I'm Doing This

Well, school starts tomorrow morning at 8 and I'll officially be a student teacher. I'm still terrified, but I think I'm starting to realize where my being so scared comes from. I went to a meeting at Lock Haven all day on Friday and was thrown back into my education so fast that when I pulled out of the parking lot, my mind didn't know where to land. So much to think about: things I learned back then have changed, I don't remember as much as I probably should, I'm not used to having so much to do and so little time to do it... all things that I haven't had to worry about over the past four years.

I also realized at that meeting that this is what I want to do with my life and I'm completely sure about that. That's what makes it scary, isn't it? If you don't know what to do, if you don't know what you want, there's nothing to be scared of because there's no chance of messing anything up. When you have goals - big ones that you refuse to let go of - you can fail. You can be crushed and you can be let down and when your mind is set on something so good and so important to you, you have a long way to fall if it doesn't work out the way you want it to. I could put this off another few years if I wanted to. And waiting 'til Mase is in school would be a lot easier on me since I wouldn't have to put him in daycare or anything. But waiting won't really help either, would it? Because there's always going to be an excuse as to why it's not the right time and I'll probably always be scared. Why wait when what you want is right there, just waiting for you to make a move.. to take the opportunity that'll finally make you happy after you get past the fear.

And I just realized I'm talking about two things at once, but I do think the same logic applies to a lot of people in a lot of situations. If you quit, you'll never fail, but you'll never know what could have happened, either. I could waitress for the rest of my life and make decent money and live comfortably and semi-easily, but I'll never know how happy I could have been, doing what I honestly feel like I'm supposed to do. So yeah.. I'm going to suck it up tomorrow. No quitting for this chick.

Prepared to be Unprepared

After spending a small fortune (but it's a credit card, so it's not real money, right?) on 'teacher clothes' I still don't feel even slightly ready for everything that's going to happen to my life on Monday.

The panic attacks I have when I think about standing in front of 30 pairs of cynical, bored, merciless eyes are nothing compared to the panic attacks I have when I think about dropping my baby off at daycare.

Three days. Ugh.

Eggs and a New Kitchen

We're finally moved in, more or less. There are still a few things I want to get done before I take the official "after" pictures, but we had our first breakfast at our new house this morning. I think, in general, people take things like this for granted, but I'm not sure there's anything as comforting as having coffee and reading a book while watching your two-year-old eat scrambled eggs in your own house.



No.. there's definitely nothing like it.

Being Grumpy isn't Always a Bad Thing

Every once in awhile, Mase just wakes up from his nap unhappy. I guess we all have days like that, really, where we wake up in a bad mood for no apparent reason, and Mason is no exception. Sometimes though, his after-nap grumpiness just makes him cuddly... and who am I to complain about that?

Pronoun Confusion

As it turns out, kids have trouble with pronouns early on. You know, the difference between you and me and I and we. It's why they speak in the third person: "Mason juice?"

Sometimes, the English teacher in me tries to correct it. Other times, I'd much rather let it go... like this morning, when a grumpy Mason wanted to be held. He crawled up in my lap and I know he meant to say, "hold me?" but instead said, "hold you, please?"... and yeah, actually, that was exactly what I needed.

Hello? Brain?

With only ten days until I am, once again, officially a college student, I believe I'm having what any esteemed professional would call a completementalfuckingbreakdown. It's been almost four years since I've even TAKEN a class and now I'm going to be in front of one, teaching America's youth. We're completely screwed.

The only thing I've written in the past two years is this blog. Seriously. I tell people I'm writing a novel, and no, I'm not lying, but it's four pages and they're shit. I always read, so I haven't forgotten how to do that, but four years of valuable reading time has been spent on Chuck Palahniuk, Kurt Vonnegut, Christopher Moore, Wally Lamb, and anything else even mildly entertaining that I can read in five minute intervals throughout the day without having to worry about breaking concentration. For the love of god, I read the Twilight series. Shakespeare? Hemingway? Faulkner? Much too difficult to focus on between picking smashed Goldfish crackers out of the carpet and making sure Mason doesn't stick his finger in a light socket.

Having a child has made me a better person in so many more ways that I can think of but it's also made me much more stupid. I'm not kidding. While being Mommy requires an endless amount of patience, it doesn't really require too many brain cells. I read Dr. Seuss, I don't analyze it. I don't look for common themes, allusion, metaphors, or imagery and I'm sure as heck not trying to figure out the symbolism of The Sneetches. I'm reading the book, trying to keep Mason from ripping the pages, and paying attention to what I'm saying only close enough to not stumble on the rhymes while really I'm thinking about beaches and palm trees and the episode of True Blood I only got half-way through. That's being a mom. It's amazing and satisfying, but it's not rocket science. I play with Play Doh, I swing, I slide, and I make turkey dogs for lunch. I keep Mason safe, entertained, happy, and loved. I just don't think much.

Ten days. Still plenty of time to back out, right?

I won't, but I want to.

An Explanation for my Hiatus

Every free second I've had lately has been spent either worrying about paying bills, freaking out about going back to school, wondering why the heck Mason can't distinguish between between red and green, or working on our new house. Finally, after two months (okay, so I spent way more time worrying and freaking out than I did painting and building) it's almost done.

And my kid has his room back.




Okay so it's roughly the same size as my walk-in closet in our old apartment... luckily, I don't think he minds.