tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48439783964018333082024-02-20T09:08:06.739-07:00BoyTrappedThe place where I store my thoughts in an effort to clear space for new ones!Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15684272196949747140noreply@blogger.comBlogger800125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843978396401833308.post-8936310046377597112021-12-17T14:06:00.000-07:002021-12-17T14:06:16.365-07:005. Stocking Spree<p>Straight from my weird mind, I give you our new tradition: a Stocking Spree. Basically, it's a shopping spree, but you shop for others and put the items in their stocking. I gave each boy $20 and strict instructions to try to buy something really personalized. </p><p>Adam thought for sure he'd get nothing but Hot Wheels, since he's been on that kick recently. But his brothers worked hard to put a bit more thought into it. He was pretty excited about the LEGO figure he got from Alex. I cheated and spent my $20 in Africa, and brought back - among other things - matching necklaces for Adam and Makenzie. </p><p>I have a feeling that buying for more than just my boys may be part of the new tradition, too!</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEia4IK845RL5Sjnjkg0y14Bsw6bMEGy4rs76kXQ2mqAWRIdg7M1NJgqnR0LVnT1tDd5FjcTye4yPh6ZQm8lGOw-YLQjFwI6FmvlJmiz3TbdUzSwW1zCCYcXU_AuENmOiYUMVjrsDose8xz9lo7UXPUSaiFWoLoopQ5Ni0hrEIVEnSMmVQFQgdeEBy7ngA=s1200" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEia4IK845RL5Sjnjkg0y14Bsw6bMEGy4rs76kXQ2mqAWRIdg7M1NJgqnR0LVnT1tDd5FjcTye4yPh6ZQm8lGOw-YLQjFwI6FmvlJmiz3TbdUzSwW1zCCYcXU_AuENmOiYUMVjrsDose8xz9lo7UXPUSaiFWoLoopQ5Ni0hrEIVEnSMmVQFQgdeEBy7ngA=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p>Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15684272196949747140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843978396401833308.post-34888826027546072442021-12-16T13:44:00.001-07:002021-12-17T13:50:38.238-07:004. Yummy Bars<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZYXmE8mqzfPStCdd2BSlNYASOIJpHZ4MeRDHuTKE3wVYlNdZieXS4IG19nri6AomxfmW_qYrDcr3yvKFw2rHcWgaqKOCiScKLeg-bRhotjgSX97rh2G8YcL19LpaMQbH9sLDqvEC5u-N8FUECxOUThsAS_NAiMdppFgc_quVqDPaFMKTThN_UQx5MiQ=s1200" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZYXmE8mqzfPStCdd2BSlNYASOIJpHZ4MeRDHuTKE3wVYlNdZieXS4IG19nri6AomxfmW_qYrDcr3yvKFw2rHcWgaqKOCiScKLeg-bRhotjgSX97rh2G8YcL19LpaMQbH9sLDqvEC5u-N8FUECxOUThsAS_NAiMdppFgc_quVqDPaFMKTThN_UQx5MiQ=s320" width="320" /></a></div><p><br /></p>This year, I passed the Yummy Bar torch to Alex. He wanted to make them for his youth group, so I bought the ingredients and provided the recipe. He listened to each clarification I made along the way and put up all the stories and memories I interjected. I always make it sound like Yummy Bars are truly the most amazing Christmas treat ever, and I'm always surprised if their reception is a little lukewarm. <p></p><p>I think the trouble is that other people can't taste the memories I have. Wrapped up in a single Yummy Bar is the smell of my Grandma's laundry room. The sound of my Uncle Butch's laugh. The excitement of the season's "laundry" arriving via mail for us to enjoy in Utah. The energy of a family game night. The loneliness in Lisa's voice when she made them on her own for the first time. The joyful chatter when Yummy Bars make their annual reappearance on the table.</p><p>I'm so glad that when I asked the kids what traditions were a <i>must</i>, Yummy Bars made their list.</p>Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15684272196949747140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843978396401833308.post-85545966971623540832021-12-15T13:22:00.001-07:002021-12-17T13:32:48.469-07:003. Music<p>I put "music" on my 12 Days of Christmas list, not knowing quite what that would even end up meaning to me. And for a while, it seemed that it would mean things like crying all through the Jefferson Christmas Parade because I missed my Dickens and EYT kids so much. Or desperately wishing I had my family close so we could carol. I realized maybe I would just have to count the rehearsing we've been doing on our Christmas Eve song, but that seemed like a stretch. <i>Sharing </i>our talents with the Casdorphs is a tradition, but it's a <i>Utah</i> tradition. And the whole point of this endeavor was to establish things I can carry on with just our little clan.</p><p>Finally, I realized that it isn't a <i>moment</i> of music that I crave at Christmastime. It is a whole season of it. And thankfully, this season came with opportunities to meet others who share that passion. More importantly, this season came with opportunities to serve others using music. Thanks to Mrs. Katie Leigh and Ms. Dana Harrell who have welcomed me with open arms, I've been able to assist with the show choir at the high school and with the musical at the middle school. I've been able to spend time with Alex and Dylan and feel that connection we've always shared through music.</p><p>I still miss my Dickens and EYT kids like crazy. But through two whole new crops of performers, music has remained a part of my December traditions.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg1K9b5M-dCz-STvw_3kjusnyef5jkirSeo7IrkL_GUta-c5UNp3vGnUojdR5guexDnykzKppM3TCsCUEqJv_A6xjOUHujhsEbfo7NADyBoODACBJrIxyRkH5X2FyInH40fNzGdyLRQRJnvdX8-l2bA9-aD5oQ9OoGhJ0lNiSWmJ-_k23IRMT3rQDJzvg=s1200" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg1K9b5M-dCz-STvw_3kjusnyef5jkirSeo7IrkL_GUta-c5UNp3vGnUojdR5guexDnykzKppM3TCsCUEqJv_A6xjOUHujhsEbfo7NADyBoODACBJrIxyRkH5X2FyInH40fNzGdyLRQRJnvdX8-l2bA9-aD5oQ9OoGhJ0lNiSWmJ-_k23IRMT3rQDJzvg=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15684272196949747140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843978396401833308.post-82076354708258784652021-12-14T15:40:00.002-07:002021-12-14T15:40:40.709-07:002. Hot Cocoa<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjYVqblmZwfqeb-7Ig1AhHieSS9qjcbNHjgfFK3XlTLIq3n8tmqc9sieOXnl-NIYx1YDGfeRudysPOEhIUev6UOtowHWSPv-f4_Uit4cqSpOQh6Lh75-wH1uKoXRR2I_NtuJCWnut6KqVIwxYyoLgG2HI0HI43jYw5StuLCQHpqknhgttNv0YIFzZTlsw=s1200" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjYVqblmZwfqeb-7Ig1AhHieSS9qjcbNHjgfFK3XlTLIq3n8tmqc9sieOXnl-NIYx1YDGfeRudysPOEhIUev6UOtowHWSPv-f4_Uit4cqSpOQh6Lh75-wH1uKoXRR2I_NtuJCWnut6KqVIwxYyoLgG2HI0HI43jYw5StuLCQHpqknhgttNv0YIFzZTlsw=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Okay, so this new tradition fell prey to the classic "expectation" vs "reality" issue that - if I am being honest - has a whole lot to do with why I sometimes shut down in the face of tradition. And I'm going to be blunt here: when Dylan is one of your children, it can be extra hard not to feel that you've let the whole family down.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Bless his heart (and yes, I mean that in the Georgia way), the kid speaks his mind. Always. Even at the expense of others. It drives his brothers crazy, and they try to point out when it happens and provide him with some alternatives, but usually the damage is done.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This time, it was the candy canes. Everyone was SO excited that I had full-sized candy canes for the cocoa. I had no idea that this was going to be the focal point of the event. If I'd had known, I'd have done some things differently.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Like... not dropped the whole box at the store. And then purchased them anyway, figuring they were just for hot chocolate, so broken candy canes would actually be great.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Yeah, I wouldn't have done that.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But I <i>did </i>do precisely that. And Dylan made a super huge deal about it. I let it roll off my back. I'm an old pro. But he mentioned it again. And again. And <i>again. </i>His brothers' hints went from subtle to direct until they were looking him right in the eyes and saying, "It probably doesn't make Mom feel very good when you say those things."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And still he persisted.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was actually doing pretty okay until after all the redirection he'd gotten from his brothers <i>still</i> didn't instill any compassion. Finally, I had to step in. I had no choice but to be real about it and tell Dylan that he absolutely had to stop mentioning the candy canes.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And then -- the mood shifted. Dylan understood. It was clear to everyone that I was actually fine. And the candy cane debacle became an immediate joke. One we could all share in and laugh about. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I don't know how it happened that quickly! But I am so glad it did. I didn't ruin Christmas by being open about my feelings, and I think that lesson was one I really needed to learn.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I already made a note to purchase pristine candy canes next year. But something tells me, we'll be laughing about the year Mom bought all broken ones for a <i>long</i> time.</div><p></p>Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15684272196949747140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843978396401833308.post-15193324960432619752021-12-13T09:38:00.002-07:002021-12-13T09:38:34.907-07:001. Ice Skating<p>When I asked the boys what traditions were important to them, this was the quickest, surest answer. And I wasn't surprised at all. Even though Adam broke his ankle the first time he went skating, he has since learned to love it. And having gone skating with cousins the last few Christmases in Utah, it has become a real party of our holiday fun.