Happy Anniversary to the Man I Chose

As I embark on the celebration of my 9th year of marriage to the funniest, smartest, most ageless person I've ever met, I think about all of the things that we've achieved through love.  As corny as it sounds, that is really the key ingredient to a successful marriage. Some might say patience, compromise, or trust is the most important facet in in a partnership like ours, but I truly feel that those traits are borne of love.  You can't have any of those things if you do not know/have/feel love for your spouse.

Love is obviously part of any marriage, but I can honestly say that I feel like ours might hold more than most. There's a togetherness and camaraderie that only a husband and wife could share. I CHOSE him. He CHOSE me. We CHOSE to have our girls. The old adage says, "You can't choose your family."  On the contrary, that's exactly what we did.  It's a gift when we can look at the world that we created together, and know it exists because we fell in love.

This choice is something I revel in daily. We are blessed to have a love and two children to nurture and we don't take those gifts for granted...usually.  I'm not going to lie and say that we don't lament over the purchase of the starter home in which we still reside or other decisions we could have benefited by having a crystal ball when making. Our life is FAR from perfect. But I can't think of another life that would make me happier. Although big piles of money would be nice.

Make no mistake, we are not one of those gross couples that sit on the same side of the booth when on a date. *disclaimer: if you are part of a said "gross couple," I'm sorry.  No offense.  That scene in Date Night when Tina Fey and the dude who does Gru's voice in Despicable Me are laughing at other couples eating at the restaurant making up their voices was taken out of the Kerr playbook.  I'm not very good at voicing my love or gratitude, especially publicly, but I try to demonstrate it through little things- I'm super goal and task oriented, and it shows in every facet of my life. I'm a control FREAK. I can be mean. I can go completely insane due to crumbs on my counter or toys on the floor. I hate myself for it,  but my husband loves me in spite of it. He affectionately refers to me as the "cleaning gremlin."

I feel stupid when I do something on a whim. I don't do anything I'm not 100% comfortable with if I think someone might see. I'm self conscious. I take myself too seriously, and I know it. I'm bad at giving gifts to my husband. Although I totally scored this year with some vintage comic books, including an Avengers edition from his birth year.  HOLLA! He knows this about me; he embraces it. We joke about it, and our love is stronger because we know each others' strengths and weaknesses.

My husband is not like me at all. He has no problem making anyone feel loved. He's impetuous, spur of the moment, and virtually my opposite. Showing love or having fun doesn't make him feel awkward or stupid.  He doesn't feel like what he does quantifies the amount of love he has for someone. He just does it and trusts that his instincts pay off. He doesn't need a list to feel like he's accomplished something. This is a quality I'm super jealous he possesses and I don't. He's the good cop. I snicker in another room when he gets haired off at the kids because it just never happens.

He's also an amazing gift getter. He listens even when I think he doesn't.  He finds things that he knows I'll use, he finds things he knows I'll wear. He finds things he knows I'll cherish. I'll be honest- I could be a professional shopper FOR A LIVING and there were things I got for Christmas this year that I didn't know were in existence. Enter pink cheetah print pillow for iPad viewing and glass locket with meaningful gemstones. EEK!

The point is, this time of year makes me reflect not just because of Christmas and the recognized season of giving. On New Years Eve we CHOSE each other nine years ago. That is a gift that at times we each have wanted to return or exchange, even if only for a moment.  But, the thing is, when you love someone there's no such thing as a refund or store credit.  That gift has the potential to fluctuate in value as the years wear on. You change individually in body, mind, experience, spirit, and in other ways I don't even know of yet. You change as a pair with the passing of time, the birth of children, and the living of life in general. The value of that relationship, if you're doing it right, doesn't depreciate. It doesn't go on clearance. It's worth more at the end than at the beginning. So, I won't be turning that gift in for the mark down price. I'll hang onto it. I'm sure the value is worth it's weight in gold.

Through the Eyes of a Child: Merry Christmas!

Christmas magic is something that I savor every year.The excitement in my daughters' faces. The delighted squeal I hear from them when the one gift we let them open a day early turns into three. And this year the sound of Harper's little voice gasp "Oh my gosh!" before she even has the paper ripped away from any gift, even the cat's. It makes me tear up just typing about it. Don't let the rain dampen your Christmas spirit and the spirit of generosity.  Be thankful for the selflessness of others who cannot spend this holiday with their families. Be gracious to those who have no family with whom to celebrate.  Pray for those who have no holiday to celebrate.  Love one another, count your blessings, and do your best to see this time of year through the eyes of a child. Have a very Merry Christmas, Festivus, or whatever you choose to celebrate.

