tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62815926305129474012024-02-20T21:21:28.645-08:00Frazzled ReflectionsSarah Styfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068537932645735467noreply@blogger.comBlogger73125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281592630512947401.post-64554745492522667252019-01-11T11:04:00.002-08:002020-05-04T12:30:51.988-07:00The New BlogI know that it's been several years since I wrote in this blog, but that's because I've moved over to another blog. If you want to read about everything I've been doing for nearly five years, here it is: <a href="https://acceptingtheunexpectedjourney.com/" target="_blank">Learning to Accept the Unexpected Journey</a>.<br />
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<br />Sarah Styfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068537932645735467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281592630512947401.post-49737765151261190542015-02-12T08:24:00.000-08:002015-02-12T08:24:02.301-08:00Bringing Home BellaMy eyes hurt, my sinuses hurt, my heart hurt, and I was exhausted. I had just put my distraught daughter into our bed so that she could fall asleep crying without disturbing her brother. We had assured both of our children that we would get another dog, promising our daughter that the dog would not be named "Sierra." She had found a spot on her dresser for Sierra's collar so that she could remember her forever. I came downstairs to find my husband coping with our loss the only way he knew how.<br />
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He was looking online to find puppies.<br />
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After nearly 12 years we had some serious adjustments to make. As I made mac and cheese for the kids I kept thinking "I'm going to put these on their little table downstairs because it has been a long day, but I'll have to be careful to watch out for the do..." Driving our daughter home from ballet two days later I choked up as I realized that I didn't have to hurry home to let out the dog before we headed to our daughter's dance performance at a basketball game. Our son was still purposely spilling things on the floor for the dog to pick up, only Sierra wasn't there and we had to tell him to pick it up himself. We dropped things while cooking in the kitchen and then looked for a dog getting in our way, but she wasn't there. I kept planning to take my daily walks, but discovered that walking by myself, without a dog in tow, was more than a little lonely.<br />
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The kids kept asking questions about Sierra, our three year old son still struggling with understanding that she was really gone. They asked if Sierra was in heaven. Our son asked when Sierra was coming home. And then he would repeatedly say "We don't have a dog anymore."<br />
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We said we needed time to heal. My sister and a dear friend and coworker said we needed to take the time to heal and decide what we were going to do next.<br />
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But what we all wanted (and needed) was something furry to love.<br />
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That first night when my husband was looking at puppies he found "the one." I wasn't ready to discuss it. I needed time. I felt like I owed it to Sierra to take our time. But the house felt empty. We had been talking about getting a second dog for years. Huskies are pack animals and we had discussed getting a second dog when we first brought her home. But two years later we moved to Indy and into a basementless house that was only 1200 square feet. There was no room to crate train a puppy. So we gave up on the idea. And the older Sierra got and the more set in her ways she got, the less likely she was to welcome a new puppy into her home. As she got older we talked about the inevitable and the fact that our kids were going to need to a puppy of their own when that happened. When it did happen, we discovered that there is a very big difference between knowing something is going to happen and dealing with the emotional fallout when it actually happened.<br />
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Then we started looking at pictures. I started remembering my Sierra when she was healthy and happy and I started wondering how long was long enough to wait. There was also timing to consider. When we got Sierra I was on my summer vacation. I had time to train her and develop a relationship with her before she would spend long days by herself at our house. I kept saying we needed to wait until summer, or at least until the snow was all gone.<br />
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But summer is four months away and my husband couldn't let go of the puppy nicknamed "Fuzzy." It was an animal rescue dog and he couldn't stop talking about her. And our kids kept asking about when we were going to get a puppy. They missed having a dog and they wanted a dog that was theirs.<br />
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So last night we picked up "Fuzzy." She has been renamed Bella, after Clarabelle's dog on <i>Mickey Mouse Clubhouse</i>. I wasn't ready to fall in love again, but as she sat next to me on the couch last night I realized that we need her as much as she needs us.<br />
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The hole is still there. We still miss our Sierra, but we are hoping that Bella will help make our house feel whole again. And from the messages I'm getting from my husband who is working at home today, it sounds like she will do just that.<br />
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<br />Sarah Styfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068537932645735467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281592630512947401.post-4304202611592484182015-02-11T19:30:00.003-08:002015-02-11T19:30:51.341-08:00Saying Goodbye<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I didn't grow up with pets. My parents never felt the need to get us pets (minus my little sister's two Beta fish that came and went) and I don't remember ever really begging for a pet. It wasn't that I didn't like dogs and cats; I had no real feelings one way or the other. My maternal grandparents had big German Shepherds for the first 16 years of my life, and while they loved their big beautiful dogs, they were so big and I was so unused to dogs that they actually scared me and my sisters.<br />
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But I married a dog lover. My husband has had a dog since the day he was born. My in-laws have had three different dogs in the 18 years that I have known my husband. Lucky for my husband, for the eight weeks that I spent student teaching in Denver I lived with a couple who had two dogs. They had both decided to surprise each other with puppies one Christmas and so they ended up with two dogs at once: a German Shepherd and a Cocker Spaniel. Those six weeks with both of those dogs taught me the benefit of having a dog as part of our family. So when we bought our first house a year and a half after getting married, it was a given that dog would be joining us in our new home.<br />
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The discussion was short. I wanted a Siberian Husky. I wanted a beautiful, furry, blue-eyed beast. And so we looked for a breeder and found one that was only a couple hours away. We were the last family to get on the list and because there were more girls than had been requested, we got the last puppy in the litter. Our little furball was the runt of the litter, but because she was so fluffy, she actually looked bigger than her brothers. I spent my summer vacation training her, taking her outside on a regular basis, walking her in our downtown park, and falling in love with our dogter.<br />
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To even begin telling the life story of our Sierra would take days. She was in many ways the anti-Husky. She never tried to run away, she was terrified of house guests (especially when we weren't around), and in later years she had no desire to stay outside in the cold snow. She endured many life changes. She lost her best friend when she was one (and my in-laws dog suddenly died), she experienced an unfortunate grooming incident that led to her enter back end being shaved (let's just say I now have a very difficult time visiting a certain pet store), she was joined by a human sister and brother (in that order), and she survived two moves and three houses.<br />
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We loved her, but she had struggled the last several years. Shortly before our son was born I heard a horrible cry of pain from our dog while she was in the backyard. An eventual trip to the vet confirmed that she had blown out her knee. The day before I was set to be induced, we had to sit down and discuss what we were going to do about our dog. The vet hadn't indicated that this would be a "put down" situation, but we also knew that we couldn't afford the surgery, especially since at her age there was little chance that she would have a full recovery. We decided to wait it out and over the past three and a half years she has regained mobility, but it was never the same as before. We spent almost three years trying to convince ourselves that she had recovered from the injury. In the last six months, as we watched her struggle to climb stairs and get up and down from the floor, it became clear that she was in a lot more pain than she was letting on.<br />
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Adjusting to the births of her human siblings was also difficult, although she fell in love with her little "brother" as soon as we brought our son home. When our daughter was born her passive aggressive behavior led her to suddenly having "accidents" on the carpet in the hallway and in our daughter's bedroom. When we brought our son home she wanted to be near him at all times, protecting him from any threat, including his big sister. Perhaps that is why it is painfully ironic that it was her biting the little boy that she had worked so hard to protect when he was born that led to the most painful decision of my life.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sierra looking out for our son when he was a baby.</td></tr>
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Last Tuesday night my daughter was dutifully doing her homework while my son ran in circles waiting for his sister to finish so they could go to bed. The kids had always been good about not getting too close to Sierra when they were energetically playing. We always told them that she was a grouchy old lady and she needed her space. They would pet her and occasionally try to get her to play with them, but she was rarely interested. On my son's last round of running he got too close. No growl, no bark, just my son in hysterical tears in the kitchen. Sierra had bitten him hard enough to break the skin through his flannel PJs. I carried him upstairs to check on him and comfort him and from there we got ready for bed. I sent my husband a picture of the bite so that he would know what had happened while he was gone.<br />
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When my husband got home, we had a decision to make. I didn't want to talk about it. I wanted to believe it was a one time thing, but in my heart and head I knew that what had happened was fulfillment of some of my worst fears. Sierra, through her physical pain and discomfort (and I am convinced her growing dementia), had finally lashed out at the kids. We needed to protect our kids. We needed to protect our nieces and nephews. We needed to protect our kids' friends. But she was our first baby. How could we decide that she needed to die? We didn't want to punish her. We wanted to protect everyone, including her, from further potential harm.<br />
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And yes, I felt like a failure. I hadn't done enough to take care of her. I hadn't done enough to make sure she was comfortable. And I hadn't done enough to make her feel like she was still an important member of our family.<br />
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Last Wednesday was hell. As my student teacher took over three class periods and my other three class periods worked on things I had already planned for them to do, I remained in a sea of indecision. Knowing what people will tell you that you should do and actually doing it are two different things. I called the vet's office and made an appointment for later in the afternoon. After picking up my daughter from school I met my husband at home. As I walked into the kitchen to drop off the things I had taken out of the car I saw my dog eating peanut butter out of Kong. I don't know when we had last given her peanut butter in her Kong. I had been holding back tears all day. I turned and left the room, unable to watch her have a treat. I couldn't do it. How could we even consider it? How could we take her to the vet and never bring her home again? She belonged on our living room floor. She belonged with her Kong. And we needed to make sure that she got peanut butter on a regular basis from that point on.<br />
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But as I told our vet what had happened, and as I showed her the picture of our son's leg, I knew that she wasn't coming home. We had made that unspoken decision as we talked late into the night, watching Tuesday become Wednesday. Our vet gave us options. She said we could quarantine Sierra. We could try to keep her away from family. We could try to give her medicine that would make her more comfortable and perhaps less grouchy. But it didn't matter. It wasn't going to change the fact that she bit one of the kids without provocation. And it wasn't going to change the fact that I had been worrying about that possibility for the last year as she got increasingly irritable and her behavior more erratic.<br />
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We told the kids to say goodbye. They didn't get it. They thought she was still coming home. We told them Sierra was never coming home again. So they hugged her and played a couple games while we went into the operating room to be with Sierra until the end. I couldn't have them in the room with us. I couldn't let them watch as their dog slipped away and I couldn't deal with the questions that were going to accompany them being there. We needed to grieve together, just the three of us. We needed to say goodbye. I needed to face my failures as a mother and caretaker of the beautiful animal who had entered our life 12 years before. And I couldn't do any of that with my children present.<br />
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When we got back to the examination room my daughter asked me if the doctor had given Sierra the medicine yet.<br />
<br />
Me: Yes.<br />
Lydia: But I wanted to see the doctor give her the medicine.<br />
Me: No you didn't, honey.<br />
Lydia: Is Sierra asleep?<br />
Me: Yes.<br />
Lydia: Is she breathing?<br />
Me: No.<br />
Lydia: But you have to breathe to be alive.<br />
<br />
I watched the light go out of my little girl's beautiful, blue eyes as she realized that Sierra wasn't just not coming home. She would never be able to come home again. It has been one of my most painful moments as a parent, watching her experience death for the first time. She immediately insisted on seeing her dog. I couldn't say no. Sierra was gone. Nothing was going to change that. The least we could do, for our children, was to let them say a final goodbye.<br />
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Our daughter and dogter had lived an uneasy coexistence for nearly six years, but Sierra was all that she knew. She collapsed into a ball and sobbed. We weren't prepared. We thought she would be sad, but her emotions were raw and they were real. I held her as she cried. And then my husband picked her up and held her as she cried some more. That night I had to let my little girl crawl into our bed, snuggled up with my stuffed rhino, so that she could fall asleep. She was still crying when I finally closed the door to our bedroom and went downstairs.<br />
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The next morning, as she was putting on her boots, she said "When Sierra was here it was just perfect. Why did we have to kill our dog?" It was one more knife into my heart. I felt guilty enough about having Sierra put to sleep. To have our daughter voice it so clearly without euphemism was more than I could handle. I was glad that I had a snow day and my kids still had school. I could work in my classroom and hide from the world. I could just be Sarah. I didn't have to wear my teacher mask. It allowed me to grieve in peace.<br />
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I hope that someday our daughter will understand. I hope that someday I will be able to forgive myself for not being a better parent to Sierra when our human children arrived. That I will be able to look at the good years we had together as a family and remember that she was once a very happy, healthy girl. Right now that is difficult. As we add new canine children to our family I will probably work very hard to do penance for the mistakes I made with my first canine child. But I hope that she knew how much she was loved by her parents and siblings, because she is certainly missed.Sarah Styfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068537932645735467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281592630512947401.post-11617460329777592792015-02-07T17:17:00.001-08:002015-02-07T17:17:38.288-08:00Memories of Dog Walking
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I feel the
tug at the end of the leash as Sierra and I start out for a rare, long walk in
our neighborhood. With a husband, nearly two-year-old, and another one on the
way, “me” time is virtually non-existent. My lone walks with Sierra are a rare
treat, often made more rare by the changing seasons. Spring and fall are the
ideal times for us to walk for long distances, unless we are hit by rain that
leaves her thick fur drenched. I love those spring walks, once the ground has
thawed and I’m no longer afraid of falling on the black ice. We can go out
after dinner without being afraid of bugs, and we both love the cool nights
that Midwestern springs offer. I’ve always loved the change in seasons, and the
new smells of spring help reinvigorate me. But then the warmth of spring turns
into the heat and humidity of summer, and there is never a right time to walk
our dog during the hottest summer nights. Sierra is a full blooded Siberian
Husky, and no, we do not shave her in the summer. We get asked that every
summer when people see us out with her, but shaving snow dogs is one of the
worst things you can do. Their thick fur keeps them cool, and once the skin is
exposed, they are more susceptible to bugs, particularly fleas. We discovered
that two years ago when we had her groomed; instead of working through her
thick, matted winter fur, the groomers decided to take the easy way out by
shaving her. We had never seen more fleas on our dog than we did in the months
that followed, as early spring turned to a hot summer. It is an experience she
never fully recovered from, and we haven’t been able to get her professionally groomed
since. I’m sure that she saw it as the beginning of the end of her being the
favorite “child,” as our daughter Lydia was born two months after the incident,
changing all of our lives forever. Walks are the only time she gets my sole attention,
and the only time she gets to escape her little “sister”.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>The change in family dynamics has
not changed my love of the shift to fall, when I can smell the fires, the trees
changing colors, and Sierra gets to run through the leaves that our neighbors
have piled up for city pick-up. Sierra loves the change to fall as well. It’s
finally cool enough that she is not finished walking after ten to fifteen
minutes, and she doesn’t fight me when I want to walk further. Instead, she
turns into a puppy again, acting like she did eight years ago when we brought
her home and took her walking in the Hobart park. These first walks took us
around the small lake that bordered downtown Hobart, IN, giving her the chance
to be admired by everyone enjoying the seasonal activities the park offered, as
well as instilling in her a love for popcorn due to the trail of popcorn
dropped by the humans milling around the lake. The years drop off of Sierra
when the weather turns cold. Her tail is up in the air and she bounds from side
to side, stopping to smell everything and rolling in leaves that litter front
yards. During these times, she often breaks into my solitude, forcing me to
wake up from whatever thoughts I have lost myself in because I have to keep
reminding her that we have more walking and exploring to do. I am also happy
for the escape from home and the enjoyment of fall after a hot, humid summer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>Solitude is really a funny word to
me. As a busy wife and mom, my alone time comes in spurts: shopping trips, the
days I take Lydia to daycare so that I can get homework and grading done,
painting yet another room in our slowly changing house. It is something I know
that I need, but I admit to feeling guilty when I take that time alone. Before
we had Lydia, I didn’t mind that occasional night that Jeff would have to be
away for work. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be around him, or that I didn’t
miss him once I was in bed and his side of the bed stayed cold, but because I
could have that alone time guilt free. Now one of the only times I can claim
legitimate alone time is when I am walking Sierra. We both need the exercise
and it’s easier to have one person take her as opposed to the whole family.
That doesn’t erase the guilt of not spending time with my husband and daughter,
or not working on homework, grading, or the chores at home. But it is something
that I need to do, for our whole family’s sake. It’s my constant struggle, and
I often wonder how my mother dealt with the need for solitude as a stay-at-home
mom with four daughters and a busy husband.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
first discovered the solitude in walking Sierra while walking in our
neighborhood in Indianapolis. We lived on the southside of Indianapolis in a
neighborhood that was established in the 1970s and 1980s. Modest middle class
families occupied the homes that lined the streets, but when the recession
started to hit, I increasingly saw empty houses as we journeyed down the
sidewalk. Houses that appeared to have a stable family living in them were
suddenly empty, with no sign of it being on the market, and often weeks later,
small signs were placed in the windows, indicating that the house was now bank
property. It was sad to see homes that had so much potential falling apart as
they waited for someone to occupy them. Jeff and I had put so much time and
energy into fixing and updating our 35 year old house, including remodeling the
kitchen, that it was difficult to see other houses in the neighborhood not
being taken care of. It wasn’t just the decrease in our home value, it was the
knowledge we were working so hard to make our home better, and others weren’t
doing their part. In some ways I hope that the stability of our new
neighborhood is symbolic of a stability that will eventually greet our family.