</p><p>The trick is finding a proper rink in Georgia. It isn't like Salt Lake where there are four dedicated rinks open year round just in the valley, plus the holiday pop ups. We had to wait for a pop up to open, and then we had to make do with its truly pathetic circumference. Adam and I couldn't even manage a proper race. So lesson learned -- next time, we'll research and drive to more of a metro if needed to get some proper skating.</p><p>That said, it was perfect for Makenzie, who joined Adam this year in some of our celebrations. She'd only been skating once before, and not in a long time. I loved watching Adam teach her to skate, although it was strange to lose my skating buddy. We came up with a revision to our typical race, though: Adam and I raced as engines of a train with our not-so-great-at-skating significant others as cabooses. It was a fun way to involve Dave, who is honestly pretty terrible at skating.</p><p>Dylan was much improved this year, and Alex is finally gaining some confidence to go along with his already-present skill. I even managed to skate backward a little bit, a feat I have never been able to master despite much patient teaching from my parents and Michelle.</p><p>Our only real regret was that we weren't able to stay longer!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiMWYkQ9ewImh29umL-DF4_XzK40BDutJ5iKKWy55-HUbb2Jt61-k5XJ8YoH8f7oUTW4ZC_D6siT-lJ5SeQw39uQHDw1EUDB3NW_CjCHR0j9kG-3f1WgY7yoNcMuX0dP25womM21Srn3KWwOmO4mquI1LZchdtjTZKctPuIMM6Dz_adnqKi0t39rwoTfQ=s1200" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiMWYkQ9ewImh29umL-DF4_XzK40BDutJ5iKKWy55-HUbb2Jt61-k5XJ8YoH8f7oUTW4ZC_D6siT-lJ5SeQw39uQHDw1EUDB3NW_CjCHR0j9kG-3f1WgY7yoNcMuX0dP25womM21Srn3KWwOmO4mquI1LZchdtjTZKctPuIMM6Dz_adnqKi0t39rwoTfQ=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXSWdalo0xT47yv0BAbCiXci4z--RerVDbdsYjd1wKdAX5OpwIwJpVZRHhjdorGt7wq3dpqfdSny8FtZnO4DYHVQFgwNCqJMlA4K7iGfk6o5zJAgQ9l_pBrTWoXzg6_aDOI47lxPvaDEDNz2r-nKbdG0m6oCrcn9oxB2ava5eleKFkKCs-_i4g_EQgJQ=s1200" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXSWdalo0xT47yv0BAbCiXci4z--RerVDbdsYjd1wKdAX5OpwIwJpVZRHhjdorGt7wq3dpqfdSny8FtZnO4DYHVQFgwNCqJMlA4K7iGfk6o5zJAgQ9l_pBrTWoXzg6_aDOI47lxPvaDEDNz2r-nKbdG0m6oCrcn9oxB2ava5eleKFkKCs-_i4g_EQgJQ=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgR1ljGezxcSSUVgHUFaoJci43HzUBkaBVwekDv5X0r6tV8g02M7uxKS2KVnH79Od1_JkkWlvtoP-MwBFTaS3O8OLDOowvMSOfpDFhgApQLv7_aAD0uG7-7_PUCtEOQ63Tq18I93FTudKFoHZQ3wXeFlCa83qhB1xKMpxrjKv2ilK0r-_eM9bvOphYtTQ=s1200" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgR1ljGezxcSSUVgHUFaoJci43HzUBkaBVwekDv5X0r6tV8g02M7uxKS2KVnH79Od1_JkkWlvtoP-MwBFTaS3O8OLDOowvMSOfpDFhgApQLv7_aAD0uG7-7_PUCtEOQ63Tq18I93FTudKFoHZQ3wXeFlCa83qhB1xKMpxrjKv2ilK0r-_eM9bvOphYtTQ=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjlSOl8x8EPn0MXrTYTyEqZzbhwYiIB8S_3-0YBRSAeCq-ToTZYfnxtEf0QpcLfMmWxZXuB1z7TXxQHCNp_Vt5ptO17C3gDAmsnSJIq2k5BnZxUFYlqbmpScQMGWlLQ4QKnPLFpUp1da00UmQiImjoEL6KW-_gjcQCV391jgB5io5bV4ECDJBiCApN0RA=s1200" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjlSOl8x8EPn0MXrTYTyEqZzbhwYiIB8S_3-0YBRSAeCq-ToTZYfnxtEf0QpcLfMmWxZXuB1z7TXxQHCNp_Vt5ptO17C3gDAmsnSJIq2k5BnZxUFYlqbmpScQMGWlLQ4QKnPLFpUp1da00UmQiImjoEL6KW-_gjcQCV391jgB5io5bV4ECDJBiCApN0RA=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhTVnDod9zTV0FDn8mfX5kPzE880hbuvLG5NzggwRb35FD8m74FqCV8O0eakVM9bypS_HTevEBPx9G9d7CnF3pb_UGe-5iQ7X1Ojq6tuH2vBvJelhGrMZyXVcjUCKxeIjtQcwenRfEYUIDSTKsm_ZMSmpLOkRnL8zAHHNsI7ghq7cwxJutEeFKMm4lMSw=s1200" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhTVnDod9zTV0FDn8mfX5kPzE880hbuvLG5NzggwRb35FD8m74FqCV8O0eakVM9bypS_HTevEBPx9G9d7CnF3pb_UGe-5iQ7X1Ojq6tuH2vBvJelhGrMZyXVcjUCKxeIjtQcwenRfEYUIDSTKsm_ZMSmpLOkRnL8zAHHNsI7ghq7cwxJutEeFKMm4lMSw=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15684272196949747140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843978396401833308.post-9149295334213936342021-12-12T09:00:00.026-07:002021-12-13T09:18:16.070-07:00New TraditionsOkay, so full disclosure - moving to Georgia has really changed my perspective on holidays. And family. And the importance of putting some serious work into both of these things. I'm realizing how much I relied on my mom, in-laws, and grandparents to bring joy, but as matriarch of our clan here in Georgia, these things now fall to me.<div><br /></div><div>So I'm trying to step it up. But I realize that just continuing the traditions I love may not work for us - for lots of reasons. In no particular order, I'm listing a few of our specific challenges:</div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>There are only five of us. </li><li>Three of us are potentially grumpy teenage boys. </li><li>ADHD impacts everything I do. </li><li>We aren't in Utah anymore.</li><li>Some of us are not religious.</li><li>Shared custody complicates holidays. </li><li>My kids acquired a step-dad with traditions of his own. </li><li>I try really hard to live a low-waste lifestyle and avoid "stuff" as often as I can.</li></ul><div>So what is a mom to do? Well, I decided that the only way we'll have traditions is to START some. Yes, Adam rolled his eyes and said, "Mom... I'm turning 17 next month... maybe it's a little late for that?" And sure, Dave said, "Honey, the kids aren't exactly little. Maybe we missed the boat?" And yes, maybe I started a little overzealously with an advent calendar with hidden numbers that corresponded to 12 traditions that may or may not actually make anyone happy...</div></div><div><br /></div><div>But THEN, I revised. Thank goodness. Dave could see that this new venture was really not bringing me any joy at all, and let's be honest - 12 different traditions strewn about on the calendar was TOO MUCH for all the ADHD around here, especially mine. So he stopped me in my tracks.</div><div><br /></div><div>"One party, honey," he encouraged. "Let's take all these great ideas and put them all together onto one day."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Oh, I can do the 12 <i>hours </i>of Christmas!" I smiled. I hate to see a good theme go to waste. Wisely, Dave encouraged me to divide out the labor and have the kids help. And guess what? We did it!! All twelve items on my list. And in the end, I am happy with all 12. Memorable, rooted in our own histories or looking toward our family's future, expandable, and most of all... </div><div><br /></div><div>...Doable.</div><div><br /></div><div>And with 12 actual days left until Christmas, I am going to give myself the gift of my own memories, thoroughly jotted down beyond the quick Instagram shot. For the next twelve days, stay tuned for:</div><div><br /></div><div>1. Ice Skating</div><div>2. Hot Chocolate</div><div>3. Music</div><div>4. Yummy Bars</div><div>5. Stocking Spree</div><div>6. Cinnamon Rolls</div><div>7. Christmas Socks</div><div>8. Games</div><div>9. Puzzle</div><div>10. Sugar Cookies</div><div>11. Green Elephant Gifts</div><div>12. Pot Luck</div>Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15684272196949747140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843978396401833308.post-29901720179437246032020-08-04T06:55:00.001-06:002020-08-04T06:56:59.847-06:00Negative is Good, Right?Dave let me know that our COVID tests both came back negative. I burst into tears, because this was actually the worst-case scenario for us.<div><br></div><div>Two hours after ending our quarantine due to confirmed exposure, I started showing symptoms including fever, headache, nausea, and fatigue. Those have come in consistent waves for 72 hours now, confining me once again to the four walls of a hotel room, this time with no clear end in sight. With a positive COVID test result, I would need to wait 24 hours after my last fever before ending my self-isolation.</div><div><br></div><div>With a negative test result, though, I simply don't know what to do. If it's COVID, then Dave is back in quarantine for exposure. If it isn't, I would really like to pop a few ibuprofen and go see my kids.</div><div><br></div><div>So I test again, right? Wait another 3 to 5 days for results? I can make it another 3 days. But I live in Georgia now, and from what I have read, testing here isn't pretty. And so I cried.</div><div><br></div><div>And then I breathed and decided the news reports about testing in Georgia were probably inflammatory. I started doing the research. </div><div><br></div><div>6-10 days for results if I do a drive thru test at CVS. "In some instances, our lab partners may take even longer to return results," their website warns.</div><div><br></div><div>On hold with the local health department and stuck in a loop where I press 1 every so often and it always takes me back to the original menu.</div><div><br></div><div>Tried the recommended app. Directly immediately to a screen that reads "There are no appointments currently available. Please check back as appointment blocks may be added."</div><div><br></div><div>Used the official website to try to find other testing options. "Click HERE to find a testing location near you" seemed promising. Page not found.</div><div><br></div><div>Called the health department again, hopeful that Governor Kemp's speech from July 21st in which he indicated he had arranged a partnership for 10,000 more tests with a 48 hour turn around would mean I could get results this week. I got through and have an appointment scheduled for today. They said I will get my results in 7 to 10 days.</div><div><br></div><div>Negative. Yep. That pretty well sums up my attitude right now.