Love, the Kerrs♡

Hickory Dickory...ICK!

Hickory Dickory...ICK! http://lmkerr.blogspot.com/2014/10/hickory-dickoryick.html

'Tis the Season

'Tis the Season http://lmkerr.blogspot.com/2014/12/the-season.html

'Tis the Season

This is the time of year I, along with many, deem the most wonderful.
It is amazing. My kids are enamored with the magic of the season. I shop in November as to not be stressed in December.  I only host immediate family.  As far as the holidays are concerned, my biggest problem is to figure out what dishes I am taking to pass and what the Elf on the Shelf will do next.

Although there is something I do dread every year. Family photos. I have a beautiful family: gorgeous younger sisters, my two precious children, my handsome husband. But, as I've grown older and my time for me has diminished,  every photograph taken is a source of anxiety. 

How fat do I look? Do I have wrinkles yet? Why did I wear that sweater? Why did I choose to SIT DOWN in this picture?

Then the cutting and cropping begins. Nothing makes it to Facebook or instagram that will be topic of discussion for others - especially those people I only see occasionally because I'm afraid of what they think.

As I write this, I realize how silly this sounds. So I'm giving myself some slack this year. Gone are the days when I was the thinnest I've ever been, gone are the days that I got to focus on me.  I am the happiest I've ever been, and I am going to remember that in each photo that gets tagged this season.

Bat Sh#t Kerr-azy

O.M.G. I've always thought of myself as one who would have good karmic energy.   I believe in karma; I enjoy watching it sneak up on oblivious people,  and I try to keep my own personal record as clean as possible.  As a result,  I should be completely unsurprised about what transpired in my house after posting articles about evicting my kids' precious kittens and praying vigilantly for the death of a mouse.

Since the mouse sighting, I have been cleaning out every place I feel needs attention and tonight it was the "seasonal cubby."  Aka the weird, awkward space that takes up half of our upstairs in which no one can stand.  Therefore, totes of Christmas decor, retired toys, wrapping paper, and clothes baskets (sometimes full of clean clothes I'm too lazy to put away) are stowed away here.

I finished organizing, vacuuming,  and felt great about the whole thing.  Heck, I found gifts I'd picked up for people and forgotten about and realized I have enough gift bags to last through all of the Christmases and birthdays of my girls' youths.  Winning.

Then, as a half dressed Harper and a naked Sawyer were standing at the top of the steps, a shriek of terror cut the peace of my evening. A bat, which was "hanging" out above the stairwell (literally and figuratively) had been spotted by my eldest. My eldest who hates the book Stellaluna and all things bat had no choice but to stand there and scream, leaving the bat no choice but to swoop at my defenseless children's heads as I stood at the foot of the steps looking up in horror.

Sawyer streaked down the steps, putting in footie pajamas as she went, deserting Harper upstairs. I grabbed them, a blanket, and headed for the car, with them crying and me panicking all the way.  I didn't know what to do.  I called my husband at work, and he agreed to come home.  But there I was thinking about that varmint infesting MY house...again. 

So, I did the unthinkable. If anyone was looking in my window, they got a show, and I hope they videoed it because it was viral worthy. I got the kids' pink butterfly net, and a baseball bat from the garage, secured my hood, and went in. The mini assassin swooped at my head and I ducked so fast and hard my knees got skinned through my pants. I know words that rhymed with brother and trucker were uttered.  Panting, I got up, crept to the doorway, and skimmed Dracula out of the air midflight. I then proceeded to scream as he chirped in the net. I remembered my batting skills from softball and left the massacre for my husband to clean up.

I felt like I had run a marathon. My entire body was in tremors and I couldn't catch my breath.  I was sweating like a madwoman in an absolute tither.  I think it was the single most athletic activity in which I've participated in years.  I have  never been down with nature, but this mini hunting trip I participated in so as to defend my family from the Count took it to a whole new level. I'm hoping the selflessness of the deed helps my karmic score because I don't know how much more wildlife I can endure.

Hickory Dickory...ICK!

I like stuff. MY stuff to be precise. I love to have nice stuff.  If you are a student of mine, past or present,  yes, I have violated my own rule three times. Don't use the word stuff in writing. Be specific. However, it would take me hours to be THAT specific:  shoes, clothes, bags, purses, gifts I've painstakingly selected for my kids, and furniture that my husband and I agree upon are just the tip of the iceberg.

So,  when I feel like the quality of my life is being ruined because my stuff is being jeopardized, I lose my shit - figuratively, of course.  And what makes it worse is that my stuff is being threatened by a 3 inch little bastard. Talk about small man syndrome.

