Motherhood: Just one self-esteem boost after another...

Me: I love you, Zannah!

Suzannah: Well, I love sandwiches.

Thank God it's Friday

Oh sweet, sweet Friday nights!

I loved them when I was on maternity leave, because, of course, I loved the weekends with my whole family. Matt and I make a good parenting team and it's nice to have him around for a couple of days. But Friday nights during the school year when I'm teaching have a special sweetness to them.

I remember looking forward to them with something like desperation during my first year of teaching. It wasn't that I hated my job; I loved it, even that first year (although I would never, ever want to repeat the first year, ever ever ever). It was just that I was constantly struggling to keep my head above water, so to speak. Each Friday afternoon a huge wave of relief would wash over me, and I would wonder -- is this it? Is this the weekend from which I will emerge refreshed and whole and totally on top of things? I was convinced, every single weekend, that I would get all my lesson planning done for the entire week. I would catch up on grading. I would enjoy my life, I would relax, I would sleep enough. And yet, despite my intentions, I'd still find myself floundering on Wednesday because Tuesday's lesson didn't really work all that well and that messed up the next day and what in the freaking heck was I going to do on Thursday and AUUUUGHHHH WHY DIDN'T I JUST GO TO BARTENDING SCHOOL.

Ah, memories.

But Friday night has always been sweet.

This is my tenth year of teaching (I was a BABY when I started!), and I no longer have to panic over my lesson plans. I love playing with ideas and experimenting with new ways to teach literature. It's very much a creative process for me, and also, experience means I don't have to agonize over how to plan for a certain period of time. I can pretty much anticipate what I need in order to fill fifty minutes or eighty minutes, and I usually have more to do than I have time for (which is so much better than getting through all my stuff and realizing, crap, I still have fifteen minutes left). Last Friday night, my friend Becca came over and we planned a couple of weeks' worth of stuff for our classes before dinner, and that was with my children crawling all over us. My, how things have changed.

Now, my Friday nights are all about shucking my school clothes in favor of sweats (isn't Matt lucky to come home to such PURE SEX APPEAL?), sipping wine and cooking dinner with my family, doing our bedtime routine without worrying too much about whether or not anyone is up a bit late, and then, after the kids are asleep, watching whatever we've got on Netflix and eating popcorn and chocolate. (I have fantasies of date nights in which we actually go out for dinner, by ourselves, and don't have to deal with children's menus and crayons and diaper bags, but I just have to trust that will happen again sometime. In the meantime, I love our "dates" at home after the kids are both finally in bed.) Friday nights are free of planning tomorrow's lunches, packing diapers, making sure the breast pump is clean. Friday nights are just about being.

This was my first full week teaching after nine months off (although perhaps "off" isn't the right word, am I right, fellow mamas?). To be honest, for much of my maternity leave I was absolutely not looking forward to returning. Not because I don't love teaching -- I do -- but because of, I don't know, some internal identity crisis? Feeling like I don't really know what I want to be when I grow up? (I still don't know for sure.) Loving my time at home? School issues I choose not to write about on my public blog? But I decided that I'd give it another year and see how it felt, and now that I'm doing it again, I can safely and honestly say I made the best choice for me and for my family, at least for now. It's been so, so good. And I know it's September, and if you're a teacher you understand that there's a certain romance about September, and I might feel a little more worn-out and cranky in, say, January or March, but I really do just love this. I love the energy and passion of high school students. I love having conversations with them, and trying to plug them into the stuff I love. It's September, so I'm still excited and energized.

Recently someone said to me, "God, you're optimistic -- such a bleeding heart." Scoffed it at me, really. But what's the alternative? Bitterness and cynicism? Not having a heart at all?

