I'm okay with snow for Christmas. In fact, I would prefer it. I will never forget the time in Vegas when I heard "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas" on the radio while watching a piece of LITERAL TUMBLEWEED bounce across the road in front of my car. There's something seriously wrong with that. There should be snow on Christmas. It's the perfect picture of families cozied up by the fire while the snow softly falls under the street lights...you get the idea. You've all seen the movies.
This year, December was confused. Poor December...it was having an identity crisis where it was trying so hard to be March or April. Strings of fifty degree days stretched over the entire month, making it difficult to Christmas shop or sing carols because it felt like I should be eating Easter candy.
Dear December,
YOU'RE DECEMBER. WE LIKE YOU THE WAY YOU ARE. PLEASE SNOW.
Love,
Michigan
Unfortunately, December's identity crisis did not end before Christmas. We had a green, fairly warm Christmas (but my sister was home so I didn't care TOO much - please see my previous post). We ate Christmas dinner and then went outside to open presents by a bonfire (so then it felt like September...so many months in one...).
Then a few days after Christmas, just in time for the Christmas hubbub to calm down to the point where I could actually spend some time outside... winter finally woke up, looked at his alarm clock, and realized, "CRAP! I'm LATE!" So he didn't even properly get ready for the season and just dumped a ton of ice on us, like, "Sorry guys...I didn't have time to whip up some nice fluffy snow...you know how it is when you only have five minutes to get ready..." So we had this crazy ice storm where everything was coated in ice. My friends across the country even heard about it: "Southern Michigan Covered in Ice." Airports couldn't send out planes. Tons of cars were crashing. I stayed inside my house and listened to the hail plink against my roof and windows. The dogs went outside, took one look at the sky, and ran back inside. It wasn't great.
When the storm finally ended, I decided to go for a run the next day. I'd been cooped up in my house with nothing to do and, well, I don't do well with that. I put on my new running clothes, stepped outside, and realized that it was still ice raining. I shivered in the cold. Also, the roads and sidewalks were total slush piles spread out around ice patches. There was no place to run except through slush and ice. I was about to head back inside when I saw a man across the street walking his dog while wearing shorts. SHORTS, I tell you. I simultaneously thought two things:
1. Michigan is a very weird state.
2. I'm not about to get beat by THAT guy.
So, in the end, I went on what was probably the slowest run ever. I did run my full two mile loop, but it was like running in sand - I couldn't go fast at all. Running in sand is fun because you're at the beach and the sun is shining and you're listening to the waves and all is generally right with the world. Running through slush up to your shins is cold and miserable and makes your toes go numb while more ice falls from the sky onto your head. Not great. I probably shouldn't have gone, but then I would have been beat by Mr. "I don't care that it's 30 degrees and raining ice. I'm wearing shorts!" I don't do well with getting beat by...well...anyone. Maybe I should work on this in 2016.
It's December 30, almost time for the new year, and NOW - for the first time all season - snow is softly falling outside my window.
Welcome, winter. I hope your late arrival doesn't mean you're going to be staying late as well. White Christmas, green Easter - not the other way around, okay? Okay. So be gone by Easter, and I'll forgive you for missing Christmas. Do we have a deal?
Wednesday, December 30, 2015
Sunday, December 27, 2015
I'll Be Home For Christmas
"It's totally dead," my dad said sadly. "We're in trouble now."
We had just attempted to jump our car battery using Uncle Craig's car. It hadn't worked. We were in Chicago visiting family, and I was in the backseat of the car eager to get home to see my husband on Christmas Eve. I was supposed to go to Christmas Eve dinner with his family and then spend Christmas morning with them as well. I furrowed my brow in concern. What were we going to do? What place would be open to fix our car on Christmas Eve?
My family trudged back inside. My dad called around but couldn't find anywhere that would fix our car. He called his insurance company and found out that we could get a rental car, but they wouldn't be available until tomorrow (Christmas Day). I said, "Absolutely not. I am not missing Christmas morning. Two things matter in the world to my in-laws: college football and Christmas morning. Our Christmas lists are due in SEPTEMBER, for goodness' sake! I can't miss it!" I told my dad that I'd call Rex and that Rex would drive to Chicago and get us. There was no way he would let me miss Christmas. My dad said to stop freaking out. I told him to try calling the airport, because of course the airport would have rental cars! He said he would try.
