Clogs in My Closet

   I’m not like a lot of women.  I am a girl who acknowledges the importance of comfort and practicality.  I don’t totter around on high heels.  I slip my feet in and out of clogs instead.

     I started wearing clogs during my last semester at city college - during the period of time I started dating the man who would become my husband.  At the time, I found some soft black clogs at Payless Shoes. They were black, and squishy, and instantly comfortable.   And, in the odd way life works, my now-husband was working for a family friend who sold authentic Swedish clogs.  The hard ones with wooden bottoms.  The ones you could only wear for a short time each day until you broke them in.  

   Now I wear clogs that are somewhere in between.  Clogs with a cushioned sole that come in patent leather blue or black embroidered with flowers.  Except for the one pair of lace-up tennis shoes that I keep for reserve purposes, open-backed shoes are my shoe of choice.  I wear them with skirts and slacks, and the only time I really run into some trouble is during rainy days.

    Limiting myself to clogs, does limit my shoe choices, especially since I wear a size ten.  But they’re comfy, and when so much of life isn’t comfortable, I do my best to make sure that my shoes and clothes are.

   I found out that clogs were originally “workers shoes” made popular in many countries throughout Europe.  And I know that presently clogs are especially popular with chefs and physicians.  

   Clogs or not, by the end of the day, my feet are tired.  But at least with my clogs on, my feet have gotten little breaks, little moments of freedom when I slip my feet out of my clogs, stretch, and tuck them back inside and gear up for the next part of my day.  My own worker’s shoe.

Brothers

   My son has two Mr. Tickle dolls.  He called them brothers.  He knows about brothers from some reliable sources.  His nephews are brothers.  Mario and Luigi are brothers.  And Elmo’s friend, Mr. Noodle, has a brother, conveniently also named Mr. Noodle.

   Ryan asked me who his brother was.  I told him he didn’t have a brother, but he did have lots of people who loved him.  And I started listing them.  But he interrupted me.  He said his brother was on Mommy’s computer, in PhotoBooth.  That’s where he sees “two Ryan’s.”

   There’s the part of me that recognizes this brief conversation as exactly what it is - an adorable interchange between a son and mother, a chance for my son to make connections with new words and familiar experiences in his life.  But, there’s the part of me that jumped ahead, and wondered if my son will ever present me with the real question, “Why doesn’t Ryan have a brother?”

   Before my husband and I decided to start our family we were constantly asked when we were having a baby.  Now that my son is 3 1/2 years old, the question has become, “When are you giving him a brother or a sister?”

   The answer is, “We’re not.”  

   I certainly don’t have all the answers about life, but I knew enough about myself to acknowledge that I wasn’t ready to be a mom for a while.  And now, I’m wise enough to admit that my marriage and our current family dynamic will not function successfully if we have another child.

   The older I’m getting, the more I’m realizing that I can make all the plans I want, but life is going to happen regardless of my plans.  So, ten years ago if you had asked me how many children I would have, I would have confidently answered, “Two.”  That was then.  

   Now, I am the mother of an only child.  An only child who has an endless supply of love surrounding him.  

   My son is an only child - just like Elmo.  And look how happy and loved Elmo is!

Nine Ways Fourth Graders Are Like Kindergartners

   I have recently begun my eleventh year as an elementary school teacher.  This year marks the shift - I had taught kindergarten for five years, and this begins my sixth year teaching fourth grade.  The curriculum is entirely different, but the longer I’m teaching, the more I realize that kids are kids, and many similarities exist between the grade levels.

1. All children need to be reminded that scissors are for cutting paper.  And only paper.  
2. Children are still largely afraid of the dark.  A recent hour-long power outage at school sent my fourth grade students into a bit of a panic worried about ghosts and other bad things.
3. Children enjoy writing on the whiteboard - whether it’s the large class board or individual white boards.
4. More children will participate during math if the lesson involves food.  With kindergarteners, we sorted and graphed M & M’s.  For the fourth graders, we estimated the number of Smarties in the jar.
5. Any grade enjoys a “honeymoon period” - like the first few dates when you’re getting to know someone.  Everyone’s on their best behavior and haven’t revealed their “true selves.”  Yet.
6. Children respond to hugs and stickers.
7. Books in the library corner are even more enjoyable when read while snuggling with a stuffed animal.
8. Children will tell you the truth, or at least their version of the truth.  I’m mean.  My shoes are cool.  Math is boring.  They’re more concerned about getting their point of view across than they are about protecting my feelings.
9. Children are children.  They need love.  And the ones that are most difficult, are probably the ones needing the most love.

