Author: Jessica Van Bommel

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Winneconne – We Like It Where?

I love Winneconne, Wisconsin. It is my adopted hometown. And although I may never be a true local, my kids will be. They will have deep roots and lifelong friends, because we made the decision to move to Winneconne to raise our family. We wanted to land someplace safe, someplace small, yet also full of charm and character. I have lived everywhere from Atlanta to NYC to San Diego over the years, leaving a trail of early endings and unexplored possibilities in my wake. While I want my kids to see the world, I also want them to have a legitimate answer when someone asks them where they are from.

So when Dan and I stumbled upon Winneconne 13 years ago through a lucky twist of fate, my life forever changed. Our boat made its way to this magical establishment from another time, called The Other Place, and it drew us right in. It drew us in with shot-skis and new friends. It introduced us to Winneconne, and we never looked back.

I love so many things about Winneconne. I love the fact that it has exactly zero stoplights. I love its landmarks. Like its 60-some-year-old ice cream stand, the Well. Or the Allenville farm truck, a roadside fixture from June through October, bursting with produce goodness. I love The Fin and Feather, with its classic riverboat and never-ending entertainment. Winneconne often feels like an anachronism in the best possible way.

 

I love its institutions, like its newspaper and library. Not every public library sponsors goat yoga, partners with a local brewery for events, and has both an actual and scary-large stuffed hedgehog for a mascot. His name is Winston, in case you were wondering.

I love that I can say I am going “up river,” and folks will immediately understand what that means. And then laugh. Because they figure my head will be hurting tomorrow.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, but I love the schools and the teachers. http://jessicavanbommel.com/2018/05/08/have-you-thanked-a-teacher-today/

I love the people generally. And I love that Winneconne is small enough that you can’t go to the local grocery store without seeing at least two people you know. I love the way residents rally around each other if one is in need. I love that if (when) my kids mess up, they won’t get away with anything, because people will know who they are and rat them out. I love that I could leave my purse on a sidewalk in the middle of town all day, and it would be there waiting for me to come get it – unless, of course, some well-meaning soul turned it in to a lost and found for me.

So, in case you didn’t catch all that, I love Winneconne. All the year round. But at no time do I love it more than in July. In July, it shines.

In July, the Well’s ice cream just tastes better, the Allenville tomatoes are perfection, and the patio music at the Fin is in full force. The water that cuts through and surrounds Winneconne is bursting with activity. The kids are filling the ball diamonds with youthful triumph. And, best of all, July is the month of Sovereign State Days.

For the uninitiated, Sovereign State Days is a celebration of being forgotten – of being, quite literally, left off the map. Actually, that isn’t entirely true. It is a celebration of one small village’s incredible reaction to being left off the map. It’s a celebration of creativity and taking a stand. In 1967, Winneconne was inadvertently left off the Wisconsin state map. Mind you, this was back when people still used maps! So not only was this oversight an insult, but it had large potential economic ramifications, because one of Winneconne’s major revenue sources is the visitors and fisherman who flock here to enjoy our waterways (and our sparkling personalities). But it’s pretty hard to flock someplace if you can’t find it.

Once Winneconne discovered this gaffe, our village leadership began holding secret meetings and formulating plans for Winneconne to secede from Wisconsin. And on July 21, 1967, a new state of Winneconne was born. Our independence was short-lived, as the state realized we were (mostly) serious. The governor quickly agreed to put up highway signs directing folks to the village and to place Winneconne brochures in all state tourist centers. He also promised that village leadership would be allowed to review the 1968 map before it went to print. So, Winneconne rejoined the state a scarce few hours after making its exit.

But, in the meantime, our village forefathers had created a new government, a Sovereign State Navy, even a flag. We had an official state bird (the dodo), state fish (sheepshead), state animal (the skunk), and state flower (poison ivy). And, of course, our slogan: “Winneconne – We Like It Where?” I mean, seriously. How much cooler can one rogue village get?

