It is the end of the school semester for me and usually this is the time of year when I’m aggravated and disappointed in my students. This is the time of year when I can’t wait for break. And that is why I wanted to take Thanksgiving day to express my gratitude for being a teacher.

I can’t begin to describe what a blessing this job has been to me. It has allowed me to fill my life with a passion. A passion for books, a passion for writing, and a passion for sharing this passion. I’m so grateful that it only requires me to be out of my home 15 hours a week. But mostly, I’m so thankful that the Lord has given me the opportunity to touch so many lives. My students are each blessings that come into my life and fill my heart. I love them all for their unique spirits and bottomless potential. They remind me everyday to live life to the fullest and to appreciate the things I have. They inspire me as much as I hope I inspire them.

I’m grateful that every day I have the opportunity to introduce somebody to Shakespeare, Dickinson, Plath, Homer, Dante, et al. I’m lucky to be able to see some face come in and with anger, love, passion in their eyes tell me that they are so upset that Aeneas left Dido without saying goodbye. To see the recognition wash over their faces as they realize that Shakespeare was not writing about some obscure guy in Othello, but he was writing about EVERYBODY’s need to be loved, and accepted. THAT is powerful!!

I’m blessed to know these students. To know about their dreams, their hopes, their plans for the future. I’m lucky that they share these aspirations with me and for a fleeting semester I get to ride along with them as they plan their life. They are each uniquely beautiful and like painted eggs their future is delicate and glorious. They stand on the precipice of their destiny. Some will grab hold with passion and desire and seek out success. Others will languish, and falter. As a teacher it is my responsibility to help those that languish. To hold out my hand and pull them close to my heart and tell them what lies ahead. Those that know their future don’t need my help. It is those that are lost that need me the most.

I am a teacher and I could not be more thankful.

This is the first Christmas that MY DAUGHTER gently unwrapped my most treasured ornaments and lovingly placed them on the tree. It was amazing to watch this rite of passage unfold before my eyes. As of this moment I am training my replacement and every day I work closer to unemployment.

As women we are so passionate about our homes. We are driven from a small age to desire our OWN home where we can do things OUR way. As Lucy began placing the ornaments on the tree and asking me about where to put them and how to do it, the seed was planted. I could see it in her eyes. She’s already thinking of what she wants HER tree to look like and how SHE would put the ornaments on the tree.

As parents we create the childhood we wanted. We change the things that bothered us, that we thought were wrong. We fool ourselves into thinking we’re making it better for our own kids, but in reality we’re just creating OUR dream childhood not theirs. And that Christmas tree is so symbolic. In my eyes it is the most beautiful and perfect Christmas tree. I love every ornament and every strand of garland. Lucy will grow and begin to see things about my most perfect Christmas tree that she doesn’t like, that she would do differently. She will sit in judgment of me and the job I have done as a parent. I pray that she is more forgiving of me than perhaps I have been with my own parents.

Me: Lucy, I was thinking that we might have a gymnastics party for your birthday in January. What do you think of that idea?
Lucy: Oh yeah, that would be nice. But after that I don’t want to have any more parties.
Me: You don’t want ANY more parties?
Lucy: Well, I don’t want any more birthday parties because I don’t want to grow up. I want to just stop at 5.
Me: Why?
Lucy: Because I LUUUUVVVVVEEEE BEING A KID!!!!!!!
Me: True. True.

As a 38 year old mother I am not even remotely the audience for either the book or the movie. As an English teacher I am most definitely not the audience for the book. I get that. I have a class of sweet college girls prodding me into seeing the film and I could not disappoint them (yes Lindsey, Nikki & Taryn I’m talking about you). However, after watching “Twilight” and reading the book I was quite disappointed in the film.

The Make-Up
Obviously I am not the only one who thought that Edward had on far too much lipstick. I’m sure they did this as contrast to his pale skin, but instead of his skin looking pale he just looked like a Japanese Geisha. It was completely awkward and drove me to distraction. Not to mention that I didn’t realize so many vampire’s dye their hair since it was obvious many of them had “roots”.

