Hopeful

I haven't written about teaching yet; I have tried several times to write a post about something that happened in my classroom, but by the time I get to the end of it, the meaning and depth of the story somehow gets lost in translation. I don't know why it is so difficult for me to express. For many of the moments or stories, you really just had to be there to understand.

This time, however, I found one worth sharing.

Right before Thanksgiving break, our school invited some speakers to come and talk to the student body. They were wonderful; they brought the message that we make a choice every day in how we respond to the world around us, and to the situations we are exposed to. One component of the message had to do with the word "Stupid." Their point was that there are no stupid people; that is a term that we accept and use to define us. They challenged us to view our mistakes as learning experiences, and not to let those mistakes define who we are. Good stuff, and they modeled it really appropriately for 7th and 8th graders. It was a lovely way to spend the last day before break, working on ways to improve our life experience.

Heart, happy.

I was sitting behind a row of 7th grade students. I teach 8th grade, so I haven't had these particular kids in class yet. I don't know their names or their personalities, so I was mostly planning to just manage and supervise, and make sure everyone behaved themselves. Throughout the presentation, however, we were asked to break off into small groups and have discussion over the topics. I found myself leading a very spirited group of kids. I had forgotten how fast 7th graders bond to you; I had about 9 best friends in 15 minutes. These kids were eager to talk, and to share, and to ask me a million questions.

Heart, full.

I admit my mind was already on Thanksgiving break; I was listening with half an ear to the lecturers, and also mentally planning my grocery shopping list when I saw the boy in front of me getting kind of wiggly and agitated. I tuned back in to hear the lecturer say, "What if you are called "stupid?" That doesn't mean that  you are stupid, because stupid doesn't exist." And the boy turned around and said to me, "I don't get it. What does he mean, stupid doesn't exist?"

I was caught off-guard, and I didn't have a stellar answer ready to go, so I just said, "Well, nobody is stupid, we just make mistakes and have to learn from them. Just because someone might call you that, doesn't mean you are. Does that make sense?"

I could see he was still skeptical. I assumed that someone had definitely called him this before, so I followed up with, "You just know in your heart that you aren't stupid, and you have to let those words other people say kind of slide off your back. You know? Just decide that it isn't true, and you don't have to believe it when people say it."

And then this boy, with big blue clouded eyes and brown curly hair frowned at me and said, "Yeah, but what if your dad calls you stupid? Then you are, right?"

Heart, broken.

Did you feel that? That little pinch in the stomach, that lump in the throat? I don't know if I can tell the story in such a way that you can feel what I felt right then. I am sorry to say I was speechless. I was not expecting him to say that, and I had no response. I just kind of blinked at him. I mean, what can you say to that?

As he turned back around in his seat, and slouched down into it, low, my heart broke into a million tiny little pieces. I don't know this kid yet; I don't know his dad, I don't even know his last name yet. But I do know that he is carrying around a heavy little rock in the middle of his soul.

Now, to be fair, I have no idea what makes him feel that way. As parents, we are all guilty of speaking carelessly. It could be that one careless word or remark could have stuck, and maybe there were no intentions at all in undermining the confidence of this young man. But somewhere along the line he took hold of that message. I want terribly to undo it.

This one moment prompted me to do a lot of thinking over the weekend, and I will say I have been more careful in the way I temper my words with my own children. I sent up a couple of prayers, too. One, that this young man can feel his worth and value, and that people be placed in his life who can guide him and lead him. And two, that I never make that mistake with my own. Please let my words come carefully; let me think before I speak, let me look at them always like I am their biggest fan and not their harshest critic.

Today we returned from break. As I was walking down the hall to my classroom, I heard someone shout, "Hey! Ms. Gudahl!" I turned and spotted Mr. Blue Eyes himself as he was weaving his way through the crowd to get to me. He said, "Hi. Good morning!" and then buzzed right on past like he was on a mission. I'm looking foward to having him in the room next year...and I'm going to try my level best to give him something good to carry with him when he leaves me.

Heart, hopeful.

Losing It

My favorite poem of all time is Elizabeth Bishop’s poem titled One Art. I read it in college, and was gripped with the certainty that it contained huge truths about myself. I wrote an essay for Dr. Wood in which I poured all my fears and feelings into 3 pages of despair, convinced that I was irretrievably damaged emotionally. I will never forget this; Dr. Wood was my advisor, and a kinder woman doesn’t exist on the planet. But she wrote in bold red pen on the back of my essay: “This poem does not define you.” That’s it, that’s all. I got a B-. I’m not exactly sure why it wasn’t worthy of an A, but the extreme relief I felt at being given permission to separate self from experience, was enough for me.

