2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 19

Good morning, week.  I've been waiting on you.

As I sit in my remarkably still classroom right now,
my singer-songwriter tunes remind me that
this is the place I've designed.
Zebra curtains flank the windows and paper lanterns hang
in an asymmetrical arrangement above my meeting table.
This is a spot I like to come to each day,
to be inspired, to be an inspiration.
We gather in this place to
eat,
    think,
         dream,
                plan,
                      plot.
To consider ideas bigger than ourselves,
and to portion them into approachable bites.
Right now, before the sun is even up I see
today's light in my mind and all
the wonderful things that will happen here.

Good morning, week.  I've been waiting on you.

Write on,
b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 18

We feel the the apartment is cramping our style.  And, since Indiana has decided to launch without hesitation into summer, our lack of yard space is really a downer.  Each day this week, we've watched the mercury rise and we've explored our options...

ME: Hey, what about going to this park?  We've never been. 

MY HUSBAND: Oh, I don't know about that.  What about just taking a trike ride around our old neighborhood.  (Which ironically we could; after we sold our house, we literally moved into the apartment complex across the street.  How's that for confusing?)

ME: We can do that any old day.  What about doing something special since it's the weekend?  Like maybe the new park at the art museum?  We could take the stroller and enjoy a nice walk...

So, yesterday my suggestion won out.  We did try the new art museum.  And, it was great, thank you.

We hopped into the Jeep afterward, fully satiated. by nature's early bounty. 
Dirty jeans,
muddy sneakers,
tired smiles.

I gazed out the window as we began our short trek home, reflecting on the many random fishermen we'd seen at the river and small lakes which bordered the art museum's grounds.  My eyes, somewhat disconnected from these thoughts, began registering new information.

Before full analysis, I began to speak.  "Oh, look.  More fishermen have set up shop under the bridge there," I remarked as I surveyed an assortment of jumbled blankets, a folding lawnchair, and an ugly blue tarp tethered to the bridge's underbelly.  I'm pretty sure at that point my brain looked more like the scrolling pictures on a slot machine face...desperately trying to make a match.  My background information told me this was not a Saturday spot for recreational anglers.

"Those aren't fishermen, are they?" I inquired without genuinely wanting an answer.  It would hurt too much.

"Do you know how many homeless people live under bridges?  It's really pretty common," my husband offered...a wealth of factual information. 

Our car sped along and the flowering trees displayed this spring's glory.  My mind also sped along, considering what life under a bridge must really be like.  It's not anything I want to spend any more than a couple seconds creating, for sure.   But, yet, I was drawn in.  Talk about a living situation cramping one's style...

Quietly I rode.  I considered my own narrow parameters --- a yard, a bigger space, storage, a kitchen with an island.  I shrank, embarrassed.

I don't live under a bridge...

Write on,
b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 17

Day late and a dollar short; HATED the technological difficulties which kept me from posting this yesterday.  But, I am loving sitting outside at Starbucks with my vanilla bean frappuccino this afternoon to write two slices... :)  Now, on with the show!

******************************************

You know that moment when time is moving so s-l-o-w-l-y, but you still don't have a spare second to react?  Yep; that's what it was like at Ritter's last night.

The three kids were running around a tree while two sets of parents enjoyed frozen custard.  This was a late-breaking development (and an improvement) because they were formerally encircling us at our table flirting with the parking lot boundary.  Ellie, 7, and Joseph, 4 were showing their little cousin the ropes in a pint-sized game of chase.  In fact, my biggest thought at the time was, "Aw, I should grab my phone and take a picture.  This is slice-worthy."

But the very next second I was frozen, like cement curing on a summer's day, while watching Reid suddenly trip over his sneaker at a high rate of speed. 

He stumbled briefly and worked hard to regain his balance.
      (I cheered.  Crisis averted.)
He over-compensated and began flying out of their neat little orbit.
      (I gasped. I'm no physicist, but he was parallel to the ground.)
He flew.  And flew.  And flew.  Straight toward the next table's concrete bench.
      (I shuttered.  What if his head, or possibly worse yet, his mouth hit its edge? 
      This isn't exactly what his first dental appointment in two weeks was
      scheduled for...)
Finally, a resonating thump followed by a collective sigh: he landed just short of the bench.  At this point we had all patrons' eyes and hearts.
      (I ran now, even though the whole time I had wanted to.)