***

The kids -- as in, my kids -- are happy and healthy and wonderful. Suzannah is thriving in preschool. She couldn't wait to go back. I so enjoyed staying home with my children, and I'm grateful we could make it happen for as long as we needed, but I'm equally grateful that Suzannah is around other kids again, every day. She scampers off as soon as we walk through the door. I chase her down and make her hug me good-bye, and she all but rolls her eyes. On our drive home in the afternoon, she chatters nonstop about everything they did that day, right down to what she ate for lunch. (Yesterday she said to me, "I only like green beans at daycare, Mommy. Not at home." The same holds true for vegetable soup. She eats that at daycare, but not for us.)

Isaac is still the happiest person I know, so cheerful and good-natured. He loves being around the other kids, and every time I pick him up, if he's not still napping after lunch, he's just hanging out and taking it all in with wide, totally interested eyes. He still grins when he sees me, though. (His big sister is occasionally too busy to acknowledge me immediately.) He is refusing to have anything to do with a bottle while I'm away, though (despite taking one from Matt without too much trouble every now and then). He's all, I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TRYING TO DO THERE AND YOU ARE CRAZY. However, he eats "real" food now, so he's certainly not starving. He makes up for his six boobless hours by working in an extra nursing session at night, and I'm totally okay with that. In the meantime, I pump bottles for him anyway, and my freezer stash is getting to the point where I may or may not have said to my husband, "SOMEONE in this house is going to drink that, even if your son doesn't. We are NOT wasting it." I'm still traumatized by the memory of pouring my entire freezer stash down the drain in December of 2006 when a horrific windstorm knocked out the power for several days. Yes, I actually cried. I can't bear the thought of wasting it all again FOR ANY REASON. (So, hey, Matt, I know you like your coffee black, but...)

(You're all wondering -- just a little -- if I'm serious, aren't you?)

***

It's Friday night, I know what I'm teaching next week, and I don't have any papers to grade. Tomorrow we're going to the Elliott Bay Book Company so I can get an autographed copy of Freedom by Jonathan Franzen (whatever, say what you want about him, he probably is an ass, but The Corrections is one of those books that I turn to when I want to study how writers write and I can't wait to read this one). We're going to the Elliott Bay Brewery for dinner. I'm going to clean my house, I'm going to hang with my family, I'm going to finish reading Mockingjay. I'm going to go for a run. I'm going to drink good coffee. I'm going to drink a gin-and-tonic or two. I'm going to write. I'm going to emerge from this weekend refreshed and whole. It's the eternal optimist in me.

And right now, I'm going to sign off, because there is a dance party happening in my family room and my four-year-old is waiting.

(One last thing: Am I the only one who is instantly transported back to 1989 when she sees the letters "TGIF"? Anyone else remember when Full House and Family Matters were on TV? T-G-I-F! ....Anyone?)

Running, Part II: My first 5k

It's now been just over a week since I ran my 5k for the Northwest Hope and Healing Foundation, so this update is terribly overdue. However, school started this week and I have been just a little bit busy; I know you'll all forgive me.

The short version: I ran the entire thing, and my time was 33:05. I wanted to run it in under 33 minutes, but I'm actually fairly pleased; my only official goal was to run the entire time, and I did. I also met my fundraising goal (the one I set less than three weeks before the race) thanks to some wonderful people.

It was a fantastic day.

The long(er) version: I woke up early, before the rest of my family. I threw on my shorts, toasted myself an English muffin, grabbed a banana for later, and headed out the door. Matt and the kids were going to meet me up in West Seattle, because the thought of getting all of us up, fed, dressed, and out the door by seven o'clock was far too stressful. I met Kyanne at the park and ride, and we hit the freeway around 7:15. The parade route would be closed starting at eight -- the race was at nine -- and we wanted to allow plenty of time for parking and registration. (I did, anyway. Kyanne came along because she is a very, very good friend. I'm pretty sure she just wanted to allow plenty of time to get coffee before the race.)

