Tuesday 9:00 AM by Denver Butson

A man standing at the bus stop
reading the newspaper is on fire
Flames are peeking out
from beneath his collar and cuffs
His shoes have begun to melt

The woman next to him
wants to mention it to him
that he is burning
but she is drowning
Water is everywhere
in her mouth and ears
in her eyes
A stream of water runs
steadily from her blouse

Another woman stands at the bus stop
freezing to death
She tries to stand near the man
who is on fire
to try to melt the icicles
that have formed on her eyelashes
and on her nostrils
to stop her teeth long enough
from chattering to say something
to the woman who is drowning
but the woman who is freezing to death
has trouble moving
with blocks of ice on her feet

It takes the three some time
to board the bus
what with the flames
and water and ice
But when they finally climb the stairs
and take their seats
the driver doesn't even notice
that none of them has paid
because he is tortured
by visions and is wondering
if the man who got off at the last stop
was really being mauled to death
by wild dogs.

This is my favorite poem. I heard it on "The Writer's Almanac" one morning on my way to school last winter. It really resonated with me. I was reminded of it this evening because Miriam asked what my favorite poem is. She had to ask for a homework assignment. I was about to tell her something by Robert Frost or Emily Dickinson but then I remembered this one. I couldn't remember the title of the poem though and it took several minutes of google searching on my phone for me to give up. I knew I had heard it on "The Writer's Almanac" so I went to their website and searched the archives until I found it. Now I'm posting it here partly to share it with you, but mostly so that when I want access to it again I can find it without spending 20 minutes on the interwebs.

Come Again?

I took a math placement test at the university yesterday. Two people were already in the testing center when I arrived. One of them finished her test about 10 minutes after I started mine. She brought the proctor to her testing carrel after she was finished. She said to the proctor, "Is there an easier test I can take? I don't want them to put me in the lowest math class but that test was a little bit too hard for me."

They say there are no dumb questions, only dumb answers. That has to be an exception to the rule.

In the Wake of Two Failures

I am sad.

Appreciating the View from the Other Side

I may have mentioned before how Dad spent most of every evening of most of my childhood helping me through my math homework.  It was pretty arduous but Dad was unfailingly patient.  If I didn't understand how he explained it at first, he'd come up with a different way.  And if I still didn't get it, he'd come up with yet another way.  And when I cried and wailed that I would never, ever survive, he didn't give up, he didn't walk away, he didn't wash his hands of me.  He just got me through it.

Recently Miriam has needed more help with math homework.  Tonight we spent close to an hour finishing the last eight problems of her homework.  She didn't understand the first two times we went through it and I struggled to come up with a third explanation.  It took a while for her to get it but she finally did. 

During this time I came to appreciate, on another level, what Dad went through with me.  It's tough being the kid doing the homework, not understanding what the teacher said earlier, forgetting the tips in the textbook.  It's a different kind of tough to be the parent who helps.  To see the answer before the problem is finished.  To want the child to understand why the problem works the way it does.  To skirt around what seems like a very obvious answer so the child can figure it out herself.  To wonder if the child really grasps the concept and isn't just nodding and smiling along.  That's tough.

So tonight, while I've always been beyond grateful to my Dad for all his years of math help, tonight I understood from the other side.  And I am even more grateful now that while he was teaching me math, he was also teaching me how to help my own children with their math.  If it weren't for my dad's guidance and excellent example, I wouldn't be able to help my own children.

Thank you, Dad.  I love you.

A License Plate

Tee hee.

Up Too Early

I got up extra early today. I am going to Paul's house immediately after work to cook dinner and spend the evening with him. I had a lot of wine and vegetables and meat that I couldn't exactly leave in the car all day or take into work. So I got up early to cart all of it to Paul's house and still get to work on time. It didn't take as long as I expected so now I find myself with an extra 45 minutes.

I decided to spend it in Starbucks, sipping a latte. While i was waiting for my coffee the Starbucks Pick of the Week caught my eye. This week it is a free book of short stories and essays. I thought that sounded interesting so I downloaded it. Then I discovered that iBooks has quite a few other interesting-sounding books for free. So I downloaded those, too. Not a bad way to spend the morning.

I Will Never Understand

I've seen this truck two mornings in a row on my way to work. Isn't it obnoxious? The driver cannot manage to stay in his or her own lane. That's even more obnoxious. Why drive a truck that you can't even drive safely?

I'm Going Bald Again!

In March, I'm going to shave my head to benefit the St. Baldrick's Foundation.  I am excited!  It's so satisfying to know that I am contributing to cancer research.  Plus, I really enjoyed being bald.  It was liberating in so many ways.  I can't wait!