I am reminded of that poem today, 14 years later, as I cycle through another round of Losing It.

I think my brain is full. I wish I could find a way to empty it of contents I no longer find useful, like the address of my first apartment, the phone numbers of my high school friends, and word-for-word lines from Tommy Boy. I need to clear up some space for things I really need, like remembering to pick my son up from pre-school, to buy Carys a white t-shirt for a school project, to submit that grant application before the deadline, and to get milk on the way home because we’ve been out for 3 days and the kids are balking at eating dry cereal for breakfast.

Bishop uses her poem to suggest that losing things is an art that one should embrace, admire, and even practice. Certainly, she means to lighten the blow of losing the love of her life, but I still take comfort in the lines “Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.” Well, thank you, ma’am, I surely will.

Let’s take a brief inventory. So far this school year, I have forgotten Cooper at school 3 times. (Thank God for good friends, because one of the other moms has taken him to daycare each of those 3 times so I didn’t have to pay the late pick-up fee.) I forgot to turn in a field trip permission slip. I forgot to take Emma to Choir practice. I forgot to order a new title on Aaron’s truck, and he has reminded me only about 10 times, and a definite edge is starting to creep into his voice. I have forgotten 2 morning Student Council meetings. I forgot to call and reschedule a hair appointment, and I got the reminder call while I was at basketball practice. I missed a parent-teacher conference for one of my own kids! (And I’m a freaking teacher! I know how important those are!)

Yikes.

I would just like to know why in the world I cannot remember these key components to my daily life, yet thousands of useless pieces of information are stubbornly stuck in my brain. I can remember the names of the families I delivered newspapers to in 5^th grade. I know the number for JG Wentworth. (If you watch any television in the afternoon at all, I bet you know the phone number if you NEED CASH NOW. I bet you’re even singing the song…) Why do I remember that the wall art in our recently remodeled hometown hospital is a giant stalk of wheat, but I don’t know what day or time my daughter’s Christmas concert is this year?

Even the students in my classrooms are beginning to recycle themselves. More than once this year, I have looked a student directly in the eye and called them by the name of a student I taught 10 years ago. What is up with that?

But the piece de resistance came the morning that I actually drove down the driveway without one of my children in the car. In my defense, I told them to get in the car, then I went all through the house shutting off every light and unplugging various cell phone, Nintendo DS and tablet chargers. I didn't see my little man Cooper run upstairs to get a truck to play with at daycare. I got in my car, hollered, "Are you all buckled?" to the backseat, and shifted into reverse. I suppose vaguely I remember that only female voices answered me, but it wasn't until I asked "Cooper, did you find your backpack?" that it registered that he wasn't in the car. I was already down the driveway approaching the mailbox. I looked into my rearview mirror, and spotted him running headlong down the driveway after my car.

If there is a sadder commentary on the state of my parenthood, I don't know what it is.

I should be too embarrassed to share this publicly with the world. But I cannot be the only one out there running on half-cylinders, so I'm gonna hope that some of you mothers out there can sympathize and don't judge me too harshly for this one. I guess I'm just going to cling to Dr. Wood's kind analysis, and believe that this moment, this lapse, does not define me.

I stopped the car, of course, and when he got to my door, my little munchkin was pissed. (Sorry about the swear word, but truly, the occassion calls for it.) He hasn't let me forget it, either, let me tell  you. I'll be making this one up to him for the next 20 years.

Bishop writes that the art of losing isn’t hard to master. Clearly.

Laundry Soap

By request, I'm posting my tutorial on DIY laundry soap. Try it...it will change your life!

A few important things to know:
1.) This is safe to use in regular and HE washers.

2.) While the initial ingredients have a pleasant "soapy" scent, there is no fragrance added to any of them. That means your laundry will not have that "laundry soap" smell when it finished washing. Your clothes will just smell CLEAN. And I can't really describe that to you. You'll see what I mean.

3.) These ingredients are all natural, with no added chemicals. It's kind of like using Tide-Free, without the price tag. It is safe for sensitive skin...at least I have yet to hear of someone who reacted badly to it, and I give this away to anyone in the world who wants to try it.

4.) The Downy-Ball Vinegar rinse is completely optional. But I highly recommend it.

5.) This is my recipe for powdered detergent. I can give you the directions for the liquid version if you prefer, but truly it adds an extra hour to the process, and I'm all about saving time, people. The powder works perfectly, and I've never had a problem with residue.