Now, we celebrate our brief independence annually with a parade, beer, bounce houses, concerts, a cornhole tournament, fireworks, beer, a fishing tournament, an artisan fair, beer, 5k run, a Venetian boat parade, and, you guessed it, beer. That’s a pretty ambitious weekend schedule for a village of less than 2,500 people. But, in all seriousness, it’s a well-run event with a fun mix of family and “big people” entertainment.

I’m not going to lie. I may have to pass on at least a few of these festivities. I’m 40 now, remember? 🙂 (http://jessicavanbommel.com/2018/06/22/this-is-39-97/) And I also like a little quiet time on the weekend. A little yoga-pants-and-Netflix-on-the-porch time. But, not to worry, I’m definitely in for a chunk of the fun! Winneconne, I still love you!

Admittedly, this July won’t see Winneconne at its best. The road work and replacement of our beloved bridge has the village in tatters. But this, too, shall pass. Maybe one day we will hold a celebration of the year the DOT tore up Winneconne – it’d be an excuse for a parade, anyway. And, of course, for beer.

 

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Better Late Than Never

I arrived late to the podcast party.  And, man, was I missing out.  Who knew that behind that little purple “Podcast” icon on my phone lived such a wealth of information and entertainment?  Answer: Almost everyone, other than me. Why were you all trying to hide this world of goodness from me?

No matter what your interest, there is a podcast for you.  Mystery, history, business, celebrities, inspiration, comedy, self-improvement, sports, art.  There are even podcasts tailored for kids.  Currently, Baylor and Ryan are all about “Wow in the World,” an NPR podcast for children. It’s a silly and informative show that addresses everything from why our knuckles crack to 3D printing.  We turn it on in the car on our way to karate practice, and the whole family learns something. It’s way better than caving and letting the kids use the dang iPads during the commute.  (Don’t get me wrong – podcasts have not conquered my offspring’s iPad addiction.  Ha!  Please. Don’t be ridiculous.  I am convinced the only thing that will end that madness is when my dear hubby finally breaks down and tosses the tablets in the lake, as he has repeatedly threatened to do.) 

Meanwhile, I have become a content-devouring monster in the past couple of months, since finally crawling out from beneath my rock and stumbling upon podcasts.  I subscribe to a new show nearly every week, but some of my favorites are:

  • “RISE Podcast with Rachel Hollis”
  • My newest favorite, “RISE Together Podcast with Rachel and Dave Hollis” (I might be an itty-bitty bit obsessed with Ms. Rachel Hollis. But you will be, too.  Trust me.)
  • “The Goal Digger Podcast”
  • “For the Love with Jen Hatmaker”
  • “How I Built This with Guy Raz”
  • “HolderMess: the Holderness Family Podcast”

These folks seriously cannot release new content fast enough to satisfy me.

I’m not lounging around on my couch listening to podcasts all day, though!  Instead, I use podcasts to make all of life’s tasks more bearable.  I listen to podcasts while washing dishes, folding laundry, weeding, driving, running, what have you.  I actually look forward to tackling these previously dreaded activities now, because it means I get to listen to another episode.  Instead of: “Oh, man, I still have to fold that mountain of clothes in the laundry room…,” it’s: “Yay, a new episode of RISE came out today, and I have an excuse to listen to it!”  Look at me, multi-tasking and bettering myself while providing my family with clean clothing.  I mean, talk about virtue. I’m flippin’ Super Mom!  Now, kiddos, give Mama 10 minutes to finish this podcast, er, fold this load of laundry, in peace.

 

I know there are other ways to occupy your time while performing those mundane daily duties.  You could chat on the phone, sing along to your favorite tunes, brainstorm your next big adventure, listen to a book.  And I do love to listen to books on Audible, too, but, truth be told, I would still rather read a book than listen to one.  And, unlike most books, podcasts are free!  That’s right. Free.
 

I have picked up so many gems from podcasts already.  I discovered the Enneagram (Again, late to the party!).  For anyone out there who also missed their invitation, the Enneagram is basically a model of various personality types.  After hearing half a dozen different podcasters talking about this, I took an online test (okay, I took many tests), and I am conclusively a 4.  I pulled Dan into my craziness, and he found out he is a 4, too.  I don’t know what it means to be in a double-four marriage, but I betcha there is a podcast out there that could tell me.

