Christmas wrapping.

When I thought of the title for this post I immediately thought of rapping. Like, maybe I should break into song a la Tupac or Ice T (oh wait-Ice T's an actor now). But you don't want to hear me attempt to rap, and that's not what this is about anyway.

As Christmas draws near and my list is slowly getting shorter last night I found myself on the living room floor with a brand new tube of wrapping paper and a pile o' presents. I have come to despise wrapping gifts. I blame Honey for this. He uses what we have affectionately dubbed "Honey Wrap". Which is simply your gift in the bag he bought it in. To make it a surprise, Honey will tell you to close your eyes and will unveil the gift from the plastic bag and hold it out in front of you. Every single gift I've ever received from Honey in the almost 6 years we've been together has been given to me in this way. With the exception of my engagement ring.

Let us pause from my story to discuss that for a minute. Honey had a great proposal and said some beautiful things about the strength of our love and then handed me a wrapped box. Yes ladies, wrapped ring. Any woman can tell you that the only time she wouldn't want a gift wrapped was her engagement ring. This part of our engagement story is still funny to me to this day.

Ok, back to my point. Due to Honey's lackadaisical efforts in the wrapping department (the jewelry store wrapped the ring BTW) I've come to hate the act. It wastes time, it wastes paper, it requires clean up. Somehow, Christmas is different. I love the wonder of it all, and I'm someone who hates surprises and tends to spoil them for myself. I love the look of the piles under the tree. I love that Honey takes forever to unwrap a gift while I impatiently try to see what's inside. Lovey is obsessed with dolls right now. She loves her little dolly so much that BeBe is the first thing she looks for in the morning. We got her a doll stroller for Christmas this year. I cannot wait to see her rip into that package. She is going to be so excited. I can hear her little squeal now. I'm getting excited just thinking about it. Bring on Christmas. Only two more sleeps. That, and a few more gifts to wrap. Maybe I'll do the last few Honey style.

I'm a curmudegeon.

I'm having a very cranky day today. It is 4 days from Christmas so I should be in a good mood, but really I"m giving hte grinch a run for his money. You see, by nature I'm a complainer. I've learned that it is a coping mechanism. Once I complain about something I usually feel better. Not the case today. As the day has worn on I've felt yuckier and yuckier. And therefore crankier and crankier. I have a headache, and a stomachache, and a long to-do list. I'd love to put on sweats and crawl into bed for a nap. Ahh...nap. It's such a good word, and action. I wish I could nap every day. Instead I get to go to the grocery (maybe two actually) and then go home to Honey and Lovie for a little play time. After bed I have to make some phone calls and do some minor work and by then I"m sure it'll be time for bed. But by then, it will mean that I'm only two more work days away from winter vacation. I guess I can't be cranky about that. See? I told you, complaining usually makes me feel better.

I am a teacher.

Recently in the town that I work in there has been lots of trash talk about teachers because times are tough and so are town budgets and the teachers union has been asked to give concessions to their contract. And they said no. And all the other unions said yes. That has made some people call us lazy uneducated slobs and others call us arrogant and ignorant. Those comments have created a fire in my belly that needs to be let out.

I am a teacher. I was born to be a teacher. It’s in my blood. My grandmother was a preschool teacher for almost 40 years. In my adulthood, I’ve had no career that didn’t involve education in some way. I don’t know how to do anything else. I am passionate about it. For me, there is no greater professional accomplishment than watching a child find success in something that previously eluded them. Working with special education students, I know that success is often very hard won. I’ve laughed with students, I’ve cried with students, I’ve taught students the value and meaning of friendship and teamwork and integrity.

When someone insinuates that all I needed to earn my teaching degree was the intestinal fortitude to withstand a few keg stands (can’t say I’ve ever done one) it’s insulting. I went to two prestigious private higher education institutions to earn my degrees and worked my ass off to earn all three of them. I could’ve gone to those colleges and gotten degrees in business, or finance, and now be working in some high rise office building wearing fancy suits, but I didn’t. I decided to dedicate my life to helping children find a love of learning.

