A year in the life

I thought a brief catch-up on our past year was in order seeing as it's been 15 months since Wildly Ever After was a regular thing. In the summer of 2013, I took part in the Northwest Indiana Writing Project (this national organization can be found in all 50 states in more than 200 places and has been challenging teachers to write and better teach writing for 40 years--check out the National Writing Project or our site here!) I felt as though I'd been asleep before joining the Writing Project. I was shaken to my core as far as what teaching writing looks like. We read every day, we wrote (A LOT!) every day, and we shared amazing lessons, activities, and enthusiasm for teaching. We also shared delicious food, lots of laughs, and compassion for one another. We became friends, something I didn't expect on day 1. Teachers from elementary, middle, and high schools, as well as a couple from area colleges/universities, joined together each day for four very intense weeks at Purdue Calumet. I came home with a binder jammed full of resources, a brain brimming with ways to revamp my teaching, and a heart kickstarted with a new passion to teach writing the right way. The Writing Project has lost a lot of its funding and is at jeopardy in our area, at least to continue in the same capacity it has been, but I would wholeheartedly recommend this to any teacher of any age at any level. Amazing experience!

2013-2014 marked my fourth year of teaching, and following the Writing Project, went on to be my best year yet. I finally felt like I'd found my groove. My anxiety from years past was almost  nonexistent. Things were, for the most part, really smooth. I loved how my Composition classes were transformed using my new writing skills. I once again directed the fall play, this time choosing two one-act comedies. They were so much fun, and I really enjoyed having two more manageable pieces that allowed more students to shine. The first was a modernized "hip-hop" version of Snow White. The second, and my personal favorite (only because it was a challenge and could have bombed terribly but didn't!) was a two-person, fast-paced piece about a made-up language called Unamunda. The brilliant writing first made Unamunda sound like complete nonsense, but by the end, the audience was easily following the snappy dialogue and understanding the fake language.  The piece is titled The Universal Language by David Ives--I've put a professional production video below (If you watch that one, imagine the orgasm part removed--I decided that was pushing the high school acceptability line too far!) My stars, a male sophomore (such a great actor already!) and a senior female, worked incredibly hard on their lines and did not disappoint. They received long standing ovations both nights. I was really proud of all of my actors, assistant directors, and stage crew, and I finished the season with renewed excitement to make the next fall play just as great. I haven't started looking for our piece(s) yet, but I'm leaning toward one-acts again as it went so well. Stay tuned for more details!

Just before Christmas (and the Polar Vortex aka the Winter from Hell) we decided to put our house on the market. We knew from the beginning that our first house, the Cable Street house, or, as Levi calls it, the yellow house, was just a starter, but we weren't sure when a move would happen. Our wish list for a new house included at least two bathrooms, four bedrooms, a garage, and a bigger yard. I was leaning toward the county as that's where I grew up; Zach was hoping to stay in the city as that's where he grew up AND, as a city firefighter, he wanted us to continue to have fast response times from fire and police. We found one in the city (my longtime friend Jen had lived there through high school, actually) that we thought was perfect. Beautiful details like built-ins and moldings, but the sellers didn't like our offer and we decided it wasn't the one. Zach and I have both said since then that their refusal was a blessing in disguise, because it forced us to broaden our search. Shortly afterward, we found our house. It was a flip, purchased by an entrepreneur from California who'd worked hard to restore it and who desperately wanted to get out of the snow and back to the west coast. The first time we saw the house it was cold, snowy, and dark outside. We came in the back door into the kitchen and I knew immediately. I remember looking at Zach and saying, "I love it." I could just tell it was meant to be ours. Every room after that continued to deepen my feeling that this was it. We saw another house right afterward that didn't even compare, and then we went to dinner with Zach's parents. I couldn't stop thinking about the house, and after seeing it again and showing my parents, we decided to make an offer. We were prepared for a counter offer and knew from the city house experience how we'd felt with a difficult counter, but miraculously our offer was accepted. Shortly thereafter the yellow house sold to a young family. We moved into the blue house (Levi STILL calls it "me boo house" after all this time) over spring break and handed over the keys to the yellow house two weeks later. It was a strangely smooth process overall, another sign that this was meant to be our forever home. We absolutely love it, and we hope to add another baby to our family in the near(ish) future.


