I’m a prize.

I mean it. Today I was literally a prize – 5 kids won the opportunity to make a journal with me.

I set up my room with notebooks to choose from, paper-covered tables with bowls of mod podge, paintbrushes, scissors – and at the last minute I thought to add a paper towel at each seat.

A few minutes later, 5 second and third graders walked in. First just one, then 2 more, then another. The fifth student filters in as we get started.

A few minutes after starting, I decided I loved these kids, and that every day should end with hanging out with kids and mod podge.

They chose notebooks. A few kids chose the regular composition size, and then there were 2 boys left looking at the notebooks in earnest. I pointed out the differences between the remaining notebooks and one of them looked at me and asked, “But which will hold the most writing?”

Once everyone had their notebooks, I had to explain with mod podge was, and how you use it. One girl kept wondering, “So this is NOT glue? It’s mod podge?” and “So this is mod podge? It’s like glue?”

I described our decorating as making a collage.

“Oh! I LOVE COLLAGE!” was echoed through the room.

I had clearly underestimated the magic of mod podge and paper.

“I love this music,” one of the second graders said.

I thanked them and told them it was an instrumental Disney song playlist.

“Well,” she said, “it’s very beautiful. I feel so peaceful listening to it. I really love it”

I saw the other kids nodding their heads in agreement.

We started decorating, and I remembered how this is one of my favorite things to do – work with kids, get to know them, and teach them while I’m doing the project with them.

“Hmmm…” I said, “I don’t know if I should cut this, or tear it. I think I’ll put this here.” The third-grader next to me really got into it.

“Here,” he said as he gave me papers he thought I would like to use and advice on what to do next.

One second-grader piped up from the other side of the room, “I’ve always wondered what this room was. I see it every day at lunch and I think ‘what is that room?’ And now I get to be here, and I love it. I love this room.”

“I love it too,” I told her.

I hot glued ribbon on their back covers when they were ready, and we all chatted as we worked.

As they left I thanked them for coming and reminded them to write in their journals.

Most of them said they would.

“I always have an extra journal at school in case I forget mine,” a second-grader said.

“I hope I write in mine,” another kid said, “I usually just get journals and notebooks and then don’t write in them and then throw them away!”

“Well, don’t throw this one away! You worked so hard on it!” I told him.

“Of course not!” he said, insulted that I would even suggest such a thing.

“Thank you!” they said as they walked out the door.

I told them this was my favorite part of my day.

“Me too,” the last kid said on his way out. He stopped, paused to pet the front of his journal, and then said, “I want to start a diary.”

“You could write every day!” I told him. He walked away as I said, “I’m writing every day of March!”

I was rushing in the wegmans line, trying to get all of my stuff up on the belt, wondering why the older woman behind me was looking at me funny. Was it because she had just a few items, and I was unloading a full cart? I quickly looked to make sure I hadn’t accidentally gone to a 15 items or less line.

No, I hadn’t! In fact I had followed a Wegman’s worker’s invitation to this line!

“Excuse me, ma’am?” She finally asked and I turned around.

“That mask looks so comfortable. Where did you get it?”

First I had to feel my mask… I don’t know why, since I get all of my KN95 masks from Amazon.

“Oh! These? I just ordered these from Amazon, actually!”

She shook her head with obvious disappointment. “Oh. I don’t get anything from amazon. I refuse to order from them.”

I found myself explaining to her that I too, don’t like Amazon. “I know I should stop ordering from amazon too!” I said. “It’s on my list! I promise!”

She looked at me, with kind but slightly judgemental, or maybe pitying eyes.

“Well, I know. I know. You stay healthy, okay?”

I told her thanks, and “you too,” and noticed her stack of cloth grocery bags in her cart.

And then I paid for my groceries, and pushed my cart to my car, feeling guilty about amazon, and the plastic bags my groceries were in.

I wondered for a moment if I should go back and explain that I reuse my grocery bags and that I’m trying my best during a really hard chapter of life.

But I kept pushing my cart, just wondering if I’ll ever be as good as that older lady at Wegmans.

I just have some questions about mornings

why do I set my alarm for 6:05?
and also 6:45?
and also 6:55?
when usually I’m up by 5:30?
but then stay on the couch having my coffee
until the last possible minute
before running upstairs to get ready for the day?
why are mornings so very rushed,
when I’m up for at least 2 hours before I have to leave?

why do I sneak around downstairs
to get my coffee without waking up the dog
because I don’t want to take him out in the dark yet
when he just sits and stares at me from the couch when I am ready
and when I need him to get moving or soon I will be late?

why does the dog,
the same one who hates rain and snow
and shakes off his paws when he’s walking on anything wet, or cold, or wet and cold
always walk to the middle of the snowy yard to poop in the morning?
also – why would I ever forget to wear my snow boots when I take him out?

why don’t my alarms wake anyone else up?
why does time move so weirdly in the morning?
why do I always think I’ll wash my hair when I know I’ll most likely use some dry shampoo?
why do I ever think I’ll have time to make, or pack, or make and pack oatmeal for breakfast?
why do I have to beg my children to wear coats to school?

Why mornings?
Why mornings?

When we needed to replace our old van, we found a used Honda Odyssey and I called Mardi. “You like your Odyssey, right? Like you would recommend it?” I asked.

She said she definitely would recommend it.

We drove in Mardi’s van a lot. Sometimes it was to lunch during an in-service, or to a friend’s for wine, and sometimes it was to New York City or the mountains for a weekend. We always had perfect road snacks, and I almost always rode shotgun because I get carsick in the back seat. I’d sit and hand her dried mangos, or hold the dip so she could dip a chip or a carrot in as she drove. I’d hand her chips until she said “No more! If I ask for another chip, don’t let me have one.”

I knew she liked her van, I knew I liked her van, but it was still nice to get a little reassurance before I bought one.

On our last road trip together, I drove her van for an hour or so. As I put on the turn signal to switch lanes, I noticed her van had the same problem my new matching van had: The signal only clicked the light a few times before turning off, and didn’t seem to care what direction I wanted it to go for a moment or two.

I pointed this out to Mardi, who looked at me kind of funny.

“It’s not broken,” she explained, “It’s how it works – so your signal can be on for a lane change.”

Oh.

One of my favorite van features is the backup camera with perfect lines that help me back into spaces. (Well, and out of spaces. But, I’d much rather back into a space.)

“Aha!” I said to Mardi one day. “Now I know why you are such an amazing backer-upper! This backup camera is perfect!

“Oh no,” Another friend said. “Mardi’s always been good at backing in.”

“Yea – I don’t really use the camera,” she said and I think I detected a little pride in her voice.

“Well. Now I can back in too.” I said. I already knew I’d never be as good at backing into parking spaces as Mardi was. Now it was confirmed. She didn’t even need the camera. She had a way of just finding a spot, and POOF! She was in.

This is what I’m thinking about today as I try to back in at school. There is winter dirt on the camera, so the view is fuzzy. I can’t tell if something is a parking space line or snow or a smudge on the camera. I leave that space and try the next one. This time I can’t tell if something is the line of the parking space or the crosswalk line. I leave that space and try again.

Finally, I drive off and around the parking lot, hardly even wondering if the whole school is watching me unable to park.

I have a feeling Mardi was watching though. She was probably laughing hysterically and maybe even rolling her eyes.