For that, there have been many sacrifices. I don’t live in a big house, I don’t drive a nice car, and I don’t buy expensive clothes, we don’t take big vacations, or own a second home. I have lots of student loan debt that will be paid off just in time for my children to go to college. I sacrifice time with my family to go to work early, or stay late, or bring work home (mentally and/or physically). My husband and I have almost always had at least one part time job in addition to teaching to attempt to sock away savings. In fact, most teachers I know work additional jobs to make ends meet, and sometimes those ends don’t always come together.

I’ve heard all the comments about the ease of teaching. You only work 10 months of the year, you get every vacation day in the book, you actually are never teaching because of sick days or personal days. Please. I work a full year’s worth of work in 10 months. Teachers rarely take sick days because they don’t want to miss an opportunity to teach their students, or take the extreme amount of time it requires to leave sub plans for someone. And given the choice between a snow day and a school day, most teachers would say school. This is a hard job. The people who think it isn’t usually don’t last and leave to profession.

So it bothers me immensely when I hear that people think we don’t make enough sacrifices or work hard enough and that we should give more. I’m not sure I can do that. I can’t fight harder for the students I believe in. I can’t think anymore about lesson plans and IEPs. I certainly can’t give back any of the money I’ve worked so hard to make. If the town gets their way and the teachers agree to a 0% increase my household income will be reduced by $15,000. That’s a much bigger sacrifice than I am willing to make.

I do love my job. I am a teacher. I have made sacrifices for this passion far greater than money. I wish that the people who think that this is a cushy job that doesn’t deserve a fair salary could see that. If that makes me lazy, or uneducated, or arrogant, or ignorant, so be it.

I am a lover of magazines. The glossy pages, the pictures, the smelly fragrance ads that I rip out and pile of the floor. My obsession started long ago when I was a little tweener girl flipping through the pages of Seventeen when I still had four years to go before I got there. I tend to pick up a magazine when I've had a bad day and I need to relax. Nowadays I hardly ever get through the first few pages before Lovey comes up and plays peekaboo over the top. I still love them nonetheless and I'm trying hard to devote more time to myself (the endless quest of mommyhood). I thought I'd share some of my favorites here. Sadly, some of my all-time favorites like Domino and Cookie are no longer (or in Cookie's case will shortly be defunct).

For fashion: I love Lucky. It is the sister publication of the aforementioned Domino. The best part is it comes with stickers you can put on the pages to refer back to. How cool is that? I also like Marie Claire, although not as much since they radically changed their format. InStyle is great too. I like to look at what the stars are wearing or how they live, even though I'll NEVER have a life like theirs. Nor would I want to. I'm an Independent Consultant for CAbi so I try to stay up to date on all the fashion trends.

For life: Real Simple. Plain and simple. My favorite part is Road Tested where readers test out shampoo or spaghetti sauce or black mascara and report back on what is the best one. I've spent lots o' money because of that section (Don't tell Honey.) I also love the recipes they suggest. Many of the ones we've tried have become family favorites.

For parenting: I seem to get a different parenting magazine at my door every.day. Most of them I got for free, I think. The thing that drives me nuts about parenting mags is that they all only cater to woman. News flash: Guys are parents too! And...they seem to dumb down parenting. I loved the intelligence of Cookie, but like I said, it's days are numbered. Parenting seems to be one of the only ones that gives logical advice in an intelligent way that doesn't overly cater to moms. Also, there are several different publications based on the age of your child so you aren't reading about homework when you really need to know the best diaper to buy. (The answer to the dipes question is Target brand by the way)

100 words of thanks.

I love Thanksgiving. I mean enamored by it. It is by far my favorite day of the year. I love the smell of Thanksgiving. I love the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade for all its cheesiness. (Who doesn't love a big balloon?) I am someone who is truly thankful at Thanksgiving and grateful to be surrounded by the people I love, with food. Food is important, especially the stuffing. I would marry stuffing if I could.

