Category Archives: school

Crash and Burn Upon Reentry

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

I am officially back, both in the real world and here in This Is How I Do It-world.  Great trip.  Fun times.  Incredible experiences that gave me a little of the travel bug.  But for now there will be no more exciting travel-around-the-globe stories that are posted two weeks out because I didn’t have internet (gasp!) when they occurred.  I am back to real-time, this-crazy-shit-happened-yesterday posts.

It is very easy for me to leave behind my roles as  Mrs. Sheepdog/ Five Baby Mama any time I go on a trip like I just did.  Right up until the moment I walk out the door, I am making schedules and washing laundry and planning meals and rides and doctor’s appointments.  But the second I pull out of my driveway, I let go.  I figure that I have done my best at preparing for coverage in my absence, and at that point I no longer have control over what happens.  I just let it all go and really enjoy every second of being away.

It’s the reentry that is usually so much harder.

The other day Sheepdog and I were in the kitchen discussing the kids (ours) and the state of the union (also ours).

Sheepdog confessed, “I don’t like where we are right now.”

Ugh.  You’re killing me, husband.

Sheepdog and I are fine.  We really and truly are.  Even he admitted it later.  I promise that I’m not ignoring any problems or issues so that Sheepdog is going to turn to a sympathetic boob-job at his office for comfort.  It is simply that he is not getting enough of my time right now.  It’s also likely that I’m not giving him enough of my vagina right now (I am hormonal and tired, people; I’m not a sex machine), but mostly he just wants my undivided attention.

But these pesky kids are demanding my attention even more loudly.

How in the world did two weeks away lead to so much craziness?

I won’t bore you with the details, but every single one of our kids has something happening in their lives right this moment that requires my immediate attention.  Nobody is sick or in a major crisis or anything, but there are things happening that I need to deal with, or they could get out of control.  It’s pre-crisis management time.

And I’m doing my job as best I can.  But it is definitely stressing me out.  And making me a little snippy.

To make things worse, my home phone rings about six times a day.  Every single call begins with a pause… and then comes the “exciting news” about a painter/ home improvement/ security company that will be in my neighborhood and would like to tell me all about what they can do to make my life better.  I’ve started to ask them point-blank if they can cure teenage depression, or stop a 3rd grader from calling my kid a “fucker” during playground kickball, or cure cancer… easy stuff like that.  Usually they hang up on me.

One day last week I was wound way up in the throes of crazy.  It was after school and I was emailing a teacher, making dinner, supervising homework, and trying to get somebody dressed and ready for baseball.  We had to be out the door in less than ten minutes and I had at least thirty minutes left of shit to do.

Kid A came home from 121 Reach (high schoolers tutoring middle schoolers) to pick up Kid C because both of them have ballet at the same time.  Even though I told her to be ready by 5PM, she wasn’t.  I was standing half in the kitchen/ half in the garage yelling at her for being inconsiderate, holding a spoon covered in red sauce (I was making lasagna).  Kid A had gone back to her car in a teenage huff because she was definitely going to be late now.  Another sales call came through on the house phone.  The boys were running around the yard throwing a football, but nobody had their shoes on or put their gear in the car, like I asked them to do.  Kid B was moping around the house in the middle of it all.

Next thing I know, an inconspicuous white minivan pulls up to my driveway.  I don’t recognize the car or the driver.  I automatically presume that it is a cleaning service or a painter about to put rocks or tape on my newly painted mailbox and I scream at her from the garage, “DO NOT PUT ANYTHING IN THAT MAILBOX!” in an admittedly scary, I-am-so-about-to-lose-it-on-you tone.

The woman looks at me quizzically.  Then she says innocently and apologetically, “I was just dropping off an invitation for my daughter’s birthday…”

Well, didn’t I feel like a complete and absolute jackass?

I dismissed the tardy Kid C to Kid A’s car, shook my head and took a very deep breath.  I apologized as best I could to the innocent bystander.  “I’m sure you’re going to totally want to have my kid come to your party now!”  She laughed nervously, said, “No worries” and waved goodbye.

Turns out, I agree with Sheepdog.  “I don’t like where we are right now.”

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Wish me luck for tomorrow…

On Deck

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

What a crazy/ busy/ exhausting first few weeks of school!  I was so worn out by 4PM on Friday of the first week that I sat down on the couch after the last kid wandered in off her school bus, and I promptly fell asleep for close to two hours.  Right in the middle of all of the kids and all of the chaos.  Granted that I had donated three full bags of platelets at Atlanta Blood Services that morning, but that just pushed me over the edge.  And even after my glorious nap, I went to bed by 9PM.  I think I need to get a little tougher if I’m going to make it through this school year intact.  There’s way too much stuff coming up and happening for us right now!