We went from a neighborhood with several houses for sale and empty to a
neighborhood with no houses for sale, all of them occupied by older couples and
families with the occasional younger family (including us) adding to the
neighborhood flavor. It had also become increasingly important to me that we
eventually escape the culture of our neighborhood before our kids were old
enough to be aware of what was being said and done around them. It was never
dangerous, just not the environment I wanted my children to be in. While I
didn’t want to leave Indianapolis, the transfer forced our hand in relocating.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">I</span> have always hated venturing out on
moonless nights, and this was especially true in our last neighborhood. If I
left our home after the sun had set, I was guaranteed little light on the
sidewalks unless every family was home on the block and had their front porch
lights on. This was usually not a problem during the summer months, as people were
often out and about. Teens, and preteens pretending to be teens, would walk up
and down the street, ignoring the sidewalk that neighborhood planners had put
there long before they were born to give residents a place to walk safely.
Depending on the day of the week, we would see our “red-neck” neighbors from
across the street riding their four-wheelers up and down the street. It was a
busy neighborhood, but I was still able to find peace in knowing that I was out
on my own, with only my dog to interrupt my thoughts. During these warm months,
as I walked Sierra around the block, I could smell the remainders of
grilled dinners or the start of small fires being lit in the privacy of
backyard firepits. Usually, the only thing I feared on those nights were the
unexpected encounter with neighborhood dogs that were allowed to roam free,
their owners not appearing to care where they were or whether they were safe. I
hated these encounters. I would be lost in thought, completely shut out from
the world with earbuds in, enjoying whatever was playing on my MP3 player, and
suddenly I would have to reign in Sierra and make a quick decision about where
or what my next course of action was going to be. I knew that most of these
dogs were not behind electric fences, and I didn’t know who to call on if we
really did have a problem. I am not normally afraid of dogs, but those moments
terrified me, and in my head I would run through all the possible scenarios,
making sure that I had my cell phone in my pocket in case I needed to make a
quick call to Jeff. This was yet another example of people in our neighborhood
not taking care of their belongings, which never stopped being frustrating. I
also didn’t want to cut the walks short, but often felt like I needed to. The
irresponsibility of others led to my inability to return home to my family
mentally, physically, and emotionally refreshed. And I needed to return home
refreshed. Otherwise, why was I spending time out in the neighborhood when I
could instead be at home snuggled up with my husband and daughter?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>The dark nights were primarily a
problem on those winter nights when I decided to brave the cold. I often got
home from teaching or play rehearsal too late, which meant that if either of us
were going to get exercise, it had to happen late. People on our block often
did not shovel their sidewalks in addition to their driveway, and when we did
have snow on the ground, I either had to trudge through the snow, which I’ve
decided is worse than walking in sand, or be careful of the ice that would pop
up at the most unfortunate times. There was the one afternoon that I was at
home for a day off of school and slipped and fell, sending me back to the
chiropractor. Sierra noticed that I wasn’t following her anymore when she hit
the end of her leash and did her best to help me by returning to me to make
sure I was ok, but the rest of the walk home was slow. Since then I have been
cautious to go out in the snow, which Sierra fails to understand. It is
frustrating for both of us, but I know she thinks that I’m just keeping her a
prisoner inside. The reality is, the winter months are difficult for me as
well, as I feel the need to stay inside where it is warm and safe and I rarely
get the walks that I need for exercise and alone time. Cabin fever becomes a
real problem for both of us, and I repeatedly have to remind myself that she is
more anxious to get outside than I am, which is why she is driving us all crazy
by the time the snow has all melted.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>Darkness is also a problem in our
new neighborhood. With few streetlights, and houses set off of the street, it
is a struggle to see the path in front of us as we walk at night. While there
are dogs in our neighborhood, there are fewer dogs roaming free, and I’m less
concerned about an unfortunate run-in. There is the one house with the dog the
size of a bear that bounces and barks behind an electric fence, but even he
does not pose a threat. But we still do not really know the neighborhood, and
it not only makes those winter walks spooky, but often lonely. It is those times
that solitude can turn to isolation, a feeling I loathe, but it is a feeling
that is inevitable in a new town. A part of me hopes that we will develop
relationships with some people once the weather turns warm and are outside
again. Thankfully, the house we bought has been plenty of an icebreaker with
neighbors. Our house was empty for so long, that most people in our
neighborhood are curious about the people who were not only “stupid” enough to
buy it, but I know they want to know what we have done with the property. At
least I know that is how we felt about the houses around us in Indianapolis as
they were bought up and given, at the very least, facelifts.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Now
as we adjust to a new neighborhood, we are even less in the city than we were
before. Our neighborhood is even older, with houses, including ours, built starting
in the 1950s. We have no sidewalks, so I have to walk Sierra on the road. We
have learned to appreciate our new neighborhood, and I like walking her around
quiet streets with no fear of being run over by a rogue four-wheeler. We have
our “short” route and “long” route, and while family walks often entail us
taking the short route, Sierra and I get to enjoy the long route whenever time,
daylight, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and energy allow. The houses
in our immediate neighborhood have large yards, which gives Sierra even more
space to explore as we walk up the slow incline which takes us further from our
neighborhood and closer to the newer subdivision that sits behind our
subdivision. We often jokingly refer to the neighborhood as “fancy-pants land”,
but while the houses are nice, they are not ostentatious. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">T</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">he
long road leading from our subdivision to the back entrance of the newer subdivision
feels more like a country road, even though we are still in the city limits of
Fort Wayne. This time of year, Sierra’s presence sends the Canadian geese
occupying the field adjacent to the new subdivision flying, their annoying
honking irritating us both as we walk past them. Sierra rarely tries to chase
them, preferring to stay safely by me, which makes Jeff and me wonder if we got
the least adventurous Siberian Husky on the planet. The houses in the new
subdivision are newer, slightly larger, and more decorative, which I guess
makes them nicer than the houses in our more established neighborhood, but they
are no longer brand new. I’ve always loved houses and architecture, and as I
look at the houses I catch myself dreaming that we will someday own a similar
house, even though our fixer-upper is the largest house in the neighborhood,
and by the time we are finished with the hundreds of projects facing us, will
also be the nicest. Still, it is nice to dream of moving into a house that does
not have to be completely redone, a house that just needs painting and
unpacking for us to be happy with it. But these ventures into “fancy-pants
land” are really just an escape from the responsibilities and problems facing
me when I return home. Since moving into our house, we have not only torn out
carpeting and painted several rooms, but we also had a surprise replacement of
our HVAC system and well pump. And then there is the bathroom that we feel we
need to renovate before the baby arrives in four short months. When I’m home
I’m reminded of what still needs to be done, and that the money has completely
run out. But the dream to “fix” is still there, probably instilled by watching <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This Old House</i> with my dad when I was
younger, and Jeff watching his parents completely renovate their old farmhouse
over the last 25 years they have lived there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When
Sierra and I get those lone walks together, I finally have a chance to
experience the quiet and think, without someone invading my thoughts or asking
me questions. Even when I have my earbuds in, it is just the two of us, and
Sierra is more interested in sniffing out the trail of the last dog to walk our
path than she is in my thoughts. During these walks I have pondered the various
decisions that have faced us over the last eight years she has been a member of
our family, or come up with new lesson plans and strategies to use in my
classroom. I sometimes wonder if I should start taking a recording device so
that I can record all the thoughts that I have while walking, as often they
prove very helpful to either me or others.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
was during a walk with Sierra that I devised my initial plan for returning
to graduate school. I had been working as the theatre director for our high
school, and the increasing pressure of not having studied theatre in college
convinced me that my new life goal should be to get my MAT in Theatre at IU.
Little did I know that my rejection would become a blessing when in the year
following our daughter’s birth, I discovered that I really just wanted to teach
English and work on improving myself as an English teacher. I wanted my career
focus to be on the students in my classroom, not the smaller number of students
that I saw after school for several hours. This change of heart was also
brought about by the change in our family dynamics as I realized that I really
wanted to spend my time focusing on being a wife, mother, and teacher. Everything
else had to be put to the side, something that became even more apparent
shortly after our daughter was born.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When
Jeff came home the day after we had friends over to celebrate my thirtieth
birthday and asked me how I felt about moving to Fort Wayne, walking Sierra,
with Lydia strapped into a front carrier, became the only way for me to deal
with the questions that had my head spinning. Sierra knew our walking routine,
and I let her lead me as I cried and repeatedly asked God why he could possibly
want us to move to another city, away from a job and friends that I loved.
There didn’t seem to be an easy answer, but because I had a difficult time
doing anything but acting like a sulky sixteen-year-old when Jeff would want to
talk about it, I needed those times to myself. Lydia was still young enough
that she wasn’t aware of what was going on, and was often rocked to sleep by
the motions of the front carrier. Even my crying didn’t awake her during the
first couple weeks of me trying to come to terms with a potential decision that
would change our family forever.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Once we moved to Fort Wayne, walking the dog in our neighborhood was often the only
time that I could really be honest with how difficult life had become for me. In
the last seven months, walks in our neighborhood have calmed me and allowed me
to return to my husband and daughter refreshed and ready to deal with the
issues that face us as a family, instead of ignoring their needs and wallowing
in my own depression and loneliness. And those walks have helped me figure out
how I really feel about being here, and have given me the space to accept that
this might be the best place for us right now as a family. I am looking forward
to the spring, and seeing what our neighborhood looks like as it wakes up from
a winter slumber. We first saw our house in late March, when we felt like our
home search was coming to a frustrating end, but we were so focused on the
dreams we had for the house, that we never really paid attention to the changes
that were occurring around it. And still, as I walk with Sierra and prepare for
the birth of our new baby, those walks will continue to be those rare moments
when I get to be alone and refocus so I can turn my attention to my growing
family.</span></div>
Sarah Styfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068537932645735467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281592630512947401.post-71885257722654665142014-11-11T08:25:00.001-08:002014-11-11T08:25:30.306-08:00More Wallpaper: The Living Room Saga - Part 3Once our walls were finally painted and dry and looking significantly better than when we moved in I finally put the pictures that had been sitting in our guest room for the past three years on our walls. The living room was finally started to feel like home. The next step was buying and putting up a new chandelier to replace this one:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUWVLoyXXrGkGx0A-LsiOJYM16TuIgEgxCeQJNis0Ubq44GPjAq0lQYcCkaNOByz4_KEZoyqTHl6A3nr_XiddUA_v46p1_HrGy6V6B-e6-6wd7MdmfOni3QLKWx5sZKm30zFVNHsZT9vE/s1600/IMG_0486.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUWVLoyXXrGkGx0A-LsiOJYM16TuIgEgxCeQJNis0Ubq44GPjAq0lQYcCkaNOByz4_KEZoyqTHl6A3nr_XiddUA_v46p1_HrGy6V6B-e6-6wd7MdmfOni3QLKWx5sZKm30zFVNHsZT9vE/s320/IMG_0486.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Besides the fact that this particular chandelier was not our style at all, it was clearly not someone else's style, evidenced by the $20 masking tape sticker that was stuck to the side. I have no problems with using and reusing items. I believe that some of the greatest treasures can be found in other people's trash. HOWEVER, there is a limit, and that chandelier was the limit for me.<br />
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The very first time my husband and I attempted to put up a chandelier was when we first moved into our house in Indy. The dining area (because we didn't have a dining room) had a hideous fruit Tiffany style lamp hanging from the ceiling. It was one of the first things we replaced, and it was one of many home improvement projects in the early years of our marriage and home ownership that jeopardized our relationship. This time, with the evening hours quickly fading and two children running around singing along to the Muppets soundtrack (a wonderfully fun movie for all children of the 70s and 80s who grew up watching the Muppets), we fairly calmly put up the new and much more attractive chandelier. As always, my arms got tired from holding the piece over my head, but it was a relatively light piece compared to other ceiling mounted light fixtures we have installed, and quite frankly, I usually get the easy job: chase down pieces that get dropped and hand my husband new pieces as needed. I am very happy with the new fixture.<br />
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<br />
Then we had to wait for window replacements. The story of replacing the windows really goes back to when we first moved into the house. It is nearing late fall, and my husband decided to finally fix the broken gable vent in our attic that appeared to be the entry point for some <a href="http://frazzledreflections.blogspot.com/2012/09/unwanted-tenants.html">large animal</a> that continued to get into the house. As he tried to close the ladder, the heavy end snapped down, and before any of us could stop it we watched the ladder crash through our bay window. Not just any window, but one of the most expensive windows in the house to replace. I called a glass company, they came and replaced the single pane, making our bay window way less efficient but at least still useable, and so we have managed for nearly three years. Additionally, the wood on one of the crank windows rotted to the point that we ended up cracking the glass the last time we shut it. It is safe to say we have an energy draining useless bay window in the dining room.<br />
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Then my husband had the misfortune about two months ago to hit a hidden rock in the grass that somehow managed to fly into our daughter's second story bedroom window. Thankfully, it didn't break through the storm window, meaning the window was useable but still needed to be replaced ASAP.<br />
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During the course of getting window estimates (and anyone who has had that done knows how painful it can be to hear that final number) one of the companies suggested that we wouldn't have to replace the entire bay window. Instead, we could rewrap it and get new glass at half the cost. SOLD!<br />
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The full window story is recounted <a href="http://frazzledreflections.blogspot.com/2013/08/the-great-window-saga.html" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
<br />Sarah Styfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068537932645735467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281592630512947401.post-47562825128898840762014-08-20T09:15:00.004-07:002014-08-20T09:15:53.419-07:00New First StepsTheoretically, it should have been easy. I never stopped working, which means that for the last five years my little girl has been attending some kind daycare situation. We had a wonderful first three months together (thanks to my perfectly timed April delivery which extended my maternity leave into the summer months) and then she was off to a wonderful in-home daycare. Because of moves and circumstances beyond our control, she has moved around some, but for the last two years (her preschool years) she has been attending the same daycare as her little brother. I have dropped her off in the morning for a day of learning, snacks, and play. And then during the summer months she has been at home with me.<br />
<br />
Everything changed today. Today my baby girl started Kindergarten. I remember when I started Kindergarten 30 years ago. That was back when a half day of school was the standard. I started school with a couple of my preschool classmates and my childhood best friend was a little girl who I also went to church with. I had a small group of ready made friends but quickly made more. We spent our mornings learning things that my daughter was learning to do in preschool. My afternoons were free. But it was still the start of my academic career. By the time the year was over I could read and do simple math and thanks to the wonderful teachers at our inner city Detroit Lutheran school, I had a strong foundation for later, weaker years of education. I was loved by my teachers and they daily shared both knowledge and the love of Christ. But it was me. I was the one growing up, not my little girl. I was the one looking forward to my future and the world that was opening up in front of me, not my little girl.<br />
<br />
I am excited to see my little girl grow up. I am excited to see what God has in store for her. I am excited to see her grow and mature in knowledge and faith. I am excited to see her excitement when she reads her very first chapter book on her own or to read the very first story that she writes on her own without me spelling every single word out for her. I am excited to watch her school plays and concerts. I am excited to see her learn new things about the world around her in both science and social studies. I am excited to see the relationships she will build with her new classmates. But I'm also sad. I am sad because this is a new first step into more independence. As parents we walk this fine line of eagerly waiting for the day that our children do not need us to do certain things for them (i.e. change their diapers, spoon feed them, tie shoes, dress them) and sadness when they reach those milestones and they need us less. I know that we never stop needing our parents. Even as adults we never stop needing our parents. But those needs change and become less frequent, less pressing.<br />
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And then there is the realization that this change is also a change in my responsibilities as a parent and that scares me. I am seriously afraid that I am going to become the parent that drives me, the teacher, crazy. When she was in preschool I couldn't remember to sign permission forms and turn in book orders on time. During registration two days ago there was so much paperwork that I was overwhelmed. How was I going to keep everything straight? I have to remember lunch (which was always covered by daycare), have to get her up in time to eat some breakfast (which has proven to be a difficult task since she was born), have to help with homework and make sure that she is given the time to do it, and have to figure out drop off and pick up at two different locations for two years while we wait for our son to enter Kindergarten. And that is just the stuff that I know about. We are entering the unknown and it is just as scary for Mommy as it is for daughter. Possibly more so.<br />
<br />
I know that she will be fine. Just like me, she has a little girl in her class who she went to preschool with and they were thrilled to be reunited during registration. Maybe she will become my daughter's childhood best friend. My baby girl is a sweet, smart, and talented little girl who will thrive. But that doesn't change the fact that this is much harder than I anticipated it would be five years ago. So for now I will pray for her, as I did last night when I was running around the block. And today I will be thankful that her little brother still has two more years of early childhood. We'll just drag that one out for as long as we can.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here I am on the first day of Kindergarten in 1984.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2S9DQIu0p3PJ7dQ8U4iaJbPNkqjJbkA1cE05OTIDpcL3yeztxNhjHEVMBg-SBVfogejX-2WZ1JrHNxVDNTLak39Mz3QJpRdR507oUawX4N8qpx18QUzoPwsIEFxGlOrskhWehrwuHb6c/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2S9DQIu0p3PJ7dQ8U4iaJbPNkqjJbkA1cE05OTIDpcL3yeztxNhjHEVMBg-SBVfogejX-2WZ1JrHNxVDNTLak39Mz3QJpRdR507oUawX4N8qpx18QUzoPwsIEFxGlOrskhWehrwuHb6c/s1600/photo.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here is my daughter on the first day of school in 2014.</td></tr>
