Nothing profound

There is nothing profound to report. Apparently my cluttered brain only exists between the months of August and June. Now that summer is in full swing my focus is entirely on spending time with Jack and getting my house back in some semblance of order. Baby Pearson is doing well and seems to be growing on track. I suppose I should be worried that I haven't had anything profound or even trite to blabber about -- but I am too busy enjoying the sun!

School's out for summer

As the current school year wanes I have been contemplating some rather odd emotions that seem to arise at bizarre moments. One not so foreign emotion for this time of year is naturally ecstasy. No matter how many last days of school I experience I doubt I will ever lose the feeling of knowing that for 3 uninterrupted months I am free -- from responsibility (sort of), worry (kind of) and stress. Now that I am the teacher the summer is even better -- the paychecks arrive regardless of my presence at the building. It's quite remarkable.

The two emotions that have caused me to ponder have been nostalgia and fear. I expect to feel nostalgic as my students leave my nest and move onto bigger and better things. Yet it suprises me to what extent I am plagued by this nostalgia. I am the teacher that begins the countdown for summer in August -- on the first day of school. So it baffles the mind that when the last day is staring me down I find myself wishing the hours would slow down ever so slightly so I could relish in all that is wonderful, so that I could spend just a little more time with the wonderful people with whom I have had the privilege of acquainting myself. I genuinely will miss all of them...and I worry that next year won't be quite the same. I have often wondered if those in the "professional" world (there is a difference between "professional" and "educational" -- I have never been able to understand the distinction -- am I not a professional? are professionals not educated?) ever feel the same nostalgia when a large project is finalized.

The big "F" word is the one emotion that has caused me the greatest distress: FEAR. While not a veteran by any standard, I have made it past the breaking point for most educators; I will begin my 4th year in the fall. Suddenly now, as I toss away the papers I swore I would file and now can't remember why I saved them, I am struck with an almost crippling fear. Will I do as good a job next year? Do I even remember what I am supposed to teach? What did I say the first day of school that made me so intimidating? Every teacher knows that classes and school years take on a life of their own -- each one unique and never quite duplicated. I suppose this is what frightens me most: I had a wonderful year that seemed (for the most part) to be a success -- what if I can't re-create that success?

Consequently I will do what every good teacher does...I will take my uninterrupted 3 months of vacation and willfully interrupt it with professional development, syllabus revision and course planning -- all in an effort to ensure a successful school year. For better or worse, this is the life of an educator.

The big news...

I want to publish this post NOW -- the date it is penned -- but if you are reading it, then it must be June. Guess what?? WE ARE PREGNANT!! This baby is a total and complete surprise; Luke and I are so excited, bewildered, and a little overwhelmed. I always thought that the giddiness that accompanied the news of Jack's pregnancy would repeat with each subsequent pregnancy but that hasn't happened. Both Luke and I are stunned by our general serenity. Yes we are excited but the sense of urgency that came with Jack is not present. It is a bizarre feeling -- to know that we are preparing for another life and yet are calm and relaxed about the entire thing.

Unfortunately that is not all that is different about my two pregnancies. While I was tired with Jack I was never sick. This pregnancy has brought the concept of "morning sickness" to the forefront of my pregnancy repertoire. All this means that in addition to being tired because I am the mommy of a toddler, I am exhausted beyond all reason with the pregnancy sleeps and I am nauseous about 18 out of 24 hours a day. The cruel joke is that I'm starving -- nothing tastes good and nothing makes me feel better. Oh what we do for the littlest ones!

So it is with this post that I say farewell to soft cheese, lunchmeat, Venti lattes from Starbucks and say hello to Tums! Here is to a very adventurous 40 weeks (and yes we will make it this time!!).

A trip to Leakey and thoughts of history

This weekend my family will be embarking on our annual pilgrimage to West Texas -- Leakey, Texas to be more exact. It is time for the Welch family reunion. No, I'm not a Welch, neither are my parents or grandparents. But my great-grandmother has a sister who married a Welch and then proceeded to have 11 children (10 of whom made it to adulthood). The entire gang, including my great-grandmother when she was living, treks to the hills of West Texas; in essence we return home. It's kind of like salmon going up stream to their birthplace to spawn...except no one dies...and I don't want to think about spawning...

I always approach the trip with a bit of trepidation -- not because I fear the folks that I will see but rather because inevitably from my time in the mountains a different Valerie blooms. My accent thickens, I lose my distaste for "creepy-crawlies", and I relish the smell of the grass after the rains. Why the trepidation? My only reason is because Leakey, Texas and its surrounding areas are my home, despite the fact that I have never lived there. I think there is a small part of me that worries one day I will make the drive up there never to return.

This brings me to another interesting point -- that a place I have never actually resided in seems like home to me. That's the beauty of the place though -- I am in essence returning to the place of my forefathers -- and some how I recognize that fact. My grandfather was born up there -- in Sabinal to be exact. This tidbit has always made me a bit nostalgic about the area, but it wasn't until I had the privilege of traveling the road from Houston to Leakey with Bill Evans that I truly appreciated the idea of returning home. I expected like any other over-confident college freshman that the trip with my grandparents would be boring...full of useless driving advice and lots of snoring. The journey was much more than that -- it was a journey into my grandfather's past and thus my own. My grandfather spun tales for the 5 hours that we journeyed -- pointing out landmarks that no historical society was even aware and telling stories of people and familes long gone. The most amazing thing was how well, after all the years he had been gone, he could tell the change of the counties by the passing landscape -- landscape that to me, the untrained eye, looked all the same. I consider this trip with my grandfather to be one of the highlights of my life -- he died two years later. I had the invaluable experience of learning about my past, about my family's past, about my state's history, about just THE PAST.