Kid E started kindergarten a few weeks ago.  He is settling in nicely, making new friends and learning all of the mundane rules that he will have to follow every school year from here on out.  He has already determined that recess and P.E. are “the only good parts of school,” so we have very high hopes for his educational prospects.  He also started playing baseball and, after a rough first day (it turns out he had croup, thus the meltdown at practice), he seems to have settled in nicely.

Kid C has been dancing en pointe for a few months now and is doing really well.  She has learned how to pad-up and tape all of her vast and varied foot and toe injuries, and she has grown accustomed to blood and blisters as a part of her everyday life.  She is looking forward to auditioning for a role in The Snow Queen in just a few weeks.

Kid B is adjusting to high school after a rough academic start.  Her class load is really tough one, so she has to work really hard to keep up.  It wasn’t like that for her in middle school, so she has had to figure some stuff out.  But she just sucked it up and did it, which is awesome.  She also just started soccer season and is tearing it up.  This weekend her team is playing in the Atlanta Cup Tournament and they had three shut-outs before losing a penalty kick-only semi-final 4 – 2.  They have gotten really aggressive on offense and Kid B continues to train hard, make great saves, and be an all-around badass.

On Friday, Kid D got to have the experience of a lifetime.  My brother-in-law is Somebody Important and he knows how much that boy loves baseball.  He set it up so Kid D went down onto Turner Field just before the Marlins v. Braves game and make the announcement over the P.A. and on the Jumbotron… “It’s time for Braves baseball… Let’s PLAY BALL!”  He did a fantastic job and he is still beaming about it.  He looks forward to Quick Pitch and Sports Center playing this clip over and over once he gets drafted by the Braves to actually play ball sometime around 2030 or so.

Kid A is enjoying her final year of high school very much… especially all of the perks that come with being a senior.  She is in the process of completing the common application for colleges, and soon she will fine tune other submissions for a few early admissions, and then even more for regular deadlines.  She is also still dancing ballet and is looking forward to The Snow Queen auditions.

Sheepdog just jumped out a plane for the first (but definitely not the last) time.  He went up with a group of friends on a beautiful Georgia summer day, and experienced the amazing rush of flying in free fall.  Be prepared to watch the video of his leap from 14,000 feet anytime you step foot into our living room, at least for the next few weeks or so.

Today, I am leaving, along with both of my parents, two of my sisters (the third is too pregnant to travel), Kid A (who took Sister D’s spot when she got herself knocked up), three aunts, two uncles, and a handful of family friends, for Barcelona, Spain.  From there, we get on board the Royal Princess for 12 days of travel around the Mediterranean Sea.  We have stops planned in France (Toulon/ Provence), Italy (Florence/ Pisa, Rome, and Naples), Greece (Mykonos), and Turkey (Istanbul and Kusadasi).  Then we travel back, pulling into port in Greece (Athens) and finally, Italy (Venice).

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If you look closely, you can see me on the Lido Deck, sunbathing with a drink in hand.

I have been pretty busy getting the family adjusted to the new school and sports schedules and we are just settling in to the routines.  Now, I’m going to go and screw everything up by leaving Sheepdog to run the show, single-parent style, all while taking the oldest kid (and third driver) away with me for a total of 15 days.  Oh yeah, and he still has that thing called a full-time J-O-B, too.  It’s a very good thing that Sheepdog’s parents are coming to Atlanta to help him out.

I have only been on one other cruise in my lifetime, when I was four or five months pregnant with Kid D.  I went with my mom and all three of my sisters.  It is always fun to be with them, but I didn’t love the cruising part of it as much.  Yet, when my mom and dad proposed this “Trip of a Lifetime,” with all of the amazing destinations on the itinerary, I couldn’t pack my suitcase fast enough.  I have never been to Europe, so I am buzzing with excitement and enthusiasm for the experiences that lie ahead.

Here’s to some amazing things that just happened and even more things on deck.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

The Decline of the American Farmer

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

Kid D is in an adjustment phase.  He just started the third grade.  Third grade is kickball at recess.  It is noticing the opposite sex as somehow different than you, but not really caring too much.  It is the last carefree days of single digits.  Third grade is multiplication tables, cursive writing, and how to write a book report.  It is a pivotal year.

I was talking to him about all of the exciting things he will learn over the next few months and he seemed so excited.  Granted, I am a master motivator, but the kid appeared genuinely enthusiastic about all of the new and wonderful wisdom that was to be had.  If knowledge equals power, than he was able to see the path to world domination.

But then came the homework.

It is easy to say, “Eyes on the prize; hands on the plow,” but it is very difficult for an eight or nine-year-old to walk that walk.  There are so many other fun things to do… run through the sprinkler one last time before this summer is gone forever, ride a bike, jump on a friend’s trampoline, play football out in the yard.

“My friend just called and asked if I can jump on his trampoline with the sprinkler underneath of it!  Can I go, mom?  Please, mom?  Can I?”  Homework quickly slips down the to-do list when shiny distractions beckon so aggressively.

