Every year an Eastern Bluebird has been building her nest outside of my classroom window. It's really incredible actual. With just some dirt and debris and a little bird spit, she builds a home on the completely vertical face of a wall. Of course, if her house plummets a great distance, she is far better equipped to handle this than you or I.
Each year my kids and I spend the weeks after the CRCT watching the progress of the bird and her eggs. There's always one morning when we come in and there aren't eggs anymore but babies. This is my favorite part. I am largely a fan of anything that is miniature.
My kids loved it! We'd talk about the birds and write about them, and we would generally stare at them longer than we should have. I loved it too. It gave us an opportunity to just experience something. I couldn't plan it. I couldn't control when the eggs would hatch or when they would choose to spend hours squawking because they were hungry. As a side note, baby birds are hungry a lot. We just got to be observers, and it became an irreplaceable experience.
Did you notice the past tense of that verb there? Became. A few weeks ago (I've just gotten to the point where I can deal with it), my students and I watched in horror as our birds nest was knocked down. It was then destroyed and the eggs in it. I know people think that middle schoolers are unfeeling monsters, but I can assure you they feel plenty, and they were devastated. I was devastated.
We thought at first that the Mama Bird was going to rebuild. She kept swooping a wide arc and coming back to her homesite. We waited for days, but the nest still hasn't come back. That bird is homeless. She spends her days flying in circles and making random visits to the place where her home once was.
My kids and I still watch her, and we're all secretly hoping that one morning we'll come in, and there will be a nest again. But for now, we'll just sits with her as she visits the place that used to be home.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Under Pressure
My dad came over early this morning so we could pressure wash my house. Normal enough, but here's the thing, I had no idea my dad was coming. I had alluded to the fact that I was going to pressure wash my house today, which in Sarah terms means "I am going to think about pressure washing my house all day long while I am doing other things." So imagine my surprise, when I am awoken this morning to the sound of the door bell, and then to the sight of my father knocking on my bedroom window. I was less than excited. At the same time, I was very appreciative of the fact that I had help for this endeavor.
Before I plunge too much further into the day's events, let me give you a little insight into our father/daughter relationship. My dad is probably the nicest guy you'll meet. He'll crack jokes with you and pick on you. Everyone he knows loves him. Now imagine a life in which your dad was this guy, but the 20 or so stock jokes he tells to everyone are also the only source of conversation the two of you have. My dad asks me three questions on a consistent basis, "Are you tired?", "Are you hungry?" and "Are you thirsty?" I'm not lying! He must have asked me these same 3 questions 15 times today. We don't get much further than that.
When I was younger, I thought this was because my dad didn't like me. Honestly, this is what I thought. I was the "accident" kid, and I thought that just meant that I was one more person for my dad to take care of. As an adult, I realize that my dad loves me very much; we just communicate in vastly different ways. I like to spend time with people and have deep conversations with them. This is how I show and receive love. My dad, on the other hand, is a service kind of a guy. My dad likes to do things for others. This is a great way to express love. There's nothing wrong with it. However, as a child, I didn't realize that when my dad did things for me he was really saying, "I love you." It's sort of a Princess Bride "as you wish," situation.
There's another facet to our relationship. My dad has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I know people say that they or someone they know have it, but my dad genuinely does. This means that when we undertake a project like this my dad has a way of doing it, and he will not stop until it is done completely in a manner that he sees fitting. I have a ton of problems with that. Largely in that my dad will not listen when I tell him something. It drives me nuts, and I get really upset with him. I've learned to keep my mouth shut, but it eats away at me, and I think all sorts of terrible things while we're together. Our projects usually end up being silent tasks, and I usually cry or rant to Romie after he leaves.
So you see, we started the day with the cards stacked against us. I dragged myself out of bed and threw on some crap clothes all the while thinking about how horrible and awkward today was going to be. We started, and five minutes in I was ready to be done. I was just so frustrated. He wouldn't let me do anything. He was set on using the longest possible process. I was thinking about how I didn't really want to be doing this anyway. Then I stopped, I thought back to being de-cluttered and renewing my mind. I was letting everything I thought about my dad, every painful memory, everything I think my dad should have said or done in the past, every comparison I had made to other fathers completely overshadow the fact that my dad was here today, and that he was showing me love. It didn't matter that it wasn't the way I would have preferred. I was the one who was making the process harder. I was the one who had put up defenses. My dad was doing a really nice thing for me.