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<br />Sarah Styfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068537932645735467noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281592630512947401.post-20456007751568200232014-08-12T05:52:00.001-07:002020-08-03T20:30:14.913-07:00This Is When It Gets HardI am a wife, a mother, and a teacher. They are three vocations (not jobs) that I relish. They make me who I am, and without one of those vocations I don't feel complete. But this is the time of year when those three vocations collide in uncomfortable ways: the beginning of the school year.<br />
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As usual, this summer has been fantastic, and as I <a href="http://frazzledreflections.blogspot.com/2013/06/so-what-really-are-best-years.html" target="_blank">noted last year</a>, the older my kids get, the more enjoyable that summer time is. And this summer was packed. We camped, both kids had swimming lessons, my daughter went to two day camps, and I spent the majority of the summer purging and selling a much as I could through Facebook garage sale groups. We went to the park, to the drive-in, and hung out. It was a good summer for all of us. During one weekend camping trip my daughter asked my husband why he couldn't be a teacher. She wanted to camp for longer and knew that if Daddy also had the summer off she wouldn't have to go home yet. We laughed at the idea of my computer nerd of a husband being a teacher but also enjoyed our daughter's sweet sentiment. She just wanted to spend more time with her whole family.<br />
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Contrary to popular belief, most teachers don't take the whole summer off. There are workshops, summer assignments, summer school, professional reading, and getting everything done that doesn't get done during the school year. Really, when you are working anywhere between 50-70 hours in a given school week, depending on the time of the year, a lot gets neglected during the school year. That includes quality time with our kids. But we working moms who are teachers are blessed. We get to spend our summer months with our kids, a luxury that our fellow non-teacher working moms do not have. I can take my kids to work with me during the summer. I can grade summer reading assignments with them sitting next to me on the couch (thanks to the Internet). And I have a lot more time for them. Nights can get later without worrying about getting them up in time for daycare and work the next morning. I don't have to worry about staying on a strict schedule (with the exception of things like swimming lessons and day camp). I honestly have a hard time flipping that switch at the beginning of the summer and by the end of summer I am ready for routine again, but the in-between time is awesome.<br />
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Then we have to go back to school. My daughter has always gone with the flow and this year things change again because she is starting kindergarten, which means a new schedule and routine for the three of us as we get ready in the morning. But my son has never been good about getting back into routine. He thrives on routine but he prefers that his routine include Mommy. So this week has been hard. REALLY hard. We've had two mornings of kicking, screaming, and tears. He doesn't want to go back to school. He wants to go to school with Mommy. I'm beginning to think that those couple of days hanging out with just me last week while his sister was at day camp spoiled both of us. He played in my room, watched movies, and took naps on my floor. The last two mornings have been hard on me too. I don't like seeing my baby upset. I love that he wants to be with me. And I'm frustrated because his tantrums and tears are keeping me from a tight morning schedule. This is when the guilt and frustration gets to be a little much. This is when I question one of my three vocations.<br />
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And yet I'm still excited for a new year. I know that in the next couple of weeks things will settle down. My son will be back in his routine, my daughter will be thriving in Kindergarten, and I will be living it up talking about composition, rhetoric, and literature. But until then I am once again reminded that this is when the job is hard. This is when it feels more like a job than a vocation. But I know that this what I am called to do. I am called to be a wife, mom, AND a teacher. And with God's help, we will make it through the start of another school year.<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx1IK79YoFwzP4qOKLGAL2HQ5XkXkLyS1DJLsSpsMZQ-RULqXrKRzMcMT-bIyjgWbHcBirkGOwJ6TiADhbpjDOn3x1gRA9V0d41oE_dr4zix5FgRMHzhJsjJFHpMbDBXb7rkWFhbStz4c/s1102/Copy+of+Copy+of+Copy+of+The+New+Blog+%252822%2529.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1102" data-original-width="735" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx1IK79YoFwzP4qOKLGAL2HQ5XkXkLyS1DJLsSpsMZQ-RULqXrKRzMcMT-bIyjgWbHcBirkGOwJ6TiADhbpjDOn3x1gRA9V0d41oE_dr4zix5FgRMHzhJsjJFHpMbDBXb7rkWFhbStz4c/s640/Copy+of+Copy+of+Copy+of+The+New+Blog+%252822%2529.png" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Sarah Styfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068537932645735467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281592630512947401.post-14524634902207683392014-07-21T21:24:00.002-07:002014-07-21T21:29:44.364-07:00Yeah, I Don't Really Miss the TentIn our third year of marriage, my husband suggested that we go out to Yellowstone for a summer vacation. I felt like the suggestion came out of nowhere. As a well-traveled girl who spent five years living in Wyoming I scoffed at the idea that we would be able to just up and travel to Yellowstone without months of advance planning. After all, it is one of the most popular national parks in the US. I remembered visiting once, when I was 11, and the crowds were sizable, especially considering that our family visited shortly after the wildfires that nearly destroyed the Old Faithful Lodge. But we did quick research, discovered campsites along the way that were still available, and made plans and quick reservations. In a matter of weeks we were packing up our little four-door Focus with all the camping equipment that would fit and we headed out west.<br />
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It turned out to be the most amazing vacation of our married life, at least before we had kids. We stopped at Wall Drug, drove through the Badlands, saw Mount Rushmore, drove past Crazy Horse, and then drove through Yellowstone National Park to our campsite in West Yellowstone, Montana, setting up our tent in the dark with only a lantern to light the way. We slept in our tent, pulled most of our meals out of our cooler, cooked on our stove under the big western sky, and enjoyed the cool, arid nights. And we dreamed. We dreamed of a day when we would bring our kids on the same trip out west, visiting all the sights we had visited, adding sights that we had skipped, and camping the whole way. Our dreams for our future children included vacations during which they got to see the country up close and personal. We wanted them to see God's beautiful creation and experience it out in the open. It's no secret that I am a big fan of the NPS. <a href="http://frazzledreflections.blogspot.com/2013/07/biking-battlefields.html" target="_blank">Our trip last summer to Gettysburg</a> made that perfectly clear. But from early on in our marriage it hasn't just been about what we wanted to see for ourselves. It has been about the kind of experiences that we want our kids to have.<br />
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But life got away from us. We were dealing with two jobs, graduate school, and suddenly two kiddos, and while we still dreamed of vacations to see as many of the national parks as possible, the reality appeared to be out of our grasp. We believed in tent camping. We made fun of the people who "camped" in trailers. And then I caved. My husband wanted to get back out there, and he knew the only way he was going to successfully get me going was if we got a camper. <a href="http://frazzledreflections.blogspot.com/2013/07/yeah-we-gave-in.html" target="_blank">And so we did it.</a> And less than a year later we decided to just bite the bullet and get the one we really wanted. We sold the first camper and signed the papers for the camper that is to be our home away from home for the next several years.<br />
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Sure, there are times that I am wistfully nostalgic about tent camping. Learning how to set up a tent taught us about teamwork. I remember one particularly bad night setting up camp when we put up our brand new clearance Eddie Bauer tent in the dark. It was considerably bigger than our first tent. We nicknamed it the "Tent Majal" for a reason. One tent pole got broken (but was still usable) and by the time we went to bed we were tired and frustrated with each other. But we got over it. We had a good weekend camping and in the end still had fun. And we had learned together. Tent camping helped us grow as a couple. I love the sound of rain on the nylon rain fly. I love early morning sounds that can't be muffled by thin tent walls. I love snuggling up under a warm sleeping bag on those cool spring and fall nights. I love those things as much as I loathe trying to stay dry when it rains all weekend, failing to warm back up when the fire can't light, and hot, humid nights from which there is no escape. I look with awe upon other 30-something parents setting up tent cities with their broods in tow. They amaze me because I know how much work it was to do it with just the two of us. Amazing? Yes. Memorable? Yes. Cheap? YES! But it was still work and I can't imagine how much work it would be with our two loveable yet energetic little ones.<br />
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Yes, we have caved and taken the "easy" way out, but this summer of camping adventures has convinced us that we have made the right decision. While that long trip out west is still waiting in the wings, we have taken our kids all over the state of Indiana to experience what the wonderful Indiana state park system has to offer. And it has a lot to offer. Our kids aren't at home being tempted by the TV, Netflix, and our extensive movie collection. They are getting dirty playing at our campsite, learning how to ride their bikes around the relatively safe park roads, making friends with kids around the campground, and learning from the various ranger programs. They are out in nature. They are seeing what God created. And they are gaining a thirst for more. Last weekend on our trip to Ouabache State Park (a fantastic park for those of you who live in Indiana), we took them on the mile long hike around the Bison preserve. The kids weren't just awed by the size of the bison. They were awed by all there was to learn about bison. We talked about everything from what they eat to the fact that pioneers used buffalo chips to make fires out on the prairie. And we promised them to someday take them to a place where they could see buffalo in their natural habitat, a prospect that excited them. They were simple lessons and it was an easy walk around the perimeter of the preserve but it was a chance for quality family time and an opportunity for my husband and I to teach our children while hanging out with them.<br />
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As 21st century parents there is a kind of pressure to give our kids experiences and decide what kind of memories we want our kids to have. We want to give them everything. <a href="http://frazzledreflections.blogspot.com/2014/06/most-magical-place-on-earth.html" target="_blank">Disney was great</a>, and we plan to do that again, but we don't want Disney vacations to be the highlight trips of their youth. We want them to remember that they got to see the country. We want the whole family to unplug and experience the great United States together. We know that someday the magic will end. The kids won't want to be around us. They won't want to spend hours and weeks in the truck and in close quarters in a camper. They'll want to be on their own. And while we could make many of those memories from the confines of a tent or two, we have decided that for our family a portable tin and plywood box with heating and air conditioning is best. I'm ok with that. We'll just keep the tents close by for when the kids are ready to move out.<br />
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<br />Sarah Styfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068537932645735467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281592630512947401.post-63739733310193196322014-06-25T05:48:00.002-07:002014-08-20T11:46:41.821-07:00 Book Review - The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My family lived in Wyoming between my 6th grade year and junior year of high school. Those five years were a learning experience for me in many areas of my life, but one of the surprising areas was in a new perspective on race in America. I was a Midwestern girl who had spent eight of her earliest formative years in Detroit, a city where I was surrounded by race issues related to black/white. One of my best friends was an African American girl who lived next door and my Lutheran elementary school had a healthy racial mix. When we moved to Wyoming I was suddenly surrounded by a sea of white. There are exceptions, which was true in our town, but for the most part the Wyoming population is very white. That is until one visits the reservation, or the "rez." While exposure to other races had never been lacking in my upbringing, exposure to real, live Indians was a new experience for me. And as I get older and learn more, the minimal exposure to Native Americans that I experienced during that five year period begins to make more sense. It also makes me more passionate about what I believe is the most disenfranchised racial group in the United States, a passion I even carry into my teaching of American Literature.<br />
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Sherman Alexie's young adult novel, <i>The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian</i> was a delightful addition to my summer reading. It is a book that has faced <a href="http://www.idahostatesman.com/2014/04/02/3112930/meridian-keeps-book-off-shelves.html" target="_blank">censorship nationwide</a>, but the English teacher in me cannot resist a little controversy in my summer reading selections. The book is funny, heartbreaking, and eye opening, and while I can definitely see why some parents might object to the content in the book, I believe that it is a story worth reading. It is honest. And it is important.<br />
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The novel follows Junior (Arnold) as he makes the controversial decision to leave the "rez" and attend a small, all-white school in the neighboring town. Near the beginning of his freshman year, Junior's teacher convinces him that he needs to get off the reservation to save himself. Junior knows his teacher is right but it is a scary move. To leave the reservation and attend a "white" school is to renounce his tribe. He knows that if he leaves he will be seen as a traitor. He also knows that he will be an outsider at his new school, surrounded by racists and individuals with preconceived notions about Native Americans. But he knows that the only way to escape a future of poverty and alcoholism is for him to attend school off of the reservation. In the process he loses his best friend and he and his family are persecuted by their family, friends, and neighbors. However, he discovers new opportunities that he would have never had if he had stayed on the reservation.<br />
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It is the story of a teenage boy caught between two worlds. Many teenagers are caught between two worlds and it is for that reason that this novel speaks to teenagers. Much of what Junior experiences in the novel mirrors their own high school experiences. But it also the story of a Native American teenager caught between two very different worlds. Alexie, a Spokane Indian himself, captures the uniqueness that is 21st century Native American adolescence. He humorously critiques both the white world and the Native American Indian world, both of which appear to perpetuate a broken system that keeps Native Americans poor and outside of the American Dream. He shines a light on the problems that plague modern Native Americans, primarily alcoholism, substance abuse, and poor education, which turn the revolving door of poverty. He shatters many of the assumptions that people outside of the reservations have concerning Native Americans.<br />
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Near the end of the novel Junior realizes that in order for him to be ok, he needs to leave. "I wept and wept and wept because I knew that I was never going to drink and because I was never going to kill myself and because I was going to have a better life out in the white world. I realized that I might be a lonely Indian boy, but I was not alone in my loneliness. There were millions of other Americans who had left their birthplaces in search of a dream. I realized that, sure, I was a Spokane Indian. I belonged to that tribe. But I also belonged to the tribe of American immigrants. And to the tribe of basketball players. And to the tribe of bookworms...It was a huge realization. And that's when I knew that I was going to be okay. But it also reminded me of the people who were not going to be ok." Alexie's character does what he also did; he leaves. That is the only thing that will save Junior. The reservation killed his parents' dreams. It will kill his best friend's dreams. But he will not let it kill his dreams.<br />
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There is so much discussion in this country about people of various races and their difficulties, past and present. We debate immigration, we discuss inequity in the legal system, we argue about welfare reform and who it will hurt most, we criticize the education system and the apparent racism in the SAT. But we forget about the first Americans. We preach about the horrors of slavery (and yes, it was horrible) but we ignore the 19th century genocide <span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span>of tribe after tribe of Native Americans (and according to the definition of "genocide" from 1948 Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of Genocide, it was genocide). Native Americans are an important part of United States history. In a recent interview, Sherman Alexie said "<a href="http://billmoyers.com/segment/sherman-alexie-on-living-outside-borders/" target="_blank">I know a lot more about being white than you know about being Indian</a>." I believe that is what struck me most about the novel. That is also what was so heartbreaking about the novel. We don't concern ourselves with learning about Native American history, believing that they are all the same and putting them into a singular group. We don't concern ourselves with their history and significant tribal differences. We allow most of what we know about them as a people to come from the media. We say "Let them have their casinos and as long as they don't come off the reservation, we don't have to own up to the fact that we forget they even exist." I am not immune to this attitude and belief. I was entering adolescence before I saw my first "real, live Indian," but I don't want it to be that way for my children. I don't want them to see Native Americans as a relic of the past but as a vibrant part of our current American culture.<br />
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Native Americans are suddenly in the media spotlight because of a sports controversy. I'm not sure how I feel about the whole current Redskins controversy, but I personally do not believe that this is the most important issue facing Native Americans in 21st century America. I personally feel that the entire Native American community would be much better served if the rest of this country tried to figure out how to enfranchise them into mainstream American society without forcing them to give up their culture and identity. That is something we haven't figured out how to do in 400 years. One of the critiques of the novel is that it is anti-Christian. As a Christian woman, the "slams" against Christianity made me squirm. But as a historian I completely understand where those slams came from. I am much more uncomfortable with the history of "conversion" of Native American Indians than I am with Alexie's novelized critique of Christianity and organized religion. The 19th and early 20th century approach of "Kill the Indian to save the soul" has done much more harm than good with lasting damage reaching into the 21st century. There is no easy answer to how to help the original Americans, but I believe it is time that the rest of us stop ignoring that it is a problem. A book like <i>True Diary</i> is important reading for young adults and adults. It gives a glimpse into a world that most of us will never personally encounter while being entertaining at the same time. Books can open worlds and minds, so why not start with this one?Sarah Styfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068537932645735467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281592630512947401.post-9552401042122183652014-06-19T12:15:00.000-07:002014-06-19T12:15:12.423-07:00Brave New World of Memories<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture of me in Florence, Italy - September 1999 - I was a pretty cute 20 year old.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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I spent the fall semester of 1999 studying in London. That semester included a trip to the continent (France, Italy, Switzerland, and Germany), a long weekend trip to Scotland, a week long trip to Ireland, and trips all over London. I took many rolls of film with me, tried to heed the warnings about what x-ray machines would do to my film when going through customs, and when I finally returned to the States I eagerly waited with bated breath for the store to finish developing over 300 (that's right, THREE HUNDRED) pictures.<br />
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By contrast I took nearly 400 pictures on digital devices during a single week long family vacation to Florida.<br />
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I love taking pictures. I love looking at pictures. Photographs are a time capsule; they capture a moment, an emotion, a memory. And they help us share those moments, emotions, and memories with those who cannot be there in person.<br />
