I'm Sorry

Dear Parent Who Arrives 20-30 Minutes Early to Pick Up Your Kid from School Every Day,

I used to occasionally see you parked outside of your child's school building.

Mind you, I always glimpsed you when I was dashing around, trying to get that one last thing done before I had to grab my brood. I never encountered you because I was also that early. Ever.

Occasionally, I would envy your fantastic parking spot. Your impeccable organization that made it possible for this to be a regular occurrence for you--not just something that happened by random accident on the Monday after "fall back" Sunday because you forgot to change your car clock.

But mostly I judged you. I wondered why you didn't have anything better to do with your time. I thought maybe you needed to get a job. Volunteer. Cut the apron strings. Let Precious Junior-kins walk (gasp!!) a few car-lengths or maybe even a block to your car.

Well, I owe you the most sincere apology.

Now I am you.

Here I sit, 30 minutes before school dismisses, in front of my son's school. Parked underneath the ONLY shade tree on the street.

I have no idea what your reasons are for doing it this way, but I can tell you mine:

1. The student body of this school is BIG. Close to 2,000. That's a LOT of parents in a lot of cars on streets that aren't very big. So I can either arrive early, or get a "spot" that's no closer than my driveway (a good mile from the school).

2. It's been HOT here. Like triple digits, hot. And as cool as palm trees are, that tall skinny trunk and tiny puff of leaves at the top doesn't offer a whole lot of shade. I've made it my goal to get the shade spot. Yeah. I'm a wuss. But the best part of this place is supposed to be the weather. And so far it feels exactly like Kansas in August. California, you disappoint.

3. As soon as I drop my kids off for school in the morning, I am counting the hours until I can pick them up. I miss them. I worry about them. I want to be with them. I can't wait to see them. It truly is the best part of my day, and I want it to start as soon as is humanly possible.

Even if that means being "that mom," sitting in my "regular" spot at 1:45 every afternoon, reading a book, being pitied and judged by everyone else who has a life here.

Yes. I probably need to get a job. Volunteer. Cut the apron strings. But not today. Probably not by next Friday.

And when I see you in your regular spot doing the same thing, I'll smile and wave.

Solidarity, Sister!!

Sincerely,
Me

"Toto, I've a Feeling We're Not in Kansas Anymore"

Oh, come on.

You knew it was coming, right?

The title??

Kansas girl moves to California??? So what if it's cliche. I have a hard time coming up with blog titles. Don't judge.

So here are just a few things that I'm learning about California:

That school on Beverly Hills 90210? Yeah. They all really do look like that out here. Even the elementary school's "lunch room" is a patio of tables set up outside.
( I tried to explain to my youngest daughter this is not only because of the mild weather, but also because it HARDLY. EVER. RAINS. She's still not convinced. :o( )

There is lots of important driving information not only on street signs, but also on the streets themselves. Stuff like "keep intersection clear," and speed limits and the like. Right on the paved road. This seems like an okay practice to me (the whole, "keep your eyes on the road" thing), except for during bumper-to-bumper traffic, when one can't even see the paved road. Then you could miss some important stuff.

Speaking of driving...Two people in a vehicle is considered a car pool for the purposes of accessing the car pool lane on the freeway and prime parking spots. Two seems like a low number to me.

It's possible to exist fairly comfortably in a dwelling that only has a window unit air conditioner.

And on that note...extremely high humidity gets the little red "severe weather alert" red exclamation mark on weather.com out here. We've had three of those days so far and I've yet to exit my house and immediately find myself dripping with sweat. These people have no idea what extremely high humidity is. Just saying.

Gasoline should be purchased with cash. Always. It was $3.65/gallon at the gas station with cash and $4.10?!?!?! for debit/credit card transactions. Yikes!!

No talking on cell phones while driving. Unless using a hands-free device. My kids reminded me of this yesterday when I, out of habit, grabbed my phone to call Better Half while driving down the road.

I've yet to see a squirrel, but the little lizards that dart across the sidewalks are kind of cute. All bets are off if I ever find one in my house, however.

I guess I'm gonna want to have an "earthquake" kit and I'll need to "earthquake proof" my house. I'll add that to the growing list of things I need to Google.

