The Sunday Blues

We're back from a long weekend at home for Thanksgiving and it's rainy, cold and gross outside. We had such a wonderful time seeing all sides of the family, relaxing at Mom's house, eating good food and watching lots of uninterrupted sports. In a word, it was blissful.

However, now that we're home, we have laundry to do, lesson plans to write, dinner to figure out and I have to say, it just makes us both feel....blech. Sundays are always hard, and I don't think it's just for teachers. Gearing up for another week at a stressful job where you never get everything done that needs to get done is quite a hassle and it weighs heavy on our minds on Sunday nights. So much so that tonight...we surfed the internet for other jobs! Agh!

Don't get me wrong, we love teaching. But as we plan for the future and the possibility of children down the road, it's hard to imagine being a great teacher AND a great parent. I submit that it cannot be done. And rather than be a half-ass teacher and a half-ass parent, I'd rather find another job that is conducive to raising kids. One where I don't have to grade papers all night and organize lesson plans on Sundays. A 9 - 5er with no committees to be on or newsletters to write. Wouldn't that be nice?

Who am I kidding? Maybe Chud could be happy at a desk, but I certainly could not. If I'm not going to be a classroom teacher, I have to be involved in the world of education somehow. A writing specialist once told me that being a writing specialist in an elementary school allowed her to be a better mom. She didn't have a classroom to take care of, she didn't have to do all the extra things that classroom teachers have to do. So, I went searching for some sort of "specialist position" on the internet tonight, despite my adament cry of "I'll never leave the classroom!" Wouldn't you know...the Kentucky Department of Education is looking for an "Education Academic Program Consultant in Elementary WRITING." Gasp!! This person would work for the state, travel to school districts and help teachers teach WRITING. I meet all of the minimum requirements AND I even meet one of the "preferred" requirements - being a Writing Project Fellow. I basked in the glow of a state job without a classroom attached, until I realized that it would be just as much, if not more, work. Ah well. A girl can dream.

For the time being, Chud and I are going to drudge through these horrendous three weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas. The weeks which are useless to a nine year old and might evoke mutany in a high school. We'll make it through the rest of the year, and the endless Sunday nights, until we find something better that makes us both a little happier. PhD program? Perhaps. Cushy State Job? Maybe. But for now we have to be content with out little corner of the teaching world - a sometimes thankless, always demanding, but never a dull moment job.

The Peace Keeper

Who's that, hiding behind the front window curtain? Whose furry bum is peeking out from underneath?

Why, it's the shy but ever vigilant guard cat, Brown Audrey!

There she sits, day after day, watching over the goings-on of Mina Court, looking out for the girl in the blue car and they boy in the black car, making sure that everyone makes it home, safe and sound. Just enough face showing to keep an eye on things, but not enough for anyone to notice that she's there.

What a good kitty!

A Teacher's Confession

Please don't tell anyone, but I have a confession to make. I'm not a very good reader. It's true. I faked my way through most books in high school and college. It's easy if you know where to go. I abandon about 80% of the adult books I try to read. Perhaps it's because I'm a slow reader - trying to fully absorb every word before moving on to the next sentence. Perhaps it's because I have a short attention span - long, dramatic storylines with intricate symbolisms and social undertones bore the heck out of me! Most of the "must reads" that I inherit from friends (i.e. The Time Traveller's Wife and The Secret Life of Bees) just pile up on my bedside. I'm lucky to read more than a chapter or two before tossing them aside and picking up something else.

I do love Children's books, though. Recently I've rediscovered the amazing talent of Natalie Babbit in Tuck Everlasting. I always marvel at the craftiness of Cynthia Rylant and Eve Bunting in their numerous picture books. I've also fallen in love with Jerry Spinelli's Milkweed, which I firmly believe every adult should read. In fact, my list of kid's books that should be read by adults is quite extensive. But when I stand in front of the best-seller table at Barnes and Noble, I feel desperately inadequate.