Okay, here we go.

Go buy these ingredients:

These are the prices at my local Wal-Mart:
Borax - $2.39
Arm and Hammer Super Washing Soda - $3.19
Fels-Naptha Soap - $0.97

I buy about 8 bars of soap at a time, because you can usually make the detergent that many times before the boxes run out. The first time I bought this, I got the soap on sale 2/$1, which made me even happier. Now I watch it from time to time to see if I can catch it on sale again and stock up.

Step One:
Grate the bar of Fels-Naptha soap very finely into a bowl. I use a microplane grater that I got at, (you guessed it) Wal-Mart for $2.99. It is important that the soap is very finely shredded - the smaller the better.

This will take a little while; sometimes the girls will work on it for me in the kitchen while I'm working, but mostly I like to sit with a bowl in my lap and grate soap while I'm watching something on TV.

Step Two:
Pour 1 cup of Arm and Hammer Super Washing Soda and 1 cup of Borax into the bowl with the soap shavings. Stir well.

And...that's it. Well, there's an optional Step Three. If you prefer your powder to be really really fine, you can blend all ingredients in a blender. The consistency gets really really powdery, and some people prefer that. I personally like to be done after Step Two.

I bought a cute little white canister with a measuring spoon attached to the side of it. I pour all the soap in the canister, and use the spoon to scoop it into the washer.

Here's the best part...

It only takes 1 Tablespoon of this mixture to do a load of laundry. Seriously!

Finally, here's my last best-kept-secret.

You know those blue plastic Downy balls? I bought one ($1.99 Wal-Mart special!) and I fill it with vinegar. That's right, vinegar. No, really, you heard me correctly. Vinegar. Just fill it up, pull the little plug tight, and there you go.

I drop that ball in with the load and hit start. The vinegar will leave no smell, and also is the best fabric softener known to mankind. For real, I am not kidding, I swear to you it is true.

**ADDITION**
After lots of trial and error, I have added 1 cup of regular Baking Soda to my mix - it seems to be just the right thing for the hard odors!

Convenience

My entire generation has been built on the concept of convenience. So many people laud the advance of technology, and marvel at the advancements of each approaching age, but instead of feeling the excitement that is supposed to come from the launch of iPhone27, I seem to feel more dread than anything.

Chalk it up to “old fogey” syndrome, or whatever you want to call it, but I’m starting to understand why our grandparents scoffed at our new technologies. I’ll go so far as to say that I’m even a little alarmed at the pace at which our country is advancing. Everyone seems to have a “hurry up and get there” mentality. The question is, hurry up and get to what? What ideal is everyone in such a hurry to get to?

I was raised in the onset of the generation of Convenience. Every new product, every new commercial proposed some new, innovative way to get things done. We stopped drying sheets on the clothes line, we made complete meals in microwave minutes. We found ways to travel faster, travel lighter, we streamlined everything from automobile assembly lines to furniture that snaps together, to nail polish that dries in seconds. We can purchase any item, any time, anywhere in the world, in just a matter of clicks.

Not to mention the way we have improved communication. No more lengthy letter-writing, with cramped fingers and rubbed out mistakes. Now we can email, we can text, we can Skype. If only we could just master telepathy, we could cut out having to speak at all!

I feel sometimes like I stand alone in the center of a busy tornado of technology. I watch the world spin faster and faster, all in an effort to produce the next big thing that will enhance our busy lives. I watched tapes turn into CDs, videos turn into DVDs, computers turn into laptops turn into handhelds. I see that the phones that teenagers carry have the ability to video chat, text message, surf the net and watch movies. Every week somebody somewhere launches a new product that incites such hysteria that people will camp out for days just waiting to get their hands on one.

For much of my life, I have participated in this race. And it feels like a race; it feels like I am forever trying to keep up with what everyone else has. Even in the grown-up world of house-hunting and car shopping and designer clothes-wearing…it feels competitive, and I have often felt the compelling urge to work harder, make more money, and go go go and buy buy buy.

Last night I made laundry detergent. I know lots of people do that already, and it isn’t some major accomplishment on everyone’s bucket list. But it gave me a rush of power I can’t even describe to you. The first time I made it, I Googled a recipe and discovered that everyone in the world makes the same basic recipe with a few variations. At the time, I didn’t recognize the names of the products on the list; I had never purchased them, never seen them, and had no idea where to get them. (Turns out every single one is carried by Wal-Mart. Who knew?)