 

I also learned that I have synesthesia.  Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure I’ll be okay! Apparently, synesthesia is a phenomenon in which stimulation of one cognitive pathway is tied to another.  There are several types of synesthesia.  I experience spatial-sequence synesthesia, in which months are perceived as having specific locations in space. I posted a blog entry awhile back that actually touched on this, without even knowing it was a thing at the time!  (http://jessicavanbommel.com/2018/03/13/i-heart-winter-sort-of/)  And then I heard someone describing themselves and their synesthesia on a podcast, and there you go, I learned another little tidbit about myself.  

 

But I think maybe my favorite takeaway from podcasts so far is this statement: “Make your mess you message.” In other words, share your reality, warts and all.  This is something I have been aiming to do, but hearing it expressed so simply was inspiring.  

I am thankful that I can learn and grow while being entertained and pulling weeds, all at once.  It’s like a double dose of productivity that feels like playtime.  And did I mention it’s free? 

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Chef Ryan

I love to cook. I enjoy trying new recipes and feeding my family.  But breakfast, lunch, and dinner 7 days a week is still a daunting task.  Especially in summer, when two growing kids are asking for snacks or “second suppers” or dessert every time I turn around.  If they aren’t sleeping, they are eating.  (Or, let’s be honest, fighting.)

In any event, when my daughter announced she wanted to make dinner a few nights ago, I eagerly took her up on it.  She pulled out a cookbook, picked out a recipe, and proceeded to read it.  She even gathered the ingredients.

She’s 6.

I appointed myself her sous-chef, because her chosen recipe involved chopping carrots, and I wasn’t comfortable handing her a sharp knife.  (Side note: Does anyone know if there are any child-safe knives out there that one could actually use to cut up veggies? Because I wouldn’t mind removing myself from this equation entirely.)

Other than that minor assistance, she did it all.  Measuring, mixing, cracking eggs, battering the chicken, etc.  And the result was a delicious sweet and sour chicken dish that the whole fam loved.  Dan took the leftovers for lunch.  Big brother even complimented the chef, saying she could give me a run for my money.

I am grateful for a night off from kitchen duty, but I am even more grateful for the smile on Ryan’s face.  Because behind that embarrassed smirk is true pride in her accomplishment.

Now if we could just get them to fold the endless piles of laundry that somehow materialize in my laundry room, we’d be golden. Speaking of goldens, here’s a gratuitous puppy photo for you!

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About Me

This is 39.97

So this is 39.97.  Listening proudly as your 6-year-old daughter breezes through a book meant for her older brother, while also making a mental note to schedule your mammogram.  And feed those darn goldfish. And sign your son’s summer school permission form. And tackle the nine gazillion other family details that are constantly bouncing around your brain. I will ultimately remember to handle roughly five gazillion of them, and I’ll call it a win.  

I don’t know what 40 is, really.  I can’t claim it quite yet. Is it the new 30?  I couldn’t tell you.  I know I felt 20 (at least mentally) until recently.  I know I can still vividly remember my dad’s 40th birthday party.  I know that this life flies by.  The years are short, right? I mean, look at the words in your internet browser. Still, the quickness with which it passes manages to surprise me. 

Your 20s are so damn hard.  You have to figure out all of the things and experience major growing pains.   Major omg-no-one-is-handing-me-gold-stars-every-semester-any-longer-so-what-am-I-supposed-to-do-and-how-will-my-existence-be-validated kind of pains.  There are bills and insurance and plumbing issues. Oh my!  It’s no wonder 20-somethings drink so much. 

I got married basically right as I hit 30, so that decade flew by, filled with difficult pregnancies and tiny babies and figuring out how to live with a boy. They were magical years, but I honestly spent the majority of them trying to keep my head above water. 