Being a stickler for a proper education, but also a supporter of fun (especially the “squeezing out the last drops of summer” stuff), I made him a deal that he could go as soon as he finished his math worksheet.

Smoke poured from the tip of his Dixon-Ticonderoga.  Soon he was finished.  He swore that he had done his best work as he threw the paper in my direction and darted down the street on his bicycle.  When I looked at his homework, this is what I saw:

Kid D math homework

I guess I need to work a little harder on my motivation skills.  Kid D is already over it.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

Magic Markers

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

Every year I take the kids back to school shopping for new supplies.   I usually despise shopping, but I love this particular trip, as I am hot for office supply stores and the wares they peddle.  I can’t really explain it, but I can tell you that I get a little tingly every time I go down the padded envelope aisle.  And I have a thing for 5″ X 8″ notepads too.  I like to touch the paper.  My favorite thing is the sound it makes when I fan the pages.  It’s like a magical purring noise. “Puuuuurrrrrrrrr.”  So sexy.  But I digress.

Anyway, each August the kids come with me to Staples and Target to pick out new folders and notebooks and binders.  The younger ones also get rulers and scissors and crayons and index cards.  And everyone gets a new box of markers.  Now, some are classic colors and some are dry erase, some are highlighters and some are washable.  None of them are actually called “magic” anymore, but to me they will always be magical and special, because they mark another important milestone in each kid’s life… the start of a brand new school year.

This year the markers led me to thinking about other milestones in my life and the kids’ lives and how quickly time is passing.  This summer, in particular, seemed to whiz past us in a spectacle of raindrops and road trips and beach sand.  It marked the first summer we didn’t get to relax together as a family (until one week near the very end, which was pretty awesome).

I realized that this marks the last year that all five of my kids will be heading out the door on the first day of school together.  Kid A is starting her senior year in high school.  Next year she will be off at college, starting her own life with some pretty significant new markers of her own.

Then I realized that Kid E still has twelve more “first days of school” ahead of him.  He is not thrilled about this, especially because “school does not have very much Minecraft.”  Sorry, kid.

Kid B started high school this year – a big marker made complicated because her boyfriend also started, but at a different high school.

This is the year that Kid C started dancing en pointe in ballet.  Kid D will begin kid-pitch in baseball next week.  They are in 7th and 3rd grades, respectively, which can be full of all kinds of markers… middle school relationship drama, puberty, playground fights.

Sheepdog and I made it to the 20-year mark of marriage this summer.

And today marks exactly three months since Braden died.

So many markers.  Not all of them are magic.  And not all of them are huge.  But together they become the stories that make up our lives.  So I write them down and take pictures on film and in my mind so we won’t forget.  And we can look back on them and remember each one of the markers and what they meant to us at that time in our lives.  And they will shape us and affect us and make us who we are.  But they can also inspire us to make change, to do more and be more, if that is what we want.  So much possibility can come from those markers, big or small.

And that is truly magical.  Just like the purr of a good notepad.

I get high with a little help from my friends. You say "toluene and xylene," I say "magic."

I get high with a little help from my friends. You say “toluene and xylene,” I say “magic.”  Source:  Google Images

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

That’s Gonna Leave a Mark

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

I mean to do some random things… wash my car, clean out the storage room in the basement, send a wedding present to the couple who Sheepdog knows but I don’t, and who has now been married for well over a year – maybe even two or three.  I think they just had a baby.  I guess I should add “send a baby gift” to the list now too.  For whatever reason, I am just not inspired to do these things.  Ugh.  Thinking about it makes me feel like a slacker and a little icky, so I just put it off until later.  Much later.

But when it comes to my blog, I am motivated to write about things as they are happening in my life.  It goes nicely with my intention for “This Is How I Do It” to be a sort of memory keeper for me and my family.  If it is out of order or if too much time passes between the actual event and the time I press “Publish,” then it just seems wrong to me.  I don’t mean “untrue or fake,” because I don’t make up the stuff I write about here.   Maybe I mean it makes me feel like a slacker and a little icky, like the things on the never-ending, random to-do list.  But lets instead call it “less genuine and organic.”  Yes, that is exactly what it feels like.  Nevertheless, I’m finding out that sometimes it is necessary to break my own rules…

There is a milestone that I meant to address at the end of the school year, but it got pushed aside when Braden died.

(Quick side note:  Man, I really miss that kid.  I continue to struggle with understanding his sickness and his untimely passing.  I waffle back and forth between believing that life is precious and meaningful and I should soak everything in like a desperate sponge, or thinking that it is all a random crapshoot, so why bother?  Fortunately, I loiter most often on the former side of that fence.  There are several songs that remind me of him and they move me to sobbing tears when I let myself listen.  I really want to argue with him about the NFL trades (like Welker to the Broncos and Tebow to the Patriots) and the IRS scandal, and Edward Snowden, and Egypt, and Turkey, and Trayvon Martin, and the list goes on and on and on.  I wish I could talk to him or text him.  But that is no longer possible.  Sigh.)