My Mom, My Friend

      Growing up, I thought moms were just “moms” - telling you to check your homework, insisting you eat your spinach, making your dentist appointments.  I imagined my grown-up self as someone who would have a small, close-knit circle of female friends.  Women I would spend time with - laughing and crying, women who understood me and would love me anyway.  

   I do have that small circle of friends.  However, my closest friend is my mom.  She is the woman I turn to with parenting questions, career concerns, marital worries, and cooking challenges.  She is the woman who knows when to give me a push, when to give me a hug, and when just to be there and listen.

   I used to think moms weren’t supposed to be friends.  They’re moms; the two seemed mutually exclusive.   Moms set curfews and bedtimes.  Moms say “no” when you want them to say “yes.”  Moms appear to be this whole species that couldn’t possibly understand a teenage daughter’s embarrassments, worries, and fears.  Moms just don’t get it. 

   But now I’ve grown up.  I’m a married woman with a son.  And I see things differently.  My mom always got it; it was me that didn’t get it.

   My good friends are people I can trust, people I know wouldn’t hurt me.  People that share similar values.  People I enjoy spending time with.  My mom is one of those people.

Oldies but Goodies

        They say that everything comes around full-circle.  What was once new and fashionable will reappear sometime in the future.  I believe it.  After all, I played with Smurfs and Strawberry Shortcake when I was a kid.  My fourth grade students are always shocked to learn that these characters aren’t new, and are in fact, old.  Because to them, while I may not be as old as other people they know, I’m definitely not young.  

   I’ve noticed something similar with music.  Musicians I used to adore, musicians I used to dress up as and dance around the house belting out their lyrics are not new any more.  Consequently, their songs are played on different radio stations than they used to.

   In Los Angeles, KRTH was known as an “Oldies” radio station.  I used to hear the Beach Boys singing about “California Girls,” I’d hear the Beatles asking for “Help!,” and I’d hear Chubby Checker encouraging us to “Twist!”  It was the station my family listened to in the car.  KRTH played songs we could all agree on.  Oldies are fun songs; many of them are ideal for group sing-alongs.  These songs have lasting-power.   

   Now, KRTH advertises itself as playing “The Greatest Hits on Earth!”  Those hits, include songs by Madonna and Michael Jackson - songs that I was listening to when I was in elementary school.  Now, I’m teaching elementary school, driving to work, listening to songs that I used to own on cassette.  (I sound like my mom, discussing her 45 records and 8-tracks for her Ford Pinto).

           Have I gotten old?  No.  Older?  Yes.  And, truthfully, it’s rather unsettling.  I’m not getting older the way I thought I would.  I thought I’d feel older.  I don’t.  I’m still terrified  of earthquakes.  I’m still in awe of rainbows.  And I still dance and sing to Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.”  The songs I liked as a kid, I still like as an adult.  I’m just hearing them on different stations.  As my husband  reminds me, these songs are 20+ years old.  That designation, by themselves, make them “Oldies.”  Oldies, part 2, because let’s face it, “Billie Jean” isn’t as old as “Peggy Sue.”

   So, I can look at this from the glass-is-half-full perspective. I can find a multitude of songs I like, from across the years, on one radio station.  Less channel-surfing, more singing.

A Night with Sade

   On the day my oldest nephew turned ten, my husband and I saw Sade in concert at the Staples Center.  Sade was last in Los Angeles ten years ago when she played at the Hollywood Bowl, and we attended that concert too. 

   I’m not, in any way, a big concert person.  All those people in a confined place make me nervous.  The alcohol.  The noise.  The women who look like they forgot to put on the rest of their clothes.  The expense (ten dollars for popcorn and an icee).

   Nevertheless, this Sade concert was ... (Here a long pause, as I contemplate the proper word.  Mesmerizing.  Astounding.  Incredible).

   Usually, listening to music is a personaI experience for me, as I listen in the car or in my home.  All of a sudden, a woman takes the stage and the thousands in attendance become united in the pleasure they receive from the music.  

   I felt the music - in my chest, in my seat.  Maybe that’s why I was intrigued by the sign language interpreters I saw working during the concert.  The interpreters alternately took turns, translating the lyrics of each song.  But, the songs played at a live concert transcend the lyrics.

