I've Switched Teams!

As much as I love blogger, I've moved my blogs to skirt!.com, specifically: http://skirt.com/blog

PLEASE check out the blogs there and check out skirt! - an archaic (aka paper) and online publication that is for the fashionista and feminista. Who says we can't fight for equal rights for all and look pretty doing it? Right on! Plus, I choose to write there because I passed their screening process and the pressure is on to have other writers read and comment on my stuff in a far more public venue. Scary! And exciting!

Peace-
Jodene

Natural Disasters in the Granola State

People find great pleasure in mocking Californians. I suppose it’s easy. We even mock ourselves. When I taught in San Jose, my colleagues called our grade level teachers the “granolas”- the fruits, nuts and flakes. Despite being grossly politically incorrect, the label was accurate.

Friends outside of California seem to think we experience daily earthquakes. I’m cautious in sharing about the recent earthquake when I realize I could have been killed by books as I watched the six foot bookshelf by my chair shake and lurch. My three year old stood in the doorway, eyes bulging and mouth frozen in a giant “O”. I scooped him up and we stood in the door frame, his arms around my neck as he repeatedly whispered, “Scary”. I rather enjoyed the rocking and rolling sensation, but unlike my kid, it wasn’t my first and I knew the earth would eventually calm its self.

I cancelled class yesterday to rush home after my husband told me our neighborhood was on fire. Southern California has the distinct pleasure of experiencing earthquakes in addition to floods, fires, draught and an occasional bout with locust. I’ve heard out-of-staters claim it’s God’s punishment on us all for the filth that oozes out of Hollywood. Perhaps God is targeting the San Fernando Valley- top producer of pornography, but I rather doubt it. I have my own theory. God is using Darwin’s theory of natural selection. You have to be hearty and a little nutty- back to the granola theory- to make it in California- a place where a half million dollar three bedroom home seems like a steal and traffic can triple or double the time and frustration of a commute. I believe God is simply trying to prepare Southern Californians for when the state becomes an island after the next huge earthquake. We’ll need to be more resourceful, understand the logic of over-inflated property values and deal with natural catastrophes since the government will stop caring so much about our little far off island. It will primarily be out of jealousy. It’s just a theory.

New Favorite Quote

"Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing."
~Benjamin Franklin

Pregnant or Just Getting Chunky?

I took a pregnancy test last night. Not that I could possibly be pregnant, but it was the only viable explanation for my burgeoning belly. Granted I’ve been training for a 10K, but I’ve also been eating for triplets lately. On Tuesday, my grandma turned 90, so I took her to an all-you-can-eat Japanese food buffet. Please note- buffet is never a good idea. I try to eat my money’s worth or at least the equivalent to my weight - in food. I tried to eat all the foods I don’t typically consume- like spicy lobster balls. Those aren’t a staple food at my house and so I justified eating five, along with two plates of sushi, a plate of desserts, and other things I probably should not have consumed in the same month. That night, my grandma wanted Kentucky Fried Chicken- her other favorite food. Something she remembers that I’ve temporarily forgotten is that the key to an acceptable number on the scale is the same calories in as out. She walks each morning and rides her stationary bike. That’s why she’s 90 and still living independently. My grandma can eat whatever the hell she pleases because she’s smart about it. Me- I eat until I’ve made myself sick and my fingers are so swollen with MSG and sodium the next day that I can barely type.

The next night I had a meeting at a Chinese food restaurant. Again, I thought it a good idea to order things I don’t usually eat. I don’t usually eat them because they are mostly dishes of pork and deep fried, high caloric foods swimming in pools of salt and grease. And this would explain why in a few weeks I’ve developed a muffin top and can’t understand why my pants don’t fit the same way.

I’m not pregnant. I just need to lay off the Oreos and chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. Perhaps when I’m 90 I can splurge a little.

Best Run EVER!!

I had the best run this morning. There was no registration, singlet, time chip, cheering crowds or tiny paper cups of water and Gatorade to slip on. A friend and I shared 7.2 miles of laughs and chit-chat about pregnancy, caloric consumption, biggest let-downs and highest emotional highs, what counts as sex, overambitious colleagues and the distinct smells of the Venice Boardwalk. We were bathroom elitists and jogged with full bladders to Santa Monica to avoid the completely contaminated lavatories of Venice. I took a corner too sharp and sliced my thigh on a branch- the same one that left her with a scar a few weeks ago.

