The Big Mac Starter Kit

     The year was 2007.   We decided to homeschool our son, James, for a variety of reasons in which I will spare the readers since that in a whole different blog in itself.  He was in Kindergarten that year.  He loves to learn but he has a hard time staying still.  I taught him to read as he ran laps around our livingroom.  Every time he ran a lap I would hold up a new sight word card, "The" and he would say, "The" and take another lap.  I would hold up "That" and he would read "That" out loud and continue with another lap.  It wasn't a traditional way of teaching someone to read but somehow, at that time, his moving kept his brain moving too.

     I discovered a homeschooling group that was meeting on the other side of the county.  I was pleased that it wasn't too far away from me.  The mom's there were wonderful and the kids really enjoyed getting together once a week to learn as a group.  All the mom's helped out and taught a little something.   At times the older kids would bring in a dessert that they learned to make to share with all of us. 

     We decided to take a trip to Ebel's General Store in Falmouth, Michigan.  Falmouth is a small little town in Missaukee County in the northern lower peninsula of Michigan.  Ebel's is a USDA approved processing facility.  You can bring in your cow, pig, sheep, goat or other meat animal and they will process it for you the way you want it cut up and vacuum seal it.  They will even process the meat into sausages and a variety of jerkys and even smoke it.  We were going to tour their processing plant. 

     I had already been in a pork processing plant in Chicago when my husband, Brian, was making a delivery and that was quite interesting (June 6, 2012 blog - Amityville Slaughter House).  I was excited about getting a real tour of a processing plant.  I want to see how a cow goes from eating grass out in the field to my sloppy joe. 

     We all met at Ebel's and the owner set up a nice lunch for all of us, pulled pork sandwiches, cheeses, chips and soda's.  The fellowship was nice and the owner mentioned that he usually gave lunch before the tour as people may not be hungry afterwards.  He talked about how the pulled pork sandwiches we are eating were processed there at Ebel's.   Soon they gathered us up to go into another room. 

 Beef!  (James age 5)

     Everyone had to put on a full body covering.  We were handed paper hats with elastic trim on it and long paper coats.  The younger children had bags put over their coat sleeves so they won't walk around looking like dopey.  A few ladies who worked there offered to watch some of our younger children in the breakroom as the sights might be too disturbing for them to see.  We waved our younger children off as we headed through a set of doors that started our tour through the processing plant. 

     I don't recall everything we seen that day.  I remember being in a room and seeing the making of sausage.  He showed us the casing (or pig intestines) they put at the end of the tube and how it fills with the sausage meat.  The kids eeww'd and groaned at the realization of what the outside of the sausage is.   The sausages were taken to the smoker to get a rich spicy flavor added to it.  A few of the smokers were already in use. 

     We entered another room where the animals are put down.  Grates lined certain areas on the floor and cold hard cement on the other areas.  In the corner of the room there is a metal stall where the animals are herded into.  Chains  hooked to the metal bars attached to a harness an animal would wear.  Up near the ceiling hung large hooks to help carry the dead animal into the other room.  All was quiet and the owner had everyone's attention when he talked about how the animal was put down.  First they make sure the animal is healthy.  Then the animal is chained up to the stall so when the animal is dead it will be easier to move the animal.  He pulled out something that looked similar to an nail gun.  He told us for a cow they put it up to the forehead and pull the trigger and the cow is instantly dead.  There wasn't a cow there at the time for a demostration but said if we really are interested in seeing a full demostration that we can call ahead to see if they are processing that day to see how it goes in action.  Trust me, I was tempted.

     We moved out of that room and into a hallway.  He warned us that the next room might scare some of us or that others may not be able to handle what they are about to see.  Those who do not want to proceed forward can take a detour down the hall and catch up with the group in the next room.  A few people did just that.  I wasn't sure how James would react.  I wanted him to see the process of what happens next yet I didn't want to scare him.  I figured I would take him in slowly and if doesn't like it I would pull him away quickly.  The doors open to the next room.  A chill fills the air... from the coolers.   Rows of deskinned cows hang from ceiling.  I slowly remove my hand over James' eyes.  I was ready to cover them up again and to leave if he got scared.  But he was in awe of it all.

     "Are those cow's?"  he asked in amazement.

     "Well, they were."  I replied still trying to get a feel on how James is reacting to the sight before him.

     "That is so cool!  You can see the ribs!"  and he walks right up to one. 

James is impressed by the hanging beef.

     I catch him quickly so he doesn't touch the meat.  Up close we talk about the anatomy of the cow, where the back was, the legs, and where the head would of been.  I soon realized that James was not afraid of what he was seeing.  Perhaps at a tender young age of 5 he was realizing that this is food.  This is how we get our meat.  I look around, again, at the cold, hard, meat hanging down envisioning juicy roasts in the crock pot and tender steaks on the grill.  Those dead carcasses were looking tastier and tastier. 