I quickly sent a facebook message to my sister Cara that said, "Wish you were here! Not-so-fun fact: Mom and Dad's car broke, so we're stuck in Chicago. So help me, if I don't get to see you OR Rex for Christmas, imma freak out."
Cara was in Albania teaching for the semester, so this year was my first Christmas without her. She'd been gone since August, and this was the longest I'd gone without seeing her since she was born. The Christmas season had been harder than I expected. I only have one sister, and I couldn't imagine Christmas without her. Now to look at a Christmas with no sister AND no husband? It was shaping up to be the worst Christmas ever.
My dad called the airport, and they said they could have a car available for us to rent by midnight. It wasn't ideal, but it would have me home in time for Christmas morning. I called Rex and broke the news that I would miss Christmas Eve dinner and that I would hopefully be home for Christmas morning, but everyone knows how reliable airports are (*ahem* NOT AT ALL). I was nervous about getting the car they promised us. I told Rex to please apologize to his family, and he promised he would. I prayed that I would make it home for Christmas.
I was supposed to cook an apple pie and some deviled eggs for Christmas dinner, so I figured I would get as much done at my aunt and uncle's house as possible. I could hard boil the eggs, and I could bake the pie and freeze it. I ran out to an open-late-on-Christmas-Eve grocery store and gathered my ingredients. I put them on Aunt Jackie's counter and sighed sadly, feeling totally stressed. Aunt Jackie asked what else I needed for my recipe. I said, "Well, for starters...I'm going to need an apron and a glass of wine." Check.
I did my best to enjoy a night of cooking and and family. Earlier in the day we'd had a great time playing laser tag and eating Chicago deep-dish pizza. I really do love these people. If I had to be stranded on Christmas Eve, I was glad it was with them.
At around 8:00 I decided to take a nap. I knew I would have to help my dad drive through the night once we got our car. I lounged on my aunt and uncle's couch and stared sadly at the Christmas lights on their tree. I thought nostalgically about how my sister and I used to always go to bed excitedly on Christmas Eve, then would wake up early on Christmas morning and bang pots and pans to wake up our parents and terrify the cat. "IT'S CHRISTMAS!" we'd scream happily. No pots and pans this year. No Cara, no Rex...I tried to find some shreds of Christmas cheer, but it was tough. I decided to be thankful to be with family at all, as so many people don't have any people at all with whom they can celebrate. I shouldn't be mopey about the people I was missing. With those thoughts in my head, I drifted off to sleep.
I think the physical and emotional stress of the day must have gotten to me, because I didn't wake up until 10:30. I couldn't believe I had slept so long. When I walked into the living room, only Aunt Jackie was there. My cousins and my mom were sleeping, and my dad and other aunts and uncles had run out to get a couple of last minute things. My dad always does his Christmas shopping Christmas Eve night...he's basically the worst planner ever. Around 11:15 I started to get nervous. We needed to leave soon for the airport to get our car. I texted my dad and asked him to please hurry. A few minutes later, they arrived back at the house. I sighed in relief. I asked how their shopping went, and they said it was good. Suddenly, somewhere in the kitchen, I heard someone banging tentatively on a pot with a spoon. It took a moment to register - what was going on? Was someone trying to bring back my old Christmas tradition? I turned to the kitchen and saw MY SISTER standing there. "Merry Christmas!" she said.
SHE WAS HOME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I screamed and ran to hug her. In my enthusiasm I actually tackled her to the ground. I was so happy I started crying. I couldn't believe she'd made it home for Christmas. "I knew it!" I said through tears. "I knew you wouldn't miss Christmas!"