Sorry, I got lost in a moment of lusting after stuffing.

I was reading a blog I recently discovered written by a newbie to a messge board of woman that have become an integral part of my life. She had given herself the challenge to write down what she was thankful for in 100 words. I liked the idea and I stole it. We need more days like tomorrow to truly reflect on the joys of life around us. There are plenty of days where we focus on complaining about what isn't right or what we wish we had, but we need more days that are a celebration of life. And stuffing. In life we need more stuffing. So here are my thankfuls, in 100 words:

I am thankful for my husband and his undying love. For my daughter and all the gifts she has given me. For family, and friends that are like family. For laughing with co-workers when under stress. For coffee. I am thankful for health; mine and those I love. For my church and it’s parishioners who helped renew my faith. I am grateful to have a job and a home in this troubled economy when there are so many who are without. I am thankful for Obama. And optimism. Thank you for spa treatments. Facials, massages, pedicures. To stuffing: thanks!

The love of my life.

I love my husband. I love the incredibly amazing things about him just as much as the annoyingly mundane things about him. Perhaps because my mother and stepfater's 20th anniversary was yesterday I feel compelled to talk about the love I have with Honey. My parent's relationship has been a litmus test to me as I navigated the world of dating. My mom once told me that I needed to stop dating "losers, jerks, and assholes" and find a nice guy. And then I brought home Honey. When he told my parents that he was going to propose to me with a ring that included the diamond my father gave to my mother and the diamond my grandfather gave to my grandmother my mother's response was simple; "It took you long enough". Translation: she approved. So to honor my parents on the day after their anniversary I chose to honor my Honey. It's not everyday we tell the people we love exactly how we feel about them, but I'll try here. That way, the next time he really pisses me off, I'll find this entry and he'll be forgiven.

Let's see...things I love about Honey:
-I love that he understands me and keeps me calm. -I love that he knows I hate when he tells me to relax but does it anyway because it usually works. -I love that he lets me stick my cold feet under his leg to warm them when I get into bed. -I love that he has all these games with the Lovie that only they do. -I love him for him love of his grandfather, because my love for mine was (and still is) so profound. -I love that he stares at me sometimes with such intensity that I might blush. -I love that he is full of boyish wonder. -I love that he's a science geek. (There Honey, I said it, it's sexy. OK, moving on.) -I love that he is a hopeless romantic and always gets sucked into romantic comedies.

I love that I could keep writing this list for days and still not finish. There are a thousand things and more that I love about my husband and most days I remember how truly blessed and lucky I am to have him in my life. Thank you Honey.

Beauty.

In my life, I've been told I am beautiful. My husband tells me almost everyday. This is usually what he says where "I love you" should go. I do consider myself an attractive person (inside and out). Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I see what the people are talking about.

Some days however, it's harder than others to agree. Like last week when I was grieving the one year anniversary of my mother in-law's death, my brother in-law's father died while waiting for a heart transplant, and my daughter was sick for five days with a fever no less than 101. Those were ugly days and I felt uglier for it. I'm not even quite sure I looked in the mirror. Just like on those mothering days that you feel have beaten you. You know the ones where you end up unshowered, covered in unknown food items, wearing dirty clothes when you pray for bedtime to come just a few minutes sooner. I certainly don't feel like a beauty queen then.

What happened tonight though, made me feel stunningly beautiful. It happens often and I always have the same reaction. Lovie and I have had this ritual since she was teeny tiny. After her bath when she's all scrunched up in her towel and we're headed to her room we pause and look in the mirror. I started this way back when because looking in the mirror always makes her smile. Here's where the beauty comes in. When I'm holding my gorgeous baby girl and she looks at me like I'm the only thing in the world that matters I feel like I am the most beautiful person in the universe. Seeing myself through my daughter's eyes is incredibly powerful. It doesn't matter to her whether I'm covered in spit up (or worse), whether or not my hair is done or I have makeup on. She just thinks I'm beautiful because I'm me. And isn't that one of the greatest feelings in the world?