This summer continues to be one of the best I can remember. For the first time in years we don't have anything scheduled--no clubs, classes, camps, or family trips. Levi and I have been spending our days going for walks or bike rides (Zach bought me a great bike and toddler seat for Mother's Day),  watching Disney Jr., blowing bubbles, swimming, learning letters, playing trains, and coloring. Sometimes I'll go to the Y while he plays with a babysitter. Zach often does side work when he's not at the fire station, and he is very involved with the Union. Norah will be going into second grade this year (hard to believe). She can ride her bike without training wheels now and got a big girl bike at the beginning of summer for keeping all A's throughout first grade. She and Levi  adore one another. Their favorite game currently is to play Mommy and Daddy. They take care of Norah's baby dolls, sometimes asking me to babysit so they can go to work or out to dinner. It's adorable.

Levi is napping at the moment, so I'm off to catch up on my Bravo television or read! I'm trying to appreciate every summer moment I get for the next few weeks.

Wild in New Digs

Long time no see, blogosphere! It's been more than a year, actually, since I've posted, but I haven't been silent online. I'm still quite active on Facebook, Twitter (where I get my news, fashion and general entertainment but rarely tweet anything myself), Pinterest, and my new favorite, Instagram. I took on the 100 Happy Days challenge via Instagram (check out the challenge here) and LOVE seeing moments in the lives of others. I've discovered some really beautiful photos this way and appreciate the strictly visual quality of the site. Blogging, however, is the social medium closest to my heart, I'd say, because it's writing. Writers write. I haven't in probably a year for many reasons, but I'm ready to start again. I've missed it. I've missed the way my thoughts fly faster than my hands can express them, one idea barely formed before it weaves its way into something entirely different. It's almost like I can visualize the words as they're streaming. It truly is art.

I went for a walk today, no stroller, no tugging dog on a leash, just me and my thoughts. It was a perfect day. Sun shining, light breeze, perfect temperature. I went to the local park which had recently been mowed. Freshly mown grass is probably my favorite scent in the world, which, coupled with the rare alone time and the weather, took me to my zen. I don't know if I prayed, meditated, or just sorted through my thoughts, but I finished my walk feeling calmer than I had in days. It hit me that that kind of catharsis comes from writing, too. It's why I used to fill notebooks when I was younger, challenging myself to write six pages one day, then eight the next. I'm hesitant to commit to blogging again because I suffer from a crippling fear of critics. I imagine every word I write from the perspective of whoever might read it and I panic. Catharsis is not for those people, though, it's for me. I just read today in Women's Health a great reminder--it's none of my business what other people think of me. Easier said than done, but I'm going to try to embrace that notion and start writing again. Because I want to.

In the past year, our wild family has moved. We sold our house in March and moved in to our "forever home" over spring break. It's a renovated farmhouse just outside the La Porte city limits. I love that aspect of it because I grew up in the county. It's quieter, more spacious, and just feels right. We live near a great subdivision, perfect for walks, and everyone has been so welcoming. I forgot what it's like to have neighbors who smile and wave. The woman across the street baked us cookies our first week! We luckily don't have to redo much as it was essentially gutted before we bought it, but we are slowly making it our own. I've loved looking for pieces that fit the style--I'll devote future blogs to our endeavors!



Our new digs! This was taken the day we closed, so imagine more landscaping and general homey-ness.

If you want to follow any of my other social media activities, you can find me on Instagram @ekanney, on Twitter @elkanne, and on Pinterest @elkanne. Thanks for reading after such a long hiatus!

Who you calling buttface?

Zach and the kids are watching "ParaNorman" right now while dinner cooks. Losing an hour today has definitely screwed with our schedule. Luckily, Norah went to a three-hour birthday party this afternoon and ran and screamed enough to tire her out properly. I've been grading my students' mini poetry portfolios, baking cookies, doing laundry, and finding every random task to be done around the house. It's basically impossible for me to sit down and just grade for any period of time. You'd think I'd use my plan period more efficiently and grade like a maniac in a quiet, empty classroom, but by fourth hour I'm dying for some caffeine, a brain break, or have cleaning/organizing/copying to do that takes precedence. I've said it before, and I'll say it again--someone needs to find grading fairies and send one my way. I'd like a spunky girl fairy if I get a choice. She could sit on my shoulder during class and say the snarky comments I so often think into my ear. And she could grade. Obviously.