Food isn't that much more expensive out here. Neither is gas (if you pay with cash). Housing. Is. Kids' activities. Are. One of the kids had a form in his registration packet to sign up for an after school debate club. The cost was $350! I am not kidding about this. I didn't protest when he said he didn't want to do it.

There are bugs out here. I have not seen any mosquitoes, but there are plenty of other kinds of bugs. This is a big disappointment to me.

The people we have met have been very nice. And yet I feel a lot like Dorothy in "The Wizard of Oz." All she wants are her people back "home."


"This was a real, a truly live place. And I remembered that some of it wasn't very nice, but most of it was beautiful. But just the same, all I kept saying to everybody was, 'I want to go home.' "
~Dorothy

Because there really is "no place like home." And I have a feeling that Kansas is going to be "home" to this girl for a long time.

Why Not

Last week I went to this bookstore with my mom.

And I bought a book (Notice the use of the article adjective "a." This fact alone is blog-worthy. Usually that sentence has adjectives like "some," "several," "too many.").

The book is called "Juicy Pens Thirsty Paper: Gifting the World with Your Words and Stories and Creating the Time and Energy to Actually Do It."

Two things drew me to this book to the point that it actually came home with me instead of an image of it merely occupying space in the camera roll on my phone.

The first thing about it was its beauty--bright and colorful. It reminded me of these big desk calendars that my roommate in college used to use to keep track of her classes, assignments, and schedules. I think she used those skinny Crayola markers and everything was color-coded in her impeccable handwriting. I tried to duplicate this practice many times. Mine were never as pretty as hers.

The second thing that drew me to it was the phrase, "Gifting the world with your words and stories." For those of you who know me, that sentence needs no further explanation. For those of you who don't, suffice it to say that I like words. And stories. :o)

So toward the middle of this book is a section called, "Games, Stories, and Ways to get Your Juicy Pen Moving Like Crazy."

And I thought, what better place to work through some of these than this blog? Especially when I feel like I really don't have anything interesting or funny to write about.

The first activity is "Make a Fast List of the Reasons You Don't Feel Like Writing"

So here goes:

1. I don't have anything to say that hasn't already been said before and way better than I could say it.
2. I'm a mom. The unique stories that I do have are many times about my children. Now that they are older, it's harder to use them as subjects for my writing. I want to respect their privacy.
3. I feel guilty when I write because there is other, more important stuff that I should be doing. Like laundry, cleaning toilets, and making lunch.
4. I feel like I whine. A lot.
5. And complain. A lot.
6. Even though I say that I write for me, I really am afraid that no one will read what I write.
7. And if by chance they do, they won't like what they read.
8. My posts are too long. Or too short.
9. I use too many commas.
10. I'll hit "publish" and completely miss some horrifyingly embarrassing spelling error.

At Loose Ends

It started on Monday, when I woke up at the same time I always do. I did the same things I always do first thing in the morning. I got dressed in my "summer wardrobe"--running shorts and a t-shirt. Started the 40 minute process of rousing teens on a summer morning.

And I felt out of sorts. Like there was something really important I was supposed to be doing that I had forgotten.

And it hit me. All of my colleagues at the school I've worked for for the past six years woke up early on Monday. They dressed in their "school wardrobe." They drove to our school building (some of them headed out before dawn) and were sitting in beginning of the year meetings.

And I didn't. I wasn't.

For the first time in seven years, I am not gearing up to help families start another year of the joys and challenges of schooling at home.

For the first time in fifteen years, I am not gearing up to start a school year where I teach AT ALL. My own learners, or anyone else's.

This is a really uncomfortable feeling for me.

Yesterday, I stopped by my (and I hate to even write this) "old" school. I dropped some things off. I got to visit with some dear, amazing people that I have no idea when I'll ever see again. I held it together until I pulled out of the parking lot to leave. Then I ugly cried.

And today.

School is starting here in the little hamlet where I will reside for one more week.

Facebook is full of pictures of the excited faces of my friends' kids with their new clothes and new backpacks. Looking so much older than this time last year.

And my kids aren't joining them.

And while this makes me feel like a spectator and a little left out, my kids are loving the fact that they are still on summer vacation. They won't be so happy when their Midwest friends are out in May next year and they're still trudging to school in June.

