Relentless

We don't imagine bad things happening to us. Illness, death, accidents and loss are anecdotes in a sermon or stories in Chicken Soup for the Soul XVII. And there isn't much to prepare us when the bottom does fall out, because tragedy is an abstract fear until it is all too palpable.

I knew early in our relationship that Joe will be an amazing father. Perhaps even earlier than I knew I wanted to marry him. So even more than my desire to be a mother, I wanted (want) Joe to get to be a father.  When we found out I was pregnant in December, the joy was overwhelming. Truly overwhelming, in the best way possible. I couldn't wait to be a parent with the man I look up to and respect more than anyone. I would lie in bed and think about the little peanut, praying for each little toe and finger I knew I already, we already, loved so much.

But a few weeks later, we learned we would never meet that peanut. And that love would become the sickening kind you feel when you lose something. A silent ultrasound at the ER was one of the worst sounds  we've ever heard and it broke our hearts.

Being told you've lost a baby is a fear every woman has. We know, if nothing else, we have that one thing on men, I guess, and we are specifically designed to do it. When we can't, it's a biological gut punch. And it seems to be the worst thing imaginable. And it is, because I would never have imagined there was something harder than hearing I'd lost my baby.

The doctor ordered a D & C as opposed to waiting to pass the "tissue" naturally, which could take two weeks. And yes, "tissue" is the cold, clinical term that I kept hearing to refer to my lost peanut. I agreed with the surgery because I wanted to grieve and be sad, but to be moving in a direction away from this as soon as I could. Two weeks of waiting for my body to painfully expel something sounded too gruesome for me.

In an episode of Friends, Rachel says, "I really thought I just hit rock bottom. But today, there's rock bottom, 50 feet of crap, and then me."

I couldn't find her saying the quote I used,
but this sass will do. 

50 feet of crap farther than rock bottom, it turns out, is being told you had a cancerous pregnancy.

My "condition" is called a molar pregnancy. It is a rare freak fertilization malfunction that results in a tumor that eventually kills the cells trying to make a baby while still mimicking a pregnancy. Pretty rude, right?

I told my doctor she needed to repeat herself because I had just hallucinated she told me I had a tumor.

" You probably don't have the tumor anymore. We most likely got it all in your D&C, but you'll still need to wait 6 months to a year to try again. You will get a blood test every week till your hormones are normal again. If they don't get back to normal, than you'll have to do some chemo. But it's light chemo."

A series of explicatives ran through my head and thankfully not out of my mouth. Vomit, though, did almost come out of my mouth.

The doctor explained everything again and said I was lucky that I was getting to keep my uterus, "that's the silver lining."

That's the silver lining? That's what I am supposed to tell my 24 year- old self who is facing chemo and being told to wait 6 months to a year, that at least I get to keep my uterus?

The suffering seemed relentless.

After calling Joe, who was already on his way to Florida, I spent the next few days in the same pair of sweatpants watching a  Criminal Minds marathon. Polly rarely left my side-- proving dogs are the best things ever.

Fictional friends 

 I began  wandering around the house one day in between episodes. Polly followed me, curious as to why I left the bedroom, I am sure. I found myself in the room, the one that was supposed to be the baby's room and I thought about all the plans I had already bookmarked in my computer to decorate the room. And all the cute, tiny clothes I was excited to buy. And all the nights I has planned on Joe and I staying awake, taking turns feeding or holding or just staring at the little person who was supposed to live in there.

Real friend.
Yo, mom, I am fine with staying in bed
all day. 

And it was that nondescript day to the rest if the world  that I realized I had been asking God the wrong question.

I was determined to not be bitter or resentful with God. And I was doing a decent  job. But I wasn't praying the prayer I needed to be praying.

I had been asking why instead of asking where.

In Matthew 4:19-20, Jesus comes to Simon and Andrew in the middle of their work day and tells them to follow him and they will become fishers of men. Matthew 4:21-22 has a similar response but I love the syntax of James and John's actions. The bible says, " He called them, and immediately they left their boat and their father, and followed him." It's all one sentence, it's one fluid motion separated by commas so you see that John and James  have no hesitation. They don't even think about it long enough for the bible to document periods; they leave their job, their father, and they go.