The Land Of The Never Smiling
I am a girl and I am absolutely attracted to a brooder. As a matter of fact I can rattle off many famous literary brooders that make me swoon; Heathcliffe, Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Rochester. However, in this film Edward takes brooding to such a dark place I don’t know why Bella ever went for him to begin with. Even Bella never smiles — even after they make out. Seriously, if you can’t smile around each other EVER then why are you together? This leads me to my next criticism of the movie.

Missing In Action
I know that when taking a book to film things need to be cut. This is a delicate task, but it can be done successfully (example; Harry Potter). The screenwriters chose to cut too many of the sections of the book that actually show how and why the couple like each other. In the film it seems to be all about the forbidden fruit and that Edward is cute but that is not true in the book. Edward talks about not being sure of Bella’s feelings and Bella sees how gentle and kind Edward is. Without some of this background it all seems random.

Without reading the book this movie makes no sense. When taking books to film it has to be able to make sense to those who haven’t read the book. Again, I point to Harry Potter. David hasn’t read any of the books but loves the movies. If you don’t have the book as context this film is painful. It has long scenes of people staring lustfully at each other in a way that would make anybody over 16 want to vomit. The scenes fit together in a clunky almost Cliff Note type fashion that only somebody already familiar with the story could make out.

Final Thoughts
As an English teacher people have not stopped asking me about this series of books (seriously, I was at Lucy’s gymnastics class and somebody asked me about it). The plot and storyline has so much potential. Stephanie Meyer had an excellent idea for a story, but the writing is weak. There are huge holes in the plot, characters are left in two-dimensions and the dialogue is for a 13-year old. These stories could have been so much more. Having said that though, I will buy the last two books and read them over Christmas. However, I probably won’t be seeing any more “Twilight” films.

As we plow into the holiday season I feel a desire to provide some helpful tips when it comes to writing that Christmas letter. As an English teacher I find these little treasures to actually be time bombs of irritation awaiting me in my mailbox. This year I plan to circumvent this problem by telling you the things you absolutely should NEVER do.

#1 (and this is a biggie) DO NOT WRITE IN THIRD PERSON
Let me give you an example; “Bob is so excited at his new job and Sally is involved in the PTA this year”. Who the hell is writing the letter? The cat? Obviously somebody is writing and if it isn’t the two adults in the house then who is it? And don’t switch back and forth. For example; “I’m so proud of Bob’s new promotion this year and I know he will be happy. Sally is heavily involved in the PTA and I’m glad she has found an outlet for her creativity.” So now you are taking turns typing? Of course not. Somebody is writing this letter so decide who it is and stick with it.

#2 How To Share Good News and Not Brag
Let’s just pretend your son really did win the Nobel Peace Prize.Of course you are proud of him – any mother would be. However, you don’t want to make everybody else reading this either hate you or resent you for telling them. When sharing some piece of amazing news humble this news with some mundane thing that the person fails miserably at. For example, “We are so proud of John winning the Nobel Peace Prize this year but we sure wish he would learn how to pick up the phone and call once in awhile” or “Steve has been lucky to discover the cure for Cancer this year but too bad he can’t also cure his chronic flatulence problem”. See where I’m going with this? This is also true when talking about yourself. You might say something like, “I’ve really enjoyed feeding the homeless this year. Unfortunately my family has taken to showing up in the soup line because I’m never home long enough to feed them.” This will put your reader at ease and allow them to both respect your accomplishment and to know that you aren’t trying to compete

#3 Including Photographs
Unless the person is related or is close enough to be considered a relation a photograph of your growing child is not necessary. Truly, what am I supposed to do with these photos? Save them forever? What is the appropriate amount of time to hold on to said picture prior to disposal? 1 month? 1 year? 1 day? Don’t put that kind of guilt on me.

#4 Keep It Brief
No more than one page in a 11 point font or larger. Unless you have traveled to the moon, solved World Peace, or discovered a new country, one page is more than sufficient space. I would love to know how your family is doing but I’m not really interested in a 2008 recap that rivals a PBS documentary. This means stick to the highlights; births, deaths, graduations, new jobs/loss of job, new house/loss of house, pets, major childhood accomplishments (this can be anything from walking to rehab), divorce or marriage. If ALL of these things happened in your life in one year well – take a Prozac and then focus on the good stuff. It’s Christmas man, don’t bring me down.