Having made my confession, I would also like you to know that every once in a blue moon I stumble upon an adult book that I can't put down. The first one was The Awakening which will always be my all-time favorite word feast. There have been others, on occasion. At the moment, I find myself sitting home on a Friday night, husband asleep on the couch, third glass of wine in hand, praying for the clock to slow down so I can keep reading my book without being completely exhausted tomorrow. It's an unlikely book for me to love. I've tried reading this author before and found him very uninteresting. However, tonight I am glued to the pages of Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides. It's strange and it's slow - it took me a few weeks to really get into it. But I just started the "Third Book" and I have to tell you, I'm completely enthralled with his style of writing. I know I'm in the middle of a good book when I picture the author at their desk, spewing out words onto paper or screen, ideas swirling around their head. I find myself in awe of his talent. How does he know all of this history? How does he put the pieces of this story together out of thin air? What an amazing writer he must be. I would love to sit down and talk to him sometime!

Now that my reading confession is off my chest, I can finally sift through the reasons why I like this book and not others. I must be attracted to his particular writing style. As much as I struggle with the concept of "reading" and being "well-read" and "smart," the one thing I do love more than anything in this world is writing. That must be why I'm blogging right now instead of reading the next chapter.

I overhead a teacher say to one of MY students yesterday, as she grabbed a book from their hands and started reading the back cover, "Oh! Do you like this book? I love books. I'm a HUGE reader. I read everything. You'll have to tell me how it is. I'll probably read it soon anyway." I thought, are you kidding?? No one's buying that crap! I don't read much, but I do know that you can't read EVERYTHING. Don't patronize my kids. They're smarter than you.

I'd like to think that my kids are like me (a lofty and conceited thought, I know). But they're not going to read crap they don't like. I'll let them abandon book after book after book as long as they finally come to rest on one, good, solid, decent piece of writing that they LOVE. And then, after they read it, maybe they can picture themselves doing something like it and opening a notebook (or a blog) and writing something. Isn't that what good readers do?



p.s. make that a FOURTH glass of wine at hand - it's Friday. I'm a nerd.

A Good Day

Well, I can't get through tonight without blogging a bit about last night and today. I stayed up late to watch the election results and, like 52% of Americans, I was deeply moved and satisfied with the outcome! I remember when Obama gave a speech at the Democratic National Convention in 2004. I'd never heard of him before, but I immediately fell in love with him, which I've never done with a politician before. He has a way of moving me. Chud bought me his book "The Audacity of Hope" for Christmas, and after the first couple chapters, I thought, "Hmm. He might be on to something here."

Through the primaries I held out hope that we might, we just very well might nominate an intelligent, hard working, community organizing black man for president. Wouldn't that just be a thrill!

Then, last night, I clutched the pillows on the couch and had flashbacks of John Kerry's election when I was so SURE he would win and then he didn't. I didn't want to get my hopes up, even though everyone was saying he was a sure shot. I waited for the numbers. At 11:00, when it was "called" by the media, I could hardly contain myself.

I know lots of republicans and I immediately thought of them. I don't care what party you belong to, I don't think anyone could help but feel proud and special as we watched the coverage last night. And I'd like to take a minute to say that I thought John McCain's speech was one of the most gracious, eloquent and beautiful speeches I've ever heard. I completely changed my mind about him last night. He does put country first. Good for him.

We talked about the election in my classroom last week. Nine year olds have quite an interesting perspecitve on the whole thing. They instinctively knew that voting for Obama because he's black is not exactly right. But they also knew that Obama promised change for them and their families. They knew that he went to law school, that he worked to change the South side of Chicago, and that he is smart, well-spoken and hopeful.

I think what I love most about this election is the implications for my students. I have a classroom full of African American boys, some of which have no fathers. These boys look up to football players and rap stars. To them, life if about making money, getting on top, being famous. And now they have a president to look up to. I know that being president is about as likely as being a football player, but Obama shows them that anything is possible. That you can have GOOD CHARACTER. You can be a lawyer, a doctor, a businessman, an organizer...a president. They now see that they can be anything. I'm so hopeful for them.

When we had our morning meeting today, I almost cried. I pictured my boys (and girls) as grown ups, as young men and women, as citizens. They are dying to be old enough to vote. They are interested in Obama and what he can do. The hope in their eyes just melted my heart and I can't wait to see what the future holds for all of them. Today their future looked a little bit brighter. A door has been opened. The possibilities are endless.

Good bless America!

Apple Pie = Home

Chud and I had a wonderful weekend. We hosted our very first get-together at the new house and it was a splendid success. We're so grateful to everyone who stopped by. The weather was beautiful, the food was delish, and family, friends and neighbors were mingling like crazy. It was a wonderful weekend.