I stopped, and I said in my mind "Do not conform any longer to the patterns of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is - his good, pleasing, and perfect will." (Romans 12:2). Yes, I know I sound like one of "those women". The ones who are so "holy" that they're just one giant religious cliche. I promise I'm not, but I am learning a lot about myself, and one of the things I've learned is that I'm a super negative thinker. People who know me would be surprised by this because I'm verbally very positive. Trust me though, my thoughts are junk most of the time. In realizing this, I decided to cling to something positive and that verse was it for me.
Back to the story. I'm not saying that verse or that moment was magic, but in that moment, I manned up and made a suggestion. And my dad took it. And we got done a lot quicker. And we talked about sports at lunch. And my dad let me do things my way for most of the day. And for the first time in a really long time, I wasn't mad at my dad when he left. It wasn't because he was really any different. It was because I let go of the things that used to get in our way. I let them float away like a balloon, and now, they're just a tiny speck in the sky.
My house is pretty clean, too. ; )
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Never were there more devoted sisters
I love my sister. She is everything a sister should be. She looks out for me. She picks on me. She puts blankets in the dryer to warm them up when I'm cold. Really, I couldn't have asked for a better one.
Sister and I are pretty different. She is loud and has never met a stranger. I'm quiet until we're good buds, and I'm pretty wary of strangers. She was a cheerleader. I was a theater kid. She grew up with New Kids on the Block (that was my first concert). I grew up with Backstreet Boys (I am shame faced). She's married and has kids. I'm not, and I don't, unless you count 100 7th graders.
Despite all of these things, when we're together, we're connected. We think it's weird that people say we're so different because to us, we're two peas in a pod. We think alike. We have the same twisted sense of humor, although, my sister is much freer in sharing hers. We both love music and reading and being slightly judgmental. We both picked the same profession. We painted our houses the same colors. Mine is admittedly much brighter shades than hers.
I know with such surety that if I needed anything - a kidney, money, a home, a blood transfusion, an alibi for a crime - my sister would be there, and she would give it. I know this because I feel that way about her.
Sister and I are pretty different. She is loud and has never met a stranger. I'm quiet until we're good buds, and I'm pretty wary of strangers. She was a cheerleader. I was a theater kid. She grew up with New Kids on the Block (that was my first concert). I grew up with Backstreet Boys (I am shame faced). She's married and has kids. I'm not, and I don't, unless you count 100 7th graders.
Despite all of these things, when we're together, we're connected. We think it's weird that people say we're so different because to us, we're two peas in a pod. We think alike. We have the same twisted sense of humor, although, my sister is much freer in sharing hers. We both love music and reading and being slightly judgmental. We both picked the same profession. We painted our houses the same colors. Mine is admittedly much brighter shades than hers.
I know with such surety that if I needed anything - a kidney, money, a home, a blood transfusion, an alibi for a crime - my sister would be there, and she would give it. I know this because I feel that way about her.
Friday, March 26, 2010
A Bit of Excess
I realize that two posts in one day may be deemed a bit excessive, but I was super excited about having my first follower and my new layout. Although I must say, Kelly is much cooler than even the springiest of layouts.
I have had a secret friend crush on Kelly for quite some time. What's a friend crush you ask? Good question. You know when you meet someone, and you know that they are infinitely cooler than you are, but you secretly hope they want to be your friend anyway. That is a friend crush, and you're never too old for them. In some cases it works out. I'm hoping this is the case with Kelly. That is if I haven't ruined it by airing my friendly crushed out state on the internet. In some cases it doesn't.
I've had high hopes for this particular friend crush from the beginning, but there have been some extenuating circumstances that have kept us apart. Kelly has been pretty sick lately which means the forums in which we would normally see each other have been closed off. So perhaps now we can be internet friends.
In truth, I have lots of friend crushes on people at my church, and I'm just getting to the point at which I feel comfortable enough to act upon them. It's been pretty well received so far, but again, I may have spoiled it all by putting all my weird friendship needs on the web. Oh well, my mother told me that people who blog are crazy, and like with most things my mother is right.
I'm also excited that after three days of antibiotics, I no longer want to claw my own ears off. This may not seem like a big deal to some, but for me, it's pretty monumental. It's been hard for me to remember that love is not selective - not even with ears and hopefully not with friend crushes either.