</div>Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15684272196949747140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843978396401833308.post-83606188034670956002020-08-01T08:16:00.001-06:002020-08-01T08:20:26.481-06:00Free Range<div>On Monday in the middle of a lovely lunch in Milwaukee, we received notice that we had been exposed to COVID-19 before heading out on our honeymoon roadtrip. We ran through a slew of options and determined it was best to hole up in a hotel to wait out our 14 day quarantine. And so it was that we ended up in room 235 in a hotel near South Bend, Indiana for 5 nights.</div><div><br></div><div>The first order of business was getting food without breaking our quarantine. We selected lunch and dinner foods to be delivered via ClickList and decided that one run per day to the hotel lobby to grab a to-do breakfast bag was going to have to be acceptable. Armed with canned chili, baked potatoes, and ready to mix up our favorite taco-flavored chicken sandwich filling, we knew we wouldn't starve.</div><div><br></div><div>Next on the agenda was arranging for testing. Let me tell you what. When you hear you've been exposed to COVID, it is easy to become a hypochondriac. We took temperatures and oxygen levels frequently and kept each other appraised of every slight nausea, faint headache, and general feeling of malaise, but neither if us actually took a turn for the noticeably worse at any point. Wednesday morning, we were able to self-swab for COVID in a drive-thru test site in a Walmart parking lot. David went first, and I had to turn my head away to keep from gagging. Twirling a large q-tip in my own nose while a stranger counted down from 15 outside my window was... well, I am just glad it is over. Test results take 3-5 business days, so we are still waiting to hear whether we spent our quarantine asymptomatically sick or whether we may still be open to our own turns with COVID in the future.</div><div><br></div><div>So what does one do in a hotel room in Indiana for over 100 hours? Luckily, working was an option for Dave. It was quarterly maintenance at work, and we had actually blocked out a little time to pause the honeymoon for that anyway. I made myself a list of actually important, reasonably important, and enjoyable projects to work on. I was able to iron out the wrinkles and get my Georgia educator certificate, complete an important and difficult job application, research and apply for tutoring positions, design a website with our wedding memories, and choreograph four numbers from the musical Six to use as workouts. We also found a cemetery within walking distance of the hotel figuring that we couldn't really hurt anyone there with one walk each day.</div><div><br></div><div>Thankfully, we received two games as gifts (thank you Natalie Solomon and Eric Zierse) after we had loaded the Pod, so they ended up stuffed in my car for the journey. We played one game of Guillotine and one game of Forbidden Desert each day. Dave won Guillotine 4 times out of 5. We escaped the Desert in novice and normal, but we have not yet beaten the elite level. </div><div><br></div><div>And we did the unthinkable. We watched tv. One of my favorite things about our relationship is that David and I do not watch tv. We don't have one in the living room or bedroom, and the only tv we own is used by the kids to play xbox. But we recognized the situation for what it was and decided on a 7-day free trial of HBO so I could finally force David to sit through a few episodes of The Newsroom, and he suggested that we also try Curb Your Enthusiasm. We watched one episode of each per day and appreciated the power that television seems to have over advancing the clock. We also noticed that the change in our normal routine negatively impacted our sleep, and we will be cancelling the HBO right away.</div><div><br></div><div>To keep some normalcy, we did two of our favorite things: ate popcorn in bed, and enjoyed Japanese comedy shows. (I know, technically tv. But somehow having to read the subtitles is so much more mentally engaging.) We watched a Wednesday Downtown episode that tested the theory that you will definitely laugh at your parent's funny faces, and a Gaki no Tsukai episode of Silent Library in which Endo and Hamada were hooked to a static electricity machine and had a shock pass between their lips. Laughter really helped us stay positive.</div><div><br></div><div>We did sneak out once. Having chosen to stay in Indiana specifically to check out the new Indiana Dunes National Park, we opted for a field trip on Friday. We kept completely isolated from others and were able to see a beautiful green bog, the larges of the dunes, and have a picnic on the shore of Lake Michigan. Listening to the waves crash on the beach was a balm to my sedentary mind.</div><div><br></div><div>Today marks the end of our fourteen days, and we have flown the coop. I can't stop talking and am jumping subject to subject despite taking my ADHD medication and an extra boost of caffeine. I couldn't figure out why my mind was racing so uncontrollably this morning, but then it hit me. I am not built for holding still. Escaping after 5 nights and 100 hours logged in room 235 has simply left me mentally exuberant. </div><div><br></div><div>We are now back on the road, that strange adventure behind us (albeit still awaiting test results). We're headed to Ohio for one more national park, but we are also scheduling real estate showings tomorrow in Georgia. Life is moving forward, and with so many decisions to make, I feel alive again. I am definitely meant to roam free range.</div>Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15684272196949747140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843978396401833308.post-72645071594326768562020-04-03T09:51:00.002-06:002020-04-03T09:51:25.029-06:00Supplementary Angle Relationship TheoremOkay, bear with me here. Having recently become the at-home manager of Adam's distance learning, I find myself knee deep in geometric proofs, and words I've not used in eons are swirling around in my head. <br />
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So as I'm showering the other morning and the rhythmic sounds of water splashing against tile create a percussive stream for my thoughts, I start to reflect on a project David and I are working on right now. We've been taking his camera on our daily afternoon walk and photographing willing neighbors on their porches. When we get home, Dave gets to work editing the photos - making the colors pop, evening the sunlight on faces, framing them for maximum impact. I sit nearby, mostly working on school work, but also lending the occasional, "too much," in response to his request for feedback on the brightness of this or that. Absorbed mostly in my own work, I am also at the ready, because I happen to have one ace up my sleeve that Dave doesn't. He's the Lightroom guru. I do my work in Photoshop. And when it comes to removing a house number from these photos, it turns out my skill set is in demand. Every so often, we switch seats, and I drive. Once the house number is removed, he takes back over. <br />
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I'd say this project is about 150° him. In addition to the occasional Photoshop, I am also primarily responsible for putting children at ease while David takes the photographs. For some reason we can't quite pinpoint, kids don't warm to him quickly (it must be because he played the Child Catcher in <i>Chitty Chitty Bang Bang</i>), and a frequent result of his attempts at friendliness is that the small child buries their face in a parent's shoulder and refuses to smile. I also try to keep up with the Facebook alerts tracking who wants pictures on each street as we walk. So yeah. 150° him. 30° me.<br />
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Enter theorem.<br />
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So there I am in the shower, thinking about how our skill sets are often adjacent. I can pick up right where he leaves off, even though I can't do the portion he's responsible for. Then I started thinking about the word adjacent. Mathematically. <i>Adjacent angles</i> and such. One thought lead to another, and suddenly the word <i>supplementary</i> had wiggled its way into the equation. And here you have it.<br />
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David and I are like the adjacent angles in a parallelogram, which are always supplementary. They say opposites attract, but opposite angles in a parallelogram are actually congruent. If we were opposites, and we were both trying to work on the same project, then I'd match his 150° with my own 150°, and we'd be 300°, which is honestly just A LOT. Or maybe he'd only have 30° to bring to the table, to which I'd add 30°, and we'd have a scant 60° and get nowhere. But as adjacent angles, if he brings 110°, I bring 70°, and we form one beautiful 180° straight angle. <br />
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And the real beauty is that our roles as either the acute or obtuse angle are anything but static. Last year, we had the privilege to work together on the Off Broadway Theatre's parody production <i>Hamleton</i>. Together, we paired recordings of the songs, printed lyrics, and original <i>Hamilton</i> scores to write out the vocal parts of <i>Hamleton</i> and provide a score to the cast. Then, as music director, I used that written score to teach rhythms and harmonies and bring the songs to life. Converse to our current photography project, in this case, I brought somewhere around 120°. For his part, David spent countless hours taking my chicken scratch notes and entering them in the computer. His perfect pitch worked in conjunction with my ability to quickly jot the rhythms down. His 60° was often thankless, but anyone involved in the project knew just how important it was.<br />