When Jesus says, "Follow me," it isn't a conditional statement. He doesn't say, "Follow me at your convenience," nor does he say, " Follow me only as far as you are comfortable. Only in leaving our metaphorical boats or even real fathers or families, and asking, "Where to?" can we fully receive and embrace God's love for us. And we wonder why people are unsatisfied in their faiths; because merely liking Jesus isn't enough. Simply accepting Christ in words or even prayer does not a disciple make. We have to get up and go where he calls us to be.

The where just may not be where we wanted to go.

By now, we've all experienced mishaps with autocorrect on texts. There are even blog sites dedicated to these sometimes very embarrassing "corrections." My phone gets hooked on autocorrecting " I love you" into " I live you."  It's not as silly or embarrassing as the " something" coming out as "some thong," but it is a message that has made me stop and think. Do I love Christ, or do I live him? Saying I love him is awesome and important, but he is asking for more than words, he is asking that we live our love out.

Actions speak louder than words, right?

Not a very delicate piece
of jewelry. 

During the French Revolution people wore guillotines as jewelry. Sounds gruesome. But then I think of how many different pieces of jewelry I own that have a cross on it. A symbol we have attributed to purity to holiness and to salvation is actually as gruesome as a guillotine. A cross, The Cross, is all of those nouns, but it is a sign of suffering.   

My suffering seems, at this point, to be not letting up soon. My hormones have not dropped as they were supposed to and I could have another D and C, bumping us back another 6 months. If the surgery doesn't work, I face "light chemo, " which sounds oxymoronic.

This is my cross to bear now. This is my battlefield, and I am fighting for more than my health or my motherhood, I am fighting for God and His promised Kingdom. Because right now it would be totally socially acceptable to break down and curse my Lord. In fact, it would prove the points or reasons non- believers cling to. But even " the demons believe" (James 2:19) and God hasn't abandoned me, so I will not abandon Him.


Being close to Him may bring you to uncomfortable,  socially compromising, and challenging positions, but those are just your mission fields. You don't have to go to a remote village in a third world country to be a disciple. Your mission field may be closer than you think. Like next cubicle over. Or the lady next to me in the hospital waiting room. We have opportunity to worship God and serve Him in our most average and everyday lives. So while we may feel worldly suffering, we should look to the path that allows us to be a light in a place of darkness.


I feel closer to God because of these past few months than I ever have before.
I am devastated to lose a baby Joe and I already loved; but in that loss I have found a greater understanding of God's love. He sent His son to die for us, if anyone knows that grief, it's God.
I am afraid of cancer and chemo and being sick; but I am more afraid of becoming bitter and resentful when God is asking me to take on a new ministry.

I know if I relentlessly pursue God he too will relentlessly pursue me.
I've spent time mad at God. I asked Him to follow me and my rules. Other major world religions involve our reaching to god or to a state of holiness. In Christianity, God reaches for us. His plan is so much more important and awesome than mine, and yet he reaches for me and "calls me by name" ( Isaiah 43:1)  and offers me a spiritual life I don't deserve.

Jesus tells Nicodemus in John 3 that humans cannot do to go to heaven, we have to be. Nicodemus, a member of the Sanhedrin (Old Testament scholar) asks how can he change, how can he become something he's not?  Jesus has the perfect opening to tell this educated, knowledgable, doing man, the man that wants to know what to do to go to heaven but yet comes to Jesus at night so as not to be seen-- our state of being cannot be changed by anyone but God. God opens our hearts and changes who we are and who we are to become. Acts 16: 14 we get that exact active wording with Lydia, " The Lord opened her heart to heed the things spoken by Paul." When we pursue God, He will open our hearts, He will tear down the walls we've built, He will provide us with His love and the path He wants us to take to show more people that love.

My battlefield, my mission field, right now is not one of comfort or contentment.  But then this wouldn't be a mission field. I wouldn't be given the gift of suffering that will allow the Holy Spirit to work through me to plant seeds in other people's lives. I get to be a witness to Christ in the way He wants, nay, He trusts me to be.

Christ is asking me, giving me the opportunity, to follow him. It is my faithful duty to leave my comfort zone and simply say, " Where to?" 



*For a more formalized study on following Christ, I recommend the Clear Creek Community church app the "Complete" study. For reading on this, Follow Me by David Platt and Not a Fan by Kyle Idleman. Also Crazy Love by Francis Chan.

