Aunt Amber Said

Sleep training. Ugh.

Let's recap. I suffer with other people's children daily. I force them to learn through tears, screams, kicks, bites and mountains of developmental disabilities. And it doesn't phase me. I walk out the door and smile feeling good about the chaos I created and ended in an hour's time. In fact in my office I'm well loved and hated for being strict and firm. Hard core.

Enter motherhood and an infant that refuses to sleep through the night. Oh trust me I know why. I co-slept for during her first few months, especially when her dad was in Africa and Pippa and I were traveling across the West. Then we came home and moved into a new house, took a little road trip, I started school and BOOM! I was a zombie sloppily wiping sleep from my eyes and drool from my text books.

In a not so rare fit of self pity, I called my sister Amber and asked about her baby who is a two months older than Pippa. He's sleeping soundly through the night. Pippa was waking up every 30-45 minutes and wanted to be fed and held for nearly an hour. And that's when Aunt Amber said the awful obvious truth: Pippa needed sleep training. So we cried it out, for two hours at a time that first night. Every time Pippa took a breath and wound up for another shriek, I just looked her in the eye and told her to sleep "because Aunt Amber said so."

Yep, strict and firm.

Summer Isn't Over Yet

This long and draining weekend in which I have disturbed many of my relationships has been continually punctuated by one phrase—Summer is over.

I read it in the family letter on Saturday morning. Summer is over, school will begin (most of these family members are teachers). I panicked for two reasons: 1. As an irresponsible adult I like to think that summer will last until the first snow. That means more volleyball playing for me and not as much 8-3 with the kiddies. 2. My summer only started in July and these letters were supposedly written July 10th. Conclusion: my family secretly hates me and wants me to live with a 10-day summer. It explains a lot.

That decided (the part of them wanting me to be miserable) I mentally congratulated myself for procrastinating reading the letter and quickly disregarded it so I could enjoy my summer. Unfortunately two hours later my employer (also a teacher) recalled the ugly truth, summer is over. She will be returning to school in two weeks which means my hours extend. Hmmm. It was hard to disregard this, but I managed telling myself I didn't have to think about until I returned from Seattle.

Wouldn't you know that two hours later I checked my email and in the subject head read Summer is Over. Really. Gone. Ushered away by the new school year.

August sucks.

Counting Down

The first day of June passed with me mentally computing the days, hours and minutes to the end of school. That's 19 days, 133 hours in class, 7,980 minutes as a teacher and seven more early morning bus rides. And that's when I started to think of ways to cut it down.

First it became clear that my family matters more than a job that ends in four weeks. Naturally, I will take an extra day for the family reunion in Star Valley, Wyoming. In my mind we will spend that day off riding horseback through the mountains or rafting the Snake River. In reality we will probably walk under the antler archway and visit with relatives...maybe a short hike to Intermittent Springs. That brings me to 18 days, 126 hours and still too many minutes.

Next I remembered a doctor’s appointment that will offer an early out one Wednesday. If I can somehow rationalize my parent’s being in town and needing time off for that I could evade the entire school day. That would bring me to 17 days, 119 hours and only six more bus rides.

And maybe I need a mental health day. Actually there’s no maybe about it. Sixteen days, 112 hours but I’ll keep my bus rides just so I don’t have to listen to complaints from the drivers about liability issues. There seems to be a lack of concern for my body flying through the windshield at freeway speeds as I walk up and down the bus aisle.

In a moment of desperation I counted our field trip. I’m probably smoking crack thinking of it as a day off, but perhaps a more manageable day will justify my little white lie.

Grand total: I have 15 days , 105 hours, 6,300 minutes and six more early morning bus rides to complete. The worst part is after working this week I will still have 15 days, 105 hours, 6,300 minutes and six more early morning bus rides.

Shot Through the Heart

Pulling up to the elementary school triggered memories from my Parkview Pirates days. The line of buses and kids running out the doors with coats half on and bags dragging across the cement. Actually I rarely saw much of that. I rode bus 504. It came early and those of us cool enough to ride it lined up by the entrance counting down the last seconds of the school day. As soon as the bell rang we walked single file to the long flat-faced yellow monster, the only of its kind. I missed out on the wild kids running to meet their parents and the horn honking traffic jams.

Picking up Justin I panicked, should I stay in the car? Line up behind the buses? Circle the parking lot? I finally decided to park on the corner of the street as far from the school as possible. That decision felt a little forced because it was. The little voices increased in volume the closer I got to the school.

My mouth turned up a little at the corners, half amused at the carefree abandon, half annoyed at the shrill sound. Then a small boy at the top of the play structure introduced his friends to an old favorite of mine—Bon Jovi.

The boy sang out, “Shot through the heart.” My mouth grew into a full-blown smile and my mind finished and your to blame, darling you give love a bad name.

I guess some people remain ageless.