Play Nice Kids

I snagged a job! I work at a local, family run garden center. Not exactly wielding the communication degree, but I get to play in the dirt and learn about plants. Minus a day of rage pulling apart tomato cages (a task that can also be found in the 5th circle of hell), and a nasty encounter with a termite colony– it has been swell. 

This week-end, I was in prime form with a happy meeting of two worlds– plants and children. We had a special Mother's Day event, the greenhouse was filled up with little ones planting flowers for the occasion. I love working with the little ones. Co-workers and friends always encourage me, "Emily-- you have a great way with kids!"

I appreciate that feedback– but I also have to laugh. 

Little do they know. 

 Let me take you back to my first job as nanny. It was with a large family, boys making the majority. Getting to know each kid– their different temperaments (and tempers)– it was wonderful, and challenging. I had some unforgettable experiences. Here is one of the first. 

The first month I worked there, I quickly learned how easily one of the younger boys would get frustrated. He would storm around outside, throwing things and hollering.. a small human volcano letting off pre-explosion steam. 

One day he really popped (bad homework experience), and ran away. Mom recruited me to be the search and rescue team– I, in turn, recruited his siblings to help me track him down. We scoured the development, hollered and bribed– finally found him. 

It was flustering– he wasn't impressed with my nanny authority at all. Nevertheless, we managed to coax him to his driveway. Then he tried to re-run away. I knew (with all my 17 year old conviction) that the best thing to do was to force this wayward child into my will... so I directed his siblings into a scissor formation. Closed him in, cut him off. 

It worked. He tried to scamper out, but his sister was too fast and got a hold of his T-shirt. 

I ran up for the assist, but not before the screaming started. The kind that makes the grass shiver, without wind. 

The escapee's teeth were sunk into his sister's arm. The rest of the siblings started bellowing/ bawling out of sympathy. Confusion reigned.

It was my time to shine: as a nanny. As an authority figure. As an adult. I was ready. I had been given some tips on how to manage precarious children by a foster mom. I also had seven+ years of karate.

So when the mom stepped out onto her front porch– doubtless drawn out by all the commotion (along with the rest of the neighborhood)– here is what she saw:

Kids screaming.

 Her eldest daughter weeping. 

The newly hired babysitter, pinning her bellowing, flailing son to the ground, in a combo head lock/ scissor move.

The mom simply, mildly asked, "Emily.. what are you doing?"

I burst into tears. 

Emily and kids. It was a rough start. But, years later, I'm still close with that family. Today, there is no way I could hold that boy down. Not unless I started eating more pizza. Lots more. He picked up an extra 5 inches over the years. His voice got as deep as the Hudson after a heavy rain.

My favorite days, since I've moved home from college, have been when they go hiking with me, or throw a frisbee for a few hours. 

They have forgiven me the knocks accumulated during the learning process.  I enjoy the plants, but I love the relationships that forgive a rough start. The ones that give you a chance to live and learn, together. At the end of the day, I think it's more accurate to say that the kids are good to me. 

Out like a Lion

Last week was a beautiful line up of 75-80 degree days. Upstate went nuts–– sun drunk.

The peepers got to peeping with conviction. Crab apple trees trees started to blossom– fat white flowers. Car windows were cranked down, leaving an audio patchwork of songs in all genres as they passed. Shorts, T-shirts and iced coffees– I milked the week of summer-in-March along with the rest of them. 

Sleeping Beauty, Lake George

I went for a hike and counted the ice patches on one hand, remembering this week, two years ago, when I was struggling up a mountain through two feet of snow.  

I also realized that I have seriously underestimated the intimacy my emotional health shares with sunshine. Lying on the top of the mountain, getting a jump start on the short's tan– I felt like I had lumbered out of a cave, blinking and winking in the heavy sun. So disoriented, so happy. I had been dealing with a sort of light dehydration.

Come down hope! it's not safe up there! We're back to 40 degrees, topped off with a bitter wind. The poor peepers are turning into popsicles. The petals have been blasted off the trees. And the heart gets so heavy to carry when it's cold. March was a bit cruel this year, though it was true to her character–– she came in like a lamb. Can't say I wasn't warned.

But, Spring won't be around for much longer. Keep busy– Run.* Work. Read. Time passes.

And I keep things in perspective: this is all probably worse for Bingley, he can't wear nice vests. Plus, along with the cold weather, a new instrument has been added to the family. He doesn't like either very much... at all. 

*Emily's Dictionary:

v. Run– 

Think NASCAR race. With Tonka trucks. 

Identity Crisis

I've thrown a dimension of my personality into the void.

I feel a bit homeless now when I hop online. But, it had to be done; the fact that I saw Facebook as a dimension of my personality made it necessary, though there are other reasons.

Last night, I was telling [consoling] myself. "This is just an experiment in self-discovery... defining myself by the negative. If I take this thing out of my life, how will I fill the space? How will I spend my time?"

Yadda yadda. Get over yourself bud...

In simple terms: No job, no Facebook!

But in the meantime, I can't remember my name...

Are You a Tamale? Cause You're Hot.

It's so cheesy. So commercialized. A kick in the pants for the lone wolves out there. 

Whatever. I still like the thought and the simple, sweet gifts that Valentine's Day inspires. 

simple

                                                                                 

sweet 

But you wouldn't know that looking at my project. 

Featuring:
Construction Paper, Crayons, Pastels, Charcoal
Packing Tape, Dried Fruit, Chewing Gum,
Busta Rhyme, 30 Second Bunnies
and tons of bad pick-up lines.  

 I hope everyone had a happy Valentine's Day!

All dressed up and going to the grocery store

You never know what you've got until it's gone. A fitting, if tear-stained, cliché to express remorse– longing. etc. etc. 