Phamily Time

Polly and I have made the journey to the land north of the Mason Dixon. These are our stats thus far:

Times I have been told I have an accent: 2 (False, in my opinion)
Times Joe has said he is glad that I am here: 100
Times that I have gotten mad for forgetting some article of clothing: 28
Bowls of Cinnamon Toast Crunch I have eaten: 11
Friends I have made: 12
Friends Joe has made because of me: 12
Laps Polly has run around the fully carpeted apartment: 22
Time Polly has been waking up and, thus, woken us up: 6:32 AM
Times I have introduced myself as, "Jennifer Wegmann, I mean, Savery" : 3
Days it took me to find Target: 2 hours after landing in Philadelphia
Times I have told Joe how thankful I am that I can be here: Not enough

My new friends and I hoping the grass isn't too wet

We participated in Family Day, which is geared more towards those who actually have more than 2 people in their family. Two other players' girls and I stood around joking about needing a prop child to fit in. It was precious watching all the kids in their uniforms run the bases, fall down, run the bases again and then jump on dad. Christmas card photo op if I ever saw one.

Joe's mom asked if I was doing well. His response went something like this, "Well, she got us on a triple date; tonight she is going to a wives' dinner; we are modeling in a fashion show. She is doing pretty well."

And, yes, we are in a fashion show. A charity one, not a legitimate one. My dress is gorgeous and fun and my shoes are bejeweled Christian Louboutin's with all the colors of the rainbow.... and they match Joe's shirt. I am sure he will make his multi-colored shirt very handsome, and if nothing else my shoes will make anything near it look good. Trying on the clothes was enough fun for me. Big thanks to Neiman Marcus and the Shane Victorino Foundation for the event and letting us have big girl dress up day.

My beauties. Move over, Cinderella. 

As tenuous as our position is here, we are thankful for the many modes of kindness people have shown us. If the rain and the cold weather can go away, I will be even happier!

Different jersey sizes? 

Here and already leaving soon. Joe played in Baltimore over the weekend so I came a little further south to visit a friend. In Baltimore, the hotel gave Polly a doggie bed and bowls and treats. Not 5 minutes after we got in our room the door rang with comforts for the princess. Must be nice to be so cute, huh?

I have a friend's wedding next weekend in Mississippi (sweet tea, anyone?). I am over the moon excited to see my friends next weekend. I know they will all agree when I say that all time has done is make us more appreciative for the friendships we have with one another. And what better way to reunite than our friends big Southern wedding? Stay tuned for the prodigal daughter to return to the South.....

I know, this is cheesy, but we will appreciate it in the future. 

The Heels Were Made for Teaching

Bookshelf at Shakespeare and Co. in Paris, France
One of my study abroad trips in college

“Wait, what do you mean ‘Free Read Day’? I don’t get it." This was the general response from my students when I told them to bring a book, no iPads, Kindles, eBooks, magazines or comics, to read in class last week. (Note: A student brought Captain Underpants and actually tried to make an argument as to why he could read it as a junior for Free Read Day. A book that comes with stickers is not going to fly for Free Read Day.)

This face would probably shock
my students

When they were unable to bring a book to school, I let them borrow some of mine.  
I shocked my students with the fact that the books I gave them were not 17th century poetry or written in Old English. The books I gave them were by modern and contemporary authors with some elements I know they weren’t expecting (“Uhm, this book says the word ‘beer,’ is that okay?”*) and with endings they certainly were not anticipating (“Why does he just walk away? Why did she still love him?”**). But I loved that they were holding books from my personal library, with my old notes and scribbles in the margins. I know they felt like they were looking into my diary or something, and in a way they were, by my diary as a reader not as a writer. 

Student A: “Are we going to find notes to ex- boyfriends in here?”
Me: “Would I still have the book if I wrote notes to other people in them?”
Student A: “Guess not.”
Me: “Besides, I would never let an ex-boyfriend keep my books.” Student B: “ Wait, You have ex-boyfriends?!”


This is the same reaction to my having a doctor’s appointment, as though we, teachers, do not go to doctors or get sick or leave the school campus for anything. Did I think that about my teachers? I guess to some degree I did, but when I came back to school after the doctor they were very inquisitive then as well.
Student A:“Are you sick?”
Me: “Nope.”
Student B:“Are you getting sick?”
Me: “No, just a check up.”
Student A again: “Were you faking sick?” 
Student B:"I bet you were faking."

Me: “Okay, time for a pop quiz.”