Anyway…

In May, Kid E finished his last year of pre-school.  They did a ceremony back in April with songs and dances and a picnic in the park to mark the special occasion.  They did it early because his school had two GA pre-K classes and both lead teachers were pregnant and due sometime during the month of May.  Both of them delivered their beautiful babies before classes were out for summer, so substitutes came in to finish out the year.  They were very nice teachers and the kids still learned and had fun, but the end result was that the last day of school was kind of  “meh.”  With everything else that was happening in the last two weeks of May this year, I let the last day of pre-school pass without much fanfare.  Stuff happens, right?

But it is too bright of a highlight to let it slip by unacknowledged.

Starting with Carol and ending with Miss Bethany, my kids had some of the most awesome pre-school teachers on the planet.  They loved them like they were their own children.  Even on the days when I could not have been happier to get them out of my sight drop them off at school.  Especially on those days, and that is something I am very thankful for.  These teachers taught my kids so many things, but they also taught me as well.  And I’m talking about the important stuff here…

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I don’t care how cute those heathens look… this drop off deserves the Dance of Joy!

Carol taught Kid A how to be an outside kid.  She loaded up four or five kids a day and strollered them down to All-Wars Memorial Park, where they ran and jumped and played, until they collapsed in heaps and napped for hours.  Carol taught me the importance of regulating my kid’s day naps so that she would actually go to bed at night.  She also potty trained Kid A for me.  The first lesson was necessary for me to learn, but the second was just plain awesomeness.  Carol also taught me the importance of a margarita after the kids are in bed (her husband rented out the big machines for parties as a side business), which I found to be invaluable advice over the years.  Cheers to Carol!

Rosemary taught Kid B how to soothe herself to sleep when she was almost a year old.  Up until then, Sheepdog and I traded nights of sleep… he would get one, then I would get one.  It was a special time in our lives (and by that I mean e-special-ly SUCKY).  Kid B did not go to sleep unless someone was bouncing her, even during the day.  I don’t know if she had colic or we spoiled her, or what, but it was just plain awful.  And then like an angel from heaven, Rosemary came into our lives, and Kid B started sleeping through the night.  And it turned out she wasn’t a horrible devil-kid.  Rosemary also potty trained Kid B.  I did nothing but drop her off at pre-school and then I would pick up a non-diaper-wearing kid at the end of the day.  So I guess Rosemary taught me that, even after having two kids, you still may not know how to do the basic stuff, like get them to sleep or potty train them.  She also talked me off of the ledge when I was completely desperate and sleep-deprived and wanted to sell Kid B on e-Bay.  I really owe her a debt of gratitude for that one.

Kid C had the least amount of pre-school teachers because I had stopped working after I had her.  Following the adage of quality over quantity, the one that stands out the most in my mind is Miss Cora.  She was from a faraway land and said Kid C’s name in the most awesome way, with about seven more syllables than it actually has.  She taught Kid C about letting her freak flag fly.  Up until then, I had been butting heads with that kid about absolutely everything, mainly because she had/ has a very different way of doing things than I was used to.  Kid C took Cora’s lessons to heart and really started being her true self without reservation, which is a little bit crazy and a lot of bit different.  And somehow, they both showed me that it was okay for me to let it happen too.  It was a very good lesson for all of us.  Oh, and Cora also taught me that when a kid swallows a button during quiet time because her friend dared her to, don’t freak out because it will be just fine and probably just come out in her poop.  Another good lesson.

Miss Carla taught Kid D how to read.  In pre-school!  She was a seasoned veteran when it came to teaching kids (and their parents) all sorts of things, but the timing was just right (he was ready; she was so very patient) for her to instill a love of books and reading that continues with him to this day.  And even after four years I was still adjusting to having a kid with a penis, so Carla’s incredible patience was a well-timed example that I definitely needed in my life right then.  That patience also came in handy when I had to eventually potty-train the last kid.  I guess I had to learn sometime, right?

Kid E started pre-school early, especially given that I was a full-time SAHM.  But he would just follow me around all day, staring at me, muttering, “Where my brudder?”  So, I loaded up his backpack and his lunchbox and sent him out the door when he was barely two.  He had the most awesome teachers… every single one was fabulous.  Miss Lori, Miss Judy and Miss Tina (You’re Not Ugly) at Little Creek, and then Miss Waldy, Miss Robin, Miss Bethany and Miss Erica at Open Arms, just to name a few.  They taught him so many things, but they all taught me that teachers do sometimes have favorites, and it is pretty damn awesome when it is your kid.