Unless we're talking about Winter Break-- that can get out and stay out. I never realized how rushed I was during this break, squashing everything into my schedule–barely catching my breath after the holidays before trying to go-do-see all my winter fun– then back to the grindstone again. 

 Glazing

I love the breathing room that comes with life-after-college– it has beautifully translated into many leisurely hours in the pottery studio, playing in what little snow we have and occasionally walking my dogs. (By occasionally-- I mean that I walked them once. Today. About five hours ago.)

Aw-- Gus.

It's been a peaceful time for reflection, resolutions and refocusing, but my most valuable lesson came in the mail last week. It's all fun and games until it's time to pay the car insurance.  

So, in the absence of winter break, there is job hunting. 

Story time:

Today, I got myself hyped up– put the sweat pants away, put on mascara and brushed the dog hair off my jacket. Resume under my arm, professional smile-- I was ready to go until I left the house.   

Pulling into the driveway of my destination, my palms got so sweaty I could barely hold the wheel. I parked the car. 

Pep talk, if only my tongue would unstick from the roof of my mouth. 

"Ok.."

Loosen up with a shoulder shake. 

"Hi. My name is Emily and I want to work for you.."

No no. 

"Idiot. Don't say that."

Deep breath.

"Okay. Hello. I am Emily. Take this resumé. I wrote it with blood, sweat and vinegar. You should hire me."

Smile. Check the teeth. 

Whew. 

Check the teeth again. 

Wait.

Oh God-- What if they have surveillance cameras?  'Don't hire this kid. I saw her in the parking lot, talking to herself and making faces in the mirror-- she's nuts.'

Mission aborted. This process keeps me painfully self-conscious. It's the same thing with underwear shopping. 

But, it was a shame to keep my scarf-vest combo from the world, so I went to the grocery store and walked slowly down the aisles, using my strong interpersonal communication skills to smile at the elderly and give children back their dropped toys. I bought some apples (the cashier said I looked nice) and walked, with a little recovered swag, back to my car. I will make a great employee, one day.

Seriously, my car insurance really needs to be paid; this flabby assertive muscle is about to get whomped. Necessity is the mother of growing up, 

Emily

First Snowfall!

Typically, as soon as December hits, I tuck my heart up in the hills and catch up with it every time I strap into my snowboard. This winter season has been painfully bare. I don't remember it ever taking so long to snow in Upstate. I've been pining– driving the snowbank-less streets Glens Falls on the way to The Mountain, passing the not-frozen lakes, listening to We Found Love over and over (I bet Rihanna had no idea she was singing about East Coast skiers). Life is tough right now for a snow-lover. 

It was a beautiful, beautiful thing to wake up to the sound of the snowplow this morning, look out the window and say good morning to several inches of fresh pow! 

(A few inches may not seem like much, but when you're parched, even mud puddles look Brita-fresh.) 

I am loving this– I started off the morning playing outside with Bingley. 

 

Bingley can make snowballs!

Can't wait to be on the slopes tomorrow, keep it up Momma N! 

Emily

Adjective of Emily's week-month-..life?

Disoriented

Adjective

CONFUSED, bewildered, lost at sea, adrift, off-course, having lost one’s bearings; 

INFORMAL not knowing whether one is coming or going. 

                                                                                                                           

It’s not a permanent thing (oh please.) Just a germ that some folks pick up at stressful times in their lives; a condition that Hallmark can easily spin into a sympathy card. “Heard you’ve been disoriented, get well soon!” 

The pill I keep popping in my mouth is full of “Emily, you’re going to be okay. You’re gonna be okay. You can make it.” (If you ever need a pep talk, hit me up.) See, I’ve come down with an unpleasant strain. Get well soon Emily, for your sake– but mostly for the people around you. 

The story in this story: 

The last few days I have somehow ended up on the wrong end of the hallway 

        taken the wrong right 

        at the top of the wrong stairs

        and barged into the wrong apartment. 

Picture this with me; 

Hear the door BLAST OPEN. Enter Emily: a juggernaut, a wrecking ball.  Foolish grin on her face (funny– it wasn’t foolish before she walked into the room. Why do nice things work like that?-- Joy. Laughter. Love. That is beautiful, empowering stuff.  Flip the coin. Nothing sours as fast as a precious moment. Makes your bones heavy with broken glass and shame– heaps of shame..) A still second. Take in the unfamiliar scene. It just starts to register. Then the faces of the girls sitting on their couches, startled, wide-eyed, baffled, who-is-this-idiot. Staring at her staring at them: not her apartment mates. The grin melts into a perfect ‘O’ (oh crap), a halo around fumbling apologies. Retreat! 

The door snaps shut behind me. It’s over. They’re on one side and I’m on the other, maladroit moron. (Close the door. Reset.) Everything falls back the way it ought to be, except not the way it was. Something happened.

I lost my bearings. By the time I crawl back to my place, I don’t remember that two of the girls were my friends. I forget that they graciously (after they finished laughing at me) offered me tea. That, as I scampered out, they told me to barge in anytime (for comic relief), That we, to say the least, made a memory. Because after the door shuts my memory course corrects around everything that went wrong. It's all bad.   

It’s not all bad. Disoriented. It's just a germ. Point me in the right direction. Send a ‘get well’ card. I’ll be better soon. 

 There is a story in this story. Sharing this with you, I unwrapped some things about myself like:

It is in me to barge into strange places. 

It is not in me to gracefully escape. 

Illuminating moments, even if it took crawling over hot coals to hold them, are precious. 

The status quo 

should

can

will 

change. 

There is no pure reset button. And if you find one, smash it.