     I don't remember much more of the tour.  I think my mind was still hanging with the racks of beef in the cooler.  Everyone received some jerky to take home that was made right there at Ebel's.  I am not much of a jerky eater so I brought it home for my older kids to try. 

     It was definitely a learning experience for this city girl and her son.  A person doesn't look out at a farm watching cows graze and think That's a Big Mac starter kit!   Seeing how it all worked helped me appreciate what goes into the making of our food that lays out before us.

    

    

Surviving Reye's Syndrome

     Through the help of my mom I was able to write this blog as I only remembered bits and pieces of what happened due to me being of a young age. 

     The year was 1980.  I was 3 and a half years old.  The flu had wrapped its wicked claws around my body and took hold of me.  My fever ran high.  My mom took me to see my doctor for some help.  He told her to keep me cool and that it was okay for me to take baby aspirin.  So my mom took me home and did just that.  Little did she know, and how the doctor was unaware at the time, that giving an aspirin was the worst thing they could do. 

     Soon my flu took a spin for the worst.  I was vomiting more.  My fever was growing.  I became real lethargic and confused.  I even started to hallucinate.  My mom told me that I would sit up and hold an ice cream cone and lick it.  Only I wasn't really holding onto an ice cream cone.  I asked her how she knew that I wasn't play pretending since I was young.  She said that my actions indicated that I truely thought I was really holding on to the cone and licking it.  It wasn't a normal pretend.  As a mom you just know these things.  I also started to talk about things that didn't make sense.  She said she knew then that something was not right with me and took me to the emergency room.

     It was then that the emergency room admitted me to Saginaw General Hospital for having Reye's Syndrome.  Not a whole lot was known about Reye's Syndrome except it can be fatal and there isn't a cure for it.  Some children lived and others did not.  It was a cruel lottery of fate.   In that year, 555 cases were reported in the United States, with me being one of them.  It was a rare, fatal, serious phenomenon.  "The mean mortality rate of Reye’s syndrome is approximately 40% and appears to be higher in males than in females."  (Luscombe FA, Monto AS, Baublis JV. Mortality due to Reye’s syndrome in Michigan: distribution and longitudinal trends. J Infect Dis. 1980;142:363-371.)

At the worst of it all I was thankfully to be at a stage 2.

     I don't remember much.  I remember my bed was on the left side of the room when you enter the door.  My mom confirmed that when we recently talked about it and was impressed that I remembered that.  I recall the nurses giving me an IV and how I wiggled and screamed because I didn't want it.  One part I remember vividly.  A lady nurse came in and asked if I wanted to take a walk around the halls.  I told her sure.  She asked if I wanted to use the crutches or wheelchair.  I really wanted to do both but I picked the wheelchair.  She wheeled me to the nurses station where I was able to pick out a stuffed animal.  I picked something that looked like a cross between a dog and a fish and it was really unattractive.  I must of fallen asleep or passed out because I don't remember going back to the hospital room or getting into the bed.   To this day I still have the ugly looking stuffed animal.  



The stuffed animal I received at the nurses station at Saginaw General Hospital.



     I guess God has big plans for me on Earth because he didn't call me home.  About a week later I was discharged from the hospital and the outlook was good for me.  As a child I could only do what my body was able to do.  As I put myself in my mom's shoes, not knowing if I was going to walk out of the hospital or be carried out must of been horrific.  

      "From 1994 until 1997, identified cases in the U.S. were fewer than two per year."  (Belay ED, Bresee JS, Holman RC, et al. Reye’s syndrome in the United States from 1981 through 1997. N Engl J Med. 1999;340:1377-1382.)  The main reason in the drop of Reye's Syndrome is the awareness of not giving aspirin to baby's and young children.  In 1982, the US Surgeon General issued an advisory against giving out aspirin (or Salicylates) to young children.  Finally in 1986 the FDA required warning labels on all aspirin containing medications. 

     Studies have found that majority of Reye's Syndrome cases had a viral illness, like an upper respiratory infection or chicken pox, and were given an aspirin product.  There is some reaction between the aspirin product and a virus that turns it into Reye's Syndrome.  Symptoms for Reye's Syndrome will usually start to appear around 10 days after an illness.  A few cases are still reported each year but not like it was back in the late 1970's and early 1980's. 

     Aspirin, or Salicylates, can be transferred in breastmilk so women who are nursing small babies should avoid aspirin products.  Other products to avoid for small children or if you nurse that contain aspirin are Pepto-Bismol, Alka-Seltzer, Pamprin, Excedrin, Kaopectate and Maalox.  Just becareful what you put into your body.  In my life the doctor told my mom to give me baby aspirin to help out my aches and pains of the common flu.  That aspirin could of been the end of me. 