Yes, the pre-school years have finally come to an end for my kids.  They were filled with some amazing experiences, and some crappy ones as well (lice letters, anyone?), but overall I can say that pre-school has left an indelible mark on both me and my kids forever and ever.  And for that I am very grateful.

This is a mark that I left on one of the schools when I may or may not have backed my truck into a No Parking sign.

…and this is the mark that I allegedly left on one of the schools when I may or may not have backed my truck into a No Parking sign.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

Ding Dong, Bitch

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

There’s this Halloween tradition in the suburbs called “Boo-ing.”  I’ve attached a copy of the note (go to http://www.beenbooed.com) that anonymous revelers leave along with the treats on your front porch, Ding Dong Ditch-style, that pretty much explains it all.  I don’t care how it came about; I simply find it awesome that people leave candy for me right on my front porch.  I hope that once day the girl scouts will start doing it this way with their cookies.  And I wish they would do it during the day instead of at night when all of my pesky kids are around to lay claim to the goodies.  But I’m also considering cutting my doorbell wire.

We got Boo-ed a couple of weeks ago.  It was dark out and Kid B had just come home from soccer practice.  The boys were already in bed.  I have no idea where A and C were… I tend to lose track of a few them as the night goes on.  Eh, they’ll come back home when they’re hungry.

I am a grouchy old lady, so I turn my front porch light off early in hopes that it will deter any late night visitors.  Most people ignore this, so I was not surprised when I heard the doorbell ring after 8 p.m.  Kid B answered it and proudly announced to everyone and no one that we got treats.  I just crossed my fingers that the boys (a) didn’t get woken up by the doorbell, and (b) did not inherit my sixth sense about chocolate being anywhere within a 50-foot radius.  Luckily, the boys stayed in bed.  Luckily, we had candy in the house (not for long!).  Unluckily, now we had a job to do.  The very next night we had to go Boo some neighbors.

“There are three things I’ve learned never to discuss with people: religion, politics, and the Great Pumpkin.” – Linus Van Pelt, It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown (1966)

I don’t know if you have ever tried to do anything stealthily with little kids, but I can assure you it is next to impossible.  Remember, Boo-ing is supposed to be done anonymously so you have to leave the basket of goodies and skiddoo.  This created several technical difficulties for us.

Obstacle Number One: My youngest kids go to bed by 7:30, when it is still kind of light out.  That meant that our mission had to be carried out without them (yeah, right) or at dinnertime in the daylight with the hopes that the recipients take at least ninety seconds to get up from the table and come to the door, so we would have enough time to run out of sight after we rang the bell.

Obstacle Number Two: Little kids can’t run very fast, no matter how much you yell at them.  They aren’t very quiet, nor do they follow directions until they are given to them umpteen times.  They also don’t react well in situations of panic.

Obstacle Number Three: Who to Boo?  I never knew that these kids had so many “best friends.”  Where are these so-called best friends when there’s heavy lifting to be done, huh?  I immediately narrowed the list to one house.  Boo-ing rules be dammed.  This was going to be crazy enough once without having to do it again.

So with a basket full of Halloween candy and a “You’ve Been Boo-ed” note, we finally headed out into the pre-twilight to accomplish our mission.  The house we had agreed upon was at the end of our street so we decided to drive most of the way down for a quicker getaway.  But not in my (highly identifiable) XL truck.  We opted instead to take Kid A’s car, which fewer people would recognize, and hide it behind some bushes.  We mapped out a plan so that everyone got to partake in the fun, while also attempting maximum potential for a clean escape.  When we got to the house we saw that both parent’s cars were in the driveway and the garage door was open, indicating they were most likely at home.  It was on.

Kid A stayed in her well-hidden car, with both back seat doors open and ready for the quick getaway.  Kid C held Kid E’s hand along the front walkway so he wouldn’t have to maneuver up or down any steps (face plant on the concrete driveway, anyone?) during their escape.  Kid D had the biggest and most important responsibility of carrying the basket to the porch and dinging the dong.  I stood at the end of the driveway to watch everything go down (that’s when I realized that Kid B wasn’t even with us… oops).  After a minute or two of absolutely nothing I whisper-yelled to Kid D, “Ring the bell, dummy, so we can ditch!”

Several things happened at once.  Kid D jumped off the porch.  Kids C and E spun around to hightail it out of there, but C was giggling and E got confused and ran in the wrong direction.  D and E collided somewhere along the driveway, but they quickly recovered and everyone headed for Kid A’s car.  They made good time, but they were so pumped up from their caper (or the body slamming) that they went in one back door and exited the other one.  Twice.  Finally, I was like, “Get in and stay in!” and we sped away.  With Kid E in the middle back seat yelling, “I’m not hooked!” I asked Kid D if he heard them coming to the door after he rang the doorbell.  His answer, “I don’t even know if I actually rang the bell.”  Awesome.