With this year winding down I keep wondering if I have made any impact on them besides my clothing-- which is still commented on daily (“I don’t think you have worn the same shoes twice,” said a male student to me. “Yes she has, she wore those before Christmas break. That is two times this school year, gosh, you idiot,” said a female student in my ‘defense.’)
But I think about my most influential teachers, the ones that made me want to be a teacher; I wonder if I have done even half of that, a third of that, for my students. I know they will not leave my class dreaming of being an English teacher. I know they will not go out and buy every Barry Hannah, Miranda July, Mary Karr book they can find.*** I know that they don’t think Shakespeare is cool or that Old English is easy. But I want so badly for them to think something, to learn something and most importantly, to feel something. That is what reading and writing does that no other subject really can, it makes you feel. I want my students to have read something, even if it was just a page and the rest was Sparknoted**** I hope they read it and had to look inward at themselves in a way they hadn’t before. We have talked about pride and greed and lust and love and death and creation and isolation and abandonment and fear-- oh goodness have we talked about fear. The most fearful thing, after all, is that someone can look at us and see us for who we truly are. Reading is that, it forces you to look inward. I want them so badly to have studied these themes and thought, I know what he/she feels, I have never killed anyone to become king, but I know how it feels to want something you can't have or I know what it feels like to be alienated, I know what it feels like to reach out and have no one reach back-- I didn't know other people ever felt that way.


I personally fear that I did nothing but show them how to write a proper thesis statement and insert page numbers on a Word doc.

A student from the other 10th grade teacher’s class said that all we do is color in my class. He said this to two of my girls who are not making very good grades and that all they have to do is stay in the lines in my coloring books and they will get an A. My teacher friend teaches the class that this conversation was taking place in. She said the girls stood up for me, but mostly for the rigor of my class.
“It is, like, hard. Like, we really have to read and learn stuff. She grades our essays hard and she makes us like, go deeper”
“Yeah, you don’t even know. It is a hard class and we are trying really hard to make good grades. It is hard.”
                         
The girls also told me about this the next day. We joked as a class about if that was actually the case, than they should all have made A’s on the test I just handed back, which they did not.


Being the young, new teacher I am an easy target. 
Being the young, new teacher means I will quip right back at you. 

My teacher friend said I should come meet this boy, the naysayer/hater, so I did.
Teacher Friend introduced us: “Boy (name omitted to protect his identity), this is Mrs. Savery. She wanted to meet you.”
I smiled big, gave a firm hand-shake and said, “Hi, Boy. I hear you really want to come to my class to color.”
He looked at me wide eyed and shocked, “Uhm, no.”
“Really? I think you should just stop by sometime. I have plenty of extra coloring books if you want a break from Mrs. Other 10th Grade Teacher’s class.”
“I like Mrs. Other 10th Grade Teacher’s class.”
“Oh, that’s great! I will let her know. But in case you need a break from all of your learning and test taking, I have all of the Crayola crayons you can imagine and we don’t even have grades. Just stick figures.”
Still shocked and stammering he said, “Oh, okay.”
“Okay, great! Well, come by sometime. It was so nice to meet you!”

My girls, who were listening from the hallway, all hugged me after like it was an episode of Saved by the Bell and I had confronted the bully. They thought it was, like, so awesome. Which it kind of was.
(Boss, if you are reading this, please don't fire me. I was standing up for my students! I was standing up for literature!)

What was even better was that the next day a few students stayed after class to tell me how much they had learned this year and what a good teacher they thought I was.
“I would take your class every year if I could. Even if there was a coloring class, I would take yours instead!”

What did we learn from this, class?
We learned that teachers talk. That you shouldn’t talk about what you don’t know.  That maybe I have done something for my students.

And don’t mess with the teacher in the red-soled shoes.







*Reading Larry Brown's Big Bad Love; which is not, in fact, about love being big or bad. Well, maybe a little bad.
** Reading "Up In Michigan" after I told them that Gertrude Stein told Hemingway it was the cruelest story she had ever read. And it is pretty cruel. So of course, they wanted to read it.
*** All amazing authors, very contemporary and not for everyone.
****Sparknoted: a verb meaning read the first and last page of a book and used Sparknotes for the rest.

