Lana Banana - Year One

Dearest Lana, it's so strange to still live in my skin since you've arrived. Even before you were born, I felt new and different and weird (who knew being pregnant would move your spine around in a way that makes it now feel more like Jenga blocks than a puzzle fit all snugly together, supporting the rest of me?) - almost like a stranger in my own body. As the year has passed, it continues to be more and more odd that I also don't recognize my own mental self - your presence for me has completely rerouted priorities, decision-making matrices, and even my cry reflex (I cry so much now!) - I am a better human for it and feel nothing but joy all the time. What an amazing year it's been. 

Three Years Later

A very quick update before I go into today's entry - the last time I sat down to post, I had just realized that I was entering my last six months in New York. So, rather than spend a second doing anything other than clinging mentally to the ESB, praying that she'd somehow reach into the universe and find a way to keep me there, I stopped writing. Then I moved to Washington DC, and while it was a great move for my marriage, it was a terrible move for me personally. I wouldn't say I was depressed, just truly unhappy for probably the first time in my life, and who wants to write about being unhappy? Yes, there were lessons learned, blah, blah and it wasn't all a wash, but shoot - my head was definitely spinning, having gone from The Greatest City on Earth, and therefore what I'd assumed was my best self to look at me at my worst - no fun. Thus no posts.

Now, 2014 was actually pretty great, to be honest - but it had to be. 2013 kicked my tail in a way that I wouldn't really wish on anyone I know. A less-voluntary-than-I-would-have-liked job change and a miscarriage colored the end of 2013, so I moved into 2014 sure that things would look up. And they did, for the most part. I'm pleased to report that I get to reflect on 2014 with a job I feel inspired by again and a brand-spanking-new daughter. So with that in mind, onto what prompts me to once again spew my thoughts into the interwebs.

It started with this article on how to not make resolutions. Why would someone not want to make resolutions? I LOVE January - the idea of a squeaky clean slate, all the mental pictures I'd create of how I'd be better, different, with shiny hair and whatnot. Aren't resolutions an important part of all that? Especially as this is my first chance to make resolutions as a Mom, shoot - why would I dare opt out?

But the article made some great points (sigh.) So, in light of that, here I go!

In 2015, more than anything else I want to feel mindful. Particularly as I think about my new Life Role (Awesome Wife-Mom, obvi) I have read all of the things telling me that having it all isn't possible. Message received. That being said, daily we obviously all make choices about how to spend our time and energy. I want to be able to being and end each day feeling that I've made those choices as mindfully as possible, feeling at peace with the trade-offs. This is most important, I feel, as I'm looking to return to work next week (shudder. Who woulda thunk I'd be willing to make it as a stay-at-home-mom given the financial option?? Who the eff am I? But if the universe were to dump my remaining salary on us right now, it' be adios to the Achievement Gap battle in a heartbeat...) I know the trades I'm making must always feel like they're for the betterment of my family. Would I prefer to be home with my tiny new person? I would, but not if it causes our financial ruin. That being said, I have dedicated my early professional life to fighting the injustices of educational inequity, and spending the time I'm given in front of my students yearning to be home doesn't do anyone any good either, so ultimately I want to feel that I'm mindful of the choices I am making, and not constantly feeling guilty about the other things I should/would/could be doing.

So what are my frogs? Ugh - keeping this house clean for starters. So I suppose I need to find one of those nifty calendars that helps keep me on schedule day-to-day. Do I love dusting? I sure don't. But I do love having family dinner at the table, rather than on the couch, and want to be able to remember New Baby Girl's early years fondly, not with a ton of guilt about how her immune system is so strong largely because I allowed her to grow, covered in dog hair and a thin layer of yuck.

I also like the idea of being able to revisit if I'm able to say that I'm meeting my intended feeling regularly, particularly at each three-month mark. So, as part of feeling mindful is about reflection, and this blog is the easiest way for me to reflect, stay tuned...

This Tastes Like... Camp?!

As a child, it's hard to imagine that the world doesn't revolve around you because your world is just so small and frankly, from your perspective, is completely driven by your movements.  As I became older, small things continued to reinforce this belief.  For example, I'd meet a cute boy and suddenly his name would be e v e r y w h e r e - the new song on the radio, that random car repair sign, mentioned in the Sunday bulletin.  Yet as an adult, here I am again experiencing this same phenomenon.

Something about writing continues to reconnect me with this strange phenomenon - but this time not in the form of a repeated name, but through confronting this dichotomy - I live in the largest city in the country and yet am constantly running into agrarian-inspired places, people, and music.  Banjos are in.  Whiskey is cool.  Smoking old-timey pipes and beard competitions are everywhere.  And then I stumble into The Wayland on Avenue C.