I have to say, there was one moment this weekend when I felt particularly nostalgic. All week long we worked on the yard, planned the grocery list, cleaned the house, etc. just so that I could wake up Saturday morning and make a couple of pies. I've been craving pumpkin pie since the leaves started turning, and I can't make the first pie of the year without making an apple pie as well. Why? Because that's the pie Mom makes, and it wouldn't be fall without one. I don't know what I looked forward to more: making the pies or having the party! For me, apple pie is the definition of fall, and as soon as the pie hits the oven, my senses take over and I get teary-eyed thinking about Mom's kitchen. For me, Apple Pie = Home.

Let me give you a little background. My Mom, Joyce, is one of six kids. All of them have their particular talents, but my Mom is "the pie-maker." Every holiday or gathering would not be complete without her apple pie. I remember, when I was little, everyone would make such a fuss over Mom's pies - especially the homemade crusts. Apparently they're pretty hard to do. Growing up, it seemed like every weekend from mid-October to late December was filled with pie making extravaganzas in Mom's kitchen. She had flour flying everywhere, and once she lined the pie pans, the leftover dough was used to make crackers for me and my brother. Pies were just a normal part of our weekend life, and I'm ashamed to say, I didn't really care much about how they were made. Mom tried to teach me, but I had bigger and better things to worry about; like who I was dating, where I was going to college, and what I was going to wear for the weekend.

Once I finally went to college, there weren't many people making apple pies in the dorms. I came home on the weekends with my arms full of laundry, but as soon as I walked in the door, I would drop my basket to the floor and take in a big whiff of Mom's apple pie sitting on the counter. Mmmmm....home. She continued to insist that I learn how to make one, but I was too busy. I had papers to write and beer to drink and semesters abroad to plan. No time for pie.

After I got married, Mom found the exact same 1980 copyright version of her Betty Crocker Cookbook at a yard sale. This was the one with HER crust recipe and she was so excited to find it that she bought it and gave it to me...just in case I ever wanted to try to make a pie. "Thanks," I said, and I stuck it on a shelf.

Last year I found myself craving an apple pie. I knew my first attempt wouldn't be nearly as good as Mom's and I didn't want it to be, because "Mom's Apple Pie" took years of practice to make, but I figured I might as well get started. Don't you know, that pie was pretty good! I took it to school and everyone ooh-ed and ahh-ed over the homemade crust and I started thinking..."Mom might be on to something here."

Well, this weekend was the biggest "Aha" moment for me. As I was tossing the cold water into the flour and salt, I was imagining myself as a tiny little girl, sitting in the kitchen, watching my Mom do the same thing. I started wondering if my Mom watched her Mom do that when she was little, and so on and so on. Then I started putting the pie together and fluting the edges (that's the really hard and impressive part) and I realized that it wasn't that hard at all, because I had seen HER do it so many times before. It was like my hands already knew what to do, just from watching her. It really was amazingly satisfying.

When I put the apple pie in the oven, I started cleaning up the kitchen and finally got a good whiff of the cinnamon and apple goodness coming from the oven. My whole body felt warmer, happier, cozier....just loved. I felt loved. I felt my Mother's love in her 1980's Betty Crocker recipe, I felt my grandmother's love in her six child house; I know it sounds crazy, but I felt like all the women before me finally took a minute to stop and think, "Wow, Rachael's grown up, and she can finally make a pie."

The only test was the party - and folks loved the pies. Pete ate two pieces of the apple pie and I got lots of compliments! All night long I thought about all the traditions my Mom tried to start. She would give me jewelry and say "I hope you give this to your daughter someday; I want it to be an heirloom." She even spent months on a special quilt just for me to give to my kids. She tries so hard to find things to "pass on," but the best thing you could pass on to a kid is something you teach them without even knowing. If it weren't for her, I couldn't begin to make a pie. I'm the worst cook in the world, but since I SAW her do it, I could picture myself doing it, and when I see myself doing it, I picture they way she used to do it, and suddenly - it all makes sense. I don't know why I never wanted to make pies before. I guess it's all a part of growing up and being a Mom and saying to yourself, "This is the way things are done." And when you have a party, you make a pie.