This has been one of those weekends where we haven't done a lot, but it feels like we've been really busy. I think that's called normal family life. We took Levi to a kids' hair salon yesterday for his second official haircut. His hair is stick straight and grazes his ears and neck; I thought I could trim here and there and keep up with it, but he sees scissors and immediately turns into a flapping bird. We thought the salon would distract him--it's a kids' dreamland. Locks of Fun in Valparaiso (check out their cute site here) features vehicles for seats, individual televisions with choice of cartoons, a Dum-Dum distraction, and a post-cut snack of popcorn and juice box. Levi dug the joint, but he did not enjoy any sort of combing/cutting/wetting/general movement near his left ear. We even plied him with dual Dum-Dums to occupy both hands and that still wasn't enough. Dad had to hold his head still while I wielded his sticky sucker-holding hands. He never really cried though, just alternated between his newly acquired Gremlin growl and screech owl call. He may not be verbally communicative, but he's certainly vocal. Here's the boy:

Before any weapons were wielded, he did some cruising.

Punk

His best James Dean

The theme for this post came to me during dinner last night. Norah was telling me about a recent recess where two of her girl friends wouldn't play with her. According to her version, she walked up to them normally to ask if they wanted to play, and one of the two said, "You're being a real buttface today. We don't want to play with you." Norah was hurt (no one likes being called buttface) and confused, because she couldn't figure out what she'd done wrong. I tried to explain to her that A) girls are moody and sometimes choose to ostracize someone just because they have the power to and B) we often treat those we love the worst. I told her how horrible Uncle Ryan and I used to be to each other when we were kids, and Zach said he and Ug (his brother's weird uncle nickname) would get in wicked fights, too. It really made me think about the nature of friendships and frenemies. Why is it an accepted truth that kids are sometimes mean to each other? Why did both Zach and I kind of brush away the fact that siblings fight? If I had been truly present during the conversation I could have used it as an opportunity to teach her how things should  be instead of just how they are. I don't want my children to scream, "I hate you!" and slam their bedroom doors, no matter how aggravated they are at one another. I don't want Norah to make anyone feel left out at school. I don't want her to pick up the habits of calling her friends buttface, or any other negative term for that matter. It's sort of like how some older girls call each other bitch because they're "reappropriating the term." That doesn't work for me. I don't want to be called a bitch ever. There's a huge difference between a strong, confident woman who knows herself and what she deserves and a bitch. One of my coworkers and close friends falls on the former side of that distinction; she is tough but loving, organized and firm but creative and fun, and for anyone to call her a bitch is an insult. I aspire to be more like her, so if that makes me a bitch wannabe, so be it, but I think she's amazing. And strong and confident and put together AND nice. Those things are not mutually exclusive, and I am going to try to instill that in Norah as she continues to brave the playground.

The whole buttface debacle of 2013 also reminded me of my own recent name-calling experience. For the sake of preventing further gossip and unnecessary drama, I'm going to be intentionally vague. Let's just say someone from our past has an issue with our present and continues to run his or her mouth all over town about us. The problem is this town (like most) isn't that big, and people talk. A lot. Inevitably we have many people in common with this trash-talker who then in turn talk to us about the talk. Most of the time it's laughable, particularly because this person acts as though our existence is a non-issue. Clearly it's not if we play such a huge role in this person's mind. For my own comfort, I'd like to request that my name be removed from this person's mouth. As always, however, Zach advises that we continue to ride the high road and not give this person anything more. It's sad to me that buttface-ing does not go away with age. The specifics are unclear (and don't really matter) but I do know a "she sucks at life" was uttered. Really? That's the best you can do? My "bitchy" coworker and I have turned that into a mantra when we're having bad days. I tell her she sucks at life when something isn't going right and then we laugh it off and move on. Petty people just aren't worth the energy it takes to confront them. I still don't like name-calling, but I guess a life-sucker is better than some things I could have been called.

Here's a photo dump from the last few months. I hadn't realized it'd been so long since I'd used my camera, but there are some gems from Leslie and Alex's weddings, Levi's second Christmas, and Norah's first year as a cheerleader. Enjoy the wild life, and try sucking at life (but not name-calling).

The bridal party for the Martinsen wedding (bride is centered with blue zip-up)

Halloween. Duh.

Norah's 6th bithday!



Norah's first "friends party", with buddy Bella



Probably the best gift ever--this accompanied a framed and autographed photo of Johnny Depp and came wrapped with twine just like a pirate would do it.



Checking out one of Santa's deliveries, his very own work bench.