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I was so excited when I got my first camera. It was a new kind of independence. Suddenly I was in charge of my own memories. I wasn't dependent on my mom and dad to take all of my pictures. With my little 110 mm camera I was able to take pictures of anything I wanted: vacations, youth group trips, randomness. While I would still occasionally try to get doubles of pictures my parents developed (remember getting doubles???) most of the time I would use my saved allowance so that I could pay for photo developing of my very own pictures. It was exciting to open up that envelope of freshly developed pictures to see how my photography had turned out.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I took this picture at Niagara Falls shortly after I got the camera.</td></tr>
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Then I moved to the 35 mm camera and a whole new world was opened to me: better pictures and now I had a choice between 3.5 inch prints or 4.5 inch prints. I was traveling more, spending more time away from family, and I had a better camera with which to capture those moments. In the months leading up to the above mentioned semester in London I lamented the fact that I had a poor camera with which to take pictures of exciting new places. My parents bought themselves a new camera with a significant zoom lens and they let me take it to Europe. Problem solved. I came home with mostly fantastic shots of my adventure. Then my fiance (now husband) bought me a new camera to take with us to Colorado to visit his sister. More great pictures taken with a new and even better camera than I had before.<br />
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A couple years later, as we packed for our trip out to Yellowstone, my husband's parents loaned us their 3 megapixel camera. I was anti-digital. Why would I want to give up my film camera for a digital camera? How would I print pictures? Where would I store the pictures? Would they even be as good as the pictures that I took with my fairly decent film camera? During that trip we took pictures with both cameras. Both sets of pictures turned out great and I did, in fact, print out the digital photos. We have all those photos stored in a photo album somewhere on a shelf.<br />
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Nearly ten years later we live in a digital world with multiple digital devices that we use to document nearly every moment of our family's life. Like many American families we each have phones with cameras built in and we have a separate digital camera. We actually have two digital cameras, but I don't know when we last used the other one. We take pictures and videos all the time. If the kids are doing something funny and my husband isn't around, I take pictures and send them to him. Sometimes I just post them straight to Facebook. And I am no longer printing out those photos and putting them into photo albums. In fact, the last couple of years I have felt like a terrible parent as I have seen the other family displays that other kids have at daycare (each of the rooms have a collage of pictures for the kids to look at during the day so they can see their families) and felt like a terrible mother. Since I never print out the hundreds upon hundreds of pictures that we take all year round, my kids have not had the best family collages. Maybe that is another summer project I need to add to the list.<br />
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I started thinking about this yesterday as I sat down to work on photo books for the kids and for us. Photo printing may be a rarity, but I do keep our photos printed in the form of digitally produced photo books. I am not a scrapbooker, but I do try to keep up with the photo books, if only to make sure that we have hard copies of them somewhere in the house. However, I am seriously behind. As of this writing I have the last year of photos to catch up on for the whole family and the last seven months of photos to catch up on for both kids. And that is after spending the last three days trying to get caught up and completing three photo books that now need to be ordered. As I slaved away on my computer selecting photos and "dragging" them to their newly assigned place in a yet to be printed book, I started thinking about the loss of photographs as a hard record of events. I love looking at old photos, not just my old photos but photographs of my parents and grandparents. The loss of photographs is like the loss of letter writing, another former tool of record keeping that has gone the way of email and social media. While I love my now thousands of digital photos, all proudly displayed on my Facebook page, there is something significant about the tangible. About being able to hold a picture or letter and know that it is not a virus or finger swipe away from deletion.<br />
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I think about my many teenage students. They have grown up in a digital world. All of their memories are stored on hard drives or in cyberspace. They lose their phone or camera or something gets hit with a virus and every photo, every captured memory, could be erased. Some print out the pictures, but just like when I was a high school and college student, printing costs money. And unlike my high school experience, they can still see their pictures and share them with each other without thinking about potential dangers to their digital world.<br />
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Don't get me wrong. Digital photography is a fantastic advancement. It has made capturing the moment so much easier. But in the last couple days I have been reminded of the importance of the tangible, of keeping a hard copy of those memories at hand. I don't know if I could ever go back and I have no desire to do so, but that doesn't mean I have to stop filling up photo albums to share with future generations. So I guess I have work to do this summer...Sarah Styfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068537932645735467noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281592630512947401.post-77951857315002776152014-06-17T06:16:00.001-07:002014-06-17T06:19:11.408-07:00Book Review - A Long Way Gone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Several years ago we saw Ishmael Beah give an interview on <i>The Daily Show with Jon Stewart</i>. As frequently happens when we see Jon Stewart give an interview with the author of a newly released book, our interest was piqued. And again, as frequently happens when a book piques our interest, my husband read the book and I didn't. When I made my <a href="http://frazzledreflections.blogspot.com/2014/01/a-new-year-2014.html" target="_blank">goals for 2014</a> I publicly promised myself I would read more for fun, or at least for personal gain, in an attempt to get away from my terrible habit of just reading for professional and academic purposes. And while <i>A Long Way Gone</i> is a title on my extensive AP reading list, it is also a book that I wanted to read. So when my reading for the 2013-2014 school year was complete, I finally picked it off of the shelf and began reading.<br />
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Beah's book recounts his experiences growing up during the war in Sierra Leone, including the couple of years that he served in the government army as a child soldier. His heartbreaking account of separation from his friends, family, and childhood opened my eyes to events that were happening on the other side of the world while I was navigating new hallways my freshman year of high school. He opens with a simple yet telling sentence: "My high school friends have begun to suspect that I haven't told them the fully story of my life." He goes on to show the disconnect between us Americans and those who have lived through and participated in their country's wars. His friends ask "You mean you saw people running around with guns and shooting each other?" When he responds "Yes, all the time," they respond with "Cool."<br />
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His experience was far from cool.<br />
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By the end of the first chapter, the war has changed Beah's life forever. He has been separated from his parents and is running from rebels with only the clothes on his back and tape cassettes of popular 90s rap artists. His love for Naughty by Nature, LL Cool J, and Run-DMC initially saves his life on a couple occasions, as he and his friends are able to prove to frightened villagers that they encounter that they are not a part of the rebel army. He travels up the western coast of Sierra Leone with his small group of friends, which for awhile includes his brother, and they manage to escape the rebel army for quite awhile. But then they are found by the government army. While their physical lives might be temporarily saved, their emotional and psychological lives are destroyed. Soldiers feed them a steady stream of cocaine, marijuana, and "brown brown," a mix of powdered cocaine and gunpowder. They show them violent movies (including a lot of <i>Rambo</i>) and convince them that every act of violence is justifiable revenge for what has happened to their families. Beah goes down a dark path from which he sees no escape. Even I, as a reader, was unsure of his escape, although I knew he had to escape because he survived to write a book about it.<br />
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When he is fifteen, UNICEF workers show up in the middle of the fighting to take a group of boy soldiers with them. Beah never reveals what made his commanders hand over the brainwashed boys, but he was one of those selected for rehabilitation. For the next several months, UNICEF workers, and those from related organizations, patiently work with boys from both the government and rebel armies as they slowly withdraw from the drugs and violence to which they have become accustomed. The boys are physically and emotionally abusive to workers who consistently respond to their behavior with "It's not your fault." I have worked with teenagers for my entire career. I love them and have no desire to give it up. But I do not know how these men and women continued to show physical and emotional support for boys who abused them back at every turn. Their love and determination was almost as inspirational as Beah's survival. But freedom from the fighting is nearly impossible, and by the end of the book I was shocked that he made it out of his country alive. Now an American immigrant, his story of survival is both heartbreaking, shocking, and full of hope for those children who are still stuck in war torn areas around the globe.<br />
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It is strange to read books written by someone your own age as they recount events that happened to them in a completely different area of the world. I was a typical American teenager, more concerned with boys and school than I was in the suffering of fellow teenagers around the globe. Sierra Leone was far off my radar and probably still would have been had I not read Beah's book. The book made me angry. Angry at rebels who felt that the best way to achieve their goals was to kill anyone and everyone who might stand in their way. Angry at a government army that felt that the best way to achieve its goals was to kill anyone and everyone who might stand in its way. Angry at a government that allowed the murder of everyone and anyone who might stand in its way. And angry at a world that just stood by and let it happen. But that I know that isn't fair. Sin has caused wars for thousands of years. I don't understand what could possess people to act as they did in Sierra Leone and as they are currently acting in every war torn country around the world at this very moment. To read this book as fighting continues to break out across the Middle East opened my adult eyes to the world that my children are growing up in, but it also brought home the fact that these "new" conflicts are not new. In our sinful world there will always be fighting, and while I have no idea how to protect children around the world from facing the same fate as Ishmael Beah, my hope and prayer is that stories like his will not just raise awareness but change that will at the very least prevent more children from facing the same fate.Sarah Styfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068537932645735467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281592630512947401.post-49687753145148780702014-06-16T20:45:00.000-07:002014-06-16T20:45:05.752-07:00Most Magical Place On EarthMy first trip to a Disney park was before I was even born. My parents lived in southern California at the time, and while they only lived there a short time, they took advantage of the experience. They took me, in utero, to Disneyland. When I was six months old my parents took me back to Disneyland with my paternal grandparents and my two youngest aunts. I've been told I rode "it's a small world" with my grandparents over and over again to great delight. I do not remember the experience, but it's nice to know that I had the experience as an infant.<br />
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When I was nine, I traveled back to California with my parents and two younger sisters. We stayed with friends of my parents and got to experience a lot of southern California, including Disneyland. I loved Disneyland. We did everything we could at the park. I wasn't brave enough to try "Space Mountain" and I freaked out when my mom tried to take us on the Snow White ride (even at nine I was still reeling from the psychological damage inflicted by being taken to see <i>Snow White</i> when I wasn't quite three) but I remember loving the "Mad Tea Party," being awed by the Michael Jackson 3-D spectacular "Captain EO," tolerating "it's a small world," getting jealous of my little sister who got to be a part of the parade and came home with her very own pair of Minnie Mouse ears, and somewhere in a box I still have the diary that I bought as a souvenir. But I also remember it as a great trip with my family.<br />
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When I was a sophomore in college our choir went on tour through the southeast, ending in Florida. The tour included one day off during which we got to pick a single Disney park. Having already been to Disneyland ten years before, I chose to go to MGM (now Hollywood Studios) and loved it. It was a great time with friends and I really didn't think that I missed out on much. After all, I got to participate in movie magic. I didn't need fantasy magic, did I? <br />
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Six years ago, when we were in the midst of infertility heartbreak, we vacationed in Orlando with my in-laws and I got to go to Magic Kingdom for the first time ever. It was during that trip that I became convinced that Walt Disney really did create the most magical place on Earth. I loved Magic Kingdom and looked forward to a day when I could take my children there, that is, if God ever blessed us with children. But I enjoyed the Magic Kingdom as an adult does. We rode the rides intended for adults (and some for children) and didn't pay much attention to the parades, shows, and character hot spots. It made for a simple one day trip and I had yet to understand the complex undertaking that it is to take children through Disney World.<br />
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Three years ago I was <a href="http://frazzledreflections.blogspot.com/2013_05_01_archive.html" target="_blank">seven months pregnant</a>, uncomfortable, a full-time grad student, a teaching assistant, and we were flat broke. When my husband came home to tell me that he had to attend a conference in Orlando, the place we had been intending on going for vacation seven months before when we didn't know I would be pregnant, I was somewhat crushed. I knew that we couldn't afford to fly me down and I had both classes to attend and classes to teach that week. But our almost two-year-old daughter could go with him and stay with my vacationing in-laws, and she could do it for free. It was a great opportunity for her, but it meant me missing her first trip to Disney. Daddy got to make her toddler dreams come true. I didn't. She doesn't remember the trip, but it doesn't change the fact that I missed it.<br />
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But this time I wasn't missing it. This year's spring break vacation to Orlando meant that I got to go with both of our kiddos to the Magic Kingdom, and since our daughter didn't remember her first trip, we treated it like it was the first time for both of them, starting at the ticket booth when we got their 1st Visit pins. In preparation for our visit to Disney, we went out the night before to Walmart to get both kids their own autograph books for any autographs that they might get while at the Magic Kingdom. That trip itself was an adventure with a very tired little boy throwing a tantrum in the store because we wouldn't get him the popsicles that he wanted. For the record, our son is usually sweet and relatively well behaved, but his tantrums are epic, eardrum shattering, events. We were more than happy to bring him back to the condo and put him in bed so that he could be well rested for our very full Disney day. He was asleep in minutes, but the fact that he was so tired before crashing into bed the night before a full day at the Magic Kingdom made me more than a little nervous.<br />
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We didn't quite get on the road at 8:30 like I had originally intended. My husband, still recovering from two days nearly completely out of commission (and we now know that he probably had strep), was not going that quickly and even though they were very excited, our children were also moving slowly out of the door. Thankfully, my in-laws came with us so they helped me by getting sunscreen on the kids (another potential battle), we packed up snacks, filled the Camel Paks, double checked to make sure we had everything we could possibly need, and packed up four adults and two kids into the car and towards Disney World. We were still early in the day, got into the closer lots, and took the tram from the ticket booths to the front gate. Just as we did at Legoland, we rented a double-stroller (OUCH$$$) and headed towards Main Street. Our first stop was just as we entered Main Street. A musical number was starting and the kids were mesmerized.<br />
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As we were leaving the performance L immediately asked for her autograph book. She wanted to record what she had seen and she especially mesmerized by the girl in the purple dress (her favorite color). She started drawing this:</div>
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Next we headed towards Adventureland but were stopped when we realized that "Dream Along With Mickey" was starting right in front of the castle. We stopped everything and got the kids close enough so they could both see. With the appearance of Minnie and the princesses Cinderella, Snow White, and Aurora, L was all set to get back to her drawing as she recorded everything she was seeing. She did inform my husband, however, that she had no interest in drawing Maleficent, the primary villain who showed up in the show. Below are pictures of both the show and her drawings:<br />
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Next was Adventureland. We rode on Grandpa's favorite ride, "Jungle Cruise," quickly got through the line for "The Magic Carpets of Aladdin" (E was a little upset that we got a purple magic carpet instead of a blue one, but he quickly got over it), and then headed towards "Pirates of the Caribbean." During a pre-ride pit stop, E caught sight of the pirate swords in the store and suddenly I didn't think we would get out of the store without buying one. I finally convinced him that we had to do the ride first and we were headed towards another fast moving line. I was beginning to feel invincible. We had waits, but they weren't that long and Disney lines are constantly moving, so even if it takes awhile I at least felt like we were getting somewhere. The kids were fascinated by everything that they saw along the way, but then we got to the ride. Having only gone on the ride once before, I forgot about the potential scary parts. You know, like the fact that it gets pitch dark and then drops a little before getting to the actual ride portion where you see the story of the pirates? Yeah, the kiddos got a little scared.<br />
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But our son was still mesmerized and spent forever at the gift shop searching for the perfect sword. He finally found it and it spent most of the day in his hands, usually out of the scabbard, and it was frequently used as either a comfort object for him or a tool of leverage for Mom and Dad.<br />
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From there we hit the "Swiss Family Treehouse" (so I guess now the kids have to see the movie) and then into Frontierland where we hit "Country Bear Jamboree" while deciding what to do for food. The kids LOVED the show (what kid doesn't love watching animatronic bears singing country songs) and by the time we headed out of the adjoining restaurant the "Festival of Fantasy" parade was about to begin. This time L got to see all of her favorite characters, including Anna and Elsa. This was important! We were not going to pay to go to Epcot just so that she could meet them in person (because like every little girl in the country she is obsessed with <i>Frozen</i>) so she at least got to see them. She waved to everyone, got to actually shake hands with Tiana, and when the parade was over and she could get out of the hot, blinding sun, she sat down to draw this:<br />
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With the exception of not meeting Aladdin and Jasmine, who were not in the parade, her day was now complete, and it wasn't even 3:30 yet. Since we were in close proximity, we headed to the "Haunted Mansion" next, which we think is hilarious but apparently our kids did not agree. Well, E really liked it until he discovered that his sister did NOT enjoy it and then he changed his mind. To get them excited again we headed straight for "it's a small world" and the parents survived the experience, especially since it brought back the smiles.<br />