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This morning parents and kids were in our driveway waiting for the school bus.  Today was also my day to drive for pre-school carpool, so Kid E and his friend were running around all of the elementary school kids.  They kept running to our front porch and then back to me, laughing hysterically.  When I asked what they were doing, Kid E announced to everyone (in his little boy, lispy speech) that they were “practicing the ‘Bing Bong Bitch,’ I mean the ‘Ding Dong, Bitch'” so they would be better at it next time.  Double awesome in front of a school bus full of kids.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

Over the (Hawk) Hill

Posted on by Stacy Swiger
Last Thursday I had some kind of unholy, unprecedented strain of PMS.  All five of the kids were ganging up on me by playing a rousing game of Who Can Get On Mommy’s Very Last Nerve?  So when Sheepdog came home from work and (uncharacteristically) asked, “What’s for dinner and when’ll it be ready?” before even saying hello, I felt totally justified in telling him that I wanted “to hit (him) very hard in the face with a(n effing) shovel.”  Obviously, I needed a break.  The very next morning I hopped on a plane to Philadelphia.  We were all very pleased that I got away for a bit.
 

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When I was a senior in high school I did what almost everyone else was doing and I applied to get into college.  Three colleges, to be exact.  I was smart, involved and had yet to experience any hard slaps-in-the-face from life.  I was Miss Absecon 1987 and Holy Spirit’s homecoming queen, for goodness’ sake.  So I was in utter disbelief and completely devastated when I received thin envelopes from all three schools telling me no, no and wait.  It was April of my senior year and all I could say when asked where I was going in the fall was, “I honestly don’t know.”

I remember going in to see my school guidance counselor in a daze and asking what I was supposed to do at that point.  He mentioned a small school on City Line Avenue in Philadelphia called St. Joseph’s University.  I had not heard of it before, but my grades and SAT scores were on track to allow me admittance there.  I do not recall the administrative details that followed, but I do know that my parents moved me into a college dorm up on Hawk Hill as that summer drew to an end.

But even with my very own spot in the SJU Class of 1992, it turns out that I still was not sure of where I was going.  I spent the next two years floundering.  I went to parties and bars, but not many classes.  I changed my major and therefore my schedule countless times.  I made stupid and sometimes dangerous choices.  I got my heart broken more than once.  Looking back on my freshman and sophomore years at St. Joe’s, I recall a general sense of sadness and isolation, which was made even worse by my belief that I was surrounded by so many people who all seemed to be having the time of their lives.

My parents saw that I was not happy and they finally convinced me to come back home (a fate worse than death at the time!).  I would work and take classes at a local college in order to bring up my GPA.  Then I could reapply to another school or schools, and eventually earn a degree.  That is how I ended up at West Virginia University as a transfer student in the Fall of 1990.  I met Sheepdog there after just a few weeks.

Short Aside… Yes, WVU was a giant party school back then (and still officially is, according to Princeton Review), but I had thankfully gotten most of it out of my system by the time I moved to Morgantown.  Note that I said most, not all.  Now that’s a true story.

After years of ruminating (and some good, old-fashioned therapy), I look back on my first years of higher education with a smile.  It was the time when I walked on to the varsity cheerleading squad for the basketball team and I got to cheer on national television and travel all over the East Coast to other schools in the Atlantic 10.  It was when I learned that accounting was definitely not my thing, but english and eventually journalism were.  It was when I learned how I didn’t want to be treated by boys, and therefore what I did eventually want from a partner in life.  Most importantly, it was the time when I learned what I did and did not like about myself.  It was where I learned that having a rhinestone crown placed on your head doesn’t mean jack, so I needed to buckle down and start working for what I wanted.  It was where I made friends for life, because college years can be so intense that bonds are forged deeper and stronger than during any other experience.

This past weekend I traveled back to City Line Avenue for Hawktoberfest 2012 and to celebrate the passage of 20 years since the Class of 1992 had been handed their sheepskins.  Originally I booked my plane ticket and hotel room because it was an excuse to spend time with friends who now live scattered all over and I rarely get to see (save for the occasional wedding or funeral or milestone birthday celebration in the Dominican Republic), but it turned out to be so much more than that for me.

I saw people who I hadn’t seen in decades.  I listened to the stories of how their lives had played out, as well as their plans for the future.  I heard the classic tales again, but I also listened to new ones that I never knew about.  One girlfriend teased, saying that I was quite the social butterfly… talking to absolutely everyone, but that was the best part of the experience for me.  We went out to dinner and shared so many memories and bottles of wine.  We played softball on the incredible new field.  We posed for pictures in front of our old dorms.  We tailgated (I know, I know… how do you tailgate without a football team?) and gossiped and laughed.  I laughed until I was hoarse.  It was very, very good.

