Yesssss!

I broke the law tonight.  I know a person shouldn’t readily admit that, especially on so public of a place as the Internet, but there it is.  I broke the law.  And I’d do it again.

I leave for Argentina in six weeks.  My family is sacrificing by giving me the freedom to live in a foreign country for half a year, learning the language and culture.  As D-day (“Departure” Day) approaches, my thinking has begun to shift from what I won’t be able to provide for them in person, to what I will miss from them.  My first-born, especially, has been on my mind.

My girl is confident and independent.  Like most 14-year-olds, she knows it all.  Except, she really is brilliant.  I usually think she’ll be the one who survives my absence the best– mother easily replaced by friends.  She surprised me recently by transferring into my high school class.  I had thought she wanted distance, yet she chose to spend a little more time with me before I go.  I get to start each work day with her.  It’s like three whole months of Take Your Daughter to Work.  I am blessed.   And cursed.

Cursed because now my head is filled with dread thinking about the big memories I am going to miss.  I won’t be there for her cheerleading try-outs.  She made it last year, and I think she’ll do it again, but I hate not being able to watch her practice.  She has a steady boyfriend too.  I know teenage romance can change with the breeze, I don’t think this one will anytime soon.  Did I mention he’s a junior?  A junior who will likely want to go to Prom in April.  I actually get a pain in my chest knowing that I won’t be able help her pick out a dress, arrange for hair and make-up, nor snap those pictures.  She’s only a freshman; I didn’t think that I’d miss her first prom.  She also turns 15 in June.  Unfortunately, I knew I’d miss that birthday, but I had forgotten about teaching my daughter how to drive.

Funny thing about her and driving.  You see, she has broken the law too.  She has, through charm and tenacity, taught herself to drive… other people’s cars.  My car, my 6-speed Mini-Cooper S that she helped me pick out, is uncharted territory for her.

My girl asked me to dinner tonight, and I asked her for an hour afterwards.  I promised her she would like the surprise I had in store for her.  As we drove slightly outside of town, she apprehensively asked me, “Are you sure I will like this?…”

I down-shifted, pulled onto the dirt road that led into the empty field, and yanked up the parking brake.  I turned to her and said, “It’s time for you to learn how to drive a stick.”  I ate up every nanosecond as disbelief, fear and excitement spread across her face.

We switched spots.  I watched my tall girl sit in the driver’s seat and begin inching it forward.  I told her to press the clutch in all the way and adjust the seat some more.  We talked about the touch of the clutch and the feel of the gas pedal.  I showed her where reverse is (on a Mini, it’s easily confused with first gear) and how to take off the parking brake.  Finally, I told her to expect the car to jump and stall.  A lot.  The only way to learn how to drive a manual is with loads of experience.

For the next 30 minutes, we did exactly that.  I sat grinning from ear to ear as my Mini suffered through the abuse of one stalled engine after another. I giggled at my daughter’s sheer frustration of not being able to smoothly drive the car.  I told her she only had to do this as long as it was fun.  Then it happened.  Gas was gently applied, the clutch was slowly released, and we glided forward!  She shifted into second and bumped along until the road ran out.  I would have braked, but she chose to stall.  I completely agreed with her decision, remembering how confusing it was when you first attempt to work three foot pedals.

We broke the law tonight; my growing girl driving illegally with me, an approving accomplice.  I can’t wait to do it again… on a hill!

Rebirth

Remember when the greatest gift you could bestow upon your friends was a hand-picked compilation cassette? The message was in the music. I made a million of those for anyone who would take ‘em. They were a gift from my heart. I was lucky enough to have received a few too. On one such tape, was a song I had never heard before: Cat Stevens’ Wild World. I thought the song was an unusual choice for me, as was not my style. I was a new wave/alternative music girl, not a flower-in-my-hair folk rock fiend. The odd selection did stop me, piquing my interest in what it was saying. All mix-tapes come with an intended message, this one was received towards the end of my college years; it was a “good bye and good luck” musical note. Despite the condescending lyrics (“It’s hard to get by just upon a smile”), I found it empowering. It made me believe that if I worked hard and watched out for myself, I could make it.

I thought it would be the perfect theme song for my blog’s rebirth. You see, beginning today, I am off on a series of new adventures, following my dreams. Wild World has always inspired me to “go for it,” and this is a year when I shall realize many of the goals that I have “gone for.”

I’m writing this note on a plane bound for Paris. I’ve had a fortunate life; this is my, what?, fifth time to The City of Light. Paris is the place in which I first saw the world. My eyes were opened up to possibilities and new cultures, as I sweated my way through the Louvre and finickly ate across a cuisine I had no appreciation for (at the time). Paris changed me. I’ve traveled often since. I have visited old and made new friends around the globe. I’m on a mission for the next 20 days to make even more. Literally. I was a last minute replacement to lead a People to People delegation to France, Italy and Greece. Tough job sharing Eisenhower’s vision of spreading peace around the world.

I wept a little as I left this morning. This trip is the first in a whirlwind of change currently going on in my life. I don’t do gradual shifts, I do earthquake size alterations. In addition to leaving my husband and kids behind to lead a bunch of strange teenagers around for the next month, I will be starting a new job in the fall, and leaving for Argentina in the spring.

I will be teaching 9th grade basic communications at North Platte High School. I feel like I have a wealth of practical experience I can contribute to the students’ learning, but it’s a little distressing to leave the comfort of my old classroom and curriculum.