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So there it is, the supplementary angle relationship theorem wherein I over-complicate the fact that being with David is just right.Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15684272196949747140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843978396401833308.post-31355895960773560062020-03-30T15:30:00.000-06:002020-03-30T15:30:32.976-06:00Family Rule<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Impulsively, I swung the car door open and started to climb. I wanted a better vantage point from which to photograph our project. Admittedly, I didn't expect the door to complete its swing to fully open, leaving me a bit suspended between the main frame and door handle. (The picture above is a recreation; I imagine the actual event included a far more surprised expression.) Alex and Adam immediately offered unsolicited advice, but a very authoritative voice stopped them in their tracks.</div>
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"No," stated Dylan emphatically, though not without compassion. "Family rule."</div>
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I stared in surprise, though I knew exactly what he'd say next - the same words he's heard me explain to him and helpful bystanders many times. </div>
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"Whatever she climbs up, she has to climb down on her own." </div>
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The boys' silence was as complete as that of the empty street surrounding us. They weren't certain whether to laugh, to agree, or to come to my aid. But Dylan wasn't done.</div>
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"Let Mom have a taste of her own medicine." The two bigger boys immediately backed down as if the king had spoken, Dylan rising as the confident new leader of the pride.</div>
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And I got down on my own.</div>
Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15684272196949747140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843978396401833308.post-10537948432679245412020-03-29T15:33:00.004-06:002020-03-29T15:33:51.216-06:00Safety in NumbersThe first thing I started tracking was the case count. The day that Utah was at 5 confirmed cases, I started checking the numbers. Over the weekend, I started checking for other states I had a personal interest in. Georgia for Kirk. Nevada for Lisa. Idaho for Michelle. Ohio for Suman. And the country as a whole for context. By Monday, my mind was a mess of numbers. So I started writing them down. I started a Google Sheet to track the official counts from the official websites. And then I ran stats. Most commonly, the percentage of increase in the last 24 hours.<br />
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It calmed me. Knowing exactly what to fear.<br />
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Next, I started tracking steps. 10,000 steps per day during my dismissal from school. Something I could control. Something I could work toward. I watched my Fitbit carefully, even pacing the living room to watch the numbers escalate if needed. I couldn't rest unless I'd reached the goal.<br />
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It focused me. Knowing there are some things I could still control.<br />
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Then money. I went back through three months of bank statements to determine an average weekly amount I spend in discretionary ways. I added a tab in by "Coronavirus Tracker" Sheet and set a goal of how much I'd like to spend weekly to boost my local economy. I asked David to do it, too. And then I spent. <br />
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It uplifted me. Knowing I can live within my means and still be generous.<br />
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Now, it's oxygen levels. On the recommendation of my friend Steph who is an ER nurse, I bought an oximeter. I've put it on David's finger 5 times in the last two hours. 95. 94. 94. 96. 98. I've also taken her advice to take the family's temperatures twice daily. Nothing alarming yet. But I write them down. I aggregate. I apply statistical formulas. <br />
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It levels me. Knowing if one of us gets sick, I can make data-based decisions.<br />
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In a world full of uncertainty, my mental health hinges heavily on this perceived net; safety in numbers.Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15684272196949747140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843978396401833308.post-6193373868733511332020-03-29T12:03:00.001-06:002020-03-29T12:03:49.401-06:00Survey Says<div>Fun Facebook survey.</div><div>Dave about Andrea / Andrea about Dave</div><div><br></div><div>What’s my favorite color?</div><div>Black / Green</div><div><br></div><div>If you bought me one present that would make me uncontrollably excited what would it be?</div><div>A convertible / new Fleuvogs</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div>What’s my current dream car? </div><div>A convertible that goes fast / To have Bort back</div><div><br></div><div>What makes me sad? </div><div>Seeing the kids not get things they hoped for / Dogs dying</div><div><br></div><div>How tall am I? </div><div>5 ft 3 / 6 ft 1</div><div><br></div><div>What do I do when I’m alone? </div><div>Read / Watch Newfies on instagram</div><div><br></div><div>What is/was my favorite TV/Netflix/Hulu show?</div><div>Nothing / Wednesdays Downtown </div><div><br></div><div>If I became famous, what would it be for?</div><div>Nonprofit that took off / Selling TP on Facebook Marketplace</div><div><br></div><div>What makes you proud of me? </div><div>How great you've become at handling money / When you protect others even when there is a personal cost</div><div><br></div><div>Where can I most likely be found? </div><div>At school, except for right now / With me</div><div><br></div><div>What is my favorite restaurant?</div><div>MeKong Cafe / That ramen place you love</div><div><br></div><div>Where is one place I don’t like to be?</div><div> Driver's seat / Behind someone driving slowly</div><div><br></div><div>Who’s my favorite person? </div><div>Me / Me</div><div><br></div><div>Where would I go for a weekend alone with you? </div><div>Nearby national park / Wherever the flights were cheap</div><div><br></div><div>You get a call that I am in trouble, who am I with? </div><div>Skye / Jeff</div><div><br></div><div>If I went to jail, what would it be for? </div><div>Trespassing / Not sure, but you'd have broken the law for the greater good</div><div><br></div><div>What’s my favorite gas station snack? </div><div>Plain m&ms / Holiday popcorn</div>Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15684272196949747140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843978396401833308.post-52567971517443083512020-03-26T15:56:00.001-06:002020-03-26T16:00:10.788-06:00Quarantine QuestionnaireWhat a lovely idea my friend Sunny had to chronicle all the "fun" we're having!<br />
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Who are you with? David (41), Adam (15), Alex (13), Dylan (10), and Jake the dog.<br />
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Work situation? "Distance learning" - which means teaching via packets and email. I get to do it from my living room, mostly, with a few check-ins in the classroom each week.<br />
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Cooking or ordering in? Cooking 20 meals a week and buying 1, very intentionally to support the local economy. The kids are sick of my doomsday meal planning which means we eat whatever is about to go bad, whether we were in the mood or not.<br />
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Watching? Next to nothing! I don't watch TV, and I am very proud the pandemic hasn't caused me to start. I did stream a local production of <i>Newsies! </i>and it was awesome.<br />
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Reading? I read the book Dylan was assigned for distance learning, <i>The Twenty-One Balloons</i>. I really liked it!<br />
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Listening? Whatever Dave plays. And the kids arguing in the background.<br />
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Gaming? We have a running leader board for a nightly board game going on. So far, we've played Power Grid, Splendor, and Dominion. We've also been playing silly games for PE including Pingo Pingo and Throw, Throw Burrito (our own improvised PE edition).<br />
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House: Tidy. I have nothing else to do. But I really appreciate that the kids have been doing their fair share with chore charts and 7-minute group cleans.<br />
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How are you feeling? It varies. Sometimes GREAT. Like, kind of on top of the world because we are sometimes so crazy that my dopamine is off the charts. Sometimes AWFUL. My brain won't stop. I can't meet the needs. I can't solve the problems. I can't sleep. I don't have very much "meh." I am "blah" until I decide to change it. Then I am buzzed until I come down. Then I am "blah" again. It is honestly exhausting.<br />
