Mallory’s birthday this year came and went, for me, in a flash. A slow-moving, dragging out all day, must get a ton of stuff moved to my new house flash. If that’s how flashes work. She celebrated it with friends who came to visit from St. Louis and, while I called her early enough in the day, I didn’t really get to spend much time with her until she dropped by the new house to see it for the first time. It was kind of a “Hey, Happy Birthday, kid! Momma bought a new house! One you can’t live in! Thanks for coming out of the birth canal all squishy and cute, though!”

Being the tornado that she is, Mallory stepped into her role as interior designer and finally I got to take advantage of her college degree. She whipped everyone into action including my sister and two nephews who came to help. “Put this here.” and “Books can go there, but where are the boxes of pictures?” and “Why haven’t you painted this and put on knobs like you know you should, Mom? That would be cute!” At the very least, my living room and kitchen are livable at this point. She knows, after living with me her entire life, that when my home is a crazy mess then my head is a crazy mess. No one wants any of this crazy mess I tell you.

She walked through the house nodding her approval of paint colors and checked the light switches and checking the space between the kitchen island and the refrigerator. All passed muster. This is what she’s always done, really. In fact, in the house she spent most of her time growing up in, she managed to convince her brothers that they should all switch rooms at one time or another. Mallory is one to scope out a situation, scanning and surveying properly, and then swooping in to get shit done. She, more than any of the other kids, remembers our first apartment when I went away to college (and lived in the married housing section) and what a little roach box that was. One bedroom and the world’s tiniest appliance kitchen. Luckily, the refrigerator there was just her height (I could see over the top of it easily and put in a shelf to make the most of the space) and she could reach the milk to get herself cereal in the morning if I was still sleeping. One morning, when she was about 3, she let me sleep in and when I woke up I noticed a clean bowl and spoon in the sink.

Me: Mallory? Did you clean your dishes? Is this from your cereal this morning?

Mallory: No, I just had cereal. I didn’t clean.

Me: Then why is this bowl so spotless?

Mallory: I dunno.

Later, I learned that she hadn’t gotten the milk out to use with her cereal but instead grabbed a carton of heavy cream. Apparently, she liked it because she licked that sucker spotless. I laughed and laughed until my side ached from thinking about how my little girl must have devoured that creamy, rich cereal that morning.

In that tiny little box of an apartment we had to share everything. We slept together for the first few years of her life so that now, even at 24, she is comfortable jumping under the covers with me and chit-chatting until it’s time for her to go.

And it is. Time for her to go. She bought her first house along with her longtime boyfriend, Kolin, and they are managing to create a lovely, creative home that is open and inviting to their friends and family. Today, in fact, is her brother Mason’s graduation and she is hosting the party for him. It will be a fun-filled day I’m sure. We’ve come a long way since then and I’m more proud of her than I can adequately express. Even trying to list the things that make her incredible is daunting so I will leave this belated birthday post for Mallory with a picture I stole from her friend, Claire. I saw it on Facebook yesterday and realized that it summed her up, complete with the very incredible friends she’s made over her lifetime.

I think maybe they were on a fishing expedition and I can only imagine the great night they must have had to go outside in a kiddy pool and pretend to cross the sea. It doesn’t really matter. Mallory has managed to grow into a person I’m proud to know let alone raised. Her magic touch in life is a stunning entity to behold and the people she keeps in her life are no less amazing.

Devin, Paul, Tiffany, May, Marianne, Claire, and Mallory. Having a good time in college and NOT even being drunk when they do it.

The best part about writing a blog is that it’s a time capsule for your life. A narcissistic time capsule, yes, but something that marks your growth and change nonetheless. Actually, I still think that Jay has the best tagline for a blog because it sums it up so very well: “Blogging is just masturbating without the mess.”

January

We rang in the new year with the 44th President of the United States. I also began referring to myself as “Obama Black” instead of “mixed” or “mulatto” because I have often argued that I will not be “black” just for the sake of convenience on my part or on the part of anyone else who wants to use me. It was a cold, cold day in Washington but a bright, happy day in my heart.

February

During the Love Month when I was singularly sad that Valentine’s Day would come and go without a special someone with which to share it. Instead, I dedicated it to myself and learned to love things about myself. A short recap: I love that I’m nice. That’s it. NICE. It’s nice to be nice. It’s totally underrated. See that smile? It’s the smile of a NICE PERSON.

March

It may seem silly to some people, but I did something very brave and cut off a ton of my hair. Then, I started doing something so tragically hipster: I bought an iPhone and started taking pictures of my new, short hair.