"Never go on trips with anyone you do not love"

 There is a scene in Ernest Hemingway's novel A Farewell to Arms in which the main character, Fredrick, has a conversation with the priest while he is injured in the hospital. Fredrick tells the priest he does not "love much." To which the priest responds: 


"Yes," he said. "You do. What you tell me about in the nights. That is not love. That is only passion and lust. When you love you wish to do things for. You wish to sacrifice for. You wish to serve." 
"I don't know love." 
"You will. I know you will. Then you will be happy."
"I'm happy. I've always been happy."
"It is another thing. You cannot know about it unless you have it." 


Though this is not my favorite Hemingway book*, this scene certainly strikes a cord to any reader. Those who love know, those who do not, won't until they do. 


Another favorite quote of mine is in this novel (I promise this is not a literature lesson, so bear with me): "The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places." 


I once told Joe I knew I wanted to marry him when my plans changed because of him. Whatever silly timeline I had come up with, whatever check list of life accomplishments I had before him, changed when he came into my life. 

Such an attractive couple

And plans have changed again. Next fall I will not return to teaching full time; I will travel with Joe and take care of our marriage full time. I have loved teaching in the way you love things that make you struggle, that break you and make you stronger, and I hope to one day come back to the classroom full time. But for now, my family (however small it is) has to come first. 


But God is good and were we are needed he will find a way to have us there. My boss came in my classroom two days after I wept in his office about how I couldn't teach next year and offered the creative writing class to me through an online course-- I didn't even hesitate to say yes! There will be a presiding teacher to basically administrate the class, but the syllabus, grading, teaching and instruction will be "mine." The Lord has lead me to this school and has a purpose for me here, one I am even more certain of now that we are able to make an arrangement that satisfies all of my roles. 




At Camp Mystic for Girls**  there is always a Sunday we talk about putting God first. It is visually demonstrated through a giant fish bowl, rice and some golf balls. When we put worldly things first, represented by rice, God's will doesn't always fit, shown by trying to fit golf balls in the already full fish bowl. But putting the Lord first, meaning the golf balls, the rice sifts through and the Lord provides. I guess I forgot this in all my crying over what to do about next year. 




                                 Put your golf balls in first and your rice will fit, too. 

One of my favorite camper photos ever       

Photo Ode to Mystic 


**I went to Camp Mystic since 1998, with a hiatus between 2005-2007, quickly to return to be a counselor. Aside from my parents, I don't think anything has been as impactful and formative as Mystic. The river, the Hill Country, the tradition and the people make you renew your spirit and your body like nothing else can. God's hand has made Mystic as a place for girls to find their faiths, walk in hope and grow in love. 

Camp Mystic Dance 2011; sister and Rita 

Asking campers to back up so I can do the worm
at a Mystic dance party 

A little HBR
That's horse back riding to those of you who have never
filled out a Mystic Activity Card 

Reading at Mystic on CC Day, aka best day ever.
Yeah, I am a freak, kind of. 

My Mystic friends and the directors, Dick and Tweety at my wedding.
You don't go somewhere for 12 summers and not get attached to some folks.

* Read Hemingway's short stories or A Moveable Feast or The Sun Also Rises.  A Moveable Feast is a collection of short memoirs about his time in Paris. Better yet, read it in Paris. You'll never be able to stop loving the city. The title of this post is a quote from A Moveable Feast, and I couldn't agree more. 

UPDATE: Since this post went public Joe was called up to the big leagues again! Another player is injured, so there is no telling how long he will be there; however, it is nice to know that he is the next guy in line when something like this does happen! 

The Flying Corgi

Polly and I made the journey to Florida together for Spring Training. We almost didn't make it, however,  due to heinous lines at the airport-- thank you United and Continental for merging, it sure made things go at an excruciatingly slow pace. I cried to a security guard that my flight was leaving in 15 minutes (true) and I hadn't seen my husband in a month (exaggeration). He said no passengers could be expedited, no exceptions. Real tears ensued at this point. The twelve people in front of me felt compassion towards the crying girl holding the puppy and let me cut. I then broke Olympic Gold Medal records sprinting through the airport to get to my gate, which was the very last one because, really, why would anything about traveling be easy?

If you have more than 4 people working, things would probably go faster, IAH. 

We made it safe and sound and Joe was happy to see his girls. Let the record reflect that he hugged Polly before me, a gesture I will not soon forget.


Polly flew the weekend before last to visit my sister and various friends in Oxford. She was great except on the flight back I fell asleep and she barked until I woke up. It was pretty rude, if you ask me.