I probably talked my head off and annoyed her to death on the way up there; I was a little wound-up. And inexplicably nervous, which was probably sort of silly; it's not like I was being graded on this run. (Here I have nightmarish flashbacks of running the mile in gym class.) Anyway, I was all, "I secretly LOVE being out this early on weekend mornings! There's no traffic! It's so quiet!" And because Kyanne is a very good -- and generally very tolerant -- friend, she did not throw me out of her car and go back home to her warm bed.

We parked a couple of blocks from the waterfront. A few people were heading the same direction we were, and I immediately began sizing up the competition. (I know, it's not a competition, blah blah blah.) We wound up walking behind a group of fit looking girls with cute little pony tails and running clothes, and I think this was the point at which I turned to Kyanne and started bitching about how I don't have "good running hair." (I know. I sometimes can't imagine why she's friends with me. I think she asked me what "good running hair" even meant, and I was all, "UUNNHHH!")

We hunkered down at the Alki Bakery, which, blessedly, was right next to the starting line. Bliss! We could sit inside and stay warm right up until the race started. Our friend Becca met us there -- she hopped off the bus shortly before eight, right in front of the coffee shop -- and the three of us spent a pleasant, relaxing hour waiting for the race to begin.

...Except that's a lie. I'm sure Kyanne and Becca would have enjoyed a pleasant, relaxing hour, but I basically ruined their coffee/pastry time by talking a mile a minute and alternating between such reasonable things as, "I am going to be so depressed if I'm, like, the slowest runner" and "Those people clustering over by the starting line better WATCH OUT, because I am NOT going to be stuck behind anyone!" At some point I noticed all these hyper-looking skinny Runner Types jogging frenetically back and forth in the street.

"Why are they DOING THAT?" I demanded. "They are making me antsy."

"They're just warming up," Kyanne said. "They have no body fat." (Wow. Poor them.)

"Should I be warming up?" I said. "I don't really know how this works. I already ate a banana because my friend Julia is a REAL runner and she said that's what she does before a race. But -- should I be out there? Running around?"

Kyanne very patiently explained that "those" people are the ones who do all the races and they are Serious Runners. (We all know I am a "runner," not a Serious Runner.) I relaxed marginally, only to be set off by millions of other dumb little things for the next hour. I don't even remember what, but at one point Kyanne did have to say, "Shari, you need to reign in the crazy." And I hadn't even had coffee.

Shortly before nine, we noticed people clustering around the starting line in the middle of the street, so we went out to join them. Kyanne and Becca were walking together, but they very kindly hung out with me (I lined up with the "joggers") until the horn blew to signal the start of the race. I had never in my life been so excited to run; the adrenalin was surging and I hadn't even started.

I started my music -- I start all my runs listening to Lady Gaga these days -- and started jogging. Except the crowd was moving so slowly at first; I immediately tried to weave in between people so I could actually run and not just sort of bounce up and down in more or less the same place. I'm pretty sure I heard either Kyanne or Becca call after me, "Use your hallway elbows!" (You know what I mean if you teach in a crowded high school.) It took approximately one minute for me to make it to the actual starting line, and by that time, there was enough room to run.

I don't know if I can accurately describe the sheer elation that took over at that point. I had initially been worried about trying to run too fast in the beginning and getting tired later on, but I settled into a comfortable pace right away. The route took us right along the waterfront with a beautiful view of the Seattle skyline; the morning was gray and cool and felt absolutely perfect for a run.

The first half was effortless. I was flying. Not necessarily in terms of speed, although I quickly passed basically the entire "jogging" group (note to self: Next time, you can line up with the runners!) and I'm pretty sure none of them passed me again; it was, simply, one of the most exhilarating things I've ever experienced. Running with this huge group of people was incredibly energizing and inspiring. Almost immediately I began to notice people in a way I hadn't been able to do prior to the start of the race. I saw a family running together -- at least I assume they were a family -- wearing the same t-shirt with a woman's face and her name on the front. (Most of us wore the race shirts, but several teams wore their own customized shirts.) I saw countless people wearing pins bearing names and images of women they loved, women who have battled breast cancer. There were people -- adults, children, families -- lined up along the street, cheering. Some held signs. The power of that, and of all that collective motion, was immense.