"Did you really know?" asked Uncle Craig,
"Absolutely not!" I said, laughing. "I'm totally surprised!" And I was. I had no idea she was coming home, but I also hadn't been able to let go of the hope that MAYBE she would be home for Christmas. I'd said multiple times over the past few weeks, "I can't imagine Christmas without Cara. She'll find a way. She'll make it back." My parents and Rex would always say, "Christine. She's not coming back. You have to come to terms with this." They would look at each other, concerned, as if I was some paranoid delusional crazy person who actually believed something when it obviously wasn't true. I'd told Rex through teary eyes a few days prior, "Listen, I know she's not coming home. I know. I just....there's a part of me that won't 100% believe it until I get to my parents' house Christmas morning and she's not there. Then I'm probably going to cry. Just warning you. I miss her so much, and there is this tiny part of me that still hopes she'll make it back. I know she's not coming, but I can't let it go totally until it's over."
Maybe I am a crazy person, but every once in a while crazy people are right. I've never been so happy to be right - EVER. My dad was the only one who knew about the surprise. Look at my mom's reaction:
My dad had disabled his car battery and made up everything about the car trouble to keep us in Chicago until her flight came in. He'd told Rex that the plan was for us to come back Christmas afternoon, but after he saw how sad I was to miss Christmas with Rex, he decided that we'd drive through the night on Christmas Eve after all. I called Rex and told him we were coming home, and he was so surprised. "Your dad said you were going to miss it," he said, "but I thought you'd be so happy to see Cara that I didn't want to complain about it. Are you really coming home? REALLY? You're not joking?" I could hear how happy he was, and I almost started crying again (dang, holidays are emotional). I'd received this text earlier in the evening from his brother: "Can you please text Rex or come home soon? He's acting all depressed and being a party pooper. It's like his dog died or something." I had been glad to hear he missed me, but it had made me feel even worse about not being able to make it back. Now I would!
We got in the car and headed home. When we were almost back, a swarm of police cars pulled us over. Seriously, at least four and maybe five police cars. I turned to Cara and said, "Um, WHAT DID YOU DO IN ALBANIA?!" Ha ha. Apparently my dad's car matched a description of a car that had been robbing a bunch of places in the area. And really, how many cars are out at 4:30 AM on Christmas Eve? Not many. The police officer took all of our IDs and did whatever policey things they do with those before finally deciding we were innocent. Phew!
The policeman let us go after about fifteen minutes, and we finally got back to my parents' house. I hopped in my car and drove groggily back to my own house, where all of the lights were off except the Christmas lights in our bedroom window. It made me smile to see them. I quietly went inside, put down my luggage, and sneaked upstairs. My handsome husband was sleeping, and the Christmas lights cast a cheerful glow around the room. It was hard to think that just a few hours ago I thought this was going to be the worst Christmas, and now it was the best. I walked over to my husband and gave him a kiss to wake him up. "Merry Christmas," I whispered. He smiled in a way that reached all the way to his eyes, kissed me back, and wished me a Merry Christmas as well. It was 5:00 AM, but I was home. Cara was home. The world was perfect just in time for Christmas.
We had just attempted to jump our car battery using Uncle Craig's car. It hadn't worked. We were in Chicago visiting family, and I was in the backseat of the car eager to get home to see my husband on Christmas Eve. I was supposed to go to Christmas Eve dinner with his family and then spend Christmas morning with them as well. I furrowed my brow in concern. What were we going to do? What place would be open to fix our car on Christmas Eve?
My family trudged back inside. My dad called around but couldn't find anywhere that would fix our car. He called his insurance company and found out that we could get a rental car, but they wouldn't be available until tomorrow (Christmas Day). I said, "Absolutely not. I am not missing Christmas morning. Two things matter in the world to my in-laws: college football and Christmas morning. Our Christmas lists are due in SEPTEMBER, for goodness' sake! I can't miss it!" I told my dad that I'd call Rex and that Rex would drive to Chicago and get us. There was no way he would let me miss Christmas. My dad said to stop freaking out. I told him to try calling the airport, because of course the airport would have rental cars! He said he would try.
I quickly sent a facebook message to my sister Cara that said, "Wish you were here! Not-so-fun fact: Mom and Dad's car broke, so we're stuck in Chicago. So help me, if I don't get to see you OR Rex for Christmas, imma freak out."
Cara was in Albania teaching for the semester, so this year was my first Christmas without her. She'd been gone since August, and this was the longest I'd gone without seeing her since she was born. The Christmas season had been harder than I expected. I only have one sister, and I couldn't imagine Christmas without her. Now to look at a Christmas with no sister AND no husband? It was shaping up to be the worst Christmas ever.