Now we're all out of chronology, but this was Norah's first day of kindergarten.

Most of her Tiny Mite squad--Go Slicers!

"NORAH!"

Our perky little thing

And lastly, my gorgeous best Leslie on her wedding day!

From X

Two weekends ago I accompanied a motivated, talented young student to a poetry slam. Our school does not have a slam team, nor do we have an exceptionally large hip hop culture, but he sought out the event and asked me if I would be his coach. I didn't really know what I was doing, but I was so proud of him for going after something he was interested in I knew we would figure it out together. We met once or twice a week to work on his writing and delivery. The experience seemed quite cathartic for him (as poetry often is) and I was finding some lost passion for teaching writing.

The bout (as poetry slam competitions are called) was at Columbia College. D was the only individual student to compete, and he performed toward the end of the day. I could tell he was incredibly nervous, but he got up on that stage and completely rocked his poem. He scored pretty high, but as they say, it's not about the points but about speaking your truth. Several students high fived him on his way back to our seats, and I could see his sense of accomplishment on his face. I was beyond proud.

Our new trimester began last week, and I decided to begin the course with a mini, adapted unit on poetry slams. I'm borrowing ideas from the team curriculum provided by Young Chicago Authors (check out their blog here for a glimpse into the amazing connection hip-hop and poetry can have for young people) and working in poems from our literature book. More than that, I'm attempting to get students to share their truth through the transformative, freeing power of writing. Inevitably, several students (often male) laugh at the poetry we read and write the shortest, most surface poems possible to suffice the requirements of the assignment. There's little I can do about that, but I continue to try to expose them to a variety of pieces that might affect them somehow. Another facet of this unit happened by sheer coincidence.

At Columbia College, Levi and I were roaming about the Student Commons area entertaining ourselves between performances. On a public bulletin board an anonymous letter caught my eye. I so wish I had had my phone with me so I could have taken a photo of this letter, but the gist of it was someone hurting, struggling for hope. He (I've assumed the author is male on nothing more than my gut reaction) described being diagnosed with ADD in his youth, his grandmother's passing, his parents' divorce, and his fear that there's nothing more than that pain in his future. The letter ended with a question: Have you felt this way? Please write back.

The bottom of the printed page had tear-off tabs with an email address. I knew reading this letter that I couldn't ignore it, so I grabbed a tab and stuffed it in my pocket. I wasn't sure what I would do with it, but I sensed an amazing opportunity to connect with my new students. My second hour, due to the good vibes I got from day one, became the guinea pig for this project. I described the letter to them and asked what they thought we should do. We decided to send a basic, unassuming email to the writer asking to know more. Last night, we got our first response.





"Dear Mrs. K's 10th grade 2nd hour English class,

A dream:

I am lying the basement of my house.  This is where I should have realized I was dreaming, since I live in a ramshackle apartment on the far north side, and the house I was “in” was a modern California two story.  It was the house from Paranormal Activity: 3, really. That movie was mediocre. 

I am lying in the basement of my house on an air mattress, but I cannot sleep.  I have a feeling that something is wrong, that bad things are happening and I can neither see them nor fix them.  I move the pillows from the head of the bed to the foot of the bed and try to tell myself that nothing is wrong.  That it is ok to go to sleep.  But the clawing sensation in the pit of my stomach—no, deeper than that—in the marrow of my bones, will not stop. 

When I was still engaged, young and stupid and overly excited while living with my high school sweetheart, we had a cat named Zombie that we got from a shelter. 

I am lying in the basement of my house on the opposite end of the bed now, and my cat Zombie is walking around, very aloof and catlike.  She is calm and composed. I tell myself that this means that everything is fine.  That is something was wrong, she would be upset.  I settle into the bed, content and ready to fall asleep.

Upstairs there is noise.  I stand up and head up the stairs, knowing but not knowing that everything is going to change.  Do you know that feeling?  Where you understand instinctually that bad things are right around the corner, yet you are oblivious to what they could possibly be.  I have this tattoo, on my leg, from a Bright Eyes song.  The quote it is from is “It’s like walking out of a door only to discover it is a window.”