The war has been waged; the first battle went to Mr. Nasty who got a free meal of peanut butter, then decided to saunter into MY bedroom, across MY new rug, while I was getting dressed.  The absolute panic that ensued forced me out of my house in clothing and shoes that were definitely questionable.  In fact, I'm not even sure they matched. I guess I'm just lucky I got out of there with a PAIR of shoes.

I spent the day yesterday floating between a state of anxiety and anger. I pictured that varmint crawling up my quilt, lounging on my pillow, rolling around in glee.  I thought of him meandering around the house, partaking in crumbs that the naked eye couldn't see, then inviting his friends over for a little party at the Kerr's. 

I was a little light headed and beyond irritated by the day's end. HELL HATH NO FURY LIKE LEANN WHEN SOMEONE IS MESSING WITH HER STUFF AND DEPOSITING GERMS ALL OVER HER HOUSE. It was time for defense and a hefty dose of D-Con.

I hope you enjoyed your snack last night, little critter. You might have won the battle, but I've won the war. If anyone needs me, I'll be disinfecting until the end of the week.  BARF.

Why I'm Not a Pet Parent

Ever since I was young, I have never been a fan of animals.  My aunt had a large, energetic, balding dog named Fluffy that I was sure was out for blood every time we went to her house.  I had other family members who had an array of pets, including cats who left paw prints in the butter.  My grandma had a dog with the same name as my mother who she would chase after with Glade air freshener whenever it farted.  Oh, I have have experienced pets, my friends.

People who I worked with as a young adult laughed at me.  They thought I had a problem.  One woman told me that she couldn't believe that someone as kindhearted as me would not like animals. It seemed impossible.  Don't get me wrong, I tear up at that Sarah McLaughlin "Arms of An Angel" save the animals commercial.  Who doesn't?  I do not have a heart of stone.  However, it always struck me as funny whenever someone took their dogs to Petsmart for a photo with Santa or talked about animals like they were people.  It's not my thing.  If it's breathing and it's not human, I'm not into it.  Period.  End of story.

So, my loved ones were rather taken aback a few weeks ago when I permitted EACH one of my daughters to bring home a kitten from the babysitter's house.  I'm not exactly sure what I was thinking either.  I think that the allure of being "The Best Mom Ever" was the main factor playing into this whole scenario. Both of my girls love animals, especially cats.  Why, I can't say.  It's certainly not genetic.  They do remind me of Pet Sematary, but there's something else.

Regardless of the animal, species, whatever, I am completely disgusted by animals.  I don't want to be.  I want to be able to pet someone's dog to be polite and not run to the bathroom to wash my hands or use hand sanitizer.  (P.S.  I am sneaky about this as to avoid hurt feelings).  I want to not have a panic attack when a cat hair gets on something.  But I can't.  So, I thought that two cute kittens might be the secret to my healing process.

Not. even. close.  The kittens were allowed in the house for exactly 22 hours.  They stayed the night in the back room, used the litter box, roamed around the downstairs when we were home, and my kids loved every second of it.  But, all it took was one "dropping" in the litter box to make me realize this was definitely not the life for me.

So, I gathered up the kittens and their belongings and took them to the garage.  Sawyer was upset at first, but I showed her the kitty litter scattered in my back room and was just honest.  I told her I couldn't deal with it.  It was too much.  I had a ton of other stuff to take care of, the house, them, cleaning, cooking, and adding a pet to our shoe box of a house just wasn't what I needed.

She was a little disappointed, but she helped me move her precious pets and said she understood.  She promised to visit the kittens daily when she got home from school, and not a tear was shed.  The girls put the kittens in the pet bed with a blanket, said good night, and so began Olaf and Sparkle's life in the garage, and my life as an candid mom.

As soon as we got in the house Sawyer said, "Mom, Harper and I are going to get in the shower now.  We'll play for while because I know you're going to want to sweep and mop the floors."

I have a seven-year old mind reader.  Not really.  I have a seven-year old that KNOWS her mother.  That's exactly what I did.  I Pinesoled my little heart out and rested easy, knowing that the kitten traces were gone from my house.  The girls go visit the kittens every day after school.  The kittens are happy, the kids are happy, and my husband can deal with the garage.  I might not be a pet person, but at least I can admit (sometimes) when my limit has been passed.