I also received a Fulbright Distinguished Teacher Award. The official notification came in the mail this week. I will fulfill a lifelong dream of living abroad when I temporarily move to Argentina in 2012. Like all good resumes and grant applications, I might have beefed up my Spanish speaking skills. I will be sharing my knowledge of integrating technology into daily lessons. I’m excited to work with the teachers, but am panic-stricken thinking about how no one may actually learn anything from me because I will be talking like a 2-year-old. I know I will learn to comfortably speak Spanish, but my confianza is very low ahora. Yet… this is Part II of the goal, I want to be fluent in another language.

I am, in effect, setting myself up for failure in order to succeed. It sorta makes me want to vomit. And, it’s this pukey feeling that I plan on sharing right here. Don’t worry; you’ll get some pleasant ones too.

I have some new rules and hopes for this blog:
• I hope you respond. Please write back, especially when I’m abroad.
• You get the real me, and the real me likes to curse just a little bit. Brace yourself.
• This is my view of the world. Despite being highly opinionated, I don’t like to argue and won’t engage in any politic discussions.
• That said, my memories might be off. Remember that game of “telephone” where everyone’s message was a little off. This might turn out to be the virtual version of that.
• There will probably be typos and poor grammar. I will correct them as I find them and you can message me if you see them, but expect them. I want to consistently write, but I’m a perfectionist. Sometimes I can get caught up in the editing and not the writing (which is the goal).
• This used to be my classroom blog; it’s not anymore. I hate to trash all of my writing and like that the URL includes my name. I may change my mind later, but for now, I’m just going to hide the previous posts.

I have always enjoyed writing about small moments in my life that affect me. I want to share a bit of me and my slant of the world with you through this journal. I hope you enjoy it.

Late Night Party with Rock Stars!

It sounded a little bit like thunder and a lot like danger.  In the inky darkness, my eyes couldn’t make out where the clatter was coming from, but it felt like it was headed straight for us.   I quickly grabbed my son and tried to decide if I would have to haul him to safety or stay still, hoping the racket would pass.  We had gone out for a walk on a sultry summer night.  We weren’t far from our house, less than a mile, but it felt like the country because we were near an open field.  Fear turned to awe when we realized the noise was a large herd of spooked deer crossing the pavement a few yards in front of us running towards the safety of the nearby river.  It was magical.

The event charged the evening with excitement.  We talked about the deer while looking up at the bright stars.  Anything seemed possible that night.  That’s when my son asked me to show him what a shooting star looked like.

Mothers are magic, especially when children are young.  Parents can do anything.  Unfortunately, the deer would be the only thing we would see that night.  Nevertheless, I didn’t forget the wish nor the star needed for it.

*             *             *

“Do you want to go see some shooting stars tonight?” I whispered in my 8-year-old’s ear.  It was after 10 p.m., and he was still awake reading a book.  The excitement in his eyes was answer enough.

“You’ll have to put on your jacket over your pajamas, hat and some shoes,” I instructed him.  We loaded up the car with downy sleeping bags, folding lounge chairs and headed north, away from the city’s lights.  The annual Geminid Meteor Shower was supposed to peak on December 13 and 14^th, just days after a glorious full moon and lunar eclipse.  The best viewing time was supposed to be between 2:00-3:00 in the morning, but the conditions were not going to be ideal regardless due to the bright moon.  If we left sooner, rather than later, we had a chance to see a few meteors before the moon rose too high in the sky.

About five miles outside of North Platte, I took a left onto Highway 97.  There the hills are higher and the houses fewer.  Driving into the darkness, I yelled toward the backseat, “I just saw one!”  Just beyond the headlights and the highway, a faint streak of light shot from the stars for the briefest of moments.  I thought to myself that the night’s impromptu plans might actually work.

I pulled over onto a turn-around and set up the lounge chairs in the gravel road.  I tucked my child into a sleeping bag, and told him to stare at the stars.  He would have to be patient; magic takes time.  You couldn’t have asked for a better Nebraska night.  Despite being December, the air was crisp but not bitter cold.  The stars were diamond sharp in the clear night sky.  We did our best to work around the moonlight.  I faced the chairs away from the moon rising in the east; looking to the west, we waited.

“Mom, there’s one,” he pointed to an airplane’s red and green lights slowing making its way across the star-field.  I corrected his mistake, and told him a shooting star is fast, and looks like a line of light.

Just then, it happened.

“Mom! Mom! Mom!  I saw one!  Did you see it?”

I had.  It was quick and faint, but definitely a meteor.  My son’s first shooting star.

We talked for an hour under the evening sky.  Sometimes we would see the same shooting star and sometimes only one of us we catch a glimpse before it faded away.  Equal enthusiasm was given to the science of meteorites as to Martians attacking cavemen and dinosaurs millions of years ago.  I hummed Silent Night and he sang Batman Smells to the tune of Jingle Bells.  Our conversation was peppered with shooting stars racing overhead and gloriously punctuated with a real beauty–a meteor that astounded us.  We “oohhed” as the bluish ball streaked across the starry sky as its golden tail chased after it.  When it nearly touched the night horizon, we awarded it “Best of Show.”

On the Nebraska plains, the prairie grass danced in the moonshadows.  In the quiet, he and I watched the twinkling lights waiting for the universe to set off one more firework.  Out of the black of the night, I heard the reward for a promise fulfilled.

“I love you, Mom.”

*            *             *

It was nearly midnight when I tucked my son into bed and wrote a note to his teacher explaining that he might be tired during class.  I didn’t mention that we had stayed up late on a school night to hang out with rock stars.