Currently, she is chewing my shoe laces which will inevitably lead to me telling Joe I need new tennies. Chew those shoes up all you want, just stay away from my Louboutins.

Exhausted from traveling and shoe-chewing

I have experienced a different side of life in the past week or so. Not only did I become one of those women that travels with her dog, I got a taste of what it is like to not work (I feel there is some cross-over between these two categories).


After dropping Joe off at the field while it is still dark--crazy fans already lined up at the fence to try and get autographs-- I have had loads of free time till the game starts. I have gotten to do things I don't get that much time to do at home such as go back to bed, work out, read terrible magazines, watch TV,  pick out clothes and make new outfits that Rachel Zoe* would even be proud of, learn what all the buttons are on my iPad and go get my nails done. I have to say, it has been really nice having the down time. The obvious perk of getting to spend time with Joe is priority, but I am seeing what it will be like this summer and what it would be like if I were to stop work and travel with him full time.

At the famous Ceviche, note my cool outfit 

One wife here is a retired Dallas Cowboys cheerleader. She and her husband, who shall remain nameless, got married in November and she will move with him to Philadelphia and travel to the games that she can when they play away.
One girlfriend quit her job as a body builder ( I am sure there are more professional terms for this) and worked some at Nieman Marcus in Tampa, then got transferred to  Nieman Marcus not far from the AAA team and Philadelphia last year. She said that she has gone in and worked once a week or so since getting to spring training with her boyfriend. Both have given up their careers for the time being to travel with their husband/boyfriend. The most time they will spend away from their respective partners will be when a road trip goes especially long, meaning about 6 days. I am insanely jealous of them; however, I have a different situation.


 I  have the job I wanted since I was in elementary school. Not a filler job that I am trying to eventually work up towards, no, I got THE job I want. And while I am exhausted and stressed and have found myself locking my classroom door to cry once in a while, I don't know that I could trade that for being here. Joe and I have rationalized that with the summer and the off season, we are really only apart 4 1/2 months. If I can travel to see him every other weekend, than that isn't too bad. Of course, that is a big if. If I am able to find flights that I don't have to miss work. If I am able to find the energy to get on a plane every other week only to arrive at my destination at midnight, then return Sunday night as late as I can as to spend time with Joe only to find myself wanting to take my coffee intravenously Monday morning.

                                                This is what I miss when I am not with Joe


I went to a wives' conference over Spring Break put on by PAO (Professional Athletes Outreach) and Baseball Chapel. It was so insightful to meet other wives in this position. Some  women have grown children who they themselves are already playing pro ball, and some are newlyweds like myself. The primary was discussion about keeping perspective and being able to find God in everything we do, and if we don't, change courses. Our speaker Rene Taubensee made a point that really struck a cord in me: Women at home don't get this. This is probably the hardest thing, seeing friendships sift out differently than I ever thought they would. Being gone almost every weekend takes up a lot of social time to cultivate my friendships at home. There were some great, inspiring women that I met that I look forward to becoming better friends with in the baseball world-- but what about  my roots are in Houston (or Oxford, for that matter)?


PAO link: http://www.pao.org/
Baseball Chapel link: http://baseballchapel.org/


Basically I have made my home in between a rock and a hard place. I am away from my husband and feel more alone than I ever have, but have the job I went to college for and have wanted since I thought I was a March** sister from Little Women. And not only do I want my job, I feel needed here. I feel like I serve a greater purpose than my own professional ambition right now. Or, I am with my husband and we can grow in our marriage and love while I potentially go crazy because I don't know how be satisfied with setting my schedule around when my dog needs to poop or getting manicures or  Zumba class***-- I fear I would not be a productive, happy wife, nay, human being, if I did not have the intellectual stimulation I do now--


But does staying here make me a bad wife?


(By the way, in my head right now Sarah Jessica Parker is narrating this like she does when Carrie muses on Sex and the City)

I wish this is how I looked when I typed

So I pray for patience in all my trials, rest when I am able to find it, strength when I am weary, overwhelming love for my husband and my job and hope that United will offer frequent flyer miles for dogs.




I have started taking a creative writing class at Rice. It is a continuing education class which means I am the youngest of 18 aspiring and  inexperienced writers. Stay tuned for my observations from class.