When I get up stairs, there are two teenagers robbing me.  They are probably your age.  They are robbing me, but I cannot see what they are taking.  Possibly they are taking nothing and just using my phone.  This is a thought that crossed my mind.  There is a TV in the corner of this house, but they seem not to care.  I grab a pint glass, a tall, curving glass they reserve for low quality pilsners, smashing the rim so that I am left with a jagged weapon.  There is someone, possibly my father, who is in the bedroom upstairs.  Perhaps it is not my house.  I try to yell for help, but I make no sound.  I try to yell again, and there is the hint of a whisper caught in my throat.  In my head, I demand that my vocal cords do as I say, that they scream loud enough for someone, anyone, to hear me and help me. To save me.  The whisper turns into a mumble.  The mumble into a moan.  As the kids are running out of my house through a broken window, I throw my makeshift weapon, my mind aching with the demand for noise and the subtle cracking of a shift in reality, and as the glass misses and shatters against a wall, I emit a final yell.

I wake up in my bedroom in my apartment, screaming at the top of my lungs at my ceiling.  I am alone.  I am terribly alone.  My throat aches.  I have probably been screaming. 
This dream refuses to leave me today.  Maybe not the dream itself, but the waking up screaming.  I am not so sure this is normal, though that word has never really applied to my behavior before. 

I am spending the weekend, a long weekend, away.  Away from a romantic relationship that seems to be getting away from me, away from jobs that repress my creative talent, and away from the stagnancy that exists in a meticulously scheduled life.

Please write back,
X"




 A million thoughts run through my mind upon reading that. Part of me is amazed at that person's talent. Another part of me is skeptical that this isn't real, that perhaps it's an experiment in a psychology class to see who responds, or it's an assignment in a poetry seminar to try to establish a poetic dialogue. My students are excited about the mystery, and several of them are moved by the author's pain, so I've decided regardless of its intent, we're going to use it for good in our classroom. Tomorrow's assignment will be to respond, in narrative poetry form, to X. I'm hopeful about where this might take my second hour. Updates to come.

I need some help with my fifth hour, though. I already feel completely underwater with them. They are rowdy, loud, disruptive, and off-topic. It's so difficult to rein them in and get them all to listen to instructions. I feel like I've already lost control and it's only day 5. I don't know if I have the power to crack down and do what needs to be done to fix this. I feel like it's my fault that I'm in this position. I've felt sick several times the last few days thinking about this class, and I know that isn't right. I should be calm, cool, and collected, and refuse to let their behavior dictate how I feel. It's my classroom. But why do I feel like it's not?

Coffee grounds may be my arch nemesis

One of my favorite activities is to pick up trash with my bare hands in the middle of the night after being awoken from a dead sleep by a diaper-carrying lab mix. Today's opposite day, by the way.

Obviously I HATE picking up trash in the middle of the night, bare-handed or not. Doing it without gloves certainly makes it go faster. Pippa has adopted a new fun hobby of knocking over the kitchen trash can and then destroying its contents all over the linoleum and part of the already-disgusting living room carpet. I'm the one she nudges afterward when she wants to go outside and presumably vomit all of the toxic, expired, and otherwise disgusting things she ingested. So last night, at 12:45, I was again picking up banana peels, diapers, and scattered leftovers. I've gotten faster at the clean-up and was able to get back to bed easily afterward, but I still cannot find a good way to get coffee grounds out of carpet. One good thing to come of this puppy problem is that I now mop the kitchen and vacuum the living room before the coffee is even made each morning. Any suggestions for how to stop this bad habit? When I remember, I empty the trash can before bed or put the entire thing in the basement, out of her reach. I don't think that's the way to happily live with two children and a dog, however. Wise dog-owners, please advise :)

In other news, Zach turns 30 next month (!). We're going on another huge Kanney/Casto family trip to Disney World for spring break, but this time we're flying. I've never flown with a baby, so I'm prepping to make that process as smooth as possible. Any advice on that front would also be greatly appreciated.

Levi had his first dentist appointment last week, and while he refused the bubblegum test (extrapink means plaque build-up), he reluctantly let the doctor check out his 6 teeth and received a good report on hygeine. Our next task is to get rid of bottles (he will use a sippy cup for juice or water, but refuses to drink milk that way and fusses and tantrums until we give in... I know that's more on us than him, but I just don't know if any of us are ready quite yet). My goal is by 18 months. After that, we're getting rid of the pacifier. At his 15 month check-up last week we found he is still in the same percentiles he has been for months: 20th for weight, 50th for height, 75th for head circumference. He's like a baby anorexic. OK, not really--doctor says he's totally healthy. He does somewhat resemble the lollypop starlet with that giant noggin, though.