The more things change, the more they stay the same. This was taken just before 2AM on 54th Street.

On Sunday, we roused our sad, over the hill selves out of bed with lots and lots of coffee.  After we checked out of the hotel, a few of us who had later flights walked around the campus.  It is so much bigger now, with all of the new buildings and dorms and fields, but it is still the same in so many ways.  It was awkward but comfortable at the same time.  I had to catch my breath several times as I walked through the old Fieldhouse (now Hagan Arena) and down past Finnesy Field.  I actually had tears in my eyes as I went from Lafarge to the Chapel and the old Newmann Hall and then crossed the foot bridge to McShane.  They fell silently down my cheeks as I walked down the tree-lined Lapsley Lane to the most magnificent view of Barbelin Tower.

What’s magis? It’s a Jesuit principle that underlies everything we do at Saint Joseph’s University. It inspires us to think a little broader, dig a little deeper, and work a little harder. More simply put, magis calls us to live greater.

The tears were few but they were powerful and cathartic.  I felt such peace and comfort in knowing that St. Joe’s was the first of many steps in bringing me to where I am in my life today.  It defined me, both good and bad.  And it feels so awesome to own that.

I left Hawk Hill feeling light and happy, albeit a little old.  I left with renewed friendships and some new Facebook friends.  I left with a memory card full of photographs.  But mostly I left with a palpable gratitude for the life I have now and the people who are in it.  It never ceases to amaze me how life twists and turns, takes us up and down the hills and sometimes even mountains, and lands us where we are right at this moment.

Sometimes we just need to be reminded.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

Poems of Procrastination

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

In homage to those like Keats, Wordsworth and Shelley (and because my kids are all out of my house and off to the first day of school and I’m kind of bored and putting off my workout and other various and sundry chores), I have decided to write a poem.

“An Ode to Summer”
by Stacy Swiger
 
O! glorious season of unencumbered trotters and limbs – 
How my soul thunders at your sweet smells and irradiated hours.
Why, thou art bursting with vivid comestibles and waterlogged reverie!
The waning of your days is forever married with my ebbing enthuse.
What splendor dreamt by deities in sculpting your essence.

Well, that didn’t take nearly long enough, despite the constant thesaurus look-ups.  Maybe I’ll go a little less formal with a haiku.

“A Haiku Poem About Summer”
by Stacy Swiger
 
Bare… feet, legs, iCal
Summer is wet, bright and free.
Fall is too leafy.
*******
 
“And Another”
by Stacy Swiger
 
Haiku.  “Gesundheit”
Must be the freshly mowed grass.
Where’s the ice cream man?
*******

Kid A = 11th grade, Kid B = 8th grade, Kid C = 6th grade, Kid D = 2nd grade, and Kid E = Georgia pre-K. Mom = sad that summer is over.

I am always bummed that summer is essentially over for us when school starts, even though it is still August.  But I can say that I am happy to get back to writing more regularly.  And I know that the kids could certainly use some time apart from each other.

Just the other day, I listened from my office as I heard Kid E driving his siblings absolutely batty.  He went from one to the next, just nudging and annoying them with his, “Play with me” and “Get this for me”  and “Will someone wipe me?”  Finally I heard that he was left alone in the upstairs hallway, as everyone else had retreated to their rooms for some much-needed alone time.  Never to be discouraged, Kid E knocked on someone’s bedroom door.

Knock, knock.

“Who is it?”

(In his own, undisguised voice) “It is NOT me.  He he he he he he he he.”

Whatever.  It got them to open the door.

Happy First Day of School, my southern peeps.  And to those of you that still get to go to the beaches and the pools and sleep in for a few weeks longer, I hope you appreciate how good you’ve got it.  Enjoy your vivid comestibles and waterlogged reverie.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

 
 
 

Mother’s Day Tea

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

Today was very important for Kid D.  He woke up vibrating with excitement and secrecy.  He put on his best dress shirt and tie.  He has been working hard for weeks preparing for a very special Mother’s Day Tea, which his first grade class held this morning.  It was a Very Big Deal.

Since I was invited and all, I got out of my pajamas dressed up and headed over to the elementary school for the festivities.  Every year the first graders put on this show in order to make their moms get all sappy and sentimental and to watch them cry in public.  I mean, they play “Wind Beneath My Wings” as background music, for cripe’s sake.  There is always plenty of sweetness and love and lemon pound cake and itchy dress clothes and video cameras and it is just totally awesome.

This year did not disappoint.  One smooth operator wore a tuxedo!  The kids all sang “Puff the Magic Dragon,” which is a much sadder song than I ever remembered (P.S. I looked up Honah Lee and it is a fake place.  I’m bummed.)  They also each wrote and read aloud a poem with the theme “I Love You More Than…”  The kids this year included standard things like “video games,” “the chocolate chip pancakes you made me for my birthday,” “our trip to Disney World,” and “our dog, Mutley.”  But my favorite this year was when one little blonde girl said “I Love You More Than… Dad.”  I couldn’t help but laugh out loud, even though I don’t think she actually meant to say that.  It was part of another sentence or something but the way it actually came out was truly awesome.  I wanted my kid to say that.