I have had a secret friend crush on Kelly for quite some time. What's a friend crush you ask? Good question. You know when you meet someone, and you know that they are infinitely cooler than you are, but you secretly hope they want to be your friend anyway. That is a friend crush, and you're never too old for them. In some cases it works out. I'm hoping this is the case with Kelly. That is if I haven't ruined it by airing my friendly crushed out state on the internet. In some cases it doesn't.
I've had high hopes for this particular friend crush from the beginning, but there have been some extenuating circumstances that have kept us apart. Kelly has been pretty sick lately which means the forums in which we would normally see each other have been closed off. So perhaps now we can be internet friends.
In truth, I have lots of friend crushes on people at my church, and I'm just getting to the point at which I feel comfortable enough to act upon them. It's been pretty well received so far, but again, I may have spoiled it all by putting all my weird friendship needs on the web. Oh well, my mother told me that people who blog are crazy, and like with most things my mother is right.
I'm also excited that after three days of antibiotics, I no longer want to claw my own ears off. This may not seem like a big deal to some, but for me, it's pretty monumental. It's been hard for me to remember that love is not selective - not even with ears and hopefully not with friend crushes either.
You only need one . . . if he's the right one.
Books and movies based on books have completely ruined me for real men. It's sort of ridiculous the expectations I have. I want a man who is serious but funny, strong yet gentle, wise but still playful, manly while being sensitive. It's a lot to ask especially considering I am not one of those things. Well, maybe I'm sensitive, but I sometimes let those sensibilities get away from me.
I say all this because I have just watched the new BBC version of Sense and Sensibility. It was everything I could hope for in a romance. Plenty of swooning which led to plenty of being carried away like a damsel in distress. There was a duel, a man chopping wood in the rain, a secret engagement, several broken hearts, and of course, a happy ending.
I realize that books and movies are merely fancy. I get that real relationships are messy and require a good bit of work, but the truth is that at almost 26, I still haven't let these dreams go. A few posts ago, I mentioned that fact that I'm a commitment phob. I think it's because I'm always thinking that my own Austen-esque hero is lurking around the corner waiting to catch me if I swoon.
Is it silly? Of course, but I still love it. I love the thought of these types of heros who are good and strong. I like chivalry. I would LOVE for someone to fight a duel for me. In the end I wouldn't want him to kill anyone, though. He'd be too good for that. I would really love a man who wore a cravat. Face it ladies, cravats are hott!
My thought is that if I haven't meet a man who makes me want to give up these dreams, then I haven't found the right man yet. So, I'm going to hold on to my silly daydreams. I will continue to watch and read Pride and Prejudice (the Colin Firth version to be exact). I'll religiously watch Masterpiece Theater, and resign myself to the fact that cravats have gotten out of fashion. But I'll keep waiting for the one, and maybe if he's the right one, he'll even show up on horseback.
I say all this because I have just watched the new BBC version of Sense and Sensibility. It was everything I could hope for in a romance. Plenty of swooning which led to plenty of being carried away like a damsel in distress. There was a duel, a man chopping wood in the rain, a secret engagement, several broken hearts, and of course, a happy ending.
I realize that books and movies are merely fancy. I get that real relationships are messy and require a good bit of work, but the truth is that at almost 26, I still haven't let these dreams go. A few posts ago, I mentioned that fact that I'm a commitment phob. I think it's because I'm always thinking that my own Austen-esque hero is lurking around the corner waiting to catch me if I swoon.
Is it silly? Of course, but I still love it. I love the thought of these types of heros who are good and strong. I like chivalry. I would LOVE for someone to fight a duel for me. In the end I wouldn't want him to kill anyone, though. He'd be too good for that. I would really love a man who wore a cravat. Face it ladies, cravats are hott!
My thought is that if I haven't meet a man who makes me want to give up these dreams, then I haven't found the right man yet. So, I'm going to hold on to my silly daydreams. I will continue to watch and read Pride and Prejudice (the Colin Firth version to be exact). I'll religiously watch Masterpiece Theater, and resign myself to the fact that cravats have gotten out of fashion. But I'll keep waiting for the one, and maybe if he's the right one, he'll even show up on horseback.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Cluttered
Romie and I have been on a MAJOR spring cleaning kick. I think it's partly because we are willing spring to stay for good and partly because we own a lot of crap. It's sort of insane how much two single people can accumulate, but accumulate we do. I cleaned out my closet for the second time in two weeks today. The first time I let go of things I knew I didn't use, but today I got serious and got rid of things that I held onto because I might use them.