Exhibit A:

Flowers in mason jars, old pianos, rooster photos and Shaker chairs were everywhere.  The wood was salvaged and so barn-like that I was unconsciously ducking, waiting to hear my dad call for me to climb back up in the mow for another wagon-load.  The men tending bar were adequately clad in unassuming, grungy tees and jeans, with hairstyles subtly implying that they'd just climbed off a creeper while changing their own oil.  And then my drink came.

Exhibit B:

Waaaaaaait a second.  You are confused.  I'm a real farmer.  When I ask for moonshine, I want it to literally put some hair on my chest.  This looks like some of that fancy city nonsense.  But you brought it to me, so may as well give it a shot.  

This glass is filled with applewood smoke and smells like camp.  And your moonshine tastes like... apple pie?!  Not like a bathtub?  Maybe I could get used to this fancy city nonsense.  Good thing I chose to live here.

However, as my father always laments, I got too comfortable and went a touch farther.  I should have knows that a kale margarita wouldn't work.  Real farmers don't eat kale.

That's some organic hippie bougie shi*t.  

There's a New Revolution Taking Over

I've forever been looking for ways to link the name of my blog to its content - usually falling tragically far from making even a tangential bridge.  When one thinks of farmers, one doesn't think of forays into better time management, thoughts about bow ties, and lamenting about too many wedding things.  But Family Weekend allowed for some fun ideas to take root.

As previously noted, the family got together in the great city of New York in the most fun ways.  It was a weekend filled with laughter, great food, lots of card games and an old-fashioned, The Last of the Mohicans themed sleepover.  The weekend did start, however, with a trip to Brownsville for some Saturday school.

Those of you lucky enough to be missing the blandest winter ever may not realize that New York has seen little white flakes only twice this season - once early on for Halloween, and again this past Saturday.  Snow means snow blowers, and what did I see being used in my urban paradise?

  John Deere?!  In Brownsville?  It must be a sign!

Then later that day, while enjoying meatballs in the LES, the already hipster-graced Meatball Shop delivered water in milk bottles, was filled with men looking like they were only briefly down from their tree stands, and displayed poultry in their bathroom:

Hmmm... there seems to be a pattern here.  From the trucker hat phenomenon of the early 2000's to the flannel and Carhartt jacket wearing Brooklynites that are moving from Williamsburg to Bushwick as I type, the folks growing our food are sartorially inspiring folks everywhere.  This reminds me of this really great song my dad used to play in the barn -

Sing it, Barbra.  (Also, I'd stand up and cheer on anyone ballsy enough to pull of her sequin-adorned, Big Bird yellow pants-suit.  It's pretty magical, you have to admit...)

Champagne Friday!

Cheers to Friday!  Sure, I have Saturday school tomorrow, but after that comes glorious family time.  Imagine what these beauties look like all grown up:

We're going to be 71% represented in the great city of New York (even though it cost me to coerce my brother into attending.  But I love him, so it's totally worth it) tonight at 10PM.  Tomorrow should be a day full of food, drinks, love and fun.

In the mean time, it is Bow Tie Friday!  I participate wholeheartedly each week, looking for fun ways to dress up the menswear.  This week it looked like

   There's a funny country song that pokes fun at being my own grandpa. While my family is totally on the up and up, my gramps is a stylish dude and I feel pretty great about the bow tie, button up, Mr. Rogers sweater combo.  While my own grandpa I am not, I'm pretty excited about channeling a little patriarch this Bow Tie Friday.

Here's to Bow Tie/ Champagne Friday!

Thwarted

I have to be honest - 45 minutes ago I was feeling great about my day. I was logging how I was spending my time. I was checking things off of a list. I even wandered into a bookstore before meeting my friend for dinner and shopping (which was unsuccessful, but I'm hopeful for better luck soon in the wardrobe department) and smelled the smell of paper and read snippets of Joyce, Hemmingway, and Faulkner before enjoying farm-to-table goodies with an educational genius. My iPod sent only the best songs, and my day looked like this:
4:53AM - Alarm goes off
5:03 - finally get up
5:03 - 5:24 - shower
5:24 - 5:31 - attempt a new hair style. Fail. Opt for the ponytail option. Do some push-ups to soothe my ego
5:31 - 5:45 - select an outfit. Try on several and settle on one. Do more push-ups. Result is similar
5:45 - 5:58 - cook my egg breakfast, add some kale to my lunch, and apply make up. Rush out the door to catch the...
6:02 - get on the train
6:02 - 6:30 - ride the train. Complete a journal entry to a student, log some ideas for tasks for the day and enjoy a random selection of music that the iPod God sent my way
6:39 - arrive in my office, unload my things and head upstairs
6:45 - 7:15 - make coffee for my coworkers, enjoy my egg sandwich, make myself some green tea, answer some emails, make some copies, and waste some time putzing around on the interwebs
7:15 - 7:45 - teach some kiddos how to sound out words
7:45 - 8:15 - copy 504 paperwork, answer some emails, browse the web looking for motivation
8:15 - 8:30 - work with a co-worker on a joint birthday party (I'm a bit of a big deal in the party department)
8:30 - 9:15 - check in with a fellow SpEducator about their teaching and planning practices
9:20 - 9:40 - draft an email about ManFriend's birthday party (see? Told you. Party planning legend.)
9:40 - 10:30 - update my task list to have a convo with my Uncommon SpEd support person
10:30 - 11:00 - converse with a CSE rep about a student (private, but necessary and important. More so than parties.)
11:00 - 11:30 - have 1/2 of a check-in with my SpEd support person because then I have
11:30 - 12:00ish - lunch duty. The bane of my existence
12:30ish - 12:50 - IVR calls (a waste of time that is required by NYC) while I email and plan. Calling in first-attend dates is mindless
12:50 - 1:10 - review my audit tasks (more Uncommon-y SpEd things - job related, I promise, but super dry)
1:10 - 1:50 - tutor an 8th grader, then problem solve around him with our school social worker
2:00 - 4:00 - Professional development
4:00 - 4:20 check in #2 with my Uncommon support person
4:30 - 5:15 - commute home
5:15 - 5:30 - be home, change into comfortable things (nothing fits anymore) and email ManFriend
5:30 - 6:00 - travel to meet Educator Friend at Chelsea Market
6:00 - 6:15 - Kill time in a bookstore (perfection)
6:15 - 8:30 - spend time eating, drinking, and shopping with Educator Friend (double perfection)
8:30 - 9:ish - ride the subway home, enjoying what the iPod gods send my way
9:20ish - call ManFriend
9:22ish - Tailspin