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Then it was time to meet Aladdin and Jasmine. This was no small thing. When L first went to the Magic Kingdom three years ago she was obsessed the <i>Beauty and the Beast,</i> and primarily with Beast. Shortly after her return she became obsessed with <i>Aladdin</i>. The characters became her imaginary friends, her best friends. And while she has moved on to new things (<i>Frozen</i> being primary among those things) she still has a special place in her heart for Aladdin. When we got to the line we discovered that we had missed that timed meeting so we had to wait for the next meeting. She was devastated, but we promised we wouldn't leave until she got to meet them. So we waited another 30 minutes, got into line, and then discovered that Jasmine was off finding Rajah. Thankfully L still loves Aladdin, so she was fine with just meeting him. Then it was off to meet Merida, who WAS one of her favorite princesses until the introduction of Anna and Elsa. It turned out to be the last of her signatures, but it was still a fantastic experience for both kids. Merida took time to talk to both of them, L got to show her the pictures she had colored while waiting, and then they both got to learn how to shoot a bow and arrow. Merida was also gracious enough to listen to L talk about the awesomeness of Anna and Elsa. I'm sure the poor girl hears about them every day, but she was fantastic about it.<br />
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From there we wandered into Tomorrowland and enjoyed a short wait to get into the "Monsters, Inc. Laugh Floor." It's fun for the kids and parents and is different every time. Then the "Tomorrowland Speedway," where we paired off to drive. My husband got to drive with L and I got to drive with E. It took one ride around the loop to convince me that I am not the one to teach our children how to drive. I got a glimpse into my future if I do: yelling, stomping on an imaginary break, steering wheel grabbing, and just general conflict from the time my kids start the ignition. My poor son was desperate to just drive while I couldn't relinquish control. L had a lot more fun with her more patient father. An ice cream stop and we left Tomorrowland heading back to Fantasyland.<br />
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As the sun started to set we stopped at "Dumbo the Flying Elephant," continuing the trend of no lines. At a busier time we might have been able to stop to enjoy the indoor play yard for kids who are waiting in line, but we didn't have lines so the kids and I rode on Dumbo together (my husband hates any kind of circular motion and was happy taking pictures from below). Then we quickly got through the line to "Under the Sea - Journey of the Little Mermaid," a fantastic ride that took us through the entire Disney story of <i>The Little Mermaid</i>. Normally it is a long wait. I think it took us longer to walk from the entrance to the ride than it did for us to do the ride, and we didn't have to wait once we got to the end of the line. From there we finally found a real line - "The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh." Not only was the ride itself fun, but the many activities as we waited in line were also a lot of fun for both kids. We almost didn't get them on the ride because they were so distracted by the fun they were having waiting in line. As we were leaving the ride L exclaimed, "I want to come here every day." Yeah, that's not happening, but it was good to know that she was thoroughly enjoying herself. Our ride adventures for the day ended as we rounded a corner and a collection of colorful teacups caught my daughter's eye.<br />
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"What are those?" She was instantly mesmerized by the oversized pieces of china.<br />
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"They're the teacups. Do you want to ride on them?"<br />
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"YEAH!"<br />
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So once again I rode a ride with circles by myself with both kids. I was honestly thrilled. "Mad Hatter Tea" was one of my favorite rides when I went to Disneyland as a nine-year-old. Here I was, 25 years later, enjoying the ride with my own kids with my husband sitting on the sidelines avoiding the centrifugal motion.<br />
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We gradually worked two very tired kiddos towards the park entrance, getting stopped by the "Main Street Electrical Parade" and then finding a place to stop and watch "Celebrate the Magic." It's an impressive show with clips from many Disney movies, past and present, telling the story of everything Disney. E didn't make it through the show, quickly falling asleep once we stopped in one place. L, however, was mesmerized, as was I. The most entertaining moment for me was the collective gasp from every little girl in the park when Elsa, from <i>Frozen</i>, was projected on Cinderella's Castle singing "Let It Go." By the time we finally worked our way through the crowds, dropped off the stroller, and met up with my in-laws, we were all exhausted. Exhausted but happy, and I was without regrets.<br />
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Say what you will about all things Disney, but it truly is a magical place for kids and adults, and seeing my kids experience it for the first time was awesome. We will go back and we will spend more time there the next time, but we were glad to have that first experience as a family. It was a highlight of our spring break trip and one our kids still talk about. Now we just have to start saving for a full Disney vacation.Sarah Styfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068537932645735467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281592630512947401.post-63354469057832661382014-04-01T11:05:00.000-07:002014-06-17T06:21:04.431-07:00Adventures Made of BlocksToday, for the first time ever, we took both children to an amusement park.<br />
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Our daughter has been to Disney (more on that when we get to our Magic Kingdom day) and both have been to the zoo numerous times, but we had never gone to an amusement park as a whole family. That is, until today.<br />
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In Orlando there are many choices for family entertainment, but when you are the parents of two small children, there are different factors to consider than those with older children. While it may certainly cost less to take your family to the parks (children under three are free at most parks and they tend to eat less) you also have to decide if it is worth the money that you will be spending in addition to the exhausted children at the end of the day. Older children may cost more but they are also able to do more, remember more of what they did, and they usually have significantly more stamina in the sleep department than toddlers. Or at least, they are much better at pretending that they do.<br />
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We have primarily planned a week of fun and relaxation with our kids. But we wanted to do some memory creating big item things with them. We considered our options Saturday night into Sunday; we opted for the park that advertises that it is perfect for children between the ages of 2-12, and they were right. Legoland it was for the day.<br />
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Our son is an early riser, our daughter is not, so it might be a testament to their current state of exhaustion that our daughter was up and going before our son. After a quick breakfast, a tearful sunscreening (we've had a couple minor mishaps with sunscreen which makes the process a little difficult), and gathering of goods, we headed out the door and to the park.<br />
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The kids were excited and we were excited to see them so excited. But the day was complicated by the fact that we started with one very sleepy little boy who needed to stay with us for eight more hours. We had gotten our tickets for the park for a steal (thanks to going to a timeshare presentation) but that also meant standing in line for longer to validate our voucher. We were also fighting a slew of school kids and home school kids who were there for the day. When I'm on spring break I have a hard time remembering that other people are still in school, even with a niece and nephew who are visiting back and forth because they have school this week. We finally decided that it would be best for us to rent a stroller to avoid carrying tired kids (ours didn't fit in the car for the drive down). It took awhile to get E to get into the stroller, but our decision was eventually validated.<br />
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Our first ride was the "Island in the Sky," a simple ride that gave us a 360 view of the park. While far from exciting, it at least gave the kids an idea of everything there was to see. Then we walked through Fun Town and the kids saw the Grand Carousel. My husband, who HATES circles, braved the centrifugal motion so that both kids could ride with a parent. They both got their desired brown and black horses but we had to ride in separate rows. A quick lunch at a fairly decent pasta and pizza buffet and both kids were happily filled enough for us to see a 4D presentation during which both kids insisted on taking off their 3D glasses. L was a little scared (I didn't believe it was that scary but the sound and wind did heighten her already tired senses) but she did enjoy the falling snow.<br />
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From there it was Miniland. I've always enjoyed Legos. As a child I went through a brief period of architect dreams and proving that I am my father's daughter (my dad taught drafting for eight years in Detroit) I found great pleasure in building a variety of houses with all the Legos in our house. Unfortunately for me, they were my little sister's Legos and not mine, so it did mean learning to share. Miniland was like my childhood dream come true. I don't know how long it took the master builders to create Miniland, but it was more than a little incredible. I honestly think I was more enthralled than my children, but they did enjoy pushing random buttons to make the different displays do things, including mini-water cannons, moving seals, and men fishing off of a pier.<br />
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From there it was Land of Adventure. We did our first real ride, "Lost Kingdom Adventure." We weren't sure what to expect, but it was definitely a game for Mommy and Daddy as opposed to the kids. Sitting in cars through the Egyptian tombs we got to shoot lazer guns at targets and try to get the highest score. L sat with me and hit nothing but really tried, E sat with my husband and pointed his gun but never actually pulled the trigger, and Mommy was happy because she got a higher score than Daddy. Then L was promised her very first roller coaster, the wooden coaster "Coastersaurus." This is where the drama started. Our kids got along great (they usually do) and worked well together on our trip to Legoland, but when E discovered that his sister got to go on the roller coaster with Daddy and he was stuck with Mommy he lost it. I think the entire park heard him lose it. I still don't think that my hearing has recovered. When he finally settled down long enough for me to have a conversation with him (because there is no reasoning with a crying, screaming, babbling two-year-old) he agreed to stand in line at the "Safari Trek." Less than five minutes later I got the person behind us in line to take this picture of him as I held him.<br />
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That's right. He was asleep. When Daddy and L returned from the roller coaster (the line was more like 10 minutes long as opposed to 45 minutes long) I handed him off. He still looked like this:<br />
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Of course by the time we got to the front of the line, he looked like this:<br />
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Apparently L really enjoyed her first experience on a roller coaster, until the second drop when her belly got pinched and she was hurt. It was an unfortunate incident that took some distraction to get her to stop whining, but she eventually got over it even though she didn't forget.<br />
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From there we ventured into Lego City in hopes that the kids would get to try driving cars at the "Ford Jr. Driving School." It's a great idea, but poorly executed. The bulk of the cars for the driving school are at the "Ford Driving School" for kids 6-12. The Junior version has fewer cars and usually only one attendant, and the attendant there yesterday was not in top physical condition to be working with small children to help them through the course. And that is putting it kindly. The advertised 15 minutes wait was more like an hour 15 minutes with two small children. Actually it was a long wait with a lot of other parents and their small children. It took out a huge chunk of our day and was irritating because we were trying to keep our children entertained in a line that was only supposed to take a couple minutes. When they finally got into the cars, a tired E struggled to figure out that he could push the pedal to go and while L got the hang of it eventually she did run into a couple curbs along the way, personally fulfilling the stereotype of woman drivers. In the end they enjoyed it, but I'm still not sure that it was worth the hour+ we stood in line. The rest of Lego City included the Rescue Academy (which involved Mommy and Daddy doing most of the work) and the Boating School. E and Daddy took forever to get around the course because Daddy let him do the driving and L let Mommy do the driving while she watched what was going on around the course.<br />
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From there we headed to Lego Kingdom with a stop back in Land of Adventure so the kids could play with balls at "Pharaoh's Revenge" and then straight to "The Dragon" so that L could try a roller coaster with Mommy that wasn't wooden and would hopefully not pinch her. By the end of the day, this kid friendly park had no waits for the lines so we got right through to the ride. This time we got through the roller coaster injury free and both of us got to have fun. When we exited, instead of getting to see our picture, E grabbed my hand and dragged me over to the foam swords and shields that he had found on display outside of the castle. He had it all figured out. He grabbed two of each, one for him and his sister, and insisted that he walk away with them. Apparently when Daddy told him that he had to ask Mommy about the swords E heard "Mommy will buy you the swords." We compromised. No shields and L got a pink sword instead of a matching dragon sword with E.<br />
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We ended the day with a water ride. The daytime temperatures were cooling off and I was hesitant. The situation brought back memories of a trip to Cedar Point the summer after my senior year of high school when we chose to go on a water ride as the Ohio weather turned from hot and sunny to cool and drizzly, but we went anyway. L had a blast, E got drenched right away and was sad for the rest of the ride (Daddy protected him from further drenching), and Mommy was just wet. As we exited the ride, the family looked like this:<br />
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I hate spending extra money, but we entered the full body dryers so we weren't quite so drenched, checked out the huge store at the front, and then headed back to the car. We were shocked that both kids stayed awake for the 50 minute drive back to the condo, but they were determined to not go back to sleep, even after their bellies were full from a Popeye's meal.<br />
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Overall, it was a good time. The ads are right; It is the perfect place when it comes to activities for ages 2-12. Duplo Village isn't open yet, which would have been an added bonus for our son, and the water park was also closed until next week, but we wouldn't have had time for that even if we had paid for it. My biggest problem with the park was the much longer than advertised wait at one stop with inadequate staff, to say the very least. While customer service may not match Disney (an unfortunate comparison in Orlando) our kids still had a wonderful experience and the price was right. All in all, it was a great vacation day and good way to break them into the theme park experience before Disney. Now to prepare for the Magic Kingdom!Sarah Styfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068537932645735467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281592630512947401.post-1291417080968064462014-03-20T12:36:00.001-07:002014-06-17T06:21:28.078-07:00A Book Review - Allegiant<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The third book in a trilogy is tricky. I've been reading a long time and I've read a lot of series and a lot of endings to series. For example, I love both <i>Return of the King</i> and <i>Deathly Hallows</i>. Both novels wrap ups series and characters that I grew to love over the course of reading all of the books. They conclude the series in a logical way while also giving the reader just enough information to believe that the characters one has grown to love have a fruitful future ahead of them. Life will not be perfect. life may not even be easy, but they have a future that will be more positive than negative. I remember my disappointment after finishing <i>Mockingjay</i>, the conclusion to the <i>Hunger Games</i> series. While not the greatest of literary achievements, I did enjoy the series. However, <i>Mockingjay</i> was a letdown after the action packed, character driven <i>Catching Fire</i>. I wanted to see where their story ended up, but it was kind of slow and predicable. I guess that's what happens when an author has a vision of the dystopia but he or she has to figure out how to get his or her characters out of the dystopian universe. Maybe that's what makes the ending to Orwell's <i>1984</i> so perfect. He doesn't let his protagonist out of the dystopia. The dystopia never ends. The dystopia wins. Winston is dead and has finally fully given himself to the ideology of "Big Brother."<br />
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It is with those thoughts that I begin my review of <i>Allegiant</i>. Like the other books, I enjoyed it. Possibly more than <i>Divergent,</i> but not as much as <i>Insurgent</i>. At the end of <i>Insurgent</i> the reason for the Chicago colony is revealed, as well as a possible answer to what is outside of the city. At the beginning of <i>Allegiant</i>, Tris, Tobias, and a handful of others rebel against Tobias's mother and leave the city to discover what is truly outside. What they discover is a high tech community stationed at the former O'Hare Airport that has the responsibility of overseeing the activity inside Chicago. It is a modern society that has continued outside of the city. A society where "divergence" is the desired norm. Where "divergence" indicates genetic healing. Many years before scientists attempted to correct the ills of society by playing with genes correcting their mistakes as they went along. What resulted was generations of "Genetically Damaged" individuals. In the "Purity Wars" that followed, pitting "Genetically Damaged" (GD) against "Genetically Pure" (GP), society finally determined that GDs needed to be separated from society in city experiments that would wait to see what would happen to the gene pool if people were left alone long enough to correct the genetic problems that scientists had caused.<br />
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A lot happens in the final book and I do not want to reveal too much. It is good but not great. Characters die but I didn't mourn their deaths. I just didn't care enough. There are many twists, but the twists are not completely unexpected even if I didn't predict them. It will be interesting to see how it all plays out on film in the next couple years, and I suppose I should be happy that Tris, while not necessarily a role model I would want my daughter to follow, is certainly a much stronger female character than we are finding in other popular teen fiction.<br />
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In many ways I feel that the dystopian genre is starting to suffer a decline due to mainstream marketing. One of the first books of the new era, at least for young adults, was <i>The Giver</i>. I loved the book. I loved teaching the book. I feel it has important themes that children and young adults can discuss. That is the purpose of dystopian fiction, and perhaps it is the purist in me, but I feel that the misfortune of these current mainstream books is that the central message is being lost in favor of romance and action.<br />
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Overall the series is a good story with decent writing. I don't believe that is should become mainstream classroom reading, as there are plenty of other choices out there that are better writing and more thought provoking, but the series does make one consider what the end result could be if we continue to insist on playing with genes in the quest to fix our imperfections. Where is the line? And what will happen if or when we cross it? Unlike more serious classics in the genre, I believe the series is more interested in exploring teen relationships and coming of age than it is the greater issues I alluded to above. I believe that the best dystopian fiction is meant to scare us and force us to think about very real current societal issues. I guess I'm just waiting for something that will not just entertain me but challenge me to think about the future. Until then, I'll just have to unhappily settle for ok.Sarah Styfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068537932645735467noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281592630512947401.post-49409543250161836942014-03-17T20:13:00.004-07:002020-08-03T20:24:42.539-07:00When Zombies and Steinbeck CollideI am not a fan of horror fiction. As a child and pre-teen I didn't get into the Goosebumps series or Christopher Pike books. I like mysteries, but I still don't like horror films. I can handle a good psychological thriller (like <i>Silence of the Lambs</i>) but I hate slasher films. They are gross, purposelessly violent, and make me afraid of the dark. To this day I still have not seen any of the <i>Friday the 13th</i> films or any related to that genre from my childhood. The closest I have come is seeing <i>Gremlins</i>, and let's be honest, that is child's play next to Chucky. <br />
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But I love fiction that speculates on what could be. Fiction that looks at our sinful human nature and explores what would happen in the face of any kind of worldwide disaster. So when a new show was being advertised during the early seasons of <i>Mad Men</i>, my husband encouraged me to watch. I have never liked zombie fiction, but within the first couple episodes of <i>The Walking Dead</i> I was hooked. It wasn't the zombies. It was the human struggle for survival, a theme that I love to explore as both a reader and a teacher. A theme that was a favorite of John Steinbeck's. And a theme that runs through one of my favorite books to teach, <i>Of Mice and Men</i>.<br />