But it really seems as though there is nothing for me to do.

Our house is sold, for all intents and purposes.

We have a contract on a house where we're moving.

I'm just marking time.

And I have absolutely no vision at all for what my purpose is going to be in our new place.

Except to try to survive and help everyone else do the same.

Stereotypical

I have always said that I don't buy into stereotypical husband and wife roles in marriage.

I think it's great that Better Half can work the washing machine, knows how to cook something other than toast, goes to parent-teacher conferences when I'm not around, cleans kitchens pretty well when he can stay focused, and is the best paint color picker-outter I know. I think he can even put hair into pigtails.

And I...well...sometimes I mow the lawn. :o) I have used an electric sander and a drill when absolutely necessary. I can kill spiders (but I really don't like to) and I did change the faucet in my bathroom (with a LOT of help from my dad).

Okay. Fine. I really just think it's great that my husband can do all of the things that I can do. I can't really do the stuff he does. But I wish I could. At least some of the stuff he does.

So when I woke up Friday morning to a lukewarm shower and then no hot water at all, I began to panic. Gas...Pilot lights...Water heaters...these are Better Half jobs.

But Better Half isn't here.

So I call him. Even though there's a two hour time difference and it's only 5:30 am there.

Don't judge. No hot water is an emergency, people. We could have a gas leak or something.

He suggests that I check the water heater.

I take a look at it. There is no pilot-light glow in the little pilot-light peephole.

I remind myself that I can read. And I'm college educated. I read the directions on the water heater for igniting the pilot light.

I follow them.

No "woosh" of gas. No warm glow of pilot light.

I try again. And again. Still no success.

So I call the gas company. Something is clearly wrong. Gas is clearly not getting to my water heater.

To make a long story short, they send out a guy.

A very nice guy who gets the pilot light started In. One. Try.

Forthelove.

And if that wasn't enough.

Later in the day, it started to get muggy. So I went to the thermostat and cranked down the AC a couple of degrees.

Usually this is followed by a whir of noise and deliciously cold air from the floor vents.

On Friday--no whir of noise. No deliciously cold air from the floor vents.

Panic started to set in. There's a contract on this house. Someone wants to buy it. And we've got a broken air conditioner.

Yep. You guessed it. I called Better Half. He said to call the air conditioner people.

They came right over.

And...wait for it.

Walked downstairs to the basement and flipped a switch on the breaker box.

I am not kidding about this.

They were very kind. They helped me save face by telling me that our unit was "a little low on freon and needed to be cleaned out." So they fueled it back up and turned my hose on it to get the dirt off. They told me to have a great day.

So much for girl power. I'm kind of feeling like the clueless "little woman" these days.

My Time Out

I apologize.

For going off the grid with no warning.

But it was the "Love and Logic" consequence for 11+ years of procrastinating.

"I'll paint that later."

"We'll remodel that sometime."

"I'll fix that this weekend."

"We'll parent them better tomorrow."

The result was inevitable.

A monumental grounding of epic proportions.

No Facebook. No blogs. No social life. No exercise. No sleep. No reading for pleasure.

Until the work was done. The repairs made. The damage controlled.

It wound up taking all summer.

And still, we had to rely on reinforcements.

Dear friends, family, plumbers, electricians, doctors (the psychiatrists will come later, I'm sure), etc. stepped up and helped us out.

I don't have adequate words to say thank you.

And the work is finally done.

Our house here has a "SOLD" sign in the front yard.

A house (that I have never seen In. My. Life.) in the Inland Empire has a contract on it. But that's another post.

During all of this, people would ask about Facebook. I'd say I'd been grounded from it. And the response would be, "How am I going to read your blog???"

Or, "Now, when you move to California, you're going to get back on Facebook again, right?"

First of all, even though I only maintain this blog for my sanity, my inner narcissist is very happy that people besides immediate family members read it.

It's going to be lovely to get back to it.

And secondly, even though I have had so much more free time without a Facebook account, I did miss the connections.

I set up a new account and I love seeing everyone's pictures and hearing about everyone's lives.

And I do apologize if I inadvertently offended anyone.