I hope this helps you and guides you as you try to communicate the events of 2008 to your friends and family. Honestly, I really am looking forward to your Christmas letter so please send it soon.

When the miscarriage happened I fully anticipated waiting two, three months and then trying again. No biggie. But things changed. David and I had to be honest with each other and the truth is that we were both terribly frightened of that third pregnancy. Frightened of what a third child would mean for each of us individually and as a couple. The emotional impact, the financial burden, the physical demand. For months my mind and body has been in a tug-of-war. On any given day I either am longing for a baby or can’t imagine adding yet another demand onto our busy family.

I don’t expect you to understand this. I’m sure their will be many of you reading this thinking that I am selfish, shallow, or have my values screwed up. That’s fine. I’m sure many of you are thinking, that when you have babies you can’t think of those things, that the money will come, we all find a way, God has a plan, blah, blah, blah. Yes, you would be right, but I’m right too. An adult thinks about the consequences of their decision, and believe me I have done nothing but think about this decision.

I’ve spent the last two days packing up baby stuff and selling it. This has been challenging for me. It is the “what ifs” that drive me crazy. What if I hadn’t miscarried? What if it had been another girl? What if I was 8 months pregnant right now? Sometimes the answers are tender but mostly I have begun to realize how ill prepared I am to handle a third child. And then the tears come – sometimes small tears squeaking out the edges, sometimes sobs.

Why I cry is hard to say. Disappointed that I’m physically not strong enough to have three children. Disappointed that I started so late in life (I was 34 when I had Lucy and 36 with Max). Sad that this chapter of my life is ending. I will never be pregnant again. I will never see my own child being born again. Now that I know how to do it right I won’t have a chance to do it again. And part of me can’t help but think that God knew David and I were done. The decision was truly never mine to make.

Me: Are all those roosters?
David: Yeah
Me: Are they chained to those little houses?
David: It sure looks like it.
Me: Hmm, that is weird. I wonder why they are like that?
David: Well, I think it’s a world clock. I think if we look close enough we’ll see that they have little signs that say, “Singapore”, “London”, “Paris”, etc

The most important thing you need to know about my sister-in-law is that her name is also Beth.

Saturday afternoon the men-folk left the campsite to go buy wood for the fire. The children gleefully played around the campsite. Beth and I sat around the fire chatting lightly about our kids, households, family, etc. All Beth said was “Oh!” as the raccoon sauntered up out of the woods into our campsite. I calmly picked up any food and shoved it into the car and Beth positioned herself between the raccoon and the kids. He was a cute and calm little thing. He made himself at home, climbing onto the cooler, sniffing around the tents and looking at us as if we were old friends. Honestly, I think he half expected me to pet him, hand him a bowl of food and show him where the bathroom was.

As it became clear that he was not going to leave and that soon the kids were going to discover that he was visiting, we decided to lock the kids in the car. At this point the 4 girls and 1 boy began screaming for “Daddy”. Now, I was offended by this. Although Beth and I may not be the “outdoors” types we completely had the situation under control. The raccoon wasn’t angry, threatening or destroying anything in the camp. The kids were safe. The campfire was burning brightly and Beth and I had armed ourselves with the only weapons we had – the large forks that we used to grill hot dogs. Things were FINE.

The raccoon still wouldn’t leave. We tried throwing rocks at it but it just seemed to think it was food. When we tried to chase it, it just sat there looking at us in anticipation that we might pet it. Eventually, I began to wave my arms like a large Pterodactyl wearing a red sweater and screaming, “I’M A LARGE SCARY CREATURE! RUN AWAY!” It might not have been sophisticated but it got the job done. The raccoon, recognizing that I obviously was a rabid human, fled the campsite.

When the men did return, the kids starting screaming “DADDY’S HOME! DADDY’S HOME!” as if salvation had arrived right there in Oklahoma. Apparently my children have no confidence in their mother’s ability to manage small woodland creatures.