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Last night, my love of <i>The Walking Dead</i> and <i>Of Mice and Men</i> violently collided in such a way that I was left going to bed emotionally distraught.<br />
<br />
I have taught <i>Of Mice and Men</i> nearly ever year of my teaching career and I reread it every year that I teach it. It follows Lennie, a large man with a low IQ who approaches the world with a childlike innocence wrapped in a dangerously large and strong adult body, and George, a quick, intelligent man who simultaneously tolerates and cares for Lennie. They are migrant workers who travel from ranch to ranch, earning money and dreaming of a time when they will have a farm of their own. Lennie believes in the dream. He believes that someday they will have a farm and he will have his very own rabbits that will be his responsibility. He will be able to pet them and love them and no one will stop him. But the dream is a mirage designed to keep a Great Depression induced desperation at bay. Lennie is too loving, too unaware of his own strength. We first see him kill mice because he is too rough with them while he pets their soft skin. Then we see him kill a puppy when his rough handling causes the puppy to bite him and Lennie to inadvertently kills the puppy with his bare hands. Finally we see him pet Curly's wife's hair so hard that it panics her. Her panic causes him to fearfully overreact, resulting in her snapped neck. Curly vows a painful revenge and George takes off to find Lennie before the other ranch hands can hurt him. When George finds him, he has Lennie look off into the distance while George recounts their dream and shoots Lennie in the head before Curly can torture the gentle giant to death. The ending is moving and terrible and shocking and leaves me reeling every time.<br />
<br />
It is one of my favorite novels to teach, mostly because in 100 pages Steinbeck is able to evoke a rare, strong reaction from my students. They love Lennie and can't understand why George would kill his friend. I teach in a Christian culture that celebrates the sanctity of life, and in that setting the novel brings up a powerful discussion of the value of life. It challenges my students (and me) to consider what makes life valuable. My students want to know why George couldn't just help Lennie escape, all the while remembering that Lennie has proven that he is a danger to himself and others. They also have to ask themselves if it is better for George to kill Lennie as opposed to letting the sadistic Curly torture and kill him. The answer is never easy, and we often leave the discussion without an absolute conclusion, but they love to hate the book that sucked them in and left them distraught.<br />
<br />
Last night's grotesquely beautiful re-rendering of Steinbeck's classic tale was also moving and terrible and shocking. But the difference is that while Lennie operates with a childlike innocence, Lizzie operates with a sociopathic ignorance. Lennie plays with mice and accidentally kills them as he pets them. Lizzie finds rats so that she can feed them to zombies that she believes are actually still alive. Lenny kills the puppy because he doesn't know his strength. Lizzie tortures and kills rabbits (an animal with which Lennie is obsessed) for fun. Lennie accidentally kills Curly's wife out of fear that he will have his dream of rabbits taken away. Lizzie kills her sister because she mistakenly believes that it is the only way to prove to Carol and Tyrese that the "walkers" are not as dangerous as everyone believes. Lennie tells George that he has done a bad thing. Lizzie apologizes, not for killing her innocent little sister, but for pointing a gun at Carol when Carol tries to take care of Mika's body. When Carol tells Lizzie to look at the flowers as Carol tearfully raises her gun, she is not killing an innocent. She is killing a child killer with no awareness that she has done anything wrong.<br />
<br />
In the last 24 hours the blogosphere has exploded. The Internet is abuzz with fans and foes alike debating last night's episode. Did they go to far? Did it come from nowhere? Why, with two episodes left, did they go there?<br />
<br />
Was I shocked? Yes. Am I distraught? Yes. I understand that these are fictional characters with fictional lives but it was difficult to watch. It was difficult for me to watch as a fan and as a mother. Do I feel they went too far? No.<br />
<br />
I struggle with Lennie's death because in 100 pages I learn again and again to love the man-child whose only dream is to live off "the fat o' the lan'." I struggle with Lizzie's death because I hate to see her executioner suffer the death of the dream that she could save two girls to replace the daughter she lost. The moment Carol pulls the trigger she has to trade one dream for a new one. Lizzie destroyed any hope she and Mika had for survival in this post-apocalyptic world. Carol understands that things happen for a reason, a belief that Mika reiterates as they find the house in the middle of the woods, unknowingly foreshadowing her own death. Now Carol has to hope that she can do better for Judith. She couldn't save her own daughter. She couldn't save two girls who, for different reasons, were not made for this life. But maybe she can save Lori's daughter. A little girl born <i>into</i> this world. In <i>Of Mice and Men</i> George must walk away from his friend's body while being reminded by Slim that he "hadda." There is no chance for personal redemption and forgiveness for George, just more of the same as he wanders from one ranch to the next, only now without a companion who keeps the dream alive. But Carol has one more chance to do it right, and I look forward to watching her do it.<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6M8SN1GiREma6h9M2Wpik8FjJeEkicnOwZTO8Hku2c-v7hLbQPM65-j-vDNAeFaUrW0Ak-3PDfQynzAawHEUdnnr4_-gMzNw5QRcnu29XPlAZpZrWwvsmbPp0F1RaaUmNf-6BckVVYzM/s1102/Copy+of+Copy+of+Copy+of+The+New+Blog+%252821%2529.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1102" data-original-width="735" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6M8SN1GiREma6h9M2Wpik8FjJeEkicnOwZTO8Hku2c-v7hLbQPM65-j-vDNAeFaUrW0Ak-3PDfQynzAawHEUdnnr4_-gMzNw5QRcnu29XPlAZpZrWwvsmbPp0F1RaaUmNf-6BckVVYzM/s640/Copy+of+Copy+of+Copy+of+The+New+Blog+%252821%2529.png" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Sarah Styfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068537932645735467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281592630512947401.post-73669681519591738492014-02-11T05:46:00.002-08:002014-03-22T09:22:59.091-07:00Snow, Snow, Go Away, So I Can Teach a Full Five Days<div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No, we have not brought in the nativity.<br>
Poor Joseph is just praying that he will see his family again.</td></tr>
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I am a California baby who has spent her entire academic career in the northern half of the United States. I fondly remember those rare snow days in Detroit, MI. Snow was far from a rarity, but those snow days in the city were a treat. There was one Valentine's Day party that got completely skipped, which was probably a good thing since the Valentine's Day cards my mom had ordered from Current hadn't arrived in time for the scheduled party. We built snowmen and forts and dug through the snow fully decked out in poofy snow pants and boots. Then we moved to Illinois where we experienced more of the same kind of weather, although maybe with a little less of the hardy Michigan attitude toward snow. Then came five years in Wyoming where days off of school for snow were rare. Our first year there it hit -40 degrees the week before Christmas and we still went to school. One May it snowed every Saturday and then melted by the following Tuesday before starting all over again the next weekend. I honestly don't remember snow days during those years. I'm sure we had a couple, but when you live surrounded by snowy mountain ranges I guess it's hard to justify calling off school for cold and snow. Then my last two years in Michigan led to more of the same. Lots of snow but rare snow days. Our school district was in a constant game of chicken with our local district rival. I remember senior year my dad laughing when the radio announcer said that hell had frozen over; both districts had finally caved and closed. My entire K-12 education I faced the possibility of snow days and was frequently enough treated with those special days off from the daily grind of school work. This was in an age before text alerts. We had to wait for the television or radio announcers to let us know that we were closed. But once we heard the announcement it meant a day of no school work and all play.<br>
<br>
Then I got to college in Nebraska, a state that vacillates between bitterly cold and unseasonably warm all winter long. My freshman year we had our first snowfall of the year the week before Halloween and my floor had an epic snowball fight with our brother freshman floor. Four months later a late winter snowstorm followed me home to Michigan at the beginning of my spring break and left me snowed in for several days. In college we didn't get snow days. We lived on campus and the belief was that we could walk through the snow to get to class. Cold didn't matter either. It was up to us to dress warmly enough to get across campus without getting frostbite.<br>
<br>
Then I started teaching. First the far south side of Chicago, then Central Indiana, and now Northeast Indiana. I have always taught in the cold. I have always had the possibility of snow days, and usually those snow days have been welcome relief. Surprise days off during which I could do laundry, clean, grade homework, do a little extra lesson planning, and once the roads were clear, have a little "me" time. I even got treated to a rare snow day our first year living here when I was working as a TA and going to school full time. The teacher and the student got a snow day and because it was a snow emergency I got to spend the day at home with my husband (who also got a state mandated snow day from work) and our little girl. Northeast Indiana also brought on the regular occurrence of two-hour delays, and new phenomenon in my teaching career. I experienced them on occasion living in Central Indiana; these special mornings are called for everything from fog to ice to freshly fallen snow to extreme cold. And in our county, they are called regularly.<br>
<br>
I love the snow. I love snow days. I appreciate the extra morning time of a two-hour delay. But I am one of many who are saying "Enough is enough."<br>
<br>
This winter has been a rare winter. I heard a forecast of a bad winter, but back in November I didn't believe it. It was unseasonably warm and we hadn't seen a real snowfall yet.<br>
<br>
Then December hit with full force.<br>
<br>
It isn't just that it's been snowy or cold. It's been snowy and icy and COLD. We're now to the point where we're running out of places to put the snow and the roads are constantly icy in places because it hasn't gotten warm enough to completely melt the ice that keeps forming. I want to send my kids, especially my very energetic two and a half year old little boy, outside to play, but to send him outside means to risk frostbite or seeing him get swallowed by the foot and a half plus of snow in our backyard.<br>
<br>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWlyCWULg106aJ2EYBlIXE0bCtTrpynUohc0qYBKjuRjPIJHQNdD_bdaDMQLgeEZUQrTyOhnG0frh3pvv4_DXm9RWnZuPE_EtpWOrus-6tFnkNsRHYlAxjsor2YuqV9hBgrWuOgwZhDLY/s640/blogger-image--188114402.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWlyCWULg106aJ2EYBlIXE0bCtTrpynUohc0qYBKjuRjPIJHQNdD_bdaDMQLgeEZUQrTyOhnG0frh3pvv4_DXm9RWnZuPE_EtpWOrus-6tFnkNsRHYlAxjsor2YuqV9hBgrWuOgwZhDLY/s320/blogger-image--188114402.jpg" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeah, this is just the snow off of our deck.<br>
Straight snow build-up from a month and a half of no snow melt.</td></tr>
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<br>
And then there is the fact that this winter is seriously interfering with my job.<br>
<br>
If you know me well you know that I love teaching. It is my professional calling and I take my responsibility as a teacher of young adults very seriously. We were supposed to be back at school January 7. We haven't had a single full week of school since our second semester started and while I might see my students every single day this week, we are on our second two-hour delay in a row. It has almost become a social media game in which my colleagues and I watch the school closings and delays being announced on the television and then start taking Facebook bets as to when we are going to be next ones to fall. We watch the public schools close and then hold our breaths to see how long the Catholic schools will hold out. Once they fall we know that we are doomed. Many of us have resorted to handing out assignments before potential snow days and expecting our students to complete them on their days off. My AP students have come to expect (and probably dread) emails from me with assignments on their days off. We have been in school for four weeks but have no learning momentum, no consistency. I want my routine back. I am tired of changing lesson plans every day. I am tired of cutting plans and important learning activities short. And I miss my students.<br>
<br>
My dear husband, who loves the snow and has excitedly used every snow fall since January as an excuse to use his new snow blower, says that if he hears one more person say they are done with this winter and the snow that he might lose it. Why? Because he is loving this winter. He is loving all of the snow. And he doesn't want to see it all melt yet, especially if it contributes to a flood of Biblical proportions, which appears to be very likely. But I am done with this winter. It's time for a regular routine again. It is time for me to be allowed to teach without a middle of the week interruption or a shortened period during which I am forced to cram a 50 minute lesson into 30 minutes.<br>
<br>
It has been a beautiful winter. When I look out our front or back windows I see a beautiful, thick blanket of white snow. It is truly gorgeous and evidence that God has a sense of humor when it comes to weather. It's hard to be mad when I am inside looking out at the best winter wonderland that I've seen in years. But I am ready for spring and the return of "normal." Anyone else?Sarah Styfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068537932645735467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281592630512947401.post-63223658279777018702014-01-28T19:41:00.003-08:002020-08-03T20:19:33.553-07:00Climate Change or Not? Does It Really Matter?Here in the Midwest we are currently enduring the worst winter that I remember in 34 years. Sure, I've endured cold winters and I've endured snowy winters, but this winter takes the cake. Technically I have been back at school for 16 days. I have worked nine out of those 16 days because of snow/ice/cold days. We've heard about about the polar vortex, we've witnessed the weather reporters shivering in the cold all around the Midwest and Northeast, and we've seen the photos and memes advertising just how cold it is outside. With the last two days off of school I have stayed at home with my two young children, making the decision to not take them out into the cold to daycare. Yes, this winter appears to be quite the phenomenon. And it's not just because of the weather outside of our houses.<br />
<br />
For years there has been a lot of discussion in the scientific community concerning first "global warming" and now "climate change." The argument is that the earth is warming due to greenhouse gasses produced by world wide pollution. Much has been made of this suggestion. Al Gore made a lot of money off of <i>An Inconvenient Truth</i> while several conservative pundits have pulled together their own "experts" to prove that there is no such thing as man-made global climate change. This winter's weather has given the latter a lot of ammunition for arguing against man-made global climate change. After all, how can one argue that the earth is getting considerably warmer when it feels like Dante's last circle of Hell outside?<br />
<br />
But my response to all the bickering is, does it matter?<br />
<br />
At creation God gave us ONE planet, ONE home on which to grow families, communities, cities, and countries. That's it. Until death and eternity we have ONE place to live. So shouldn't we take care of it regardless of whether or not we believe the temperature of the earth is increasing due to human pollution?<br />
<br />
Clearly, my response to this question is a resounding yes.<br />
<br />
I get it. We are Americans. We like our personal liberties. We like to be left to make our own decisions. We don't want people telling us what we can and cannot do. It goes all the way back the Revolution. But at some point common sense should prevail. If something will save money while at the same decreasing fuel and power usage and as a result decrease pollution and destruction of our earthly home, why not do it?<br />
<br />
In our home we started moving to CFL and LED lights years ago. I realize that there are many who cannot handle CFLs because of migraines, but for us the switch has been good, especially in a house with a lot of lights. If we could afford solar panels we would buy them to get as much off of the grid as possible. We have a truck but are excited to find out what the new F150 holds with better gas mileage, and we will switch a more efficient sedan when our kids no longer need the space of an SUV. We recycle everything we can. And our favorite vacations involve camping and taking our kids out into nature to see God's creation. We want them to appreciate the world around them. We want to teach them how to take care of their earthly home. We want them to understand that until they are in heaven, this is what they have so they should take care of it.<br />
<br />
This is a big world. There are a lot of countries that have both a negative and positive impact on our worldwide environment. And while some national laws may be extreme and have an negative impact on certain sectors of our economy, common sense must prevail. We have to stop looking at each other as adversaries. If we are more focused on how we can clean up our earthly home and keep it clean we all benefit. It needs to stop being about whether man-made "global climate change" is real and start being about preserving the beautiful world we live in for our children and grandchildren. We need to stop making discussion of environmental issues about national politics and make it about doing the right thing for us and the generations to come. This is just one place of many where we need more common sense, but it's a place to start.<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtIJx9T8iQFX1RsKoeDIwsweJLPVheBTeHci1ecs8T8CX7bwzNlfKq7LjEDtUCDAZVQwMr_WthuSYmj_Lu6QFdnBmvUK20V6uKvgGAj3JObrqLaKVpFZxLxQQPOOs7fsQTfAEUKIE_V1U/s1102/Copy+of+Copy+of+Copy+of+The+New+Blog+%252820%2529.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1102" data-original-width="735" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtIJx9T8iQFX1RsKoeDIwsweJLPVheBTeHci1ecs8T8CX7bwzNlfKq7LjEDtUCDAZVQwMr_WthuSYmj_Lu6QFdnBmvUK20V6uKvgGAj3JObrqLaKVpFZxLxQQPOOs7fsQTfAEUKIE_V1U/s640/Copy+of+Copy+of+Copy+of+The+New+Blog+%252820%2529.png" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Sarah Styfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068537932645735467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281592630512947401.post-4083961158843688852014-01-25T12:22:00.001-08:002014-06-17T06:23:46.911-07:00A Book Review - Insurgent<br />
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It's difficult when I start a trilogy and I am not "in love" with the first book, especially when there are enough unanswered questions that I want the answers to. I feel the need to go on to the next book. I want to know the answers despite my initial lack of full personal investment. I enjoyed <i>Divergent</i>. It was a decent book by YA lit standards and it had some good points going for it, which I laid out in <a href="http://frazzledreflections.blogspot.com/2014/01/a-book-review-divergent.html" target="_blank">my first review</a>. That being said, I was still a little hesitant about venturing into Roth's second book in the series, <i>Insurgent</i>. <br />
<br />
I exited <i>Insurgent</i> pleasantly surprised. I wasn't sure what to expect. The extensive exposition in <i>Divergent</i> related to the budding romance between Tobias and Tris prepared me for more of the same. Instead the book moved past the unnecessary sexual tension between the two teenagers and moved into the story of a utopia falling to pieces around them. Those who escaped the Dauntless/Erudite-led attack on the Abnegation sector are now trying to figure out their next move. What follows in the rest of the novel is a fast-paced build up to war/rebellion. Roth slowly reveals the purpose of the novel as Tris discovers more about herself as a Divergent, the underground factionless are discovered to have a larger than normal Divergent population as well as numbers that can easily defeat individual or even multiple factions, and the purpose for the society as it was presented from the beginning of <i>Divergent</i> is revealed in the final pages of the novel. <br />
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<i>Insurgent</i> shows just how dangerous it can be to put people into narrow categories and leave them there, forcing them to emphasize their strengths, suppress their weaknesses, and conform to the standard norm for the common good. I see this too much as a teacher in a education system that is designed for a society that doesn't exist anymore. We offer kids on the low end all the help they need, push kids on the high end to be super-successful (although I would argue that it is not always to their benefit), and those in the middle, the "average" kids, get ignored because they don't have enough problems to "need" help and they aren't considered smart enough to be pushed into accelerated classes. We push kids at younger and younger ages to excel in specific activities, often forgetting that they are just kids and they need time to figure out what they not only are good at, but what they WANT to do. Just because a person displays aptitude in a certain area does not mean that should be their lifelong focus. Being a well-rounded individual is important to a healthy person-hood and society.<br />
<br />