Norah has lost her two front bottom teeth. She is working on first grade sight words in kindergarten now, and she's trying to decide if she's ready to get her ears pierced. She is FINALLY sleeping in her own bed at her mom's house (if you know me at all you know how triumphant that is). She has been waiting for this Disney trip for a year, and it has proven to be good motivation to make her drink milk every day. She is less than two inches from the ride height requirement at this point, and I think we'll fudge it with shoes or a high ponytail if need be. She has been talking about the Tower of Terror too long to miss it.

The novel writing is at a standstill, but I'll get back to it. Soon. I'm also looking into the It Works! Body Wrap company. A coworker is just starting her business and I'm definitely intrigued. I'm also a huge skeptic by nature, married to an even bigger skeptic, so I'm apprehensive about committing. I'm hosting a party in two weeks, though, because I'm excited about the products and definitely want to support my friend's bravery and new venture. I want to explore the company more thoroughly, try some more wraps--my one foray yesterday yielded a slightly tighter tummy with more results to come--and see what my gut tells me. Additional income is definitely a necessity for our family, especially with our future plans. Zach wants to move, I want Baby K2, and there are projects and vacations on the back burner as always.

Levi is currently napping and I've gotten hooked on Fox's "The Following," so I'm off to catch up on chapter 4. Once he's up we're taking Grandma out for her birthday to a fancy Olive Garden date :)

Ciao, fellow wilds!

One week down, several thousand words to go

So the 50,000 word count seems a lot bigger now that the writing has begun. Math whiz that I am, I realized that I'd need to be cranking out roughly 1,500 words per day to reach my quota by month's end. As of today, the 7th day, I should be upwards of 10,500 words. I am currently sitting at 1,475. Oops.

Really, though, I am proud of those 1,475 words. It is daunting to get started on such a huge undertaking as a novel, especially when I've never written anything of this scale AND my prewriting consisted of a 20-minute session of haphazard note-taking. I took solace in the fact that J.K. Rowling plotted Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix on a piece of notebook paper, creating a very brief plan for the fifth book in such an amazing series. Crazy to some, but it turned into gold. I don't presume I'll be nearly half as successful as Ms. Rowling, but it is nice to know my lack of organizing planning puts me in such esteemed company.

In other news, I made dinner last night. Before you think I'm just one of those bloggers with nothing of substance to say, look back to my very first post and you'll remember that I do not cook. I began my summer with the goal of trying one new recipe per week, and by summer's end I think I'd made maybe 3 meals total. I'm trying more often, though, and with much less trepidation. Take last night's creation, for instance. I'd seen a commercial for Unsloppy Sloppy Joe's, and I thought that was a perfect idea for kids. I decided to try it. I snagged some ground turkey, sloppy joe mix, Grand's Flaky Biscuits, and steamable peas. The end result was quite tasty, but certainly not as perfect-looking as the little pockets on TV. For one thing, the commercial is clearly advertising crescent rolls, a key ingredient I somehow forgot to use. I was able to flatten the Grand's and attempt to fold them into little triangle pouches, but meat kept falling out, and half of them unfolded during the baking process. Still, it was a nice take on the traditional Sloppy Joe, and we were able to spoon the remaining meat over the baked pockets for a not so sloppy fork and knife meal instead. We discovered that Levi loves peas during our family dinner, so that was another win. He fed himself at least 50 peas, one at a time, and looked quite pleased doing so.

At school, I'm gearing up for this year's Academic Superbowl. I am the English team coach, and we are studying Greek drama and epic poetry (one of my favorite topics). We're working with Homer's The Odyssey, in its entirety, and the story of Antigone. I teach a shortened version of Antigone to my sophomores, so I'm doubly excited about this. The only tricky part is I lost all but one member of my team to graduation last year. I'm on a mission to recruit, and I slammed out a kooky little poster this afternoon with Homer, a word bubble, and a dorky English take on the ubiquitous "Call Me Maybe." Pretty proud of myself for that little gem.

Anyway, I have the Word document of my novel currently open, so I should probably stop writing this and start writing that. Have a fantastic Monday, everybody, and GO IRISH!

Guess What I'm Recapping!

All of the news sources are doing it--looking back on 2012 and creating best of, worst of, and never want to see/hear again lists. As we near resolution declarations, I thought to look back at our wild 2012 and, more importantly, gear up for what's to come in 2013. In brief fashion, because few care to relieve my life, here is our 2012: the year the world didn't end.