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Sanity saving strategies? Popcorn dates in the basement cafe (okay, it's two recliners near an end table), walks without the kids, and writing my thoughts down<br />
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Socializing at a distance? TBH, I kind of always socialize at a distance. But turning down invites from the people I do love to see (Logan and my sisters) is just about killing me. As for the kids, the distance is killing the 15-year-old who recently became interested in girls (and one in particular).<br />
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Are you rationing toilet paper? Nope. As the only girl in the house, I feel that it is all mine. Everyone else can deal with the repercussions.<br />
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What are you worried about running out of? Batteries. The x-box controllers need to be fed frequently, and I didn't stock up on that. And I am terrified of a disruption in the supply chain for Alex's ADHD medication.<br />
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Learning anything new? Confidence in my ability as a more traditional mother.<br />
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How are you sleeping? Not well. I'm not worn out at night, and my brain isn't getting fed enough interesting information to quietly lull itself to sleep. I also wake up poorly; I wrote a different blog about that aspect.<br />
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Getting ready or why bother? Every day. It is completely necessary to my mental health. First world problem, I know, but my lack of a basic casual wardrobe has been a problem for me. I get my energy from my outfit, but I only own my business clothes and my pajamas. Right now, I need something cute that I can do teacher videos in but also clean the bathroom in. I lack this attire.<br />
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Shows/vacations/plans canceled? I did not get to take Alex to <i>Dear Evan Hansen </i>on his 13th birthday. I doubt I will get to take Adam to the Dodger's game I bought tickets for over Memorial Day. And I am currently taking the first steps to cancel my honeymoon to New Zealand. The wedding plans themselves should hopefully be minimally impacted since we were planning super small anyway.<br />
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School at home? For sure. I set up the front room as "NPA," the school Alex and Dylan attend. I even stole the clock from my actual classroom. We have a computer lab and all the paper and pencils we need. Their teachers send packets of work, and Alex's junior high teachers also offer extra support online. The dining room doubles as Cyprus High School where Adam manages his online requirements more or less independently. He spends time on Zoom conferences and in Google classroom, so we dedicate one computer just for him. I set school hours (9-11 am and 1-3 pm) which are to be used for educational purposes even if they run out of things sent by their teachers. Anything not finished in those hours becomes homework.<br />
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Fitness routine or putting on the covid 19? I use my Fitbit to make sure I walk 10,000 steps every day. This is actually DOWN from the 15,000 that is pretty typical for me on a school day. I have had to set very strict eating parameters as being a teacher has robbed me of self control. At school, I never have time to eat, and I only have access to what I bring. So at home, I pack my breakfast and lunch just like I would have for school, and I eat only those things. So far, I'm avoiding the covid-19.<br />
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Bad quarantine habits? Too much facebook. It brings me down. I know it does. But I can't stop.<br />
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Best part of quarantine? All the family memories. The simplification of my schedule. The forced reset.<br />
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When this is over, I can’t wait to... be busy again.<br />
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This has made me appreciate... all the things my kids get from school besides an education. Policy makers who have the impossible task of weighing all the things. Decisive leaders who are willing to take responsibility for the consequences of their choices. My own imagination; I'd go crazy without it.Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15684272196949747140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843978396401833308.post-40129070887975438842020-03-24T10:27:00.001-06:002020-03-24T10:27:18.378-06:00Having Our CakeIn the midst of global pandemic, it is interesting to try to zoom out and see society as a whole. It seems the Western world, and Americans in particular, is quite accustomed to having our cake and eating it, too. We've a system based on ingenuity and hard work in which we are taught that hard work can (and often does) equal success. <br />
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I know my own way of life is deeply entrenched in this ideology. I'd been having a challenging school year - one in which I'd reached many points at which I had to admit that no amount of hard work and loss of sleep would fix the problems I was facing. This was brand new for me. And uncomfortable. Most days I found I couldn't even FIND the cake, let alone keep it or eat it.<br />
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It's been preparing me for <i>this</i>. This world in which the leaders of governments have to choose. We can have human life. Or we can have a thriving economy. I'm growing incredibly pessimistic about any carefully balanced options that allow for both. I can write a pretty convincing essay in support of either direction (although I have to stay unhealthily detached to argue against human life). I don't for one second envy those whose names will go down in history as having made the wrong choice. Because there is no <i>right</i> choice to make here, and everyone stands to be condemned.<br />
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I keep waiting for a leader to emerge. One that will say, "For better or worse, here's the plan." One that will accept responsibility for its consequences. My biggest fear right now is that with so many cooks in the kitchen, we're accidentally fumbling the cake all over the place and all we'll be left with is crumbs.Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15684272196949747140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843978396401833308.post-75219101709762526352020-03-23T06:52:00.001-06:002020-03-23T06:52:32.459-06:00The MonsterThere's a monster under my bed. It's the source of my desire to read just <i>one</i> more article. To scroll through social media feeds just <i>one</i> more time. To keep my eyes open and prolong sleep as long as I can so I can avoid feeling its presence in the darkness. <br />
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The monster is <i>tomorrow</i>. Not the whole of tomorrow. Not the specific of tomorrow. Not an event or a task or a goal looming in the vague haze of tomorrow.<br />
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The monster is the very first part of tomorrow. The moments before I open my eyes. When my brain snaps awake but my body is asleep and the bricks of the foundation of my day are laid.<br />
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These precious hours are typically my favorite of the day. In the hours between 4 and 7 a.m. whether fully sleeping or fully awake I think up my most creative solutions to the barrage of problems I've stored up for the solving. I am so fond of these hours, in fact, that I call them "The Andrea Hours." My hours to use when the house is quiet, but my mind is vibrant, and I can accomplish anything.<br />
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And now these hours are a monster.<br />
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It started my first day home during this <i>coronabreak</i>. We'd assembled work packets and distributed them to families the day before, effectively separating me from the need to prep or grade work for at least two weeks. I awoke with a start and reached for my problems. Knowing I didn't get to spend the day with my students, I couldn't find one to whittle away at. No little behavioral burble threatening to erupt. No concept to turn over in my mind until I could phrase it just right. No tricky scheme for getting my kids from point A to point C with activities outnumbering drivers. No... <i>well</i>. <i>Just nothing.</i><br />
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So my brain invented a problem. I could feel it happen. I could sense its phoniness. And yet, there I was. Off chasing this strand of imagination to the edges of my mind and back again. And it happened again the next morning. A completely fictional problem to solve. An argument I truly didn't plan to have being hashed out by the boardroom in my mind.<br />
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It is ridiculous. And I can't seem to control it. It is exhausting, lying there, knowing the world has 99 problems and that not one of them is mine to solve. Not even during the Andrea hours.<br />