Silence.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Scooping him up with my mama bird grip, I nuzzled him close --- forgetting about the road rash on his forehead, the classic scrape on his nose tip, and the full-on cut undernearth his nostrils.  We rocked and rocked; well, as much as our concrete fixture allowed. 

The wailing subsided.  His rational side returned.

"Mommy, I got hoot (hurt).  But it wasn't too bad.  It feels bedoow (better) now."

I am the one still reeling.  If only, if only, I could've moved faster...

Write on,
b.

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 16

I can remember each Thursday, like it was yesterday...being all giddy for that evening's TV.  And, by TV I mean one show in particular, the show.  It offered romance, interesting relational struggles, a handful of far-fetched medical situations...but most of all, it offered me another group of friends far more exciting than their real-life counterparts of my twenties.

At ten o'clock, the tinny-modern-medical-machine-sounding theme song began.  I loved the vivid image contrasts it presented --- red satin pumps following scrub-covered sneakers, an eyelash curler amidst the surgical tools, an IV drip come freshly-poured martini.  I sang the lyrics...they had danced through my mind the entire day prior...like I was part of it all too.  I just couldn't wait: would Derek and Meredith actually figure out their relationship this week?  The short signature piece by Psapp concluded and the episode's title (always named after an actual song, which I totally respect) centered itself on the screen.  Then, we'd launch into the world of Seattle Grace Hospital.

"Grey's Anatomy."  There was a time in my mid-twenties when I just couldn't get enough.  I downloaded the songs, I watched episodes more than once, I purchased entire seasons on DVD, I solved tricky relational difficulties in conversation with my friends who were also fellow watchers. 

Tonight, I saw this type of show devotion manifested in the life of a two-year old.

"They're two, they're four, they're six, they're eight...shunting trucks and hauling freight.  Red, and green, and brown, and blue, they're the really useful crew..."

I'm pretty sure after "They're" and before "two," my tot was up wildly dancing around.  In the living room, past the kitchen, through the bathroom and bedroom, and back out to the TV --- he danced the entire circuit.  He sang with emphasis, anticipation, and glee. 

6:30 each evening is a special time...and prior to it, he anticipates watching "Thomas and Friends" on Sprout.  It offers him behavioral lessons, tips on work ethic, quirky expressions (Well, bust my buffers!), and a preponderance of nitty-gritty details about trains.  It provides him a chance to see how friendships work. Thomas, Victor, Rosie, Percy, Toby, et al...these are 'real people' in my son's life.  He knows each engine's character traits and uses them to explain each episode's plot.  He considers the island of Sodor to be a magical destination where anything is possible.  He blends his reality with theirs by inserting characters into our everyday happenings (e.g. searching for Thomas whenever we drive over railroad tracks, saying 'hello' to Harold whenever we notice a helicopter flying above).  And, he's a devoted follower --- we have books, train sets, additional engines, t-shirts, and a fuzzy blanket. 

So, while "Grey's Anatomy" and "Thomas and Friends" are worlds apart in content, what each of us expects from an episode of our favorite show is remarkably similar.  There's a buzz of excitement, complete joy at the prospect of learning new information, rapt attention, and reflective analysis.

I promise you this though --- in all my years of the "Grey's..." fetish, never once did I dance around my house when the weekly episodes began. 

Write on,
b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 15

I let myself sleep in.  I did.  And it was glorious. 

I got ready, like always, just later.  I enjoyed breakfast sitting down, which I found far superior to desperately snarfing down a granola bar between morning commitments at school.  I cuddled with Reid while he watched The Wiggles, which was nice because 98% of the time I leave without seeing him first-thing.  We walked out to the car together as my husband prepared for their daily jaunt to the sitter's house.

In the far recesses of my mind (while enjoying these mundane, yet fabulous indulgences), I heard a little voice of self-doubt.  Calendar doubt. 

"It's Wednesday.  What if you really did have a meeting?  You'll never make it in time now."

After kissing the little one and the big one, I hopped in the car content to have 20 minutes to myself.  A concert maybe...?  Winding down the trip, the calendar doubt seeped deeper and deeper and the internal dialogue became more oppositional.  I pulled into the parking lot only to notice it full.  FULL.  At 7:50, the parking lot is never full.  Cars were there that I don't see speed in until five minutes before contract time.

The doubt became panic.  No small whisper inside; only yelling now.  IF THERE'S A MEETING, YOU'RE FIVE MINUTES LATE ALREADY!!!

