Kisses...

To everyone we love. You make our lives full of happiness and joy!

Happy Valentine's Day!

Love, Joe, Sarah, and of course, Alice

If It's a Broken Heart Then Face It...

There are some days, especially in the life of a high school English teacher/mom when the last thing I want to do is wake up my 9 month old at 6:30 in the morning when it seems that she would be perfectly content to sleep until 7:00. Then, I feel guilty because Joe and I feel the need to put her in the laundry basket (yes, the laundry basket) so she won't crawl over to my curling irons and pull them down (I learned well from Kristin). I don't really feel too guilty about that, seeing as how Alice's favorite toys in the world are clean socks and dryer sheets. The bad part is when I have to put her coat on and walk her to the baby sitter at 7:00 in the morning. Sometimes she's fine, but sometimes, like today, she wanted to stay home and play with the socks in the laundry basket. It breaks my heart.

Then, I think about it all the way to school and try to figure out if it's too late to call in sick for the rest of my life, or if we really need that pesky health insurance that my job provides, or that extra couple thousand a month that gets us through when Joe's commisson-only job is slow. I sit here in my classroom trying to figure out how to get through the day with the least amount of effort--and even consider popping in a movie (something that, as an English teacher, is akin to a four-letter word. Huge no-no) . I snap at my lovely students, because they all manage to ask the same question individually, causing me to recite the same answer 25 times EACH class period. Then, I look at myself in the mirror and wonder what happened to that teacher, who a mere 6 years ago, was staying till six o clock at night to plan "fun" things for my students, welcoming questions, and getting excited over Chapter 7 Day in The Great Gatsby.

I vaguely remember that I used to be pretty, too. My hair used to be long and shiny, and I curled it everyday. I wore makeup and red lipstick, which sounds slightly like was working the local corner, but actually looked quite nice with my fair complexion and dark hair. I had great clothes. I particularly remember a pair or khaki slacks (size 10--and a little big) and a forest-green, 3/4 length sleeve GAP sweater that clung to, what I thought was my fat rolls, but looking back, I realize they were wonderful curves. And heels. Believe it or not, I used to wear high-heels everyday to work. And my husband would come home to a--maybe not clean, but orderly--house and dinner. Every night. I wonder what happened to that person, because now my wardrobe consists of cheap jeans from Wal-Mart (size 14--kill me) and various purple hoodies so I won't get accused of not dressing appropriately at work (at least I wear a school color). I barely do my hair in the morning, so I am beginning to look like one of those teachers you had in high school that you always asked yourself, "Doesn't she have a mirror at home?" The answer to that question is, yes, but who cares anymore? I hardly wear makeup anymore, so when I decide to, I always get the comment, "Wow! You look nice!" like it's an unbelievable phenomenon. Who is this person?

I used to love my job. I used to love the students. I used to tolerate the parents. Now, I am so bummed about having to come to work I don't even bother looking decent. I get annoyed when my students walk into my classroom and disturb my depressing solitude. I avoid parents at all cost, which isn't really that big a deal, because students tend to do better (in school work, anyway) when they are allowed to solve their own problems.

I come home and my heart breaks again as I fumble with the keys to open the door. Alice starts jumping and oooh-ing in excitement and thumping the door to get inside and be home. What am I doing to my daughter? I am a mediocre teacher, and absent mother, and a horrible housewife. I'm not even that great of a wife. I'm not my husband's girlfriend. I'm my husband's broken clock that no one quite knows why he keeps around.

Then, I listen to a song that reminds me what I have to do:
"Calm down, deep breaths. And get yourself dressed
Instead of running around, and pulling on your threads
and breaking yourself up.

If it's a broken part replace it,
if it's a broken arm, then brace it,
If it's a broken heart, then face it
and hold your own, know your name
and go your own way.
And everything will be fine.

Hang on, help is on the way
and stay strong, I'm doing everything.
Hold your own, know your name
and go your own way and everything will be fine.

Are the details in the fabric? Are there things that make you panic?
Are your thoughts results of static cling? Are things that make you blow,
and no reason, go on and scream? If you're shocked it's just the fault of
faulty manufacturing.

Everything will be fine. Everything in no time at all.
Everything... Hearts will hold.
Hold your own, know your name, Go your own way.
Everything will be fine."

So I wipe my tears, pull out the makeup bag I keep here "just in case," and put on some red lipstick. I try to remember the person singing this song to me is Heavenly Father, and he's reminding me that "if it's a broken part, replace it; if it's a broken arm, the brace it; if it's a broken heart, then face it." Basically, straighten your shoulders, show some gumption, as Scarlett O'Hara says, and get about your business, because "help is on the way...I'm doing everything."

And I get up, write today's lesson the board, and get to it. I remind myself I have someone taking care of my baby so I can help other people's babies.

Everything will be fine.