Now, as I look at 40, I know I still have time, but I also have the sense that time is not unlimited.  This gives me the gift of sudden courage to dive in and do the things I want to do.  I have long wanted to run a half marathon.  So I started running.  I have always wanted to write a book.  So I started writing.  It’s simple, really, but that’s not to say it’s easy. 

I’m not alone as I approach this new decade.  My Facebook feed is filled with photos of my high school and college friends as they commemorate this milestone via parties and vacations.  I’m so happy to see they are all seizing this opportunity to celebrate life.

As for my impending birthday, I am going to revive a childhood tradition.  The birthday week.  In that week, I would like to spend a day on the water with my family.  And have a spa day.  There will definitely be champagne.  I heard the Good Village is even putting on a fireworks show that week. 

This will be the best decade yet.  I am lucky I get to see it. I am lucky I get to watch my kids grow up, I get to continue to enjoy my husband, and I get to see our family’s dreams materialize.  I know there will still be stressors and hurdles. There will still be difficult seasons, because this is life after all.  But I feel somehow better equipped to handle them. Maybe that’s foolish. But maybe it’s just brave. 

So I enter this new decade with a gleam in my eye, gratitude in my heart, and the hope that I come out the other side a little wiser…and maybe with a half marathon and a publishing contract under my belt.  That’s not too much to ask, right? 

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The Garden (Alternate Title: What Did I Get Myself Into?)

Back when we lived in town, my dear husband Dan and I decided to try our hand at gardening.  So he built a couple of 4-foot square raised garden beds in our side yard. In that space, I produced tomatoes, peas, green beans, peppers, zucchini, broccoli, cucumber, and carrots. A regular cornucopia.  
 
It was a cute little garden, and I was proud of what we were able to harvest from a relatively small space.  It took me a year or two to get my head around what worked and what didn’t. But we became the masters of that little corner of the planet.  My then-preschool son loved to zoom over to the garden on his John Deere tractor and help me fill his little trailer with produce.  It was idyllic, really.  
 

 

So, when we moved out to the country, Dan and I talked briefly about expanding our garden. In the abstract. Then, because Dan doesn’t mess around, he went and built me a fence around a ginormous chunk of land in our new farm field. Seriously, folks, it is huge.  
 
Now, I figure, if it took me only a few years to tackle 30-some square feet of space, I should be able to get the new garden running nicely in….say, 2000 years.
 
 
Help!!
 
Just kidding.  Sort of.  (Really, truly, I am not kidding at all.  Please send help!)
 
The truth is I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. But I am still excited about planting the new garden, and I think we can make it work.  Because I didn’t have a clue about lots of things once upon a time that I am an expert in now. Heck, I couldn’t even walk when I was born, right? And I’ve got that down pretty well.  (Although I do stub my toes.  A lot.  My husband would tell you it’s because I forget I actually have toes. Hmmm, maybe this wasn’t the best example after all. We’ll try that again.)  Soooo….once upon a time I didn’t know how to shop online.  And you, me and our UPS driver, Henry, all know how that story ends.  
 
There are far more eyes on this garden than there were on our little raised beds on Sunset Lane. I can feel the pressure of people watching and wondering what in the heck those crazy fools are going to do with this giant enclosed space in the middle of the field.  It’s kind of intimidating.  Or really intimidating. Oh well.  I just have to remind myself that unless they want to come help, I don’t have time to worry about it. 

 

We have already planted a variety of beans, peas, carrots, asparagus, blueberries, melons, squash and pumpkins inside the new garden. We also planted lots and lots of corn.  My awesome friend Peggy brought over a carload of tomato and pepper plants that we put in the ground. Plus probably some other stuff that I have forgotten about.  And some of it is even growing!
In preparation for this growing season, I created a detailed color-coded grid that mapped out where each plant would live.  I had done all sorts of well-intentioned research over the winter on how and where everything would grow best. But March and June are two totally different months, and things happen much differently in real life than they do in your head.  So you fit things where they fit, and you chalk it up as a learning experience. 
 