If you want to donate on my head, go here: St. Baldrick's Foundation.  Search for me under Find a Participant and then choose how you'd like to donate.  My goal this time is $1500.

Two Fitting Quotations

"People are always blaming their circumstances for what they are. I don't believe in circumstances. The people who get on in this world are the people who get up and look for the circumstances they want, and, if they can't find them, make them."  George Bernard Shaw

"Again and again, the impossible problem is solved when we see that the problem is only a tough decision waiting to be made."  Robert H. Schuller

I came across the first quote months and months ago.  I love it.  It explains my philosophy on life thoroughly, yet succinctly.  I just found the second one this morning on a note Miriam brought home from her jump rope coach.  At any other time it probably wouldn't have meant much to me but since I've been struggling with my career plans recently, it hit home.

Time and again the problems in my life have been solved by accepting that sometimes life sucks and sometimes I have no choice but to rearrange my perspective, make the difficult decisions and blaze a new trail.  Getting divorced, moving half way across the country, changing jobs, enrolling in school, losing 25 pounds, parenting -- all of it is challenging.  Curling up into myself and sobbing about it only works for so long.  At some point I have to blow my nose and wipe my eyes, take a deep breath and figure out how to fix it.  There is always a solution.  It might not be the one I want and it might not be easy or fun but there is always a solution.  Always.

Musings on My Career

I have recently begun to face facts.  Or one fact, anyway.  Namely, I do not have the time to go to nursing school and I won't have the time any time soon.  Any decent nursing program has a murderous clinical schedule that I cannot swing as a single parent.  I have done everything I can, worked out every plan, researched all the options and it's just not workable.

Now, I'm not one to let obstacles get in the way of what I want.  I don't give up easily.  I'm a hard worker.  I'm also a realist.  All the encouraging, feel good, don't give up-ness in the world cannot change the facts.  I don't know a single person in my situation -- single parent with the other parent 400 miles away -- who has done this.  Every BSN candidate I know has either 1) a spouse who works full-time and supports the family while caring for children; or 2) moved in with parents who can fill the childcare and financial support roles as needed; or 3) a vastly superior financial situation that allows for not working any kind of job.  None of these three are possible for me.

I was lamenting all of this to Paul and he said, "What else do you want to do?"  And I immediately said, "There's nothing else.  This is what I want."

But then I thought some more and I came up with these requirements for my career, such as it is or might be:

1. I have to be able to meet thousands, if not tens of thousands, of different people.  As much as individual people might drive me absolutely bonkers, I love humanity in general.  I need to be immersed in all the stuff that makes up people.
2. I have to be able to help those people.  I need to feel that I can have a personal impact on someone's life.  It may not be a lot to humanity as a whole, but I need to connect with at least a few people on a personal level.
3. I have to be learning stuff.  All the time.  I don't want a single day to go by where I don't learn something, be it fascinating or mundane.

I've never articulated before why I love nursing so much.  That's it right there.  Those things mean the world to me.  But that doesn't mean that nursing is the only way I can be fulfilled or happy. I can't believe I'm just now seeing this.  I think I could pursue a degree in biology or nutrition or something else that hasn't occurred to me yet and still be fulfilled and happy.

I would love to work in a research hospital some where.  If I could study disease processes or microscopic pathogens and figure out what makes them tick, I'd be happy.  If I could make them stop ticking, I'd be ecstatic.  If I could save lives by stopping the ticking of fatal pathogens, I'd die happier than anyone ever has.

I have a lot to consider.  I need to do some research on where I might fit.  I need to see what my realistic options are.  But I'm excited.  There is a whole world out there -- that doesn't require grueling clinical hours -- that I haven't considered before now.  And I can't wait to see what it might hold.

Coffee is a Beautiful Thing

This is one of the things Paul gave to me for Christmas. It's an espresso maker. I can make lattes all by myself! There is a milk steamer/frother thingy too. Yay for delicious coffee!  Yay for delicious coffee without paying Starbucks $4.00!

Dentist Time!

I took the kids to the dentist today. All three of them. It was just for cleaning and x-rays but I was still mighty anxious. We've had less than stellar dental appointments since they were tiny kids. I was mucho afraid of what we might need to repair, of the bills, of more anxiety.  Ugh.

But I feared for (almost) nothing. Out of three kids and some 48 teeth -- give or take a lost baby tooth -- there is only one cavity. And it's tiny. And in a baby tooth. Yay! Our religious dedication to brushing, flossing, fluoride rinses and much less candy has paid off!

Happy New Year!!

It's New Year's Eve 2011/2012! Yay!