I teared up several times during the first half-mile or so. I thought about my friend Dori, about my friend V's mother, about all the people who have shared their stories with me -- when you tell people you're running for breast cancer, or probably for anything, really, you're blessed with these stories if you take the time to listen. I thought about all the women who inspired a thousand runners to take to the street on a cool late-summer morning, and I'm telling you this: I didn't have to worry about my legs or my lungs or whether I'd chosen the right music, because I was carried on the wave of those stories, along with everyone else. It might sound dramatic, but it was one of the most profound moments of my life -- to recognize and honor the interconnectedness of people who share these stories. I mean, this is at the heart of why I read and write at all -- I tell my students all the time that it's about reminding ourselves of our humanity. It occurred to me last Sunday that I was running for the same reason.

The route returned along the sidewalk down the same street, so the people who reached the halfway point would be running back in the direction from which they came. This meant that as people turned around they were facing us, and as the first (impressively fast) runners turned and passed us, those of us still heading for the turnaround point burst into cheers.

When it was my turn to pass the halfway mark, I was excited to see people (and several little kids, which I just loved) holding out cups of water for us to grab as we ran by. Now, okay. I'm all proud of myself for running this race, but I actually jog at least three miles a couple of times a week, and I do not generally need water halfway through. However, I really wanted this to be as AUTHENTIC AS POSSIBLE, which meant that because it was a REAL RACE, I thought I should definitely grab a cup of water and chug it without stopping. Hello, validation! However, it turns out that gulping water while running requires more coordination than I was prepared for, so I wound up tossing the entire cup directly onto my chest. I might have caught a stray drop or two on my tongue, since my mouth was wide open. I really hope none of the onlookers with cameras caught that dignified little moment on film.

I started to feel a little tired probably around mile 2, but then I saw one of the little runner girls that had walked to the race just ahead of Kyanne and me. I was suddenly filled with the insatiable need to pass her (hello, more validation, even if it's only in my head! Where lots of things are!), so I picked up my pace a bit. I didn't sprint past her, because I wanted to finish ahead of her. I became absolutely fixated on this, which is ridiculous, but it worked, because I found the extra burst of energy I needed. I passed her, and I totally finished ahead of her. YEAH. It would have been so much more satisfying if I could have stopped to explain to her that I was winning, of course, but what can you do.

Seeing the finish line was pretty fabulous, too. Even better: seeing my husband on the other side, holding our children. Suzannah was dressed in capris and a pink sweatshirt and mittens, and Isaac just looked cheerful and gamely interested in all the commotion. Matt didn't manage to snap my picture as I crossed the finish line, but I probably didn't look quite as amazing as I did in my head, so this is really very okay. (I like to preserve the integrity of my fantasies as much as possible, thank you.) We sat inside the bakery and shared a chocolate chip cookie with Suzannah while we waited for Kyanne and Becca to finish. They arrived to find me bouncing up and down and announcing that I felt AWESOME and wanted to do it again RIGHT! THAT! SECOND! I totally could do it, and that would be a 10k! Hey! Wouldn't they like to do a 10k with me?

...No?

(Kyanne and Becca are seriously really good friends. I can't imagine how irritating I must be when I'm feeling that excited.)

The six of us went out for a celebratory brunch at Easy Street Records, where I ate the absolute best breakfast burrito I've ever had and drank one of the best mochas. And then I went home and took one of the most satisfying hot showers of my life. It was a really, really great experience and a wonderful day, and I absolutely want to do it again. My goal for next time is to beat my time. Considering I was the girl who wanted to stay home from school on days when we had to run the mile for gym class, I feel pretty okay about my first one, though.

I have no idea how I can possibly go for runs now without crowds cheering along the street, but I suppose I'll manage.

(Matt did get some pictures, by the way. I'll try to remember to post one or two of them soon.)