My dad called the airport, and they said they could have a car available for us to rent by midnight. It wasn't ideal, but it would have me home in time for Christmas morning. I called Rex and broke the news that I would miss Christmas Eve dinner and that I would hopefully be home for Christmas morning, but everyone knows how reliable airports are (*ahem* NOT AT ALL). I was nervous about getting the car they promised us. I told Rex to please apologize to his family, and he promised he would. I prayed that I would make it home for Christmas.
I was supposed to cook an apple pie and some deviled eggs for Christmas dinner, so I figured I would get as much done at my aunt and uncle's house as possible. I could hard boil the eggs, and I could bake the pie and freeze it. I ran out to an open-late-on-Christmas-Eve grocery store and gathered my ingredients. I put them on Aunt Jackie's counter and sighed sadly, feeling totally stressed. Aunt Jackie asked what else I needed for my recipe. I said, "Well, for starters...I'm going to need an apron and a glass of wine." Check.
I did my best to enjoy a night of cooking and and family. Earlier in the day we'd had a great time playing laser tag and eating Chicago deep-dish pizza. I really do love these people. If I had to be stranded on Christmas Eve, I was glad it was with them.
At around 8:00 I decided to take a nap. I knew I would have to help my dad drive through the night once we got our car. I lounged on my aunt and uncle's couch and stared sadly at the Christmas lights on their tree. I thought nostalgically about how my sister and I used to always go to bed excitedly on Christmas Eve, then would wake up early on Christmas morning and bang pots and pans to wake up our parents and terrify the cat. "IT'S CHRISTMAS!" we'd scream happily. No pots and pans this year. No Cara, no Rex...I tried to find some shreds of Christmas cheer, but it was tough. I decided to be thankful to be with family at all, as so many people don't have any people at all with whom they can celebrate. I shouldn't be mopey about the people I was missing. With those thoughts in my head, I drifted off to sleep.
I think the physical and emotional stress of the day must have gotten to me, because I didn't wake up until 10:30. I couldn't believe I had slept so long. When I walked into the living room, only Aunt Jackie was there. My cousins and my mom were sleeping, and my dad and other aunts and uncles had run out to get a couple of last minute things. My dad always does his Christmas shopping Christmas Eve night...he's basically the worst planner ever. Around 11:15 I started to get nervous. We needed to leave soon for the airport to get our car. I texted my dad and asked him to please hurry. A few minutes later, they arrived back at the house. I sighed in relief. I asked how their shopping went, and they said it was good. Suddenly, somewhere in the kitchen, I heard someone banging tentatively on a pot with a spoon. It took a moment to register - what was going on? Was someone trying to bring back my old Christmas tradition? I turned to the kitchen and saw MY SISTER standing there. "Merry Christmas!" she said.
SHE WAS HOME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I screamed and ran to hug her. In my enthusiasm I actually tackled her to the ground. I was so happy I started crying. I couldn't believe she'd made it home for Christmas. "I knew it!" I said through tears. "I knew you wouldn't miss Christmas!"
"Did you really know?" asked Uncle Craig,
"Absolutely not!" I said, laughing. "I'm totally surprised!" And I was. I had no idea she was coming home, but I also hadn't been able to let go of the hope that MAYBE she would be home for Christmas. I'd said multiple times over the past few weeks, "I can't imagine Christmas without Cara. She'll find a way. She'll make it back." My parents and Rex would always say, "Christine. She's not coming back. You have to come to terms with this." They would look at each other, concerned, as if I was some paranoid delusional crazy person who actually believed something when it obviously wasn't true. I'd told Rex through teary eyes a few days prior, "Listen, I know she's not coming home. I know. I just....there's a part of me that won't 100% believe it until I get to my parents' house Christmas morning and she's not there. Then I'm probably going to cry. Just warning you. I miss her so much, and there is this tiny part of me that still hopes she'll make it back. I know she's not coming, but I can't let it go totally until it's over."