Okay, that's enough exclamation points for one post. I really am just posting this to show you some photos from this fine evening.

People Watching in Airports

People watching in airports is hampered by security regulations now. This whole business that only allows ticketed passengers at the gate means I don't get to see people say their hellos or good byes. (Yes, I am that nosey.) It's different when I just see people gliding by on the automatic sidewalk. Or sitting across from me with their carry-on luggage and whatever crap they bought in the airport.

Christmas

Alright.  I need to savor this feeling right here.  This feeling of being surrounded by family,  of drinking great wine and of eating delicious food.  There is laughter, genuine affection and a general feeling of comfort.

I can say whatever I want and everyone will either laugh hysterically or look at me with an expression of, "What the hell?" and then laugh hysterically anyway.  And they're laughing with me, even as they might be laughing at me.  This is exactly what I want to feel, all of the time.

But.  But.  But if I felt this way all of the time I wouldn't appreciate this feeling as much right now, would I?  Or would I?  There's this whole idea that you don't appreciate the good times without the bad times, the light without the dark, you know?  I have always wished I had the opportunity to prove that wrong.

I don't know that it's possible, though.  To prove that idea wrong.  I've always had the bad times to interrupt the good times.  Always.  That's probably life.  I doubt anyone has all good times, all the time.  I really doubt that.

However, the week from Christmas to New Year's Eve is the perfect time to enjoy that great feeling 24/7.  I'm flying to Utah to spend 4 days with Paul and his Utah family on Wednesday.  That's going to be 4 days of Utah partying.  And I only work one day this week.  I get paid for 5 days but I'm only working 4 days.  I'm having a great week.

I love this feeling, whether it lasts or not.  And it probably won't.  But I love it all the more because of that.

Kids' Take on New Parenting

Samuel is harassing Miriam about something trivial.

She's exasperated and says to me, "Mom, make him stop this!"

I calmly reply, "You're a smart kid, you can work this out."

Miriam asks, "Why don't you ever help us out any more?!"

Solomon jumps in with, "It's not that she's isn't helping us.  She's just letting us figure stuff out on our own.  How else can we learn?"

Changing My Parenting

I've never been very big on self-help books or parenting books or anything like that.  They're preachy and condescending and annoying.  I am the authority on me and I don't need someone with a PhD to tell me how to deal with the stuff in my life.  Right?

But then one morning a few weeks ago I had a near-breakdown over not having enough time for breakfast or sleep or homework or to get to school and work on time or to do chores or to relax.  Not enough time for anything.  I yelled at the kids again and they continued to move at their snail's pace and they continued to walk away from their backpacks and jackets instead of picking them up and putting them on.

I have had this terrible thought over the last few weeks that I haven't been teaching my children responsibility.  Rather, I've been teaching them to respond to my yelling and frustration.  I'm talking at them until I'm blue in the face and my blood pressure is 162/98 and they're still forgetting that they need to take a snack to school or that they need to wear gloves when it's 19F outside.  I'm e-mailing their teachers weekly about homework and missed tests and issues with classmates.  I'm not doing them any favors like this.

So right then and there, leaning on the kitchen counter and breathing deeply, I bought "Parenting with Love and Logic" with the Amazon app on my phone.  It was one of those moments when I've just had enough.  Or too much.  I'd had too much and I couldn't take it any more.

When the book arrived I read half of it that same evening.  It's so simple, it's brilliant.  The premise is that kids are adults in training and if you don't treat them like that, they'll eventually become adults -- 'cause that's biology -- that act like kids -- 'cause that is what you brought them up to be.  It's much easier to let kids mess up now than it is to let them loose in the world where messing up means you lose a job or a house or worse.

So I've started stepping back.  I've stopped e-mailing the teachers, I've stopped pushing the homework, I've stopped the reminders about snacks, jackets and bed time.  That's done.

Instead of harping on weather appropriate clothing, I've told the kids what the weather is supposed to be like and let them dress however they think they'll be most comfortable.  If they don't wear snow boots and it snows and they have to walk home in it, they'll likely remember to take their boots next time there is snow in the weather report.

Instead of stressing out over a pre-set bedtime and getting all bent out of shape when it doesn't happen, I've laid out 2 requirements: 1) teeth must be brushed and 2) I don't see or hear any children in this house after 8:30, unless there is an emergency.  If they're exhausted at wake up time, they'll probably decide that getting a little more sleep is wise.

Instead of mediating the spats and the bickering I calmly suggest that they go some where else, together or alone, and deal with it however they think is best.  They're more likely to learn that hearing each other out, sticking up for themselves, making sincere apologies and having some patience work out problems rather well most of the time.