There are many questions left unanswered at the end of the novel, and so I have eagerly started reading <i>Allegiant</i>, hopeful that it does not disappoint as <i>Mockingjay</i> did after the fast-paced <i>Catching Fire</i>. Discovery of purpose has made this English teacher far more tolerant of the potential flaws and I will wrap of the series with my final review in a couple weeks.Sarah Styfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068537932645735467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281592630512947401.post-36346913038582814762014-01-23T07:00:00.003-08:002020-08-03T20:17:50.105-07:00You Don't NEED To Go To CollegeSounds like a strange thing for a high school English teacher with a Master's degree to say, doesn't it? After all, I spend two periods a day with AP students who are supposedly planning to use any credit they might get on a College Board test to help them get through college faster. I spend the other three periods a day teaching juniors American Literature, most of whom will go on to college to earn a degree in their chosen field.<br />
<br />
But notice that I qualified that statement with the word "most."<br />
<br />
We are in a strange place in American education right now. Some changes are for the better but there many more changes and reforms necessary if we are going to regain our position as a world leader in education, innovation, economics, and politics. There are too many reforms to discuss in just one blog post so I am here to propose one change.<br />
<br />
Stop telling kids that the only way they can succeed in life is to get a four year college degree.<br />
<br />
I'm not saying that a college degree isn't important. After all, I have two Bachelor degrees and one Master's degree. I loved going to school. I love teaching in a school. I want my students to be successful in higher education. I want to see my son and daughter go to college and get degrees in their chosen fields. A college degree is important IF it is necessary for one's chosen profession. But there are many skilled jobs out there that do not require a college degree. These are important jobs that are no less skilled than my chosen profession. Not just anyone can teach writing (contrary to what some politicians and non-educators believe) and not just anyone can fix my car, my plumbing, or my furnace. Those are skills I do not have. And just as I know there are people who have no desire to teach, I do not have the desire or aptitude for auto-mechanics, plumbing, or HVAC repair.<br />
<br />
When I was a young and naive teacher I operated under the mistaken belief that all of my students needed to be prepared for college at a four year university. Each assignment was designed with the rationale "when you are in college you are going to need to know how to do this." It was a mindset that made my job more difficult, made some students hate English even more than they already did, and set up some of my students for certain failure. I had bought into the idea that a college degree equaled success and if I was to be a successful teacher 100% of my students would be fully prepared for college. My views concerning my responsibilities as an English teacher have changed over the last 12 years, but so have my views concerning what my students should be doing as they plan their futures. I've had many smart, innovative students who have the intellect to go to college, but they hate the structure of the classroom. They don't like sitting in classes all day long to learn things that they see as unimportant to their dream professions, many of which do not require a four year degree. And yet the government, national education organizations, and middle to upper class populations believe that students need to be strongly encouraged to pursue four year degrees that may or may not be useful once they graduate. Not only that, but many students are graduating with small mortgages. They graduate with crushing debt that will tie up their finances for years.<br />
<br />
There are some voices out there promoting the idea that not everyone needs to go to college. Yesterday a friend posted<a href="http://www.theblaze.com/stories/2013/10/23/mike-rowe-of-dirty-jobs-speaks-about-hard-work-how-many-are-following-the-worst-advice-in-the-history-of-the-world/" target="_blank"> an article about Mike Rowe </a>(of <i>Dirty Jobs</i> and <i>Deadliest Catch</i> fame). He is making it his mission to encourage young people to pursue their profession of choice, whether or not that means a four year degree. His mikeroweWORKS Foundation offers scholarships to young people who want to go to trade school to learn a trade, finish training much earlier than they would if they were to go to college, and get to work without tens of thousands of dollars of college debt. In my AP classes last semester we looked at both education and the economy, encountering articles that suggested to my college bound students that maybe they didn't need that four year degree after all. One particular <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/24/magazine/24labor-t.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0" target="_blank">article by Matthew Crawford</a>, a writer with a PhD who decided to quit his desk job to work on motorcycles, suggests that there is nothing wrong with pursing an education that requires working with one's hands. Both units sparked a lot of discussion about what it mean to be successful and what they need to do to pursue their dreams. Most of them will go off to college and finish a four year degree in a timely manner, but they need to know that a degree doesn't determine success. Hard work determines success. Acquisition of skills pertaining to a chosen field determines success. Willingness to learn and grow as a chosen field changes determines success.<br />
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I have seen this in my own life. My husband started college and never finished but he is one of the smartest people I know. He is a computer whiz who reads constantly and if he doesn't know the answer to a problem, he researches until he finds the answer. He goes to trainings when sent. He's taken classes when required. And his intelligence isn't just related to computers. He reads everything and anything, often reading books before me to let me know if they are books I might be interested in. He reads fiction and non-fiction, magazine articles about sports, media, technology, and politics. And he has a good job that allows him to provide for his family. I have also seen students graduate and enter trade school or the military finding fields that they love and find personally fulfilling. They are happy and successful in their own right, and that is what I wish for my own children. Do I want my son and daughter to go to college? Of course! But more importantly I want them to find professions that are personally fulfilling while also allowing them to be financially independent. In other words, I don't want them moving back in with us once they graduate. I want to them to love what they do and be proud of their work. If that means that they do not need to pursue a four year degree, so be it.<br />
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College is important, but more important than college is lifelong education. One does not need to acquire a four year to degree to be a life-long learner, but one does have to decide to learn and grow as a job requires. Instead of telling students that they need to pursue a four year degree we need to be encouraging them to be learners in pursuit of knowledge. We need to encourage them to WORK hard. We need to encourage them to pursue their dreams regardless of the education required, whether it is eight years of college or an 18-month training program. If we do this we may just end up with the workforce necessary to regain our position in the world.<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPVZY6yaPs20aEQmAGWscdBX-OXUB-m-k2PZF7ztIqyBT7AbQywLcZ3ELBYhaa-0nFqQ6nl6cFfcruY0ChjVkLnGcb0BaufCqC2JdG7B3yUk4Nm9zD3Sn9BD1fp7VtDM-Lj0l7DbYckjs/s1102/Copy+of+Copy+of+Copy+of+The+New+Blog+%252819%2529.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1102" data-original-width="735" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPVZY6yaPs20aEQmAGWscdBX-OXUB-m-k2PZF7ztIqyBT7AbQywLcZ3ELBYhaa-0nFqQ6nl6cFfcruY0ChjVkLnGcb0BaufCqC2JdG7B3yUk4Nm9zD3Sn9BD1fp7VtDM-Lj0l7DbYckjs/s640/Copy+of+Copy+of+Copy+of+The+New+Blog+%252819%2529.png" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Sarah Styfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068537932645735467noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281592630512947401.post-59641231606905149182014-01-14T08:12:00.001-08:002014-06-17T06:24:23.432-07:00A Book Review - Divergent<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I love dystopias. I always have. I love the idea of looking at an utopia gone wrong. Dystopias are proof that our sinful natures prevent any kind of perfect world and they warn us against trying. When we try to create a perfect world we inevitably screw it up. Authors use dystopias to criticize society, to point out flaws with much more serious undertones than satire allows.<br />
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So for my first book of 2014 I dove into a new dystopia, the <i>Divergent</i> series. The first book opens with 16-year-old Beatrice contemplating her future. She is approaching the choosing ceremony during which all 16-year-olds decide which faction they are going to join. This faction may, or may not, separate them from their family and determines their future lifestyle and occupation. Before they select their faction they take a simulation test that is supposed to help them determine which faction best fits their abilities and desires. Beatrice discovers that she isn't fit for just one faction, but three, making her <i>divergent</i>. She is immediately told to keep it a secret from everyone, including her family. To be divergent is to be a threat to the political and social structures put into place. The rest of the novel stems from her decision to leave her family faction and join another faction all while keeping her identity as a divergent a secret.<br />
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I enjoyed the book. It was a fun read and the fact that it took place in Chicago, one of my favorite cities, made it all the more enjoyable. But I would not lump the book in the category of quality dystopian fiction. <i>1984</i> warns against a government that is too involved in people's lives, and modern surveillance of the internet, phones, and roadways makes Orwell's warnings and predictions all the more relevant. <i>Fahrenheit 451</i> warns against the dangers of censorship and the limiting of abstract thought, and our ear buds, big screen TVs, and interactive technology show a present similar to the future that Bradbury predicted. <i>The Giver</i> warns against a society that suppresses human emotion and devalues human life, something that we see through the use of some psychiatric treatment and in discussions of life issues. Even<i> The Hunger Games</i>, enjoyable but not without flaws, warns against our current society's obsession with materialism, violence and reality television, the modern Colosseum that proves that we are not that much better than the Ancient Romans. While reading <i>Divergent</i> I struggled to see the critique. It is an alternative United States, but what human folly created that alternative universe? What is Veronica Roth's message?<br />
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I was also slightly troubled by the emphasis on the emerging love story, as if the alternative universe was a backdrop for a teen romance. I love a good love story, but I struggled with the amount of story telling that focused on the developing romance between Beatrice (Tris) and Four. A good romance can be an excellent subplot that keeps readers interested, but it should not drive the story, especially in fiction that has been categorized as "dystopian."<br />
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Do I recommend the book? Yes, I enjoyed it and will read the next two books because I am curious about what will happen to the story. I want to know why Lake Michigan has been reduced to a marsh and where the bustling city of Chicago disappeared off to. I want to know what led to the decision to break society up into five distinct factions. And yes, I want to know what happens to Tris and Four (I'm still a sucker for a good love story, after all). But I would not put this book at the top of my list of "The Greatest Dystopias Ever Written." That list is reserved for the books that truly make me worry about the future.Sarah Styfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068537932645735467noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281592630512947401.post-65020746119025122112014-01-11T17:02:00.002-08:002020-08-03T20:15:54.369-07:00Learning to BudgetBudget. It's a dirty word for a lot of us and it's taken me some time to figure out why. We're all told we should do it. All the financial advisers on TV, radio, newspapers, and magazines tell us that we NEED to budget. To not follow a budget is to commit financial suicide. And they're right, yet so many of us, yours truly included, have failed to do so.<br />
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It's taken some soul searching, but I think I may have figured out why I, at least, have failed to budget for my entire life. Much of it has to do with my misconceptions about what budgeting is and what it means. This is what I believed about budgeting three months ago.<br />
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<ul>
<li><b>A budget means penny pinching</b>. My dad has been a churchworker most of my life and my mom stayed at home. I loved growing up with my mom at home. It was a gift and now that I am a parent with adult responsibilities I understand how much of a personal and financial sacrifice that was. But that also meant that we didn't have much money growing up. Now that I'm an adult I think it is probably safe to say that we had very little extra money growing up. To this day I am still shocked/impressed that we managed a trip to California and British Columbia when I was fairly young. I spent most of my life watching my parents carefully watch every penny that came in and out. While I am by nature a saver who does not like to spend money, once I was married and we had two full time jobs and no kids, I discovered financial freedom that I had never had before. And I married a spender. And I don't like conflict. Let's just say that all of those things were an eventual recipe for some kind of financial disaster when we moved and I wasn't working full time, we had two mortgages, a house falling apart around us, one toddler, and a baby on the way. That's not to say that all churchworker's kids struggle with finances. My cousin is a pro at this with <a href="http://www.joyfullythriving.com/" target="_blank">her own website</a>. But my form of rebellion was a lack of desire to sacrifice as much as I did growing up. I don't want to indulge my children (we say no way more than our children want to hear) but I also don't want them to hear a constant stream of "No, we can't afford it." I finally changed the way I saw budgets when I heard Dave Ramsey saying "A budget is you telling your dollars what to do." <u><i><b>A budget doesn't have to be about pinching pennies. Instead, a budget is about controlling what those pennies are doing</b></i></u>. That switch in thinking has made a huge difference.</li>
<li><b>A budget means difficult sacrifices</b>. We all have wants. I want: a new kitchen, new living room floors, a new master bath, a trip to Australia, a trip to several countries in Europe, and the list goes on and on. All of those wants might be fulfilled someday, but not all at once and they need to be fulfilled when we have the cash to do each one. And the reality is that unless a person is a multimillionaire with money burning a hole in his or her pocket, one is going to have to make sacrifices and decisions about what one can and cannot spend money on. But they don't have to be difficult sacrifices. They just have to fit into the budget. We encountered this last month when we were trying to decide what we were going to do to celebrate our twelfth anniversary. My husband really wanted to go to the Colts playoff game. In the past the discussion would have included me saying that I wasn't sure that we had the money, my husband reminding me of his end of year bonus money, and me eventually mopishly giving in all the while uncertain if we actually had the money and waiting for that dreaded overdraft text alert. This time we looked at the budget, moved things around, and confidently bought the cheapest tickets we could, all the while certain that the money was there. <u><i><b>A budget doesn't mean sacrifice. Instead it helps one make confident, informed decisions about the money that is there</b></i></u>. Yes, there are things that we want that we can't have. But going on a budget doesn't mean I have to give up Starbucks Java Chip Frappuchinos. It just means I have to be selective about when I get to splurge on them. And if we stick to our budget, pay off the debt, and then make deliberate decisions about how we are saving our money, I might actually get that trip to Australia.</li>
<li><b>A budget is a way to control my free-spirit spender husband's spending habits</b>. Yeah, this particular lesson was a huge thunk on the head. I'm by nature a saver. My husband is by nature a spender. He can be cheap about his spender tendencies (he is Dutch after all) but he loves gadgets. I knew that before I married him and I still married him. That doesn't mean it hasn't been the cause of headache and heartache in our marriage. When we moved nearly four years ago I tried to put a budget together to get our out-of-control finances under control. Part of the reason? I was trying to use it to tell my husband what to do. It wasn't about opening up communication and making financial decisions together. It was about telling him what we could and could not do. I set myself up for failure from the beginning. This time around the budget isn't about controlling my husband, it's about open communication and financial freedom. I make the budget and my husband approves it. Every month we get an equal monthly allowance. I get to use mine for as much Starbucks or Partylite as I want; he can save his up for a new bike jersey or gadget and I can't complain. The same thing is now true for his weekly Friday lunches. He gets the same cash amount every week. If he spends it all he doesn't have extra for the next week. If he doesn't spend it all he has more for the next week. Now I don't get irritated by him choosing to eat out at Red Lobster or Red Robin. It's his money and he faithfully ate leftovers all week so he could splurge. The same was true when he told me that he wanted to go to the playoff game next week if the Colts win tonight. I said we didn't have enough money in the entertainment budget and he reminded me that he had saved allowance money. Suddenly it shut me up. He was right. <i>He</i> had money. <u><i><b>A budget isn't a control device; it is a communication device.</b></i></u> This kind of lesson could change every marriage.</li>
<li><b>A budget is set in stone and any deviation means a failed budget</b>. I love to plan. It is one of my favorite parts of teaching. In fact, the four days off last week due to snow are complicating my carefully designed AP lesson plans and trying to figure out how to make up those four days is really messing with my head. I can be flexible, I have to be flexible, but I don't like doing it. When I first worked out a budget without any guidance it was quickly blown out of the water because life happened. I failed before I even started because I didn't understand that numbers could be moved and amounts could be changed if they needed to be. This lesson was especially important since we started doing a budget in October, one month before we hosted Thanksgiving at our house and two months before Christmas. Suddenly we had to figure out how to work in two expensive events into a set budget. Add to that new winter wardrobes for the kids (including winter coats and boots) and we did a lot of number moving in those three months. That's ok. It taught me to be flexible. Now I make changes all month long depending on what comes up. But what matters is that we keep track of every expense and all money coming in and out. <u><i><b>Budgets are made to be changed and adjusted based on life happening</b></i></u>. And that's ok. Much like I had to learn when <a href="http://frazzledreflections.blogspot.com/2013/06/light-as-feather.html" target="_blank">I was dieting and losing nearly 25 pounds</a>, some weeks and months are going to be easier than others, but in the end it's all about making the numbers behave and making the changes necessary to ensure that happens.</li>
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And that leads us to how I got to those realizations. After nearly 12 years of marriage we decided it was time for us to get a handle on our finances. We came to that realization years ago, we just never did it. I think we were both afraid of what we would find out about our current finances and habits. I'm now to the point that I believe that all couples should take some kind of financial planning class. For us it was Financial Peace University at our church, but I've come to believe that we should have taken the class over 12 years ago when we were going through pre-marital counseling. That would have been practical. That would have saved us a lot of heartache over the last 12 years, especially over the last four years since we moved. When we moved, our finances fell apart, and we've been digging ourselves out of a deep hole caused by a combination of life happening and poor decisions ever since.<br />
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And we're getting there. We have a long road ahead of us but for the first time ever we have a plan. We know where we want to end up and we know how to get there. We will slip up but we know what we have to do if we want to get out of debt and have a secure financial future for us and our kids. The biggest key to that is making and sticking to a budget. We are faithfully using You Need a Budget (<a href="http://www.youneedabudget.com/" target="_blank">YNAB</a>) and I have learned to be flexible from month to month. I like the numbers game. It's one of the things that made losing weight last year so much fun. Not only was I losing weight but I was constantly trying to beat my numbers. I may be the English teacher but I am definitely the nerd in this household. I enjoy doing the budget and my free-spirited computer nerd of a husband is happy to let me do it as long as I don't use it to beat him over the head with it.<br />