I couldn't park and whisk all my belongings out of the back seat with enough speed.  I fumbled into a dead-quiet hallway.  My eyes darted from one classroom to the next.  Darkened spaces, unoccupied pods.  I mentally reconciled this data with cars I'd seen in the parking lot.  At this point, I knew there was only one staff meeting indicator left.

I picked up my speed, focusing on the last door ahead of me.  Mine.
Is it open?  Is it open?

You see, my room connects the primary hallway to the media center, where all our staff functions are held...so many times my room serves as a thoroughfare into these events.  An open door would mean mistake pure and simple.  I'd have to suffer the inevitable embarrassment of walking in alone and late. 

Open.

The seconds turned to minutes.  I glanced through the connecting door only to see intent faces pointed toward our guest speaker.

Geesh.  What do I do?  Should I walk in late from the front, my classroom door?  People already noticed me drop my bags by the desk and contemplate next moves...  Should I walk around the library and be even later so I could enter from the back?  Should I skip it completely?

The clock got the better of me.  Tip-toeing in from the front, I tried to gracefully slide a chair behind my colleagues.  It was a pipe dream to go unnoticed.  More sympathetic eyes darted my way than judging ones.

I'm late and my calendar's blank.  It was an honest mistake.  Sorry Mr. ING; I'll have to catch up on retirement info later in my career.

I let myself sleep in.  I did.  And it was glorious.

Write on,
b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 14

The room was dark, my soul was bare...
snuggling beside a jammied toddler
at 'night-nights' yesterday.
After prayers,
Reid began to chat.

"Mommy, I ran out of kisses."

I flinched.

I practically make a part-time job out of kissing this cherub.
For him. 
(I want him to feel as loved as he is.)
For me.  
(I absolutely can't stop.)

"Well, then I better give you some more.  I want you to have enough."

Ear kiss.

Forehead kiss.

Neck kiss.

Hand kiss.

"Now I have enough, Mommy.  Wove you.  Night niiiiiiiiiiiiight."
His little velvety hand grabbed mine as our eyes met.

"Love you too, little one.  Sleep tight."

"I better give you some kisses too, Mommy.  So you have enough."
His puffy lips (my family trait) lightly danced across my face.

Softly padding out of his room,
my heart flew
and my soul expanded.

We both have enough.
Our kiss quotient is in surplus.

Write on,
b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 13

I guess I didn't believe the forecast.  Mid-70s on March 13?  In Indiana?

Last night while laying out my clothes (like I always do), I checked the forecast (like I always do).  Sunny, 74.  My mind instantly equated the 74-degree high to like, 4:00 or 5:00 p.m., and I made the snap decision to forgo fashion and stay warm in my temperature-challenged school building.

(You see, and like you probably well know, schools have funny rules about turning boilers off and on...so needless to say, my elementary is frigid.  Blue lips and nails, jackets on teachers far and wide, classrooms in the low 60s.  No connection to the outer world.)

I stepped into the closet and confidently pulled out my warm, cozy red sweater dress.  It's been my favorite all winter since plucking it out of the Tommy Hilfiger department at Lord & Taylor while at NCTE last fall.  I love it with my soft black leggings, dark riding boots, and argyle knee socks.  Oh, yes, and since it's short-sleeved, the perfect complement is my absolute favorite piece of clothing ever --- a black turtleneck.  I wear this outfit often.  (My co-workers may track it on a calendar.)  It's my go-to because it's fashionable and comfortable; warm and still flattering.  I figured today it would be just the ticket. 

I was the red sweater at school today
who looked more like a holiday greeting
than an inspired Gap window dressing

I was the red sweater at school today
who wore warmed-over winter
not fresh pinks, greens, and yellows

I was the red sweater at school today
who dressed for the calendar
not the forecast

I was the red sweater at school today
who covered up in black leggings and boots
no ballet flats and capri pants

I was the red sweater at school today
who melted under long sleeves
no cool breezes met my arms

I was the red sweater at school today
who dreamed of what I could've worn instead
no wintery woolens

So, take heart.  I've learned from my fashion faux pas.  Tomorrow, it's my dressy black capri pants, a comfy black cami under a raspberry belted cardigan, and some fun pointy-toe kitten heels. 

Me.  Revitalized.  Me.  Springy.  Me sans red sweater.

Write on,
b