When we got back to her home, she loaded the data from her early-birthday GPS watch to her laptop and we ooh’ed and aah’ed at the charts showing her pace, heart rate and other presumably important information from our run. We agreed to do this again- which will definitely happen on August 31st when we run the 10K Nike+ Human Race in Los Angeles.

I’ve run several marathons, 10K’s and 5K’s, but today was the absolute best run. I didn’t care about the time. It’s the furthest I’ve run since the Honolulu Marathon in December 2007. I just about killed myself in that marathon- literally. I have a scar on my knee and several thousand dollars in ER bills to prove it. Since then, I’ve given up trying to hurt myself for the sake of a faster mile. I’m not going to the Olympics and I’m certainly not going to win any races in my age group, so keeping it all in perspective is easy.

I’m looking forward to the 10K at the end of the month. I’ll run with 3 other friends that I trained with for the Honolulu Marathon. They’ve been running together since then, but I’ve not been part of their group. While in Honolulu, I forgot why I was there and ran with strangers. I’m not making that mistake again. I’ll run with friends and at their pace. Whatever it might be. I could be philosophical and compare it to life, but I’ll leave that up to you.

Town-bred Bumpkin Dandy!

For all the days I ditched high school to go to the beach, the state of California had no right to give me a diploma. Shame on them. Worse than that, I avoided Chemistry and Moby-Dick and still made it to college to eventually end up with a Ph.D. Life's not fair. I'm sure the universe will get even with me shortly.

However, in my attempt to right an educational wrong, I am now reading Moby-Dick and have joyfully discovered my new favorite line in literature! Here it goes:

"No town-bred dandy will compare with a country-bred one- I mean a downright bumpkin dandy- a fellow that, in the dog-days, will mow his two acres in buckskin gloves for fear of tanning his hands" (p. 126). Can you believe that? Buckskin gloves? Give me a break! Crazy town-bred bumpkin dandy. Sheesh.

I Look 12.

A few months ago I decided it was time for a change- which always ends badly with hair scissors. Tragic is a far more appropriate word when my hand is guiding the sheers. Yet I tend to forget this as I snip, snip, snip and feign shock at chunks of hair on the counter top and eventually recall that I was going to leave haircutting to the professionals.

Rather than going haphazardly at the hairs from the front of my crown right down to my chin, I did what any reasonable novice might do. I consulted www.howto.com. My search, "how do I cut my bangs" led to a homemade video which should have tipped me off- or at least caused a few moments of hesitation, but it didn't. I played the video through once to see how it ended. The model looked exactly the same in the end. How hard could it be, I asked myself in the mirror. Let me speed up this story to the ending...

Hair stylists do not generally work on Mondays- except by appointment- which is why my hair stylist had her car in the shop last Monday. She lives around the corner and agreed to let me pick her up and take us to the shop for a professional cut. It had to be Monday. The next day I had a dissertation defense meeting and just my luck, the chair of the dissertation was also the chair of the search committee that did not hire me to their top notch university. Not that bangs would make much of a difference, but I felt better knowing my hair was not cut by a novice following a novice video on www.howto.com. Unfortunately, my bangs now make me look like I'm 12.

Why my hair must suffer during my obsessions with change is illogical. As I said, it typically ends badly. Either I get rid of the sheers or stop wrestling with the desire for change. Perhaps I'll search www.howto.com for how to resolve this dilemma.

We Need a Hooker

Last night I was informed by my 3 year old that we need to buy a hooker. When I asked where I might find one, he told me to check Target. I’ve not looked for a hooker at Target so I had no right to dismiss his suggestion and will check the next time I go. After peeking in his room to see why he might need a hooker, I realized he was standing in a pile of baseball hats, trying to hang them on the four hooks on the back of his door. Clearly, he needs more than just a few hookers.

Speaking of hookers, or at least the way the media likes to portray the women in the lives of men in politics who aren’t legally married to the married men, I am amused by the news coverage of John Edward’s “mistress” and possible mother of his “love child”. I appreciate the media’s consideration in emphasizing that his love affair occurred between his wife’s bouts with cancer. Noble. I’m not sure how this helps him given the average American pouring over news reports of this man who might have been President.