Enter Ryan and her beautiful plant markers, which helped save the day.  Because when you can’t remember to write “shaving gel” down on your shopping list by the time you exit the shower, you recognize that your chances of remembering where you planted the carrots are next to zero.  That’s when you enlist your sweet and talented daughter to create handmade signs out of oversized popsicle sticks.  
Everything else aside, I am beyond thankful that I have the opportunity to grow food to feed my family and friends. I am looking forward to the salsa and corn and peas we will put away for winter. Not to mention the Bloody Mary mix. Who knows how much we will end up with! Maybe we will help stock a food pantry or put the kids to work running a mini farm stand.  The possibilities seem endless.  As do the weeds.  
 
So I am wide open to advice, and I’ll be sure to share what I learn in the process, too!  (And please, please come over to help me!) 
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The Family Huggle?

Whenever a member of our family declares a “family hug,” we all must stop whatever we are doing IMMEDIATELY, and we come together for a four-way hug.  (It’s actually a five-way hug if you count our Goldendoodle, Pearl. Even though she isn’t a human, she is a person, so she is included. Going forward, I imagine it will be a six-way hug. Because Bernie.) 
 
Say hi to Bernie, everyone. 
 
Any of us can call for a family hug at any time, although the dogs have never exercised this right.  When a family hug is called, there are no excuses. It is completely non-negotiable. If you are fighting, playing, working, whatever, you come to the family hug. Mad, scared, happy, sad, you come to the family hug.  Any time is a good time for a family hug.  
 
Now that I’m thinking about it, though, I guess it’s really more of a huddle than a hug.  We basically stand in a close circle with our arms around each other.  Maybe we should call it a huggle.   
 
Whatever you call it, these things are magic. They can nip a tantrum in the bud, kickstart a fun family night, or just make a memory. They even work when Mommy or Daddy is in a bad mood. I know studies have shown that hugs can reduce anxiety, stress and even illness.  I’m here to tell you that when that giant hug involves your awesome husband, two adorable pups, and two even cuter kids, the benefits are multiplied. The only thing I’ve found that the huggle can’t conquer is “hangry.” If you’re hangry, you just need a hamburger, not a hug.  Maybe you’ll take a hug after you eat your burger.  

 

 
 
I can’t remember how the huggle was first instituted, but it is one of my favorite family traditions. It’s right up there with watching movies on the back porch and picking out our Christmas tree.  There will surely come a time when our kids will rebel against the huggle.  I guess that’s all the more reason to squeeze in as many as I can right now.  
 
What are your family’s favorite traditions or ways to “reboot” when someone gets a little grumpy?
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Summer of Fun II

Stop and Smell the Summer

Many years and many sunsets ago, my husband and I decided that we were going to dedicate one particular summer to the pursuit of fun.  We called that summer the “Summer of Fun.”  We’re super creative like that.  But the Summer of Debauchery might have been a more appropriate name for it.  This was pre-kids (and also before the explosion of social media, thank goodness!).  And we had the kind of fun you could only get away with in your 20s, and probably only in Wisconsin, for that matter.  
 
Before summer began, we sat down and made a conscious decision to generally streamline our lives, leaving as much room for relaxation and playtime as possible.  We continued to work, of course, and we still accomplished the absolutely necessary items on our “to do” lists. But we made a plan to temporarily outsource as many of our household tasks as we could (buh-bye yard work and cleaning!), and we nixed or put off any projects that weren’t essential.
 
The Summer of Fun was filled with swimming and music and sunshine and beer. Lots of beer. It was fantastic and juvenile and stupid and glorious. Let’s just say it’s a good thing summer in Wisconsin is short.
 
Since the conclusion of that summer, we have had two children, built a house and taken on numerous less significant projects.  We may, or may not, have also grown up a tad. That’s really open to interpretation. Now, this isn’t to say we haven’t had other fun summers in the interim. We have! But we haven’t again made such a conscious effort to focus on enjoying the summer season to the exclusion of all the extraneous stuff. 
 
See, we tend to take on challenges, strive for more, keep moving forward. It’s what we do.  We need to periodically remind ourselves to stop and scoop up the fun that’s right in front of us.  
 