At that moment when she told me that I was about to clean, I understood that she SEES me and HEARS me in a way I had never noticed, and it's not always flattering.  There's no sense sugar coating or concealing it to her or anyone else. Sometimes I am a better mom when I say no.  It's hard.  I want to tell my kids yes to every sleepover, playdate, dessert, etc.  But, if I'm going to be honest with them and myself, the answer can't always be yes.  So, I have allowed myself to tell my kids that they can't have or do something because it is too much work for me.  Maybe, this will enable them to see that if they pitch in more and take care of some responsibilities-clearing my plate a little-I might be more likely to yes in the future.

I Love ME?

I Love ME?

I will never cease to be amazed at how different two children, raised in the same household, can be.  I didn’t believe this upon the birth of my second child, who weighed three pounds more and was 5 inches longer than her older sister.  I should have known right then.  However, after two years of raising these two incredibly mysterious beings, I am gaining some perspective.  Sawyer, my conscientious, nervous, studious, fashion-conscious, and newly seven year old was upstairs in her room playing school.  She was talking to her class about reading stamina, schema, strategies to help one better their reading, then started talking about metacognition.  I smiled. Ahhh, a genius, proof she’s mine.  Almost simultaneously, my precocious, hyper, outgoing, mismatched, and not even not-even-two year old, Harper, tugged at my leg.

 “Mumma, mumma…”

“What, Harp?”

“I poop outside.  I love me.” Oh, she looks like me, but she’s probably been switched at birth.

Seriously?

What does this mean anyway?  Did she, indeed, poop outside at some point?  Does she just make a general rule of pooping outdoors?  Or is she just using the wrong tense of the verb or the wrong preposition perhaps?  I thought about using this as a grammar exercise for my high schoolers, but that’s a can of worms I was not willing to open.

There are times, as a parent and a teacher that I really want to congratulate myself.  Two thumbs  up, Leann.  Doing great.  They’re alive, they’re getting it, they’re learning, you didn’t forget to sign the planner.  You remembered to pack lunches.  The laundry is folded AND put away…except for this one last basket.  And just like that, the negatives start piling up, making you doubt EVERYTHING. The ifs, ands, and buts of life start overshadowing your progress and faith in yourself. 

That awesome activity you planned went over like a lead balloon.  You have five kids failing.  You didn’t submit your lesson plans online.  You forgot boots for Harper. You didn’t pick up Sawyer’s cookie dough.  You didn’t start the coffee.  And, holy crap, are you vacuuming, dusting, and doing dishes instead of playing with your kids or grading papers?  HOW DARE YOU!

Case in point: one of my kids panics and cries over forgotten homework and plays school where she discusses  metacognition—something I’m  not even sure how to explain to a second grader.  The other will probably never have that issue because she discusses defecation in the out-of-doors and has problems with pronouns. She gets me and you confused. The only thing that makes me feel slightly better about the whole thing is that what she was really saying was not that she loved herself.  She really meant I love you.

I’m not saying that changes everything, but man, it makes things a lot closer to okay.  I didn’t teach either one of my kids anything that was said in this conversation, but I’m a teacher by trade. Sawyer said something that made me proud and the only credit I can take is giving birth to her.  I’ve never known Harper to poop outside, nor do I condone such activity, but I can’t take credit for that either.  Teachers and parents are under immense pressure.  We are under the microscope, judged and evaluated in every aspect of our jobs, public or private.  As a teacher and a parent, I can say I am the ultimate control freak, and letting go of that might need to be the next lesson plan I write for myself.  If we give moms, dads, and teachers a little bit of a break and maybe just voice our admiration or appreciation every once in awhile, life might be a little easier for everyone, especially our kids.

Ahhhh...The easy life of a teacher...

Ahhhhhh!  School is 5 weeks in, I just did two late nights of parent teachers conferences, saw 31 parents-only one parent which I really needed to see- my student council is putting on Homecoming next week and haven't posted a spirit day sign.  Oh, and I FORGOT that my firstborn, precious 2nd grader turns 7.  Yes FORGOT about her birthday and am trying to make it up by hosting fiesta night at my house tomorrow night.

Oh, and did I mention, I am in the throes of trying to develop a groundbreaking, thought provoking, multi-discipline research project that has some facet which will enable teachers to grade using the required Marzano scale with color coding to simplify our lives? Ummm, here's where I'm at.  I'm going to have a list. A big, fat hairy list of all 10th graders, which I can't access because I'm a teacher.  I don't have the authority to get any class list but my own.  As I await that, I have the luxury of writing/tech guru, Troy Hicks, making me grading spreadsheets.  I kind of feel like those people on Flipping the Block who get famous designer's help on their room, but don't actually win that week.

I'm definitely not winning this week...I feel like I might actually die.  It's kind of like if I was asked to do math homework...I have a stomach cramp.