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We're learning. It's better late than never and hopefully we will develop habits that we will pass down to our children so that they can learn to love living debt-free too. I didn't make being debt-free a goal for 2014. I would love to see that happen but I'm not completely confident that this will happen by December 31. But we will be close and that is our goal. My blog post the day that happens will not be a post to brag but instead to celebrate the first debt-free day of our marriage. And that, my friends, will be a good day indeed.<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTqq-jQhDd4cterkPGWxootw018BpDvNZijkRwqriHz9g1m27-0-I8kuMSmBw1PWWstRsKy8CAl-uUcbkiAXPtL8GofJqVAucAzOi54P4zP4-83ry6j9eZVpH4lonWBqYGb7g7IHav_G8/s1102/Copy+of+Copy+of+Copy+of+The+New+Blog+%252818%2529.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1102" data-original-width="735" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTqq-jQhDd4cterkPGWxootw018BpDvNZijkRwqriHz9g1m27-0-I8kuMSmBw1PWWstRsKy8CAl-uUcbkiAXPtL8GofJqVAucAzOi54P4zP4-83ry6j9eZVpH4lonWBqYGb7g7IHav_G8/s640/Copy+of+Copy+of+Copy+of+The+New+Blog+%252818%2529.png" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Sarah Styfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068537932645735467noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281592630512947401.post-42801066147972035782014-01-11T13:47:00.001-08:002014-01-11T13:47:09.660-08:00A New Year - 2014Yes, it is January 11 and we are nearly two weeks into the new year, but that doesn't mean that it is too late to announce my goals for 2014. I did a decent job with my goals last year. I made progress and while some of my goals were not nearly as successful as others, I worked on all of them and can honestly say that I am still trying. But that doesn't mean that I am finished with the goal setting. I have more goals for the next year and I am already hard at work to accomplish some of these.<br />
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So here are my Sarantees for 2014:<br />
<ol>
<li><b>I will declutter</b>. My husband will laugh at this, if only because this seems like the impossible dream (cue <i>Man of La Mancha</i>). Here's the thing, I have a paper problem. I joke that the only thing that could get my husband to divorce me might be my paper problem. I make piles in my house, I make piles in my classroom, and everywhere I go those piles spill over into other areas of my life. Important documents get lost and sometimes bills even get missed because, surprise, they are in a pile somewhere. The clutter also spills over into my packrat tendencies. I am far from a hoarder but there are things I have a hard time getting rid of. During one of the many snow days I had this last week I cleaned our bedroom. I don't know how many times I thought "What is this thing and will we ever need it?" Another part of my decluttering will be going through clothes and toys and trying to sell them online. Extra cash and less clutter = win for the whole family. I don't want my kids to take on a habit that I learned from my own parents (sorry Mom and Dad). This will take a lot of work.</li>
<li><b>I will work on my spiritual life</b>. This should be a goal at all times but this is something I really need to work on. I need to work on my devotional life and living it so that my children see it as well. I know I'm not the only churchworker who has struggled with this. In my 10+ years working in Lutheran education I've too often found myself focusing so much on pointing my students to Christ that I haven't taken the time to work on my own relationship with Christ. Instead of finding a weekly Bible study, I was too busy directing, planning, or grading to do so. It was time to change that a long time ago, but it's really time to change that now.</li>
<li><b>I will submit for publishing</b>. This is the professional goal. Last year I submitted an article to <i>English Journal</i>. It was a good article. I was and am proud of the work I did on the article. But it got rejected with some very helpful feedback. I will go back to reworking it at some point. I will also work on new article ideas that I have. Finally, I have six days to work on my proposal for NCTE National Conference 2014. You can't get published if you don't try and try and try again. And that is what I plan to do.</li>
<li><b>Finish back hallway project</b>. We have other projects we want to start and finish but we are on a budget now so I have to stick to it. We will finish that back hallway first and hopefully I will have a blog post about that within the year.</li>
<li><b>Stick with doing our budget</b>. We started this in October when we took a Financial Peace University class. We will continue to work on this budget and not give it up. We've come a long way in three months and I don't intend to ever go back. Now that it's in writing it will be harder to do so...</li>
<li><b>I will write an average of one blog a week</b>. There, how's that for being more realistic? And I would say that last year I nearly met that with all the writing I did over the summer. I have to give up the teaching blog I optimistically started at the beginning of the school year, but that's ok. I want to write. I need to write. But I also need to be more realistic about life happening and being good at my jobs as wife, mother, and teacher. Blogging isn't my job, it's my outlet, and committing to writing 52 blogs during 2014 will help me remain committed to my jobs and my favorite hobby.</li>
<li><b>I will read 12 books that I am not currently teaching and blog about them when I am finished reading them</b>. This may not seem like a significant number of books for an English teacher, but believe me, it is. I have struggled with pleasure reading for years, not because I don't like to do it but because I reread everything I teach and between undergrad, teaching, and graduate school I have given myself very little time for reading for just me. I also am going to commit to getting back into the classics. For 2014 that means, GULP, Charles Dickens. I have not read Dickens since high school. I didn't like him in high school and the thought of picking <i>A Tale of Two Cities</i> back up again is slightly terrifying, but I will do it and I will let you all know when I finally finish.</li>
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There. That is my plan for 2014. Wish me luck. I'm really going to need it for some of these, but I also know that everything on this list is important for my personal and professional development. I will keep you updated on my progress during the year. Until then, Happy New Year!<br />
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Sarah Styfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068537932645735467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281592630512947401.post-3264008023505699802014-01-01T10:03:00.000-08:002014-01-01T10:10:57.470-08:00A Year in Review - 20132013 was a good year. It was full of challenges and successes, but overall I can say it was a year during which things were looking "up".<br />
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A year ago I wrote a list of "Sarantees" for the year, things that I wanted to accomplish by the end of the year although I refused to make them official resolutions. So, how did I do?<br />
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<li><b>I will strive to be a better wife and mother</b>. I am constantly working on this one. Even yesterday this proved to be a struggle as my sweet, sick little boy misbehaved in every way possible for the last couple of hours before finally falling asleep. It's almost as if sleeping for nearly 48 hours straight makes even the littlest amongst us less desirous of sleep. But I always need to be better. I need to put my phone away more, play with them more, and talk with them more. I did much better this year and being done with grad school has definitely helped! I've also been better about date night, making it a priority in our monthly budget to ensure that I can't say to my husband "we don't have money for a date." But this is something I will always have to work on.</li>
<li><b>I will work on my spiritual life.</b> And this is another thing I keep working on. Last year I described my struggles to find a church home after moving. We finally joined a church here and we're working on it, <a href="http://frazzledreflections.blogspot.com/2013/07/insights-of-introvert.html" target="_blank">the introvert in me</a> is still struggling to make church friendships. I need to read my Bible more and I'm hoping to find a good Bible study in the next year. It is one of thoe things that will help me spiritually and personally.</li>
<li><b>I will get to my pre-baby weight.</b> I did that and then some! The holidays have been a little bit of a trial (I've put on somewhere between 3-5 pounds) but I'm back to tracking on My Fitness Pal and plan to beat my last tracking streak, which was well over 200 days. Hopefully with my husband renewing efforts for the yearly contest at work we can get the junk back out of the house and start doing better.</li>
<li><b>I will continue to work to cultivate new friendships here, and I will be better about communicating with old friends.</b> Another constant work in progress. Again, it's that whole introvert thing; I just don't get out there very easily. But I'm working on it.</li>
<li><b>I really will try to blog once a week</b>. I did a fantastic job of it last summer and then school started. I had this great idea that I could blog every day and have a separate teaching blog. Yeah, that fell through in no time. Something about actually being good at my job meant that I didn't have time to write about doing my job.</li>
<li><b>We will finish the living room and at least one other major house project</b>. Living room is mostly done, but the last blog post is waiting for a clean room, a rarity. The next house project is waiting for cash, which brings us to the next goal...</li>
<li><b>We will pay off credit cards and pay for things with CASH</b>. House is refinanced and we are working on paying off the debt. As of this writing we have closed and cut up four credit card accounts and we should be down two more credit cards by the end of January. We made two huge purchases this year (the <a href="http://frazzledreflections.blogspot.com/2013/07/yeah-we-gave-in.html" target="_blank">trailer</a> and <a href="http://frazzledreflections.blogspot.com/2013/08/the-great-window-saga.html" target="_blank">new windows</a>) and while we don't regret either purchase, they put us behind on the pay-everything-off goal. The biggest change we made was taking the Dave Ramsey Financial Peace University class and it has turned things around. For the first time ever we actually have a plan on where we want to end up and how we are going to get there. But more on that in a future blog post.</li>
<li><b>And here is the life goal that I will work towards in 2013, but
if I don't get it done this year, I will keep working towards it: I will
get published</b>. I submitted my first ever article to <i>English Journal</i> and while I got rejected, I will continue to work on it. I have an idea for my next submission and plan to rework my first submission to make it more publishing worthy.</li>
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And now it is time to get to grading papers. I will work on my goals for 2014 later tonight! <br />
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<br />Sarah Styfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068537932645735467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281592630512947401.post-52695446341854145892013-12-10T20:42:00.002-08:002020-08-03T20:13:37.168-07:00Christmas MusingsI love Christmas. I always have. As a kid Christmas meant decorating sugar cookies, twisting a perfect candy cane cookie, watching <i>White Christmas</i>, trips to my grandparents' farmhouse, for a couple years trips to Toronto to visit my other grandparents, time with family, and presents. As I got older not a lot changed. In my teen years I added gift exchanges with friends, Christmas dances, and plans for New Years gatherings. In college Christmas meant a break from school, a semester completed, and a 600 mile trip (1200 miles round trip) to see my boyfriend and my parents and sisters. In 1999 it meant a flight home from Europe on the eve of Y2K. And two years later it meant a wedding day complete with six inches of lake effect snow. Now it means watching my excited children unwrap the gifts they find under the Christmas tree.<br />
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I love Christmas, but as I get older I have to admit it has lost some of its "magic." What happened? I became an adult and suddenly the responsibilities of adulthood made much of the Christmas season feel like a chore. I don't get to go Christmas shopping; I have to finish a list and make sure that no one gets left out. Any decorations that I put up I have to put away. I don't get to just decorate cookies; I have to clean up the kitchen once it is all done. The end of the semester doesn't mean I just get a break; it means that I spend part of my break finishing up the last of grading and prepping for the new semester (and no, dear students past and present, I am not looking for empathy since I fully bring it on myself).<br />
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I love Christmas and maybe that is why I need to remind myself that the above isn't important. Christmas isn't about decorating, finding the perfect tree, buying and receiving presents, making cookies, eating a lot of yummy and really unhealthy food, and even time with family. That has become a part of our national Christmas tradition, but far too often we forget the Christ child at the center of Christmas. We forget that Advent isn't a countdown to gift opening but instead a preparation for the celebration of the "Word made Flesh." It is preparation for Christ's return. Christmas is about God's love demonstrated through the birth of His only son, a son who would be his mother's pride and joy, a son who would play with his siblings and eventually scare his earthly parents when he chose to stay behind in Jerusalem to learn in the temple. This son would ultimately suffer, die, and rise from the grave to save a world lost in the dark.<br />
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I love Christmas and therefore I am not saying we have to let go of the traditions. We don't need to throw out the tree, we don't need to stop listening to Christmas music, we don't need to stop buying and receiving gifts. But while we are doing all that let us remember that Christmas is not the end of a season but the beginning of a 33-year ministry leading to a crucified and risen Christ. Let your Christmas season be blessed with family and relaxation but don't forget the "Reason for the Season."<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUO3gvw-dlqp26DWc_nUPXlSjYp2TMO5p_txW517ht_LLBDwu2EEbC6EY98qmP6utKULXcjP9t6-QTfndK5I9teHnqA1MbKZvu-TDug6T2d2nTXzSqw-I_JHI_QUXZk5N6SyAUmiNgX4Q/s1102/Copy+of+Copy+of+Copy+of+The+New+Blog+%252817%2529.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1102" data-original-width="735" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUO3gvw-dlqp26DWc_nUPXlSjYp2TMO5p_txW517ht_LLBDwu2EEbC6EY98qmP6utKULXcjP9t6-QTfndK5I9teHnqA1MbKZvu-TDug6T2d2nTXzSqw-I_JHI_QUXZk5N6SyAUmiNgX4Q/s640/Copy+of+Copy+of+Copy+of+The+New+Blog+%252817%2529.png" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Sarah Styfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068537932645735467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281592630512947401.post-77045269909187485312013-09-02T19:48:00.002-07:002013-09-02T20:00:10.791-07:00A House No Longer HomeWe didn't buy the house with the intention of staying. It was a second starter home purchased as part of a move. The intention was to live in the house long enough to get our finances in really good shape so we could sell the house and move up. We would get a bigger house, a nicer neighborhood, and then stay in the new house until retirement.<br />
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In a good market that plan would have worked. We watched the market take a downturn and when we were informed of a possible job transfer that was most likely going to happen, we watched the market crash.<br />
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So much for our "investment."<br />
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We moved three years ago and our Indy house is still our house. We are thankful that, unlike many, we have managed to keep our house payments and financial credit mostly intact. There have been a couple missed payments which had to be made up along the way and we still have little to no room for error, but two renters into the three years and we are still making our payments and chipping away little by little on the principle.<br />
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That doesn't make the whole situation any less depressing.<br />
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This was our second house but really our first home. Our first house we enjoyed but between my husband commuting 120 miles a day and me driving into Chicago every day we didn't have much time there. We slept there, sometimes cooked there, and rarely entertained there, but that was pretty much it. While our Indy house was far from what we wanted, it was our first real home. We painted, tore up floors, tore down a wall, put up a new kitchen, and battled with the weeds in our front flowerbed. We gathered in the backyard around the fire pit we built, shared Easter and Thanksgiving dinners with family and friends, and brought our newborn daughter home there.<br />
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And then we had to move. We didn't put our house on the market because we wanted to move up to something bigger and better. We moved because we had to. Like many nationwide we were transferred and now we had the impossible task of selling a house that we needed to sell for more than people were willing to pay. Our second renter has just moved out and we are waiting (I'll admit rather nervously) for the third renter to sign this week. We returned to our old, empty house this weekend to see what kind of condition the house was left in. It's ok. They didn't abuse the house, at least it doesn't appear that way. There are a couple things they tried to cover up. Like that really bad patch job from what appears to be a pet door between our garage and family room. Yeah, they patched it, found matching paint, but I know that wall. I put one coat of primer and two coats of paint on that wall when we redid the kitchen and family room. That bump and the jacked up baseboards weren't there when the last renter moved out. And yeah, I noticed the fresh dirt in the weed and grass filled front flower bed next to the hostas I planted years ago. Hear that former renter? I noticed. But I know that it could be a lot worse. A lot worse.<br />
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On the bright side we did buy a new fridge to replace the fridge that started our kitchen renovation project. For the last three years, every time we would discuss getting a bigger deep freeze or looking on Craigslist for a "new" refrigerator we would think longingly about our old refrigerator. That fridge was still ours and was being used by total strangers instead of us. It was time to bring it home with us, where it belonged. Thanks to my awesome brother-in-law helping my husband move one fridge in and our fridge out we now have it at home. It was an "adventure." After arriving back at the house with the new fridge from the Sears outlet store we spent at least an hour trying to figure out how to get our fridge out. I hate the crawl space. I don't miss the crawl space at all, but into the crawl space I squatted through the cobwebs with my husband's cell phone flashlight and I found the refrigerator water line. Since no one could hear me through our screaming children who were enjoying the empty, echoy house, I managed to turn the water off, but not all of the way. After spending forever trying to figure out how to get our fridge out of the house, we went to my sister's house and then my husband and brother-in-law extraordinaire (who seriously injured himself the last time he tried to help us move something big) successfully changed everything out, although we did have to return to the house before bed so that we could make sure the water line was completely shut off.<br />
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There were other things to fix. We got parts, like a new kitchen faucet and caulk for the bathroom, but we finally decided that we couldn't deal with it anymore. We needed to get home, to our real home. We left the rest of the repair work for our realtor's handyman. Getting the fridge home continued the adventure. There was a moment when we were getting the fridge from the truck to the garage where I had a flashforward of the fridge careening off of the ramp and either falling backwards on my husband or crashing forwards into the garage door destroying both the fridge and our house. My husband had a flashforward of the fridge falling over on me. Needless to say it left both of us shaking for the next hour, but it is now safely in our utility room.<br />
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It's difficult to go back. I hate going back. I don't miss the house and the move was the right thing, but three years later I still struggle with the fact that we had to move. The move led us to a house with potential and brought me a Master's degree and a job that is closer to my dream job than I ever imagined. But there are still days it is difficult. Being back in the house that holds so many memories doesn't help. It's not even bittersweet anymore because it is so far from sweet. It is a tie that keeps me from being able to completely move on. Friendships remain, we still have family ties, but it's the stupid house that keeps us going back. It's a tie I wish we could sever, but it looks like we're still stuck with it.<br />
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Our rental experience hasn't been perfect. We've had our fair share of issues but at least the last two renters have left the house clean and mostly ready for the next renter (or buyer if we can ever get rid of the house). A short talk with old neighbors yesterday confirmed that our neighbors two down haven't been so lucky, and we know that before the house next door went to foreclosure the same was true there. Messy, destructive tenants leaving the property much worse than they found it. At least our house is still intact. I guess for now that is the best we can hope for.Sarah Styfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068537932645735467noreply@blogger.com0