Bill Evans passed on all of his wisdom and values and anecdotes via a lost art in our society -- oral tradition. I recently read an essay by Momaday entitled "The Way to Rainy Mountain" -- the author, a Native American, re-lived an experience similar to my own. The essay was touted as an excellent example of the oral tradition of Native American people. While true that histories like the Momaday piece are vital, it seems to me that more importantly are the personal oral traditions -- the ones that will never be published in a book, that will never be recorded for public posterity. These traditions are the very things that give us all our roots -- and everyone knows that the stronger the root system the stronger the tree that grows. It is my hope to give these roots to Jack and his children -- stories of my life, my parents' life, my grandparents' life and stories of the train that swept off the track from the torrential rains in Uvalde county back when Bill Evans was a young man.

A Child Just Like Me...

For those close enough to learn my personal idiosyncracies it is no secret that my comfort/worry stone has always been the ear. My family tells stories of little hands finding the ear in the car, in the middle of the night, whenever completely inconvenient. The women in my family tell tales of earring-less days because of my every roving little hands. I have always found these stories comforting -- evidence that despite all the changes that come with growing up somethings never change. Lest those neophytes to this revelation think me crazy beyond all reason let me say as a side note that I share my love for the ear lobe with Former President Ronald Reagan -- a fact shared during the week of news coverage for his funeral. Back on point...it never entered my mind to consider how absolutely annoying my endless ear search must have been for my family. That is until Jack developed his own habit.

Jack's worry stone is not the ear but rather the belly button, his own fortunately; however, because he refuses to sleep under a blanket and thus must wear footie pajamas his belly button is often inaccessible. Consequently, Jack has turned his attention to the lower half of the face, specifically the chin and lips. He digs his razor-like claws into skin in an effort to lull himself to sleep. It is the MOST annoying event of our day. Yet I let him continue his activity primarily because it is one of the few times of the day when he is still and quiet and snuggly. He crawls into a lap, flops his head against a shoulder, sticks one finger in his mouth and the other little hand begins its blind search for the comfort stone. And when I reach the pinnacle of frustration I remember the stories of my family and know that Jack deserves the opportunity to hear the same stories and feel the same comfort from them. I just hope he grows out of the habit earlier than I did (I still play with ear lobes...I'm an addict); it will be awkward for a 17 year old to play with his mother's face before he can sleep -- I doubt the guys on the football team will be able to overlook that one.

I should learn to save...

This is the 3rd time I have attempted this entry. The first time events were fresh and the mind was cluttered but clear. That was before Jack taught himself to unplug the computer. The second time I sat down and attempted to re-create the first but only resulted in a trite confession that most, including myself, would find boring at best. There was no way that the 2nd draft could ever have the oomph that the first did -- the issue is somewhat resolved and considering it is Wednesday, all my reserve fuel has been spent for the week, finding me exhausted at 8:30...willing myself to stay awake longer than the preschooler next door and the old folks across the street.

Thus...no entry...only news...as of today I have officially been given control of the entire Advanced Placement English Language and Compostion (English IIIAP) course. My superior in the dept has taken a job as a curriculum specialist and passed the torch along to me. It is a bittersweet appointment; I am excited about the prospect of revamping some curricula choices and yet I am bit forelorn about losing the possibility of taking the English IVAP spot. I was, in a strange way, looking forward to being that quirky English literature teacher. You know the one -- weird room, crazy teaching methods, even more bizarre reading/viewing selections. C'est la vie!

The first official

It's official...I have finally climbed on the blogging wagon. Honestly, I have no idea why I decided to do this. Actually that's not exactly true -- I know WHY I wanted to blog but I have no idea why I decided to actually start blogging. Let's start at the top I suppose. The blog is entitled "My Cluttered Brain." I have noticed that the older I get and the more complicated and involved my life becomes, the less time I have to talk to myself about all the issues that consume my time. (Yes, I talk to myself on a regular basis). I have found of late, however, that that the older Jack gets the less time I have to interact with my own thoughts; thus, the blog was created. Hopefully, even if no one reads it, notices it, responds to it at least I might have the opportunity to put on "paper" the things that seem to clutter my brain.

Why not a journal? After recently destroying 4 different journals from my youth -- all with approximately 4 entries each and replete with horribly embarassing love confessions -- I have decided that journaling does not have enough accountability for me. I need an audience lest I spiral down a dangerous path of self-righteous babble.

So the earth shattering thoughts for today (there are several): First, I fell up the stairs. That's right, I said UP the stairs...at school...during the passing period. Let me paint a mental picture. As it is currently TAKS week, I was comfortably dressed in jeans and a spirit shirt, sporting my new sneakers. Laden with bags of papers not to mention my purse, I took off for my study hall class with one minute before the tardy bell. While it is unadvisable for students to be late, it is extremely poor taste for teachers to be late! I attempted, despite the excrutiating lack of leg length, to scale the stairs two at a time. At the last stair, my shoe caught and I stumbled. Yes, I attempted to right myself but unfortunately I became irreversibly tangled in my belongings and crashed face first into a brick wall. Several scraps and bruises later, I arrived to my study hall a fashionable two minutes late (I had to stop and clean up). I think the thing that has bothered me most about this event was not that it happened, but that I still truly care what others think -- including the 17 year olds who witnessed the crash. You would think I would have resolved my insecurities at this point in my life.

There is more...so much more...but Jack is finished with his bath and so duty calls...