Instead of nagging the kids about leaving their things lying around, I've instituted the nightly sweep.  At 8:00 PM anything that is lying around in the common areas of the house is confiscated and place in the Confiscation Box.  On Sundays the sweep occurs at 5:00 PM and includes bedrooms.  Things that have been confiscated can be earned back by doing a chore.

Some amazing things have happened since all the Insteads were instituted.  The most amazing thing is that the house runs much more smoothly and there is a much lower level of stress for all of us.  I'm not so uptight because I've stopped making the kids' problems into my problems.  They're less stressed because I'm not hassling them all the time.

It's been slow going, but the kids are definitely stepping up and taking responsibility for a lot more things in their daily lives.  The mistakes they have made, while not catastrophic -- let's face it, they're kids -- have been true learning opportunities.  They take ownership of them and they work out some way to fix it, the best they can.  They're more likely to say to me that they messed up because it's no longer my "job" to preach to them about how they should have done things differently.  I listen to them and I ask them how they're going to fix things.  That's it.

This is the simplest and best change I've ever made to our home life.  I love it.

Expectations of Perfection

Solomon's first band concert was last week.  We have looked forward to this for weeks.  He is in both beginning band and beginning jazz band.  It's his favorite class.  Band was always my favorite class, too so I'm excited to see him this involved and engaged.

After the beginning bands played we heard the 7th and 8th grade bands.  I have to admit I was underwhelmed.  I thought, "I was once in junior high band.  I was once a musician with this level of experience.  And I don't think we sounded so ... unpolished?"  And then I reined myself in and thought what any reasonable adult should think when looking back onto experiences in their youth -- which is, "My frame of reference is skewed.  Of course we sounded unpolished.  We were 13."

On Friday night Jennifer, Caleb, Lance and I got to talking about what we remembered of our band experiences.  They all had the same thoughts I did during the band performances.  (Can I just say that it meant the world to both Solomon and me that they all came to the concert?  How fantastic is this family?)  Lance, being Lance, has recordings of his 9th grade concert performances and they're even on his iPhone.  So we did what anyone reliving their glory days of junior high band would do and we listened to one of them.  It's a piece called Havendance that my band also did in 9th grade.  It was my favorite concert piece ever.  It's demanding, difficult, beautiful and so extremely fun to play.

You know what?  It sounded amazing, even coming from the tinny iPhone speaker.  The instruments were in tune, there was one tempo.  The dynamics blew me away.  So my frame of reference isn't as skewed as I thought it was.  We really were as good as we remembered.

Now, for a bit more reference.  Lance, Jennifer, Caleb and I all went to junior high in the same school district.  Caleb went to a different junior high than the other three of us but we knew his school and his band and he knew ours.  We went against each other regularly at all-region competitions for concert band and marching band.  We all went to the same high school.  Lance was a few years behind me in school, Jennifer and Caleb were two years behind me.  Jennifer and Caleb are the only two of us who played in the same band for the same years during high school.  Also, when I compare the 8th grade band here to the 9th grade band of which we were a part, I'm comparing students who've all had 3 years of band experience.   Middle school here is grades 6 to 8 and junior high there is grades 7 to 9.

Since we could hear such a vast difference in musicality between the 8th grade band of a few nights ago and our 9th grade bands of years ago we started talking about what the difference could be.  We've come to the conclusion that since, as a group, 12- to 14-year-olds are capable of the same basic things, it lies in the director.

Our junior high band director and the directors we had in high school were smart, passionate about music, passionate about teaching kids music.  They told funny and corny jokes.  But when it was time to rehearse, they could turn into the meanest, toughest, ugliest guys in the world.  They were perfectionists and they expected us to be perfectionists.  Making a mistake due to inattention was not tolerated.  We tuned ourselves against a devil of a tuner with an eternally spinning wheel.  When we had trouble sticking to one tempo, the Evil Metronome of Death was hooked up to a PA system and that beat was broadcast throughout the band hall at a deafening volume until we succumbed to it and, by God, we played in tempo.  It wasn't uncommon for one person to be singled out as the one who was missing the run of 16th notes in the 58th measure.  That one person then played those 16th notes alone half a dozen times in front of everyone until they were right.  I remember more than one temper tantrum from a director that consisted of throwing a baton, knocking over his music stand and stomping back and forth across the room.

Solomon's band director is a very sweet, personable woman.  She clearly loves what she does, she loves teaching, she loves music.  The kids love her back. I haven't spent any time in her rehearsals so I can't say what happens in them.  But if I were a betting person, I'd bet she doesn't tune kids and their instruments against a machine.  I'd bet there is no Evil Metronome of Death in her band hall.  I'd bet she does not stress to her musicians the importance of watching for down beats, for cues about when the melody cuts from the flutes to the clarinets.  I'd bet she does not express disappointment when things are not played the way they are supposed to be played.  I can be reasonably sure of winning all of those bets because what we saw and heard on Thursday night does not reflect a director who expects, demands and gets everything of which 8th grade musicians are capable.