April

I turned 456 months old. That’s 38 in people years. It was more fun to give that in months just to watch people do the mental math. My friend, Tracy, made me some new pretty earrings for my birthday that I could wear with my new short hair. I love all my pretty, dangly earrings. 

May

As if it’s not fun enough to turn 38, my eldest child Mallory turned 23 and I wrote a post to honor her since she’s known me longer (and better) than just about anybody else in my life. Go ahead. Do your mental math again. I’ll wait. I’m totally used to this.

June

My only living grandparent has always been my Gramma Maggie. She passed away in June. 

July

After returning home from an emotionally-charged BlogHer (for me, not everyone) I was feeling very sad about working in a poverty-stricken school and got really sick of these blowhards who think everything is owed to them. A little smackdown ensued and I still don’t feel bad for calling them out on their bad behavior. 

August

Due to that big mouth of mine in July I got a call from NPR to do not one but two radio interviews with them. As an aside, that led to people here in Springfield contacting me and saying, “OMG, you’re like national. Who are you?”

September

My other daughter, Maddie, came to spend her first birthday with us. I placed her for adoption as an infant in an open adoption (see, Karen, how I say placed and not gave away?) and then she contacted me and is a part of our family in the most unique way. This is our new family picture with all four of my kids which we took the first time Maddie visited. Dare I say, the first time she came home? Yes. I do.

October

This is the month where I put my money where my mouth was. Or, if you will, I put my mouth-that-knows-how-to-ask-for-donations where my purse is. Wait. That didn’t make sense. Basically, I got a purse drive organized for the girls at my school and it still touches me today to know of the amazing kindness of the internet. It’s a beautiful thing to recognize how many friends I have out there who want to make a difference. 

November

Once again, I joined Mrs. Kennedy and her quest to post writing every day of the month for NaBloPoMo. My own favorite thing I did during November was write a bucket list of things I really want in life. I think this holds me accountable as we usher in the New Year and I plan on coming back to it as it fits into the things I get done. 

December

My friend Janie and I reconnected. Apparently, we also eat suckers together. Blow Pops rock.

Have a safe New Year’s Eve and a satisfying 2010. It’s been fun sharing this with you and you make it all worth it. You’re all pretty fantastic and I think you have the best smile. Really. You do. Is that from all the flossing you do, because wow, you really do have some awesome chompers there. I really do love you guys.

Over the last few months my blog has been “discovered” by the locals. And boy, are they restless. By that I mean that they mention reading my blog when I see them. Some are old friends, acquaintances, co-workers, and parents of my students. Ever since our local newspaper mentioned my writing there are some new readers here. WELCOME. I SEE YOU ON MY SITE METER. But this isn’t about the technology I use to see who reads me and where they are from in the world. That is, I suppose, the funny part to me. I have readers in New Zealand, Australia, England, and even the island of Hawaii (Hi, Kate!) who have been with me for years and watched the process of growing and changing and sometimes being a complete dolt who is hard-headed and can’t learn a lesson the first time it’s presented to me. For those faithful readers I am eternally humbled and grateful. You’re with me and I can’t quite express how much that means.

Since local folks have started reading me, however, I get some questions that I’ve never gotten before. “Don’t you get in trouble for writing a blog?” and “How are you able to write about your work in a public school without getting shut down?” and “How do you get away with that?” Even when a local reporter found me and started reading back through my archives (yeah, I saw you spend an entire weekend checking out my writing and I’m impressed because even I don’t go back and read stuff I’ve written for over 30 hours! But really! I’m honored!) he offered his opinion on my writing. I quote: “She’s also about as honest as one can get about one’s life and job without crossing the line and getting fired.” Sure, I know I’m “edgy” as a new, local reader just pointed out to me in an email. In fact, I’m having this pissing contest going on right now in the comment section of someone else’s blog on an issue and I’m certain the blog writer will ask me to stop commenting because I can’t hide the snark. The comebacks come too easily at times and that is, I have learned, very hard for some people to take. But again, I’m toeing the line and trying to be respectful of his space. 

My students are reading me more frequently, too. They tell me this at school. Some of them wonder why I even like to write. Mostly, I respond to them that they hate writing right now in school because it’s required and getting feedback in the comment section is FAR BETTER THAN THE WRATH OF A TEACHER’S RED PEN. I’ll bet if they got responses to their thoughts the way a blog offers they’d be more likely to open up and find their voice. It took years to find mine. What I learned was that I like the short, choppy sentences. I enjoy leaving a one-sentence paragraph to complete a thought. And I realized that it’s actually OKAY to begin a sentence with the word “and”. It’s also true that I like to use the caps lock when I’m pushing a point heavily across the page. 