So we recently decided the time was right for another Summer of Fun.  We are calling this one – wait for it – “Summer of Fun II”! It will look a little different from the original.  We have traded in our powerboat for an arguably more sensible fish-and-ski number.  There will be no dancing on bars (Not that I ever did such a thing, but if I did, you could never, ever prove it.).  I don’t see any Shot Skis in our immediate future. There won’t be any semi-permanent houseguests sleeping it off in our spare room. I am at least reasonably certain of all of the foregoing. 
 

There will also be less beer.  Don’t get me wrong – there will still be time for beer. But the focus will be different. There will be lots of fishing and campfires and tubing.  There will be giggles and smiles and cuddles.  There will be ice cream and pancake breakfasts and trips to ballgames and zoos. There will be movies and s’mores.  Our summer playlist will likely include some Taylor Swift, to appease my 6-year-old diva, er, I mean daughter. But we’ll sneak in some “Don’t Stop Believin'” too, for old times’ sake.

 
Most of all, there won’t be any projects that can reasonably wait till next year, or at least till fall (which will likely arrive in Wisconsin in approximately 3.2 seconds). And that’s really what this whole Summer of Fun thing is all about – making an effort to find room in your life for fun, whatever “fun” may mean to you.
 
So stay tuned for updates on the Summer of Fun II.  It began last week, and it’s looking pretty good so far.  Do you guys have any fun summer plans?  
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The Happy Jar

The Glass (Water Bottle) is Half Full

One of the last conversations my husband had with our dear friend Patrick Blessing was about a glass of water.  Dan visited Pat in the hospital, and Pat told Dan that one thing he really, really wanted was to drink a glass of ice water from a real glass.  Not a paper cup, not a plastic hospital mug. Just a plain old glass of water.
Such a small thing.  This struck a chord with Dan, and so he shared it with me.  Pat was never one to take the little things for granted. That’s part of his legacy and something that Pat taught many of us.  But this simple wish for water in a glass, in particular, has stuck with me.
I didn’t accompany Dan on that visit.  I was home with our baby and didn’t think I could get away.  Or I thought I’d have another chance.
So I wasn’t there, and I don’t know if Pat got his water. I hope he did.
To this day, every time I stand in my kitchen and fill a mason jar with ice cubes and tap water, I give a silent toast to Pat.  And I appreciate my water. I experience it more fully because of him.
And when I’m not home, I usually drink my water from a glass water bottle.  Because Pat was right.  Water really does taste better when it is housed in glass.  I have tried all sorts of reusable plastic water bottles – infusion water bottles, Nalgene bottles, what have you.  But I always found myself abandoning them.  After a few uses, they never really seemed to come clean, they smelled funky, and they were relegated to the back of my cabinet.  However, once I began using glass water bottles, I found I actually (sometimes) achieved that elusive daily goal of consuming half my body weight in water.
Last weekend, I accidentally left my water bottle at the ballpark.  This might have had something to do with the fact that I was juggling two baseball equipment bags and both of my children’s water bottles, plus the obligatory post-game team snacks and juice boxes.  Sometimes I feel like more of a pack mule than a mother.  In any event, it was suddenly time for a new water bottle.  So I hopped on Amazon and ordered this baby up, and it just arrived.  And I love it.
What is your favorite water bottle?  Do you ever buy bottled water?
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These Boots Were Made for Working