In 2012 Levi became a mover. First he crawled, then at 11 months, walked, and now he can dance to music ("Gangnam Style" is his favorite) and run. Levi also learned to climb and has become quite resourceful with using objects of various heights and sturdiness (read: the dog) to reach his desired destinations. Levi says Daddy, Mommy, and some form of Gooey which we think stands for Norah or Pippa, depending. He can high five, billy goat, and give kisses. He consistently and without problems sleeps in his crib for at least 10 hours each night. The worst part of his year was just last week with his first (and we hope his last) trip to Riley Children's Hospital for dangerously low platelet counts. Zach and I had never considered what we'd do if one of our children were sick, and a parents' worst fears flashed before us for those 20 hours from doctor's phone call at 8 p.m. to hematologist's confirmation that all is well the following 3 p.m. Neither of us had ever been so scared. The situation, as horrible and sudden as it was, also ended up being one of the year's biggest blessings. Levi is perfectly fine, and Zach and I became much closer through the ordeal. I was reminded how precious our life is, and I have a renewed determination not to take anything for granted.

Norah blossomed more than we thought an already creative, outspoken little girl could. She graduated from preschool, joined Pop Warner Tiny Mites, started kindergarten, learned to read, and became a more confident and intelligent individual. In the last two weeks she has challenged herself to sleep with only a lava lamp on (instead of an actual lamp) and continues to eat crazy amounts of meat and vegetables in the hopes that she'll grow the remaining two inches needed to reach Disney World ride height requirements. She is bound and determined to go on the Tower of Terror with her cousins in March when all 13 of us trek to Orlando for spring break. We've already decided to pad her shoes with socks if need be, but it's cute to watch her set goals. 2012 also brought a renewed belief in Santa and the magic of Christmas.

As for me, this past year I stepped out of my comfort zone (majorly) and took on direction of a school play. I finally feel in control and confident in my classroom. The state's changes to evaluations have shaked that confidence, but I'm choosing to focus on what I can control and remain positive. I've also taken my future into my own hands by FINALLY committing to writing my novel. I've counted a novel as my biggest goal since I was 11 and read Harriet the Spy for the first time, but I've never ventured into the realm of actually doing anything toward writing one. A month ago I crafted my main character and the basic rough storyline. I also decided to move National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo, which is November annually) to January for myself. By January 31, I will have written at least 50,000 words. Now that you've read that last sentence, it has to happen. If you see me or talk to me at all during January, ask me how my writing is going. One industrious student has committed to writing his novel with me, so I'm hoping the responsibility of inspiring a 15-year-old will be enough to keep me honest. I really am excited about the process, though. The 31 day deadline forces me to get out of my head, turn off my perfectionism, and literally get the words out of my body. After that, the hard work (for me, at least) will be done. Revising and editing make me smile and dance with joy, so I could do that for the rest of 2013 happily. Writing the book is the hurdle. So, here is my official 2013 resolution: complete NaNoWriMo and then be proud of myself. I just added that second part, and then thought to mark the follow-up goal, because I realize while typing this that that may actually be more difficult than doing the work. I'll let you know how the entire process goes, and you let me know that you expect me to follow through on something for a change. Teamwork, kids!

As for the rest of the upcoming year, we're planning a joint anniversary trip with two other couples for the fall, we want to take Norah and Levi to a lot of fun, educational, memory-making places, and we want to really focus on saving money so we can start planning for Wild Baby No. 3. That also includes dreams for a larger house, with more than one bathroom, a garage, and a larger yard, as well as "scheduling" that baby's arrival as best we can so I don't have to take off a lot of time during the school year. I know you can't really schedule a baby, and I know we'd be ecstactic whenever God delivers our next bundle of joy (me, moreso than Zach--he'll only be ecstatic if that arrival is a ways off), but planning works for our family so we're going to keep doing it.

I'm off to enjoy the rest of the day with the Wild fam. Zach and I got to sleep in today (which NEVER happens) as the kids slept at their grandparents' house, and then I did Bethenny Frankel's yoga DVD. Feeling very centered and zen-like :) I also have a new book, Gone Girl, I'd really like to dig into today. When I really look at it, 2012 was a good year. I have the feeling, however, that 2013 will be much better.

Happy New Year, readers! See you next year.