I'm sure I'll try to teach my daughter how to make pies and I'm sure she'll tell me it's silly and she doesn't want to learn. But when she finally gets the gumption to make her own first pie all by herself, I'll be there to reminder her that pies are what we do. Fasciottos and Neltners, we know how to make pies. It won't fix the economy or whisk us off to exotic places, but it makes where ever we are feel like home and that's why we do it.

Apple Pie = Home.

We Were Not "Right for the Fight Today!"

Well, thanks to a lovely lady at my school, Chud and I had four UK Football tickets dropped into our laps on Thursday afternoon. We called Michael and Emily and were not surprised at all when they agreed to go with us. We woke up bright and early this morning to head on over to Lexington, and hence, our UK Football adventures began.

Michael had some free tickets to the Buffallo Trace Burbon tent, so that was our first stop (at 11:00 in the morning). We enjoyed some bourbon before heading to Emily's cousin's tailgating spot in the parking lot. Then we made our way to our seats, and let me tell you, walking in to that stadium was SO exciting! Everyone was cheering, the field looked great, the band was fufilling their pepping duties and all was right with the world.

The first three quarters of the game were very exciting - we were winning, and the sun was shining. Then, in the fourth quarter, our boys suddenly decided that they didn't want to THROW the ball correctly or even CATCH the ball that was improperly thrown. (If you haven't figured it out, I don't know much about football - but I know you have to throw it and catch it to win, and that, our team did not do.)

Regardless of a disspointing loss, we still had a great time!

And if anyone out there ever needs to unload some UK football tickets - you know who to come to. We'll take those off your hands anytime!

Homeowner Heaven Part II

I cannot believe how much we got done today. Mom and Jay came down to help us paint. That was the goal: go to Lowe's, pick out a color, come home and paint the hell out of our front room, dining room and hallway. Yesterday, Chud and I moved the furniture and put painter's tape along all of the baseboards, doorways and windows, just to get ready. So when they arrived this morning, all we had to do was PAINT.

However, since we moved in, both of us have been wanting to tear up the carpet and redo the hardwood floors. This is tricky business. Best case scenario: pull up the carpet to find beautiful hardwood floors underneath that just need a good sanding and waxing. Worst case scenario: pull up the carpet to find hideous floors that would require a professional to come and redo, or that would require a professional to install new carpet.

While we were painting I tried to explain to my mother that beautiful hardwood floors were my goal, but if I had to settle for new carpet, I'd be happy to do that too, because I HATE the carpet that was already on the floor. No, we cannot afford new carpet, and our housewarming party is a few weeks away, but I would make it work. Mom and I went back and forth, back and forth, back and forth about the whole thing until finally I just shouted "Forget it!" and decided to leave the carpet where it was and deal with it later......then I spilled a gallon of paint.

I tossed Mom a rag to wipe some paint off a baseboard and by doing so, knocked over a jar of paint sitting on a piece of funrniture. It didn't just fall to the floor, either. It fell and spread paint ALL across the living room floor: one big splotch in the middle with many small streams radiating from its center. We both started screaming, Chud and Jay ran inside from the yard, and we all looked at each other as if to say, "Well, shit. Now we HAVE to tear up the carpet." Chud was chuckling inside because he wanted nothing more than to tear it up and he didn't want to say "I told you so." Mom and I went outside to clean off the paint supplies while Jay and Chud started the massive tear-up job. I couldn't bear to watch. Before I knew it, Chud came running around the corner of the house and said, "Rach, you have to come see this."

I ran inside and looked down the hallway. Don't you know, the hardwood floors were in PERFECT condition. A few staples here and there, but the holes are undetectable. It was better than "best case scenario." No sanding, no buffing, no NOTHING needed to be done. We worked for a couple of hours and got all of the carpet up, moved the furniture around to tear up the liners along the wall, pulled out all of the staples with pliers, and now we're sitting at home with beautiful hardwood floors all throughout our house. Phew!! Mom swears that God was telling me something when he made me knock over that jar of paint and I believe her. If it weren't for that, we'd still have ugly brown carpet and we'd be calling contractors for estimates on flooring in the spring. How lucky!!

So, by dinner time, we had new paint on the walls and new floors under our feet. It looks like a completely different house. I can't wait for all of you to see it!