I like shoes.  But pretty ones.  Or at least shoes that kinda match my clothes. I’m not especially girly, but I’m not really a down-and-dirty type, either. I mean, I chose to go to law school.  I love to write.  I am far more apt to use my brain than my hands to get something done.  So I didn’t think I was a “work boots” kind of girl.
Turns out I was wrong.
The first time my husband brought me out to walk the land we had just bought, and on which we would eventually build our home, it was the dead of winter.  Ahhh, January in Wisconsin.  The front field was covered in a few feet of snow, but we were bound and determined to walk our new property.  So we set off across the snowy landscape, marveling at all the space we suddenly had.
It was lovely and scenic and special.  And then my foot sank into the snow just a little deeper than it had up to that point, and suddenly I found myself with an ice-covered foot.  If this has never happened to you, well, good for you.  It’s not much fun, and there is also nothing much you can do about it until you can go inside and sit down to remove your shoes entirely. I was several hundred yards away from that possibility.
Now, I wasn’t a total idiot. I had been wearing snow boots.  But they were these cute little furry things from The North Face.  And they had seemed perfectly acceptable.  Until they didn’t.
Enter my work boots.  Once my feet had recovered, I pulled out my iPhone and started researching more appropriate footwear.  I wanted work boots that would be functional year-round and not totally hideous.  I finally settled on my beloved Bogs.
My Bogs work boots got me through the house-building months, when mud seemed to cover everything around us.  Our cars, our children, our entire lives were coated in mud. For a period of time, I didn’t bother to wear any shoes other than my work boots, because any other footwear I dared to put on would be ruined, sacrificed to the mud gods magically and instantaneously.  So I showed up everywhere I went with at least a few smudges of mud on my person and Bogs on my feet.  Volunteering in my son’s kindergarten class?  Work boots.  Target run?  Work boots.  I may have even worn my Bogs on a date night or two.  Sadly, I’m not kidding.
Thank goodness, those days are behind us.
But I still pull my old work boots out more often than I would have expected.  They have helped me plant trees, collect sap for homemade maple syrup (yum!), start a garden, plant even more trees, and perform various other tasks I never envisioned myself tackling.
Beyond that, my work boots help me slog through whatever mud that life happens to put in my path.  They can’t prevent blisters from forming on my palms (I never remember work gloves when I need them!), but they do protect my feet.  And, more importantly, they allow me to obtain the satisfaction that comes from engaging in physical labor to create long-lasting improvements in our little corner of the world.
Turns out I can get down and dirty.  I just want a mani-pedi when I’m done.  🙂
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Uncategorized

Have You Thanked a Teacher Today?

“Not all superheroes have capes, some have teaching degrees.” 
– Author Unknown
Seeing as it’s Teacher Appreciation Week, it only makes sense to express my gratitude for the fantastic educators my kids have had the good fortune to learn from so far.  My children have been blessed with warm and talented teachers from pre-school up through lower elementary.  Given the quality of our school district, I have no doubt that trend will continue.
These teachers spend more waking hours with my kids than I do.  Back during the toddler years, I dreaded that seemingly far-off time when Baylor and then Ryan would leave my constant care and spend their days with someone else.  Well, folks, that day came far sooner than anticipated.  And when I did drop them off for their respective first days of school, I stumbled back to my SUV and cried…a lot. Each time. I didn’t think anyone could ever love my kids as much as I do.  And that’s still true.  No one will love a child quite like their mama.  But teachers are close runners-up.  They really do love kids.  I mean, they have to.  Because as much as I love my kiddos, there are some days when I feel the urge to hide from them.  In the pantry.  With a handful of their leftover Easter candy and a glass of wine. And I love my kids to freaking pieces.  Teachers have nowhere to hide, and they have 20-plus kids to handle on the daily.  There is no way they would stay in that classroom year after year if they didn’t love those kids.  There just isn’t.
Teachers shouldn’t have just one week.  It isn’t enough – they deserve at least a month.  Much like Mother’s Day would be changed to Mother’s Month in an alternate universe where fairness reigns.  And just as my birthday should be a “birth month.”  🙂 (Actually, I did celebrate my birthday for an entire month when I was growing up.  Perks of being an only child.)
But teachers truly should be celebrated for at least a month.  They have such a humongous job.  They are responsible for the growth and development of all these tiny individuals with all these different learning styles for five full days each week.  They juggle squabbles and lesson plans and projectile vomit.  On top of that, these days, they also have to deal with the really awful stuff like active-shooter drills and cyber-bullying.  All while molding our next generation. Mostly with a smile on their face.  Oftentimes in heels.  How they do it is a mystery to me.
So, thank you, teachers.  Your creativity, patience, and dedication is much appreciated this week and always.