* Rachel Zoe = the styling equivalent to Moses, she leads thousand through the wilderness of the unfashionable world. At some point, I will write a fashion blog post. If you need anyone to help you pick out clothes or go shopping for you, contact me.
**Wonderful book and movie, Christian Bale and Winona Ryder in the early 90's-- why doesn't Jo choose Laurie!!??
***Don't get me wrong,  I love manicures, pedicures and Zumba. I do not love poop.

When I Was Your Age

If given a chance to take back some mistakes, I think most of us would take back things from our four years we each spent in high school. Poor choices in study habits, peer pressure, romantic relationships or attempted romantic relationships and even fashion-- yes, looking back at high school sometimes seems a parade of our most glossy mistakes.

Which makes it very fun to teach high school and watch all of these same mistakes being made. And by fun I mean difficult, stressful, insightful and maturing.

In short, I feel like I am doing an improvisational comedy show five days a week.

Some highlights of this, my first year teaching, thus far:

I proudly typed my syllabus and course objectives, wording it to make sure that the class seemed rigorous and I seemed strict and intimidating. I tried to hide any evidence of my youthfulness since my mere presence spoke for itself.  People told me not to smile for the first quarter; some said year, some said month--- but the general message was don’t smile. The bell rang for my first class on my first day in my first “real job.” I handed out the syllabus and gave the same verbal overview to all of my classes: I will reward hard work, but I will punish laziness, you must read the material, writing does not have a formula, you will respect each other and me, you will not get off task on your laptop, you do not “get” grades-- you earn them. I finished my lecture, lips tightly closed over my teeth, and asked if there were any questions. A few brave hands shoot up:

“Is it true you are dating a professional baseball player?”
“What was it like being in a sorority at Ole Miss?”
“Did you like SEC football?”

And my favorite:
“Are your shoes Christian Louboutin?”

I garnered their respect from the start.

When I got the job, I was ecstatic. I had wanted to teach high school English since I was taking high school English. There was the promise of a creative writing course in the future, too. I was thrilled to mold and shape students the way I had been by my amazing and engaging English teachers. I was proud to tell people when they asked what I was doing after graduation, “teaching” “Oh, what age?” “Sophomores and juniors” “High schoolers?!” “Yes...?” “Those boys are going to be all over you.”

Gross. I decided this was a myth, something made up by Britney Spears music videos and The O.C. I wouldn’t have students like that. They would see me for my brain and my brain only.

For the most part I was right, I was able to sass back at them and gave them a seating chart and graded them hard enough on their first paper to prove whatever it was I needed to prove to them. But there is something about boys ages 14-23 (yes, I realize the giant age bracket and that it includes guys my age) that makes them nearly intolerable.

Around homecoming, this particular student came in my room and asked if I would wear his jersey on Homecoming Friday. “What in the world? Are you trying to get me fired? I don’t think you should ask things like that!!” He responded that all the teachers do it, it is a tradition. Tradition my left foot! I quickly e-mailed my other young teacher friends and it was confirmed that teachers do wear players’ jerseys, but that asking on MONDAY of Homecoming week was jumping the gun a little bit. Even though all the other teachers had on jerseys, it still felt a little weird.

Something that really makes my day, and by that I mean makes me really insecure, is being mistook for a student. Moms do this a lot. Of course, they themselves can often times look like students, or at least much closer to my age. Yes, hot-tennis-mom is not a creation of the writers for Desperate Housewives, they exist in the real world. Bless them for not working and being able to do so much for the school (luncheons, goodybags, breakfasts, cupcakes-- seriously, they take care of us and we would be a public school without them), but I would appreciate you recognizing, if nothing else, I am in a pencil skirt and a blazer-- the kids are in jeans and flip-flops.

These same well-meaning parents have had some glorious comments such as:
Laziness is a learning disability, my son has it and you need to be sensitive to it*
I know that all the assignments are online, but could you e-mail me what they are everyday?
My son will be grounded if he doesn’t have an A, I just think you should take that into consideration when grading.
Do you think you could change the research paper from Macbeth to the play they read last year because I know my daughter read that one?
My daughter said I needed to come to Parent Night to see your shoes, she said that is all she looks at in class.

In closing:
Our boss told us this quote in our first faculty meeting : It is the job of the parent to prepare the child for the path, not prepare the path for the child. I love this because it can translate to so many other aspects of life. How often do we want to change our circumstances before we admit we need to change ourselves? A LOT.

I hope I am helping prepare each child.

And if not, well, at least I tried while wearing great shoes.

*This was not said directly to me, but I heard from an eye witness.