   A live concert is really about so much more than just listening to the music.  You see the music through the colors, the lights, the costumes, the displays on the curtains that drape down over the stage.  It is a way to experience familiar songs in a new way.  Music is the show and is intercepted through all the senses.  At home, music is usually in the background, while I’m cooking or cleaning or writing.  There is no “music in the background” at a live concert.  Music is front and center.

   Attending the concert also allowed me the opportunity to observe the instruments that contribute to the sound of a particular song.  I saw a background singer play the flute and another band member play an instrument reminiscent of my mom’s windchimes.  And together, these bandmates, these instruments, and these vocals create the songs that mean so much to my husband and I.  

   I might have been familiar with the sound of some of my favorites, “All About Our Love” and “By Your Side,” but Saturday night I witnessed these songs anew.

The A to Z List of Things I'm Afraid Of

A Airplane crash.  Mechanical problems, engine failures, freak weather patterns are all possible causes of an airplane crash.  But now, since September 11th, there is a whole other breed of airline crashes.  

B Bees.  Not the usual, garden-variety bees.  But, the big black bees.  Those bees are just mean.  They buzz by like the ferrari in the fast lane on the freeway.  Someone once told me those bees don’t sting.  I’m not sure, and I’m not volunteering to find out.

C Car Accident.  When I was learning to drive, my dad told me it wasn’t me I had to worry about; it was all the drivers around me.  It’s true.  Both my car accidents were of no fault of my own.  I fear the damage reckless drivers, arrogant drivers, oblivious drivers may cause. 

D Dropping Ryan.  I’m sure most parents fear dropping their newborn babies.  As my son has gotten older, and heavier, I still fear dropping him.  I did fall once, while holding my son.  Somehow, in an adrenaline-induced moment, I fell and managed to keep my son upright.  He enjoyed the ride; I bruised my legs.  But bottom line, I did not drop my son.

E Earthquakes.  A fear I have not outgrown.  During the 1994 Northridge earthquake, I fainted.  My sister and I stood in our doorway, watching the worried faces of our parents in their doorway, and I remember thinking, “This is it.  This is the big one.  I can’t handle this.”  So I fainted.  Tornados and hurricanes come with warnings.  Fires can be put out.  There’s nothing for me to do during an earthquake but be afraid.  I am powerless and out of control.

F Falling.  I am afraid of falling down stairs.  I am afraid of falling on a rainy day.  I am afraid of falling and hurting myself beyond bumps and bruises.  

G Guns.  I do not like guns.  I do not understand guns.  They are weapons.  My son will never be allowed to play with a toy gun.  Guns shouldn’t be available to the public.  Seems to me more harm, more “accidental” shootings wouldn’t occur if there weren’t guns in the first place.

H Hospitalization.  I went through life thinking hospital stays happen to other people, not me.  It’s not true.  It happened to me the summer of 2010.  I was unexpectedly taken from my son for four days.  I spent those days confined to a bed, missing my son so much that the sound of his voice over the phone made me cry.  And now I know it can happen.  And I’m so afraid it’ll happen again.

I Iran, Iraq, Israel, India.  The “I” countries I have no desire to visit.  The “I” countries that scare me with their wars and bombs and explosions.  The “I” countries that scare me with their poverty and harsh living conditions.

J Jail.  Jail is for bad people, most times.  Jail is for people who have done bad things, most times.  Although I know there are exceptions, there are people in jail who are innocent and are being wrongly held.  But, for the most part, jail is for “other” people.  Jail scares me.  I know some of it is the movies.  Some of it is the news of riots and escapes.  Bad things happen in jails.  Driving on the freeway, reading a sign for the men’s colony that will be up-ahead on my right, makes me double-check the locks on my car doors.

K Knives.  I don’t consider myself completely comfortable with a knife, since the night I cut myself while attempting to cut an avocado.  My cut required a trip to the emergency room and stitches to my hand.  Since then I am extremely careful when slicing vegetables, bagels, and eggs.  A butter knife is the knife I first try to use. 

L Losing a student.  Field trips provide students with wonderful educational opportunities, a chance to go beyond their world and experience something new.  Hopefully, something that supplements what they have been learning in the classroom.  As a teacher, field trips are scary.  Big open spaces.  The possibility of losing a student.  I have been entrusted with the care and well-being of children’s lives.  It is not a responsibility I take lightly.