I believe that my band directors bordered on abusive.  If a parent treated a child the way we were treated as a group, it would warrant intervention of some kind.  There's no doubt about that in my mind.  But you know what?  My band experience is one I would not trade for anything.  We had extreme pride in our performances, no matter what the venue.  We were really good and we knew it. Despite the yelling, the occasional humiliation and the frustration with not always being perfect, I never questioned enrolling in band every year.  I felt affection for my directors and consider them some of the most influential teachers in my entire school career.  Other people with a similar experience have told me they feel the same way.

I would venture to say that if we hadn't been as good as we were, if we hadn't had so much pride in what we did as musical students, we wouldn't have loved it so much.  And our excellence, our pride, was a direct result of the way we were taught.  I hope that the lack of pressure and the lack of expectation to work harder than he has before does not deter Solomon from future years of band enrollment.  I want him to make it to high school band where there might be a director that demands the best.

Satisfaction

Beginning a new job is nerve-wracking.  After the initial search, the call for an interview and all the interviewing. there's finally an offer and an acceptance.  Then the nerves jump in.

First, there is the prospect of learning so much new information.  There are new processes, work flows, co-workers, a new computer system, new bosses, new everything.  It's daunting.

Then there is the whole deal with getting to know new people, as people, not just as co-workers.  Personalities and work ethics are intricate things and each new one presents a new opportunity to learn something one wants to emulate or not emulate.  And one must decide how one's personal philosophies line up with one's co-workers' philosophies. 

On top of all of that is a much bigger issue: proving oneself to the new work world.  "Can I prove to them that hiring me was a good choice?"  "Will they regret hiring me and wish they'd chosen another candidate?"  "Do I even want to prove anything to them?"

Well.  I've now been at my new job for more than three months.  I'm off the 90-day probationary period where I could be let go fired for anything.  (Colorado is an at-will state but I'm part of a union now so I'm protected, to an extent.  I don't expect to need the union for something like that but it's comforting to know it's there.)  I can safely say that I like all of my co-workers.  The doctors with whom I work are fun, funny, down-to-earth people.  The environment of the clinic where I work is positive and professional with an air of "we like being here, we're in this together and we're all doing our best."

Furthermore, I've received several compliments on my work from various staff members and patients.  During a team meeting after just four weeks of being there one of the doctors remarked that it seemed like I was more experienced than just those four weeks.  I have received two personal commendations.  A patient's parent sent an e-mail to the chief of my department telling her how I made her day.  People come to me and genuinely want to know my opinion.  I feel like I'm valued.

And I am satisfied that I have proven myself.  These people want me there and I want to be there.

They like me.  They really, really like me!

(And all this is not to say that I didn't feel these things at my previous job.  I'm just very happy and grateful that I have found job satisfaction again.)

Snowy Day

Our "porch" and front "walk."

Notice I did not say "Snow Day."  A snowy day is merely a day with lots of snow.  A Snow Day, capital letters necessary, means a day with lots of snow wherein school and/or work are canceled.  We had a Snow Day a month ago and it was fun.  This week we are on our second snowy day in three days.  I'm loving it, especially because I do not have to work either of these days.

On Thursday we awoke to a few inches of snow with more falling onto it.  Snow continued to fall for several hours.  It took an hour and a half to get my three offspring to their schools.  That was not fun.  Not fun at all.  I really think they should have called an hour's delay, but whatever.  After that was done I made a quick stop at the produce market for rump roast (On sale! I love sales!) and fresh veggies.  The day before I had stocked up on pantry staples during my lunch break.

When I got home I made three loaves of bread -- one Italian, two of the regular sandwich loaves I make every week -- and started a lovely, aromatic, meaty Bolognese sauce.  I shoveled snow, sipped coffee and watched several episodes of Parenthood from last season.  It was a beautiful day.  :sigh:

And today.  Today, we awoke to more snow falling on the snow from 2 days ago.  I have great plans of straightening up the house and putting up our tree while watching our favorite Christmas movies and listening to our holiday play list.  We have Elf and A Christmas Story cued up.  We'll probably search Netflix for more options this evening.  I also want to take a nice photo of the kids in the snow for our holiday letter.  Yes, I'm one of those people that likes to brag about share what her family has been up to for the last year.  Today is going to be a beautiful day, too.