Anyway, when I got to Wal-Mart and located the items, I bought several containers of each item. I figured that eventually I would need more, and I hate extra trips to the store. The first batch I made was good. The second was better, and now I’ve adjusted my own formula to the one that is, in my opinion, the most amazing laundry soap ever made. It’s ridiculously inexpensive. I spent $10.82 on the ingredients the first time. I bought them in March, 2012. Today is November 1^st, and I estimate I have used half of what I originally bought. Do you have any idea how many loads of laundry I have done for $5?!

But the part that got my wheels turning this time, was that little rush of power I felt when I realized that I really could just make it myself. The age of Convenience put ready-made laundry soap at our fingertips, but it also gave me the (false) belief that I NEEDED that grocery store to produce it for me.

The truth is, long before the age of convenience, we provided for ourselves. Money was necessary only for large, start-up purchases, and then people generated for themselves. The culture of capitalism has created an entire generation of people who are so dependent on the dollar, that without it, they are crippled. As the economy took a downturn, poverty and unemployment hit an all-time high. And I believe the effects are more detrimental than ever before, because the vast majority of people can’t provide for their families without that all-important job. Money makes the world go round, and it has never been more true.

We have experienced the highs and the lows of finance in our family. There were certainly good years, when we had enough money to take vacations, make large purchases, go anywhere and do anything. But when the economy started to slide, and things got lean, it was a very difficult transition to make. I had a nagging sense of unease each month, which intensified into a dull panic. The numbers weren’t good, and you really feel helpless when you know you are working as much as you can, and somehow the numbers still don’t add up.

I hated most of all the feeling of helplessness. I hated feeling like there was nothing I could do to make it better. Cue my husband, who is ever a solution-finder and problem-solver. The self-sustaining farm was wholly his idea, and it seemed very Little-House-on-the-Prairie to me, and a rather impossible undertaking. But the deeper we get into this little project, the more freedom I feel both financially, and in my heart. Take that laundry soap, for example.

It wasn’t easy…the residual feeling of “store-bought is better than home-made” is deeply ingrained in me. (Thank you, Advertising Executives.) When my family wanted pizza, I bought one. The recipe for homemade dough is not difficult, and I know that lots of people make it, but I approached it with the same mentality I had approached everything: why take the time to make it, when I can just buy it? This is perfectly fine, if you make a lot of money. This works great if you don’t have to worry about where your next paycheck is coming from. But what happens when the economy takes a nose dive, and you suddenly have to start budgeting for purchases? $14 laundry soap starts to look kind of expensive. $16 for a large pizza is ridiculous.

I love the freedom I feel when I can make something myself. And now that I’m reading more about the chemicals in our products and GMO food crops, the better I feel about the decision we made. Yes, I am trading homemade spaghetti sauce that takes me about 20 minutes to make, for a jar of Ragu that would take 2 minutes to heat in the microwave. But every single ingredient was planted by us. Nurtured by us. Chopped and cooked and served by me, and Emma sometimes. At 8 years old, she is discovering a real love of cooking already, and the 18 extra minutes it takes us to produce that home-made sauce provides me with 18 more minutes to laugh and teach and talk to my daughter. I wouldn’t trade that for anything.

Convenience and technology certainly make things easier and simpler and faster, but I’m not sure the trade-off is worth it, to be honest. Think of all the skills you lose, when you let someone or something else do it for you. Think of the control you are actually ceding to big business.

One more small example…the kids wanted BBQ chicken for supper one night. I didn’t have any bottles of BBQ sauce, so I figured I would have to put them off and pick up a bottle on my next trip to the store. Then I stopped myself…someone somewhere makes BBQ sauce, obviously – why can’t I? I looked up some recipes, and lo and behold, I had all the ingredients. 10 minutes of experimentation later, I made the sauce of my life. Even Carys, who doesn’t really like it, said it was her favorite BBQ sauce ever.

Huh. I almost didn’t learn that skill, because Convenience had trained me so well.

We have friends and family in our lives who think we’re a little crazy. They love us, but they definitely shake their head sometimes. Like when Aaron announced that next summer we’re going to get some goats. (Goats?!) But I like to think that we are modeling a lifestyle that will help our kids learn to sustain themselves, and not be governed by the whims of politics and economics and the much heralded system of capitalism, which is showing serious wear and tear in today’s world.

Right or wrong, this is our path. Traveled by few, perhaps, but the journey is just that much more interesting for the weeds we have to step over and the brush we have to clear. This road was paved long ago, and we let it get far too overgrown.