What if Edwards had won the Democratic nomination? What if this "news" had been leaked on November 3rd? Could America forgive this man? Apparently not. As I read through one story after another about this cheating, morally corrupt, good-for-nothing… you get the point. No- he will not be forgiven. What makes it particularly messy is the possible pay off to keep the “mistress” quiet. Not terribly original, but we do love a messy affair with scandal and suspense. Just not when it comes to our political leaders. We certainly are a self-righteous group of voters.

And back to the 3 year old's dilemma. I wonder if hookers come in a variety of colors and sizes. I'll need to look into this further at Target.

Smelling the Roses

My three year old stopped to smell the roses. Literally. Deep purple roses. He stood on tip-toe for a long sniff. Stopping to smell the roses. Imagine that.

Temper, Temper.

I lost my temper and kicked a file cabinet the other night. It wasn’t the wisest thing to do. I rarely lose my temper in an overtly physical way and this incident was particularly costly. The inside of my foot is not black and blue; rather, more of a deep purple and red and incredibly tender. My big toe hurts to wiggle. I thought by the third day the swelling would go down, but it still hurts to walk.

My timing was off. I’m supposed to be training for a 10K and couldn’t imagine running with my foot in its current state. I forced it into my running shoe yesterday to see how it felt. Not good.

My family is not the screaming, kicking and throwing type. We let things fester. My mom lost her temper once. She hurled a coffee cup, hot coffee included, at my dad. She missed and the cup shattered against the wall, leaving a black stain down the side of the wall to the carpet. The stain was removed within the hour and we moved on. They joke about it today.

I ran four miles this morning and cursed my lack of control with each step. This afternoon I watched my boys race down the sidewalk and would typically be running right behind them- but not today.

Temper, temper.

Healthy Educators & Hope

So I had this idea while running. During my first year of teaching I contracted bronchitis, strep throat and my favorite... chicken pox. While chicken pox- or as my son appropriately calls them, "chicken pops"- is a nightmare at a young age, you can only imagine the joy of being 23 and discovering pox in your throat and other more personal and tender places. The bronchitis and strep throat came from my students but ironically, the chicken pox came from the occupational therapist who worked with our students in the Special Day Class.

So here was the idea. Since the elementary teacher in Wichita, Kansas is blamed for everything from the price of gas to the on-going war in Iraq this causes quite a bit of stress. Not only is she solely responsible for the literacy crisis, math crisis, science crisis and lack of accountability with today's youth, but she still has to plan engaging lessons that inspire and motivate young minds. And don't forget the parents- making allies can take some time and energy. Sure, she has summer. But not really. I can not recall taking a full summer off since I was teaching summer school or doing temp work to make extra money which was really just necessary money to get through to the next school year. Given this amount of stress, I questioned what would have helped me as a new teacher and decided, somewhere between mile 3 and 4 of my early morning run, that the answer was so obvious: a healthy mind, body and spirit.

I shared this idea with the 63 students in a preservice course I am teaching this summer. These are future K-12 teachers. I asked how many people run. Very few hands went up. I then shared the idea of the Nike Plus World 10K run at the end of August and how I'd like to start a running club or some sort of organization for future teachers and discussed the benefits of health for themselves and as a model to their future students. The conversation picked up. In the end I promised to start a website (I have yet to figure out how to do that but I'm working on it) and the positive response was overwhelming. I came home to find 4 emails about this future website and building a community and the emails continue to come in two days later.

I believe in healthy minds, bodies and spirits. I also believe that people are hungry for hope and answers and communities. The economy and every day stressors can leave us feeling pessimistic, but even the promise of a website and inspiration elicited personal stories of wanting to lose weight, get healthy and feel good about themselves. As educators, we give a great deal to others which is both our privilege and challenge for we still need to care for the self. I'd like to hope I inspired others who will inspire another generation. We could all use a little more hope these days- along with healthier minds, bodies and spirits.

If you're interested in the Nike Plus World 10K run on Aug 31, go to: http://nikeplus.nike.com/nikeplus/humanrace/index.jsp

All In A Day

According to my bedside alarm, today is Tuesday- Monday ended 23 minutes ago. According to my internal clock, today does not end until I slip into REM. Therefore, I have kept the promise to myself to post a blog each day.

