Tonight, Jon and I had our old college pal, Andrew Anderson over for dinner. He is going to be a guest poet in my classroom tomorrow and we wanted to discuss what he would be reading and practice our rusty (I guess I should say MY) rusty Skype skills.
Andy walked in during a flood. Yup, our washing machine flooded because Jon overloaded it,and it was gushing water. Under some circumstances I would have been freaking out that our house was a cluttered-toy-tornado zone and there were wet towels all over the front walk, the floors, and puddles everywhere! But, I wasn’t freaking out — when Andy walked in, I felt like he had just been there the day before and nothing was going to shock him. Except, he has never been to our house, and we probably haven’t seen him but maybe three times since college, which was 11 years ago.
When he walked in the door, we greeted each other and Joey immediately jumped into his lap. “Andy Anderson!” “Andy Anderson!” “Will you read me a story and play car ramps with me??” Those who have met Joey will know that for him to behave this way towards someone he has only seen once before for perhaps five minutes, was strange. Except, it wasn’t. It was like Joey and Enzo had always known Andy, because Andy is where Jon and I are from. He was with us in our formative college years, was Jon’s roommate, worked at Camp Wanake with me, and part of our very close-knit faith community. Hanging out with Andy was refreshing, like going home. Thanks for coming over, friend. Let’s not let it be eleven more years before we have dinner together again!
In class we are writing poetry and performing poetry slams. As a class my gifted kids wrote a “recipe poem” about 8th grade and I really wanted to share it. So today’s slice is written collectively by my students and I!
to be an 8th grader: a recipe
driven to succeed, full of grit
happy to be at this great school
lollygagging down the hall
sometimes acting like a total fool
emitting originality in our style
homework causing a lot of stress
always hungry – food is our crush
eighth-grade- hard work is our key to success
Selling a house is a lot of work! I didn’t realize that when I called up a realtor that I was signing up for all of these calls, trips, projects, and anxiety-inducing experiences!
In the last 48-hours, there have been four strangers in my house evaluating every inch to find fault. These folks, they are buying my house. The house where Jon and I started our family. The house where Joey had his first Christmas, learned to walk, and where he became a big brother to Enzo. Where my placenta abrupted. Where my dog played until his last day.
I put the house on the market. It sold in three days- so I should be totally excited and I am – but I am not- because I am too busy signing forms, providing documentation, and making a way for strangers to live in my home.
Sometimes I’m not sure how I stay awake during the day. Last night I jumped into my PJs at 10:00 p.m. and cuddled up with Enzo. At 11:00, he wanted to eat.
At 12:30, he was screaming.
At 2:30, he wanted to eat.
At 4:00, he was looking for me.
“Ugh! I can’t do this! I just want to sleep!,” I thought out loud.
…then he giggled for the first time. And his giggle turned into a hard laugh. Then, in a complete switch he was screaming. Almost as if he was overwhelmed by what joy and laughter felt like within his body.
“I have the exact same feelings, Enzo!,” I thought to myself. His giggle makes me feel a deep joy- but my sleep deprivation is overwhelming.
I guess that is love: Overwhelming Joy.