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And so I stay up later than I have a need for. I fall asleep. And when the hum of my mental engine quickens in the morning, I whisper, "Go back to sleep. You're not needed."Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15684272196949747140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843978396401833308.post-24021566047252067772020-03-20T11:40:00.000-06:002020-03-20T11:40:34.674-06:00The Emotional TollI learned through some difficult times in life that emotions should be validated rather than compared. Having just "survived" the 5.7 magnitude earthquake that opted to visit Utah during our extended coronavirus school dismissal, it's easy to think things like "I was scared. And the kids were scared. But we didn't feel as many aftershocks as our friends closer to the epicenter, so I guess we must be okay." Nope. We were scared. And that's valid. <br />
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Emotions aren't measured in how many items fell off the walls. Emotions aren't measured in how much work one is required to do while working from home. Emotions aren't measured in which mental health struggles are heaped upon the common experience of coronavirus plus earthquake. Emotions are individual.<br />
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The sadness, grief, worry, fear, gratitude, pride, and whatever else this roller coaster has in store for me are mine. And it is okay for me to acknowledge it. To name it. To stare at it and maybe even wallow in it for a bit before moving on. <br />
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I have a whole pile of emotions - the muck I'm trudging through as I go about my new life as manager of a stay-at-home family. <br />
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<ul>
<li>Sadness - over the old buildings that were damaged during the earthquake and of all the local businesses temporarily shuttered</li>
<li>Grief - over the current loss of my 5-days-a-week gig that involved educating and caring for 21 smallish humans; regret over the lack of closure as the governor announced the closure after I'd already sent the students home for the weekend</li>
<li>Worry - that when I put Adam on a plane to Georgia today, the rules might change before he flies back on Wednesday</li>
<li>Fear - that the world will change entirely; that schools will move online and never move back; that businesses I love won't make it through; that some people won't take the precautions seriously and all this sacrifice will be for nothing</li>
<li>Gratitude - for all the little things that happened at a huge expense to others but were nice for me anyway; that I was home with my kids for the earthquake instead of at school; that Utah has decided to suspend testing this year</li>
<li>Pride - in humanity; bakeries giving away bread; craft stores giving away craft supplies; the zoo doing online videos with the lions; SO MANY PEOPLE just doing what can be done to make life better for others</li>
</ul>
<div>
No, I wasn't at the epicenter. No, I haven't lost any pay. No, we don't stand to lose a business. No, no one in my house is immunocompromised. No, we don't suffer from anxiety. No, we aren't out of toilet paper. No, life really <i>isn't</i> that bad.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But we still have emotions, and they <i>totally</i> count. </div>
Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15684272196949747140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843978396401833308.post-15883197951967697582020-03-19T13:19:00.000-06:002020-03-19T13:19:53.396-06:00New RulesIt's been one week since our world changed. At least, since the changes came rolling to our front door. One week since Alex <i>didn't </i>get to see <i>Dear Evan Hansen </i>on his 13th birthday. Six days since the governor of Utah announced a two-week school "dismissal," which is a whole lot like a closure but with more work. Five days since the kids left the house to go anywhere meaningful. Four days since the sacrament was blessed in our home, and Alex passed it in his lounge clothes while the dog tried to sniff it. Three days since I reported to an empty school and packaged two weeks of "distance learning" into a manila envelope. Two days since shamrocks in the windows of the neighbors reduced me to happy tears. One day since experiencing a 5.7 magnitude earthquake (but that's another story, nevermind...).<br />
<br />
And here I am. Living by a whole new set of rules. I don't mean <i>expectations. </i>Yeah, those changed, too. But I mean the little rules I've put in place one at a time that allow me to be a successful adult despite the challenges of ADHD. The huge shift in the American way of life has knocked down every routine I had in place, especially the litany of tasks that were firmly attached to my strict, by-the-minute teacher's schedule.<br />
<br />
Now, I just live by the rules.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>I must be showered before 8:00 a.m.</li>
<li>I must wear pants. Real pants. Every single day for at least 8 hours.</li>
<li>I must curl my hair and put on at least a little makeup.</li>
<li>I must ensure each family member eats three structured meals each day.</li>
<li>I must leave the house once per day.</li>
<li>I must hit 10,000 steps on my Fitbit before bed.</li>
<li>I must talk to someone who lives outside my home once each day.</li>
<li>I must play a game with the family once each day.</li>
<li>I must do something kind for someone outside my home once each day.</li>
<li>I must keep the "command center" where I track all these things updated daily.</li>
</ul>
<div>
It helps. It gives structure. It saves sanity. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As for the routines I've lost... <i>we will rebuild.</i></div>
Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15684272196949747140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843978396401833308.post-47684799288243865382020-03-06T07:22:00.001-07:002020-03-06T07:22:32.955-07:00While Curling my HairI let my guard down a little.<div><br></div><div>When we decided that Adam would still go to Cyprus even though we live Sugarhouse, I knew some changes would have to be made in my morning routine. I realized I could buy myself an extra five minutes of sleep if I let my hair dry naturally on the drive and then curl it in my classroom. And so, each morning, I set my preparations aside and sit at a seat in the corner to curl my hair. </div><div><br></div><div> As a result, the strangest thing has happened. I think I accidentally made some friends.</div><div><br></div><div>I have two wonderful women assigned to work in my classroom, and while I curl my hair, we chat. Sometimes about work, sure. But there is something surprisingly intimate about curling one's hair that makes it feel like girlfriends at a sleepover. And so, for the first time in my career, I have gotten to know my coworkers. I know the names of spouses and kids. I know about upcoming college finals and high school tennis matches. And in return, I open up to them.</div><div><br></div><div>When others walk into my room during that time to ask questions, I answer while curling. It feels scary, letting people peek behind the curtain like that. But also so refreshing. I start every single day being comfortable with the fact that I am human. That I have limits. That doing my best in a healthy and sustainable way means letting people in before I am totally polished.</div><div><br></div><div>And in this vulnerability, I have found the secret to human connection. </div>Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15684272196949747140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843978396401833308.post-84274219688154850672019-11-23T07:11:00.001-07:002019-11-23T07:11:32.379-07:00Saving the Butterfly The dream. <i>The meaning.</i><div><i><br></i></div><div>I'm straightening my classroom when a student calls my attention to a mason jar filled with water. In it is a butterfly, clearly dying due to being submerged in water. I stop everything to handle the odd but small situation. When I unscrew the lid and reach in my hand, I pull out not a butterfly, but a palm-sized black dog, gagging on the butterfly stuck in its esophagus. </div><div><br></div><div>I reassure the distressed little pup and the student and commit to doing what I can to save the butterfly. I coax the dog's mouth open. Unable to make any progress and afraid to stick my hand down the throat of a dog, I scoop the poor thing up and rush to the vet.</div><div><br></div><div>I recall that this vet will see any patient without an appointment and charges a flat rate of $160. Proud that I have enough money in my savings to swipe without negative repercussions, I move confidently toward the counter.</div><div><br></div><div>Then I realize I am about to need the dog's immunizations records. I certainly don't have that, so I prepare to beg forgiveness and just offer the dog's age as the best I can do. But then I realize I don't know that. Flustered, I take the last step toward the receptionist as I silently reach the conclusion that I don't even know the dog's name.</div><div><br></div><div>Dread fills me as I process what hinges on this moment: the life of a butterfly, the comfort of a tiny puppy, the peace of mind of the identifying student. Despair fills me when I comprehend that unless I can provide the basic information to check this dog in, I will be denied access to the help I so desperately need.</div><div><br></div><div><i>This is when I wake up.</i> <i>And as with so many dreams I have, the real meaning is clear. I have been so incredibly stressed lately with a class with so many needs I simply can't meet them all. Additionally, I worry constantly about what impact being separated from their dad is having on my kids. Unsolvable problems with effects rippling into the futures of so many little lives. And though I try, I simply cannot access the basic information necessary to save them from harm. Any of them. And now that distressed little dog's face is emblazoned in my memory. My fears looking back at me through puppy dog eyes. I awake wondering if I could have saved any of them but knowing that at very least, the butterfly was unsavable from the start.</i></div>Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15684272196949747140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843978396401833308.post-2584042025254994492019-11-08T07:30:00.004-07:002019-11-08T07:30:43.113-07:00AtypicalI got to do a thing for the very first time today. I got to get my kids ready for school and wish them well at the door. That's right. I'm not going to school today.<br />