Maybe I am a crazy person, but every once in a while crazy people are right. I've never been so happy to be right - EVER. My dad was the only one who knew about the surprise. Look at my mom's reaction:
My dad had disabled his car battery and made up everything about the car trouble to keep us in Chicago until her flight came in. He'd told Rex that the plan was for us to come back Christmas afternoon, but after he saw how sad I was to miss Christmas with Rex, he decided that we'd drive through the night on Christmas Eve after all. I called Rex and told him we were coming home, and he was so surprised. "Your dad said you were going to miss it," he said, "but I thought you'd be so happy to see Cara that I didn't want to complain about it. Are you really coming home? REALLY? You're not joking?" I could hear how happy he was, and I almost started crying again (dang, holidays are emotional). I'd received this text earlier in the evening from his brother: "Can you please text Rex or come home soon? He's acting all depressed and being a party pooper. It's like his dog died or something." I had been glad to hear he missed me, but it had made me feel even worse about not being able to make it back. Now I would!
We got in the car and headed home. When we were almost back, a swarm of police cars pulled us over. Seriously, at least four and maybe five police cars. I turned to Cara and said, "Um, WHAT DID YOU DO IN ALBANIA?!" Ha ha. Apparently my dad's car matched a description of a car that had been robbing a bunch of places in the area. And really, how many cars are out at 4:30 AM on Christmas Eve? Not many. The police officer took all of our IDs and did whatever policey things they do with those before finally deciding we were innocent. Phew!
The policeman let us go after about fifteen minutes, and we finally got back to my parents' house. I hopped in my car and drove groggily back to my own house, where all of the lights were off except the Christmas lights in our bedroom window. It made me smile to see them. I quietly went inside, put down my luggage, and sneaked upstairs. My handsome husband was sleeping, and the Christmas lights cast a cheerful glow around the room. It was hard to think that just a few hours ago I thought this was going to be the worst Christmas, and now it was the best. I walked over to my husband and gave him a kiss to wake him up. "Merry Christmas," I whispered. He smiled in a way that reached all the way to his eyes, kissed me back, and wished me a Merry Christmas as well. It was 5:00 AM, but I was home. Cara was home. The world was perfect just in time for Christmas.
Wednesday, December 2, 2015
Proud
I'm not a mom.
I know.
Still, when someone asks me, "Do you have kids?" I'm always tempted to say, "Yes. Twenty-three of them." I have twenty-three students who I see more hours per week than their parents do. I see them more than I see my husband. Some of them I'm teaching for the third year in a row. So when I say that they are my kids, I really mean it. I love them. Only a fellow teacher can understand this love, and even then I'd say that only a fellow teacher who's looped with a class for three years can really get it. They're my babies. I've helped raise them. I've watched them grow up. And yesterday? Yesterday I was really, really proud of them.
My top class has ten students in it, aged 13-15. This year they all participated in NaNoWriMo ("National Novel Writing Month" for those of you who don't know what that is). It's a challenge to write an entire novel in the month of November. I told my students they could try to write full novels if they wished, but I teamed up with each of them to set a novella word count goal. We're compiling all of their novellas into a self-published anthology once the edits are made. Four of my students told me that they wanted to go for the full novel challenge, which is 30,000 words in a month. That's an average of FOUR PAGES A DAY, EVERY DAY, ALL MONTH LONG. I told them absolutely, that they should go for it, but we set their "official" word count goals as lower, something I saw as more attainable.
I am blown away by these kids. All four who set out to write the full novels accomplished that goal. We're going out for lunch on Friday to celebrate. According to the NaNoWriMo conditions, these four students now get their novels formatted and published for free, so look for them on Amazon.com in the next few months. Even the students who didn't do the full novels wrote fantastic novellas, and the shortest one was thirty pages (no ten-page college paper will look daunting now!). Not only did they hit these word count goals, but they wrote GREAT stories. We had so much fun doing lessons on effective plot diagrams, building believable characters, how to write snappy dialogue, etc. The students had fun, and I obviously love this stuff. Writing is my life. One day I offered to stay after school until six to have a "writing party" with whomever wanted to stay, and nine out of ten decided to stay and write. We conferenced with each other, bounced ideas off of each other, and overall had a great and productive time. It was like we were a writing team and I was the coach. These kids learned so much, accomplished so much, and I could not possibly be prouder of them.