M MRI Machine.  I have experienced two MRI’s.  With the first, I didn’t know what to expect but walked away feeling traumatized.  The noise.  The coffin-like space.  For the second test, two sedatives still didn’t relax me.  My body is being sent through a tube.  A tube that will make loud noises, examine my body, and all I can do is lie there - still and straight.

N Needles.  They come in all shapes and sizes and they inflict pain.  They take out blood.  They don’t always enter a vein the way they’re supposed to.  They leave large purple bruises on my arms.  I do not watch any procedure involving a needle.  As a result, I am entirely closed-minded about acupuncture.

O Operations.  Operations are scary; you are putting complete faith in the person(s) who is cutting you up, trusting that your body will be properly re-assembled.  You are completely involved and then completely un-involved at the same time.  

P Poison ivy, or poison anything for that matter.  Some poisonous flowers and plants are difficult to identify and I worry that I will unknowingly place my son and I in harm’s way.

Q Questioning my choices.  Should I have tried to transfer to another school when I became increasingly unhappy at my present job site?  Should I have taken a loan and bought a car all those years ago, instead of riding six public buses a day to attend my college courses?  Should I have been less afraid post-9/11 and traveled more?  Should I have ... they’re dangerous words and they scare me.  A quick thought but beyond that I need to make peace with the choices I have made.

R Robbery.  Bad people do bad things.  They broke into my family’s two-bedroom, one-bathroom home and ransacked through our things.  Years later, they stole our jeans when my husband and I were doing laundry and not standing vigil while our clothes were in the drying cycle.  I fear a person so heartless, so desperate, so devoid of morals and values that they rob me while I’m with my son.

S Sharks.  I don’t trust them.  I know they are nature’s creatures like dolphins and seahorses.  I just don’t worry about a seahorse attack.  Even at the aquarium, on the other side of a very strong piece of glass, I don’t like looking at sharks.  I’ll leave them to their business and trust they’ll leave me to mine.

T Time, more specifically, time rushing by and leaving me wondering, “Where did it go?”  and “What have I done with it?”  I go back and do the math - out of high school for, gasp, seventeen years.  My first batch of kindergarten students will now be entering tenth grade!  My little ones, fourteen boys and six girls, are now in high school, looking ahead to college.  And where am I?  What have I done?  Sometimes, I have answers aplenty - answers that leave me feeling proud and content.  Other times, the answers leave me feeling dissatisfied, yearning for more.

U Underground passages, such as caves.  I will not explore a cave for any reason.  Regardless of how beautiful the crystal formations are touted to be, I refuse to put myself in that situation.  Bad things happen underground.  Caves collapse.  Coffins are buried underground.  I’m not going there, willingly.

V Violence.  Violence is sometimes like an earthquake.  Sometimes, there’s nothing you can do.  People are simply at the wrong place at the wrong time, and through no fault of their own, bad things happen.  It scares me.  There is the very real possibility that I could be sitting in a coffee shop, engrossed in my novel, and an act of violence could occur.

W Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, the original movie featuring Gene Wilder.  I saw the movie as a child and there’s only one image that continues to haunt me - a little girl choking on a piece of candy and transforming into a giant blue balloon.

X Xenophobia.  People with irrational fears do irrational things.  What if I’m traveling abroad one day, and someone decided they don’t like brunettes from the United States?  What if someone in another country observed my husband and I holding hands and decided they didn’t like foreign couples, especially inter-racial foreign couples?

Y Yoga.  Okay, maybe it doesn’t entirely scare me, but it definitely unsettles me.  The idea of yoga is not calming and centering; in fact, it has the opposite effect.  Thinking about yoga makes me anxious and uncomfortable.  It must be the covers of the books I would notice when I worked at the library, but the word “yoga” brings to mind human beings transforming their bodies into curly-pretzel shapes.  And me, I’d be in a pretzel-shape, and become stuck.  Unable to remove my foot from behind my ear, if it was even possible to get my foot back there in the first place.

Z Zoo animals attacking.  I know this last fear may seem irrational, but I never forget that the animals I’m admiring are, at their essence wild animals.  Wild animals do misbehave, do behave aggressively and can be unpredictable.  I know this may sound selfish, but I just don’t want one of those animals to behave in an unsafe way on a day my son and I are visiting.