<br />
It hasn't stopped me from obsessing over everything that needs to happen in my classroom today. But for the first time in my teaching career, I won't be the one doing it. Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15684272196949747140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843978396401833308.post-58663358297741315622019-11-06T07:18:00.001-07:002019-11-06T07:18:35.060-07:00Artists Challenge I was nominated by a friend to take part in a theater/artist's challenge to post 10 pictures of moments I felt fierce while performing. But I can't. <div><br></div><div>Theater right now for me is a sore spot. My mental health is much improved when I leave those memories shoved tightly down in the brain box I am using to compartmentalize like a champ.</div><div><br></div><div>Theater hurts. Because I chose to leave a place I loved in the name of "doing the right thing," and I don't actually think it mattered. Because my goal to be a highly sought after music director in my community was right within my grasp, but Kirk's move to Georgia meant I have had to turn down five paying offers at three different theaters. Because the world of community theater has changed over the last ten years, and I don't have the right communication style to direct in the new landscape. </div><div><br></div><div>I do feel fierce. It just isn't theater that gets me there right now.</div><div><br></div><div>I feel fierce when I check my kids' grades and they collectively have no missing work. </div><div><br></div><div>I feel fierce when I meet my savings goals. </div><div><br></div><div>I feel fierce when I look at my postcard collection and know I bought some of the myself. </div><div><br></div><div>I feel fierce when my kids look through my ChatBooks.</div><div><br></div><div>I feel fierce when I explain a facet of ADHD in a way that clicks for someone. </div><div><br></div><div>I feel fierce when I fight for the underdog.</div><div><br></div><div>I feel fierce when I beat David at a game.</div><div><br></div><div>I feel fierce when I watch my kids choose activities that aren't video games.</div><div><br></div><div>I feel fierce when someone recognizes my efforts in my classroom. </div><div><br></div><div>I feel fierce when I vote.</div><div><br></div><div>No, it's not the challenge Jose intended, but it is the life I've got. And it looks like I have plenty to be proud of!</div>Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15684272196949747140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843978396401833308.post-90310253598691629722019-11-05T18:01:00.001-07:002019-11-05T18:01:12.298-07:00Ode to the Bonus DadToday he did far more parenting than I did. He brought the kids to school, and he was the one who turned around mid-trip for hot glue when the big project got damaged on the ride. He picked the kids up from school when I, frantic and harried from a quick transition from theater auditions to a parent meeting, barely had time to say hello.<div><br></div><div>Presumably, he made dinner. I don't know because I am not home yet. I am off to teach the voice lesson that allows me to afford Alex's tennis lessons, and I am missing all the family time. </div><div><br></div><div>Soon, he'll coax the lethargic teen into actually moving and will run him to baseball practice 30 minutes from home. This I know because I gave him the rundown of today's tricky schedule, and he asked, "What can I do?"</div><div><br></div><div>I will stagger home exhausted near 8 pm tonight, and this man will finally get to spend a little time with the woman he fell in love with. That time will likely be spent discussing the kids' highs and lows of the day and preparing them for bed.</div><div><br></div><div>When Dylan knocks at 9:30 with a minor complaint, he will compassionately address it and move mountains if necessary to help Dylan feel cared for.</div><div><br></div><div>Today, he did more parenting than I did, this man who has made room in his home and his heart for a circus he never planned on.</div><div><br></div><div>I can't wait to get home and tell him how much I appreciate it.</div>Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15684272196949747140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843978396401833308.post-43611132015289411762019-11-05T07:20:00.001-07:002019-11-05T07:20:37.606-07:00On Hate<p dir="ltr">Things that don't annoy me:<br>
- others decorating for Christmas early <br>
- the pervasive presence of pumpkin spice<br>
- pickles (yes, I said it...)</p>
<p dir="ltr">Things that do annoy me:<br>
- people turning the internet into a slog of meaningless complaints</p>
<p dir="ltr">And here's why. I have a ten year old that "hates" everything. He throws the word around like beads at Mardi Gras. I spend a solid portion my existence trying to imbue him with a little tolerance. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I have a classroom full of eleven year olds to whom I attempt to impart some social skills. We work on avoiding name calling, and oh how I try to teach them not to use group labels as insults. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Then I use social media, the playground of the adult world, and I see hate, name-calling, and insults slung at will. Yes, amongst friends, it's generally faux hate. But I guess I am at a loss for when hating things became fun.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Can we go back to the days when people ranted on their blogs and Facebook was for sharing pictures of our food? </p>
<p dir="ltr">I hate.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Hate.</p>Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15684272196949747140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843978396401833308.post-15276213579400601252019-06-02T06:47:00.001-06:002019-06-02T06:47:21.599-06:00Georgia<p dir="ltr">For those who haven't heard yet, Kirk accepted a job in Georgia - a promotion that is a great opportunity for him.  </p>
<p dir="ltr">I was anticipating a discussion about what was best for the kids and what changes would be made to our custody agreement to accommodate such a big move; instead I found out that he plans for the kids to move there with him in time to start school in the fall, and in order to have a discussion about the move, schools, healthcare, or any major decisions that affect them, I would need to involve the courts.</p>
<p dir="ltr">To say life is hard right now would be a huge understatement. I don't yet know what is going to happen with the kids, though I hope to have some answers by the end of June. The constant emotional drain is affecting me mentally and physically, and it takes incredible amounts of energy to make it through each day. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I'm not handling small talk very well right now, because my mind is constantly focused on this REALLY big thing. I'm not saying "yes" to a whole lot right now, because my traditionally limitless stores of energy are simply gone. I'm struggling with focus even more than usual because my very limited working memory is stretched beyond capacity trying to do everything right with the attorney/court. And honestly... I'm just sad most of the time.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Many people have asked if there is anything they can do. Sadly, there isn't even much I can do. If you see me, I'll take a big smile. With a little advance warning, I might even appreciate a hug. Mostly, I justed needed everyone to know life is hard.</p>
Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15684272196949747140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843978396401833308.post-86092382746882845162018-10-26T23:39:00.000-06:002018-10-26T23:39:02.180-06:00Paper is the Enemy<img alt="Image result for how does paper beat rock meme" src="https://memeguy.com/photos/images/paper-beats-rock-276194.jpg" /><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Supposedly it beats rock. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
I know it beats me. I spend innumerable moments in a loop of looking for and losing papers, interrupted only by my own effort NOT to lose them.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And Jessica, my favorite ADHD YouTuber, has at least three videos managing it.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<iframe allow="autoplay; encrypted-media" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Mx9MLm_l_GE" width="560"></iframe>
<br />