Puff, let me introduce you to my friend, The Giving Tree. Tree, this is Puff.

There were little notes and drawings and pictures talking about moms posted all around the classroom.  There was a whole wall of mom portraits obviously drawn by the kids.  For some reason, we all looked very angry in those renderings with scowls on our faces and nobody could tell which one was supposed to be them, but they were still cool.  Then there were these Runaway Bunny-style short sentences.  You know the book by the Goodnight Moon lady that has a petulant little bunny rabbit who tries to leave his mommy and every time he says he’s going to morph into something to get away (a rock on a mountain, a fish in a stream, a sailboat), his mother always adapts into something that can catch him (a mountain climber, a fisherman, the wind).

This was Kid D’s version:

If you are the baseball bat, I will be the player who hits a home run with you.

Well, hmmmm.  Now most of us are well-versed in baseball metaphors.  With that in mind, his project seems dirty, right?  I will acknowledge that my brain has permanently set up camp in the gutter but this seems pretty wrong.  It actually sounds like something Sheepdog said to me just last week.  I can tell you emphatically that baseball to Kid D is just baseball, but with his father being straight outta West Virginia he can’t be playing fast and loose with words like that.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

Just Say No to Cash

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

For those of you who know me very well (and there are only like nine of you on the whole planet… “I’m a loner, Dottie.  A rebel.”), you are well aware that I do not enjoy chatting on the phone.  There are certainly exceptions, but I rarely spend my free time yakking it up.  Yesterday was a unique day for me in that I called or was called by every single person in my family of origin (also known as “907 Chelsea Peeps”).  It wasn’t even anybody’s birthday or a holiday or anything really special.  I can’t tell you the last time that happened.  Not that we need to stop the presses or anything.  I’m just saying.

So in talking to everybody I got a crapload of new information… updates, ideas, stories, gossip.  You know, the good stuff.  Some of it was really good stuff too.  Let me just say that in the game of OMG One-Up, my family will probably win.  We’d come in second place at the very least.  There’s some crazy stuff out there, people.

Anyway, Sister B called me in the middle of the day and mentioned that she was collecting money for some group teacher gifts and she had an idea for a nicer presentation than just handing over cash in an envelope.  I was unaware that cash in an envelope was not nice, but apparently I don’t know anything.  So I told her to write a post and I’d put it on my blog so anybody who reads it can copy her idea.

Or you can just give cash in an envelope.  Seriously, I don’t see how that can be a bad thing.

********************************************************************************

End of the Year Gift Idea by Guest Writer, Sister B

It is that time of the year again…soccer banquets, religious education end of year parties, graduations, last day of school parties, ballet recitals, cub scouts graduation ceremonies…I don’t know about you but my wallet is empty!  I am so thankful for the adults who help my children throughout the year in so many different ways, whether it be their coaches, teachers, school administrators, instructors or leaders.  They work so hard, demonstrate incredible patience, foster a love of learning in so any ways, and I took on the coordination of the donation of funds towards a group gift.

I know from my teacher friends that gift cards are always the best because if they get another candle or apple-themed “#1 Teacher” mug they are going to literally scream.  But I just didn’t want to put a big gift card in an envelope and call it a day.  I wanted to take a few minutes and a little creativity to show those who have earned a year end gift that we appreciate all that they have done each and every day of this past year.  I did not want to spend a lot of money because the majority of the funds should go towards the gift card for the individual who deserves the kudos!

I searched the internet and found this adorable phrase – “Thanks for helping us ‘grow’ this year!”

I was inspired to create a gift card holder with a flower theme.  I found small baskets 2 for $1 at the local dollar store.  Target had faux felt flowers in the $1 section and they were bright and colorful and cheery.  I found gardening signs also in the $1 section at Target and made a sign on my computer with the clever phrase.  I purchased a styrofoam cube from the dollar store, cut it in half and placed it in the bottom of the basket.   Then, covered the styrofoam with shredded paper, inserted the faux flowers, stuck in the sign and voila!  Instant end of the year gift card holder!  Can’t wait to give these to my kids’ specialists, coaches and teachers and they can enjoy them for many years to come.

 

There are several other variations of this gift idea.  You could purchase fresh flowers and just make the sign.  You could buy a plant from Home Depot or Lowe’s.  You could have your kids make homemade tissue paper flowers.  The possibilities are endless.  But with a little creativity, you can really show the teachers in your life your thanks for all of their time this past year.  And your gift will stand out from the rest of the pile of gift cards in plain envelopes, guaranteed!