Yesterday, December 1, we decided to have a party because November (and therefore NaNoWriMo) was finally over. The kids brought in some delicious food, we played games, and I kicked off the whole thing with a speech about how I've never felt prouder of a class and how I was blown away by how dedicated and disciplined they were to accomplish these huge things with each other's help and encouragement. Every time I heard someone say, "I don't know if I'm going to make this full goal..." there would be at least five kids saying, "You can do it! You've come this far! I know you can make it to the end!" I mean, it was amazing. A couple of them had tears in their eyes (and I'm not saying I did...but I'm not saying I didn't). After my speech, one of the girls said, "Well...we have something for you too..."
What?
She said, "We wanted to thank you for pushing us and believing in us, so we made you this card." The card below was signed by all of my students (but I'm not posting that part because I can't put their names online). I was so touched. Have YOU ever thanked a teacher for making you write a thirty page paper? Ha ha... me neither. I've got an amazing group of students.
Did I mention how much I love these kids? And how stinking proud I am to have four more published authors to add to the list of students I've taught? Yep. Pretty proud.
I know.
Still, when someone asks me, "Do you have kids?" I'm always tempted to say, "Yes. Twenty-three of them." I have twenty-three students who I see more hours per week than their parents do. I see them more than I see my husband. Some of them I'm teaching for the third year in a row. So when I say that they are my kids, I really mean it. I love them. Only a fellow teacher can understand this love, and even then I'd say that only a fellow teacher who's looped with a class for three years can really get it. They're my babies. I've helped raise them. I've watched them grow up. And yesterday? Yesterday I was really, really proud of them.
My top class has ten students in it, aged 13-15. This year they all participated in NaNoWriMo ("National Novel Writing Month" for those of you who don't know what that is). It's a challenge to write an entire novel in the month of November. I told my students they could try to write full novels if they wished, but I teamed up with each of them to set a novella word count goal. We're compiling all of their novellas into a self-published anthology once the edits are made. Four of my students told me that they wanted to go for the full novel challenge, which is 30,000 words in a month. That's an average of FOUR PAGES A DAY, EVERY DAY, ALL MONTH LONG. I told them absolutely, that they should go for it, but we set their "official" word count goals as lower, something I saw as more attainable.
I am blown away by these kids. All four who set out to write the full novels accomplished that goal. We're going out for lunch on Friday to celebrate. According to the NaNoWriMo conditions, these four students now get their novels formatted and published for free, so look for them on Amazon.com in the next few months. Even the students who didn't do the full novels wrote fantastic novellas, and the shortest one was thirty pages (no ten-page college paper will look daunting now!). Not only did they hit these word count goals, but they wrote GREAT stories. We had so much fun doing lessons on effective plot diagrams, building believable characters, how to write snappy dialogue, etc. The students had fun, and I obviously love this stuff. Writing is my life. One day I offered to stay after school until six to have a "writing party" with whomever wanted to stay, and nine out of ten decided to stay and write. We conferenced with each other, bounced ideas off of each other, and overall had a great and productive time. It was like we were a writing team and I was the coach. These kids learned so much, accomplished so much, and I could not possibly be prouder of them.
Yesterday, December 1, we decided to have a party because November (and therefore NaNoWriMo) was finally over. The kids brought in some delicious food, we played games, and I kicked off the whole thing with a speech about how I've never felt prouder of a class and how I was blown away by how dedicated and disciplined they were to accomplish these huge things with each other's help and encouragement. Every time I heard someone say, "I don't know if I'm going to make this full goal..." there would be at least five kids saying, "You can do it! You've come this far! I know you can make it to the end!" I mean, it was amazing. A couple of them had tears in their eyes (and I'm not saying I did...but I'm not saying I didn't). After my speech, one of the girls said, "Well...we have something for you too..."
What?
She said, "We wanted to thank you for pushing us and believing in us, so we made you this card." The card below was signed by all of my students (but I'm not posting that part because I can't put their names online). I was so touched. Have YOU ever thanked a teacher for making you write a thirty page paper? Ha ha... me neither. I've got an amazing group of students.
Did I mention how much I love these kids? And how stinking proud I am to have four more published authors to add to the list of students I've taught? Yep. Pretty proud.
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