What a great day, right? I felt great, and really was only missing a good run in the mix of all that happened, but got time with a great friend who I've missed over the past several weeks. I got to smell new books, enjoy the aesthetics of great book stores, boutique-y food shops, and walked in Manhattan in the rain. The music was good, the kids were okay, and the day was productive. Then there was the Tailspin in which I'm currently residing. However, the time-management section of the day was a super-big success, so onward and upwards to tomorrow, when Martha has assigned me the task of Monotasking. Given the 1,000,000 directions my brain is heading in currently, we'll see if I can put my game face on for tomorrow. Huzzah, Thursday!

Dirty Little Secret

I've spent the better part of my adolescent and now adult life attempting to hide a lot of things about myself. I think of them as my own personal array of secrets - they help me feel that I'm not oversharing, that there are still things about me that are just mine. Obviously airing them on a public blog (I'm still sure that my grandmother's about the only one reading my sparse entries. But still. Blogs are technically public) defeats the purpose of having secrets, but I'm ready to release one to the world. Despite my outward and vocal abhorrence of so many feminine stereotypes (scrapbooking, calligraphy, flower arranging, etc.) I secretly adore Martha Stewart and her magazine. There. I said it. It started innocently enough - Valentine's Day is a holiday I've always trumpeted, most significantly in my single days when I'd be damned if anyone, let alone Hallmark and Cupid, would make me regret my life sans-man. Martha's magazine always has a great, color-appropriate magazine which I'd purchase. Only once a year. This can't hurt. Man, how much more amazing would my life be if I had time to make individual doilies for my friends? She's just so...crafty and cool and thoughtful and... Okay, recycle the magazine, no one saw me, all remains as it was before.

While I am still not an avid Martha watcher (I have a job. As a teacher. Seriously? Daytime TV will never exist for me) and subscribe only to Vogue and the NYTimes on a regular basis, the internet has given me free, daily access to Martha and all of the ways she holistically, earnestly lives better than I ever hope to be able to. I give you Whole Living (http://www.wholeliving.com/)

Every day, Martha and her team send me a daily challenge. Because what am I? An emotional cutter. My life is pressed to the gills as it is, to the point where I have regular check ins with my administration about how I can possibly squeeze one more drop of efficiency from my time at work. At the end of the day, I run home, flop on the couch and am asleep as soon as my head hits the armrest, only to have my alarm go off at 5AM and the cycle repeats. So what do I need? A daily challenge to remind me how much better I could be living if oooooooonly I were strong enough, smart enough, Martha-enough. I love them.

Today's, however, had a totally different, super-close-to-home message. There's a 14-day challenge set up to help you find a better way to balance your life. And this word - life - haunted me all day. Here I am, 29 years old, living in the most amazing place with a great job and a husband. (Sure, he doesn't live here, but the energy my single friends put into running after a Possible Husband just looks exhausting. That's energy I must have still in my stores!) But do I have a life? Really? That's not clear yet. I have a huge list of things that I want to do - birthday cards to send, friends to call, closets to update, gym sessions to log - it's quite literally an endless list. Yet night after night, week after week I resume the wake-work-sleep-repeat cycle. And it's kinda making me miserable.

So here's my semi-public accepting of Martha and her challenge. Tomorrow begins Day One and I keep a time journal. Let's see if I'm really spending my time as effectively as I think I am.

To Martha and a real, adult life.