I came home less than an hour ago. It's been a full day. I woke up at 6:00 am to run, which seems like the wise thing to do after accepting an invitation from a friend to run the Nike+ World 10K run at the end of the month. During my last "official" run- the Honolulu Marathon, I nearly killed myself. Literally. My heart and breathing stopped as I lay in the back of the ambulance on the way to the ER. I could not remember my name or those of my family members, but I remembered how close I was to the finish line and to breathe when the medic hollered to the ambulance driver that "we're losing her". I saw my children's faces and decided it was indeed a good idea to breathe. But that's another blog.

After running, I showered, got the boys ready, took the older one to summer camp, went to the grocery store all before 10:00 am. I appeased anxious students via email, faxed disclosures on two pieces of property in Arizona we're trying to sell, searched listings for the next home purchase, made chicken noodle soup for the three year old, drew a few pictures of Superman and the Mach 5 for the three year old, ate a turkey sandwich and picked up the eight year old before 3:15. The rest is blurry between buying a padded helmet strap before football practice at 6:00, cooking hamburgers, printing mapquest directions, appeasing the three year old who ran into a stucco wall and became the first injury at the football practice and then remembered to attend a meeting at 7:30. Thankfully the coach brought the eight year old to the high school where the meeting was being held for team managers- a job I voluntarily share with another parent. This was after the three year old announced he had to go to the bathroom with no bathrooms in sight. With no time to stop at home for the hamburgers sitting on the counter for the football player, we zipped through Carls Jr drive thru for chicken strips and headed to Long Beach to pick up my niece to watch the boys while I teach tomorrow and my exhausted co-parent inspires educators in Virginia on no sleep following a red eye and 3,500 mile trip from the other side of the country.

This is an average day. It does not end when the clock strikes midnight and I do not abide by the traditional rules of time and days measured and established long ago by our ancestors.

*Note: I fell asleep and eight hours later, am posting from my office. I still contend I wrote it before the deadline.

Middle Generation

Weekend day trips to Carlsbad are becoming more frequent. The round trip from my door to my parents' front door is 110 miles and typically takes two hours, assuming traffic is minimal. Two hours in the car is plenty of time to reconcile my role as one in the middle generation while I periodically glance in the rear view mirror at my boys playing together in the backseat. They are the reason I go to Carlsbad- to bring joy and laughter to my parents who are feeling the lull of retirement and health challenges. I recall trips to Los Angeles from our home in North County, practically the same distance, so that my sister and I could spend time with my mom's parents. This is what it means to be the middle generation.

At 9:00 a.m., an hour after I had planned to leave, I packed the boys, one Batman and one filthy gray back pack, a Batman computer and snacks into the Camry. The three year old wanted to know if he had to go to daycare and squealed in delight when I reminded him we were going to see the grandma and the paw paw in the blue house. I tossed my bag- loaded with clean underwear and shorts for the boys, my laptop and charger and wallet- onto the passenger seat. Two hours later, birthday cake in hand, homemade cards and grins- we greeted my parents and the hours stretched on in true lazy day style of chatting and swimming and made up games on the front room floor with paw paw.

After seven hours, two backpacks, two exhausted boys full of candy and beef Jerky, wet bathing suits and a bag with a laptop unopened make it back into the Camry. My parents thank me individually, whispering how much it means to the other grandparent as if it's a secret as to why these trips have become more frequent. Today we used my mom's birthday as the excuse. Last time it was to bring my grandmother down for a weekend at their house. Next time might be because school is starting soon and our schedules will fill up with pee wee football games, homework, art class and that day job I keep. And despite school starting and a full schedule beginning in September, we'll find reasons- some legitimate and some made up to be legitimate- to make day trips to Carlsbad.

I am the middle generation and while it delights me to no end to see my parents enjoying the boys, I have to admit that day trips are not the answer. We moved back to California after four years in Michigan to be close to family- but California is a long state from north to south and we need to devise a plan to bring the village model back. This is what it means to be the middle generation. It is both my privilege and challenge.

Editing

My greatest downfall as a writer is editing. While spelling and grammatical errors make me cringe, editing my thoughts before they appear on the page induces overwhelming tension and aggrevation. I do not hesitate to ask writers about their process, but inquiring about their idea-editing seems far too personal and I'd rather avoid having the question turned back on me. I can not edit an answer quick enough in my head to sound convincing.

In choosing the settings for this site, I selected the warning- "may contain adult content" just in case the nagging editor in my head loses the on-going battle with my muse.