still in the entryway. It was a good 30 minutes before the bus was supposed to drive by; I called and called outside but there was no answer.

I left for work wondering if he had been abducted, or if he was hiding. It was a terrible feeling.

Later, I called the school. The secretary assured me that he had arrived to homeroom.

I don't remember going through such a difficult period with our two older boys. It has, however, been 7 years since we last lived through this phase. I remember "Harry Potter" and the "Twighlight" series, football and basketball practices, and watching movies with friends. This time around there is a smart phone, heavy metal music, and a real "hit and miss" with visits with friends (largely due to our work and travel schedules).

It's time to give some thought to how we can slow down and help this young man "hit the mark."

The New Terrible Two

Saying "no" at work is not part of my nature. I tend to be the creative, enthusiastic type who, when asked to generate an idea or share an opinion is perfectly willing to do so. I tend to share food, share a smile, share humorous stories, and so on.

However, after being told by my boss that I needed to "step up" my game and share more, I'm feeling resentful and cranky.

I ripped all of the photos and technology tips that I'd posted on my office door down. I packed up ALL of the the silverware, coffee, salad dressings, apples, candy, and flavored water that I'd purchased for the office.

I'm boxing up my collection of ed tech books (that I keep on my office shelves to lend out). They go home with me today as does the groovy paper I'd stocked the supply room with.

The walls are bare. When asked about my ideas for projects during this morning's one on one meeting with my Dean I firmly (ok, feebly) stated, "I'm no longer interested in those projects."

And I feel miserable.

In fact, I found myself walking through the halls of the Theater building practicing my "NO" like a two-year-old.

Self talk, "Stay firm, sister!"

"I'm as proud of what we don't do as I am of what we do." -- Steve Jobs

The Black Mold on My Shiny New Job

My "dream job" has turned into a disturbing, bad dream.

Several of my co-workers are covered with skin irritations and open sores. Our eyes burn and sometimes people go home with crusty, "mucous-covered" eyelashes. Migraine headaches. Coughing and wheezing.

Since I started this job six months ago, the suggestion of a "sick building" has been a constant topic of conversation, especially after a long weekend when people start to feel better (once they have spent some time on the outside).

Yesterday a mechanical closet near our office suite was quarantined by maintenance personnel after it was found to have walls covered in black mold. Ceiling tiles, upon removal and inspection, also show evidence of insect infestation and pervasive mold.

The institution could move us to another area, perhaps, but to date there has been no official communication about the topic. My boss seems blind-sided by this and other serious situations.

I have ideas about the mold, team-building, the workplace bully, office communication, marketing, student advisement, technology, and more.

But nobody seems to listen.