At times, I've successfully implemented Jessica's suggestions. Most of the time, however, I hold myself to two basic rules.<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Anything that can be recycled should be recycled. Immediately. This includes anything I have digital copies of which could be printed later should I find out that I recycled something I needed. </li>
<li>Anything that seems vaguely important gets labeled as MONUMENTALLY IMPORTANT and goes into the "AS LONG AS YOU CAN FIND THE STACK, YOU CAN PROBABLY FIND THE PAPER" stack. There it remains until one of the three random days a year on which I get the urge to file all the papers. </li>
</ol>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwYkrjolh8-FnMpZZp5E6fiXN8eH7mOVIvWHwtlzgyUKYtouuBY5u2WkD_nt3MCt1iC1JYBO7d94BMe6GW85agrRHsU_ryWU7lIk1g2L1YuUrYMFL3jN8FdY_OQ68Wv_48KDYmKZMUjdJn/s1600/20181026_161917.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwYkrjolh8-FnMpZZp5E6fiXN8eH7mOVIvWHwtlzgyUKYtouuBY5u2WkD_nt3MCt1iC1JYBO7d94BMe6GW85agrRHsU_ryWU7lIk1g2L1YuUrYMFL3jN8FdY_OQ68Wv_48KDYmKZMUjdJn/s320/20181026_161917.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
My rules work for a few reasons. <br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>As an adult, I have earned the right to keep my papers wherever I want to. I am accountable only to me and occasionally the DMV. (By the way, as of today I am officially a legally licensed driver who resides at the address known by both the DMV and the voter registration folks. This is big news.)</li>
<li>As an adult, I have earned the right to determine my own schedule and am often able to let the current state of my brain dictate the type of work I'd be best suited for at the moment. (Reference: 10:51 pm, blogging in the bathtub.)</li>
<li>And mostly, because they're MY rules. If they didn't work for me, I'd change them.</li>
</ol>
<div>
But this week I've been thinking about Alex. And about my homeroom class, which is energetically populated by students whose ratio of ADHD brains to neurotypical brains is 1:3. One of the biggest struggles for these kids is... you guessed it... paper.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If you're still reading this, I'm guessing you know and love an ADHD student. And I bet you've heard these statements more times than I've lost a memo from my boss:</div>
<br />
<div>
<ul>
<li>"I didn't do it because I can't find the paper."</li>
<li>"I did it, but I forgot to turn it in."</li>
</ul>
<div>
Sixth grade has been rough for Alex. He is working as hard as he can (and so are Kirk and I) to implement strategies that will work for him. We've figured out the accommodations that make it possible for him to accomplish the work. And yet the kid still has six missing assignments at the end of first quarter. I asked his SPED coordinator to do me a personal solid and stop in to check Alex's desk. "Can you just maybe take a minute to help him get organized?" I asked. Later that day, the coordinator showed me two stacks of paper, each two inches thick. One was graded work that should have come home. The other was various assignments, notes, worksheets, and organizers in various states of completion. All of these papers had come from inside Alex's desk. No WONDER he couldn't find the required steps of his completed writing cycle to turn in for a final grade.</div>
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<div>
As a teacher, this sort of thing is all sorts of frustrating for me. I have solid, explicit procedures in my class which I break down into one step directions to try to help my students manage their papers. "Make sure this paper goes behind your grammar tab," I say to the class. But if I don't watch with an eagle eye, there is always someone who raises a hand the next day.</div>
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"Ms. Fife, I can't find my grammar packet." I sigh. Breath deeply. Admonish. </div>
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"If you'd have followed the instruction to put it behind your grammar tab, then you would know exactly where it is," I say, with even tone as I help the student find it, crumpled and floating within the open expanse of desk.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
PAUSE. RECAP. TLDR:</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>ADHD adult brain says, "I can't be expected to put away papers where they go when I get them."</li>
<li>Mom says, "Why can't you turn in your papers? I know you did them!!"</li>
<li>Teacher says, "I told you EXACTLY what to do with that paper. How is it possibly lost?" </li>
</ul>
</div>
<br />
<div>
And a little new info. My significantly more dull second-favorite ADHD expert Dr. Barkley stresses the idea that strategies to manage ADHD can only be effective when practiced in the environment where the problem occurs. In other words, <b>nothing I teach Alex at home will have an impact on how he organizes his desk.</b></div>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
Huge sigh.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Followed by an epiphany. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Clothes are also the enemy. They beg to be sorted and folded and hung and... AAAH!! That is too many steps. I bought new slacks for work, and I know I should hang them nicely to make them last. But I can't. Neurotypical brains see one step: hang up pants. But ADHD brains see: open closet, find hanger, fold pants in that really nice way that works well on hangers, put pants through hanger, put hanger on rod, close closet. So. Many. Steps. So the responsible ADHD brain executes what it can: drape pants nicely over nearest edge. Goal of preserving the pants is reached in the smallest amount of steps. </div>
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But I don't want the room covered in pants. So I found a solution. I put an empty box in the closet. I now drape my pants over the edges of the box. Open closet, loosely fold pants, drape pants. Close closet is optional. Three steps I can do. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When I say, "Put your grammar packet behind the grammar tab," 75% of my students have one task to do. But 25% of them have to pull the binder out of the desk, put the binder on the desk, flip to the appropriate tab, open the binder rings, align the hole punches with the rings, close the rings, close the binder, and put the binder in the desk. That is two more steps than it would take to hang up my pants. Which I won't do.</div>
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And now the conundrum. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
My rules and strategies work for me. Scroll back up for a reminder of the reasons why. Mostly, it had to do with being an adult and being able to make my own choices. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Reasons my sorts of rules don't work for students:</div>
<div>
<ol>
<li>They are students in a classroom with procedures for materials outlined by the teacher. Specific papers have specific places, and teachers expect for them to always be in those places.</li>
<li>They are students in a classroom with specific expectations placed on their schedule. Whether 8:25 is a great time of day for their brains or not, that is when we put away the grammar packets.</li>
<li>They are kids. So they don't make the rules.</li>
</ol>
<div>
So here's my two-part challenge for teachers:</div>
</div>
<div>
<ol>
<li>Please don't change your expectations! Our ADHD brains really do need a chance to develop coping strategies. Someday our boss is going to want us to keep track of important reports, the airport is going to expect us to be able to present a passport to travel internationally, and... yeah, I already mentioned the DMV. We absolutely <i>have</i> to figure it out.</li>
<li>Please consider your methods. How many steps are you asking an ADHD brain to take all at once? Is there any way to build a PAUSE into the procedure?</li>
</ol>
<div>
Here's what I'm going to try out on 25% of my students next week. I'm going to add a tray under their chairs. (Our chairs have a little ledge there where one can rest.) ALL papers will go in the tray. The "AS LONG AS I CAN FIND THE TRAY, I CAN EVENTUALLY FIND THE PAPER" tray. Then, at the end of the day when their focus isn't divided among other important goals, I will ask them to sort the tray. Grammar papers will go behind the grammar tab. Take home papers will go... well, home. Recycle papers will get recycled. </div>
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I'm going to stop expecting 10 year old ADHD brains to do something my 37 year old one can't do. And then I'm going to teach them how to succeed anyway.</div>
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As for Alex, I'm glad I figured out what conversation to have with him. "How can we reduce the number of steps that it takes to be able to find the papers you need." He'll figure out his own rules. Those are the best kinds of rules to follow, anyway.</div>
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<br /></div>
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(Just for fun: I also have a rule about how to handle the important papers that are put in my box at work. I leave them there. They are SO much safer there than if I touch them. Want proof that my methods aren't needed by the masses? Notice that all the other boxes are empty.)</div>
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Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15684272196949747140noreply@blogger.com0