What if I stopped writing about the anecdotes on my blog? Would you stop reading? I certainly don’t discuss too much of my personal life online that I can’t put out there for criticism. Does that mean I’ll never discuss my adopted daughter again? I know from hearing from people that it’s healing and refreshing to listen to someone honestly say, hey, this is my life and I’m learning lessons here and I’m screwing it up and making big mistakes but I’M LEARNING. I KEEP LEARNING. To my close friends I say that they know 100% of me and writing about your life and getting to the heart of the matter is sometimes not for public consumption. My guess is that I put about 10% of my life “out there” but that 90% of it is for me and my family and friends. You don’t get to comment on everything. That’s the beauty of this. Lots of blogging friends write far more personal stuff that, yes, I’m grateful for but, no, I wouldn’t share about myself unless it felt right and no one would get hurt in the process. That lesson? Already learned years ago. 

If I stopped sharing about my work in education then you might never know an update to one of the stories I shared about a student that I called “Anna”. In February of this year I wrote about her here. Since that time I haven’t heard anything from her. I ask some of my other students and no one seems to know anything. I checked up on her at the alternative school she ended up attending, but her attendance didn’t last very long. The day before Thanksgiving, Anna showed up in my office. She stopped by on her way out to get a copy of her transcripts so that she could go back and finish her GED. She said, “It’s the best I can do right now.” and I accepted that. She hugged me and said she missed seeing me. We exchanged phone numbers and poof! She was gone again. 

Should I stop writing about that? Those are the experiences that change me as an educator. I am ever a teacher. Most days, however, I am the student. Even you, sometimes, are the student and we learn together through writing. You’re with me and I don’t know if I could stop even if I were forced to do so. This writing? It won’t stop. Not even now that I’m at the end of the month of November and I signed up to do the NaBloPoMo deal of posting every day. No. I won’t stop.

I write to learn.

This will be the first year in the history of my being a parent that I won’t be with my children on Thanksgiving day so we have decided to our meal today. It was the basic turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, green bean casserole, pumpkin pie (blech. I don’t eat it, but the children do – I just eat the whipped cream out of the can when no one is looking) and cheesecake. I made everybody clear their schedule so we could spend the day pretending like it was really Thursday. I watched a full 10 minutes of a college football game on tv this morning (don’t ask which one, I just wanted it to feel like Thanksgiving) and then later we sat down to view “Miracle on 34th Street” because we didn’t have the real Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade to get us through. Divorce is hard on kids and families and this was the best I could do to make my family enjoy a meal. Creating a family moment that feels right is more work than one would anticipate, but if it’s crafted just so then you can convince yourself it’s Thursday and not really Saturday.

Even though we kept calling it Fake Turkey Day we all pretty much realized that it was important to make the effort for this day. It felt weird at first and any time we needed to go out for something we surprised ourselves with, “Wow, there are SO many stores open today on Thanksgi…OH YEAH THAT’S RIGHT IT’S SATURDAY.” It even ended like our Thanksgiving meals normally do – arguing about who will do dishes and who will put the food in the leftover containers and with everyone sitting around the television afterward with their hands in the waistband of their pants.

Actually, we pretty much do that every Saturday night. We’re doing this family thing the best we can and it’s damn near perfect.

Today is a day when people are celebrating TWLOHA which is a rather funny looking acronym for the real name of the movement: To Write Love On Her Arms. It’s dedicated to helping those who struggle with depression, addiction, self-injury and suicide. People who struggle with that need to know so many things not the least of which is that there is HOPE and that they are LOVED. In my career there have been multiples times when I’ve been involved with students who are in need of just that thing. Depression knows no boundaries, but I do see how often it manifests itself as a drug problem or some sort of self harm. Kids will turn to those they trust. Hell, we all do that. 

Depression is a bitch. For my friends and family who suffer from it I know only their experiences as an outsider. I’ve never had an addiction or tried to harm myself. The thinking behind these actions are beyond my realm of understanding, but it makes it no less incredibly important in my life. When they suffer, I suffer. It is responsible for broken friendships, marriages, and hurting families that have all touched me somehow.

If you know someone who is hurting, please get them help. Love them through it. That’s all they’d want anyway.

This picture is taken from my friend Whitney who has resurfaced in my life at the best possible time – when we both needed each other. I dedicate this entire post to her.