I manned up today and faced the fact that I'll probably never use them, and that maybe someone else would. They'll go to a nice new home, and I'll have much more closet space - which I will NOT fill with more crap.
Anybody buy that? I didn't think so as I I don't really buy it myself. Oh well, a girl can have decluttered dreams.
However, all this purging has got me thinking. I feel like things are constantly rumbling around in my head. I don't know if you're anything like me, but my mind never seems to shut up. It's never just quiet and still. This is a blessing and curse because while I'm never bored, I'm also never completely rested.
In my thinking, I thought about the verse in Romans (Romans 12:2 to be exact) that talks about being transformed by the renewing of your mind. If I don't stop and kick out the random, useless, worrisome, and just plain silly stuff that rolls around in my head, can I really have a renewed mind? If I don't have a renewed mind, can I be completely transformed?
The truth is I don't think I can. The truth is also that I have no idea how to quiet the chaos that rolls around in head. Any thoughts or suggestions would be much appreciated.
I manned up today and faced the fact that I'll probably never use them, and that maybe someone else would. They'll go to a nice new home, and I'll have much more closet space - which I will NOT fill with more crap.
Anybody buy that? I didn't think so as I I don't really buy it myself. Oh well, a girl can have decluttered dreams.
However, all this purging has got me thinking. I feel like things are constantly rumbling around in my head. I don't know if you're anything like me, but my mind never seems to shut up. It's never just quiet and still. This is a blessing and curse because while I'm never bored, I'm also never completely rested.
In my thinking, I thought about the verse in Romans (Romans 12:2 to be exact) that talks about being transformed by the renewing of your mind. If I don't stop and kick out the random, useless, worrisome, and just plain silly stuff that rolls around in my head, can I really have a renewed mind? If I don't have a renewed mind, can I be completely transformed?
The truth is I don't think I can. The truth is also that I have no idea how to quiet the chaos that rolls around in head. Any thoughts or suggestions would be much appreciated.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
What's in a blog name?
Which now leads me to the name of my blog. It comes from a line in a Waterdeep song. It says:
"And the joy when you restore me
I will stand and walk again
I will run into this world
I will call them to come in
But I will not point my finger
Or grow that wicked skin
They cannot remember
What I will not forget
How I broke You
How I'm broken"
- Put In Me by Waterdeep
I love this line. I love Waterdeep. I love music. I love the words that make up music, but I love these words in particular. I all the time remember how I'm broken, but this song reminds of the joy when He restores me. It's been my jam for the past week or so. Who knows what my next song will be?
I was talking with Romie (She's my roommate, but that's not a typo, for the purposes of this blog we're calling her Romie. It's to protect the guilty.) tonight, and how she doesn't really notice the words to songs. She can sing along to them, and can correct me when I sing them incorrectly. However, she doesn't think about the meaning of songs. I often ask her, "Is this song talking about X,Y, or Z?" Her response is always the same (not sure why I keep asking). She doesn't know.
I'm always thinking about what the words of songs mean. I sometimes think I synthesize the world in music. I think there may be a perfect song for every occasion. Happy, sad, angry, giddy, or discontent - there's a song for each one. There's a lyric that can sum it up perfectly. There's even a lyric that will name your blog.
"And the joy when you restore me
I will stand and walk again
I will run into this world
I will call them to come in
But I will not point my finger
Or grow that wicked skin
They cannot remember
What I will not forget
How I broke You
How I'm broken"
- Put In Me by Waterdeep
I love this line. I love Waterdeep. I love music. I love the words that make up music, but I love these words in particular. I all the time remember how I'm broken, but this song reminds of the joy when He restores me. It's been my jam for the past week or so. Who knows what my next song will be?
I was talking with Romie (She's my roommate, but that's not a typo, for the purposes of this blog we're calling her Romie. It's to protect the guilty.) tonight, and how she doesn't really notice the words to songs. She can sing along to them, and can correct me when I sing them incorrectly. However, she doesn't think about the meaning of songs. I often ask her, "Is this song talking about X,Y, or Z?" Her response is always the same (not sure why I keep asking). She doesn't know.
I'm always thinking about what the words of songs mean. I sometimes think I synthesize the world in music. I think there may be a perfect song for every occasion. Happy, sad, angry, giddy, or discontent - there's a song for each one. There's a lyric that can sum it up perfectly. There's even a lyric that will name your blog.
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