      

Sacrament of Reconciliation (Penance)

     In the Catholic faith there are 7 Sacraments.  Baptism, Eucharist, Reconciliation, Confirmation, Marriage, Holy Orders, and Anointing of the Sick.  These sacraments are special occasions for experiencing God's grace and presence.  At this time in my life I had already received the Sacrament of Baptism after birth and the Sacrament of Eucharist while I was in the second grade (May 5, 2012 blog The First Communion-cute pics).  Now I was in the fourth grade.  This was the year we received the Sacrament of Reconciliation at St. Thomas Aquinas.

     This was not an easy sacrament to accomplish.  With Baptism we were babies and we just had to look cute and adorable.  With the Sacrament of Eucharist it was learning about the last supper and remembering that Christ gave his body to die on the cross to save us from our sins.  Now with the Sacrament of Reconciliation we had to tell the priest our sins.  That is hard for anyone to do, especially a 10 year old.

     In preparation for this day we learned about different sins and the laws of God, mostly we studied the 10 commandments.  Some of these laws seemed far-fetched for us.  DO NOT COMMIT ADULTRY!  We were in the fourth grade.  We were not even thinking about sex at that age.  We all felt safe for not breaking that law.  DO NOT COVENT THY NEIGHBOR'S WIFE OR OXEN!  Again, we are children.  We don't want our neighbor's wife or any other wife and my neighbor didn't have any oxen or donkeys or any other pets that I wanted.   Sidenote:  I do know as an adult there is a more meaning to this but as a child statements were taken at face value.  REMEMBER THE SABBATH!  It's Sunday.  Whew!  I remembered what day it was.  There is another one I don't have to worry about breaking.    YOU SHALL NOT MAKE FOR YOURSELF AN IDOL!  No one was walking around with a golden calf under their arm so we didn't have to worry about that commandment either.  What sins do we break?  In our eyes we are perfect and sinless.

     In Mrs. Dickinson's classroom we rehearsed what Penance was going to be like.  A priest would sit in a chair in a corner of the church or in a special room behind the alter and we would sit in a chair next to him.  It wasn't a closed closet that you see in the movies.  This was going to be face to face.  I had to start the conversation off by saying, "Good Morning Father.  This is my first confession (or it has been yada yada months or years since my last confession)."  Then I start spilling the beans on my sins.  The priest would do his part and I would go back to my seat, reflect and pray the rosary.

     The priests were wonderful men.  Father Brendan, Father Pat, Father Jim, and a priest who had a collie style dog.   Father Brendan and Father Pat were close to our family in couseling my mother during her divorce and being there for my grandparents during their sickness of cancer and eventually giving them Anointing of the Sick before they passed away.  Now I have to go in front of one of them and tell them how bad I have been.  They have been so supportive in my family and I have to tell them my sins in order to be forgiven?!  I was hating the day for my Sacrament of Reconciliation.

     It was on a Wednesday.  Grades 4th, 5th, and 6th grades walked across the parking lot from the school to the church in the morning to attend service.  First, second and third grade went to church on Thursdays and 7th and 8th grades went on Friday.  We walked in and you can see a pair of chairs set up in different areas of the church.  Mass started as usual.  Then all the priests gathered up on the alter and told us where they each would be sitting and we could pick who we would like to see.  They walked down the aisles, their long robes fluttering behind them as they walked.  Peaceful instrumental music played in the background with some kind of scenery picture displayed up on the large screen behind the alter.  A few kids got up and walked over to the priests.  Some waited a few pews away to be the next person to tell their sins to the priest.  I remember the church being dark and cold.  I did not want to be there.  I was debating madly at which priest I would pick to tell my darkest sins to; which priest that would look forever at me with disappointment for not being a perfect child.   I just wanted it done and over with.

     I finally got the ambition to head to a priest.  I picked the one with the dog.  Father Ed I am thinking was his name but I am not really sure.  I didn't want the other priests, who were closer to my family, to know my sins.  I was ashamed of them.  I sat there on the dark wood pew waiting for a classmate to get done.  As each child finished up everyone looked at them in awe.  They made it out alive.  They are still walking.  They don't have to worry about talking to the priest anymore,  ran through my thoughts.  My attention would resume back to me.  What to say.  What to say.  What to say.  I would think as I kicked my little legs back and forth waiting my turn.  Deep down inside I hoped the person in front would take up all the time and the priests would just say enough and service is over and to go back to school.  It never happened.  Then it was my turn.

     I got up and slowly walked to Father Ed.  I never made eye contact with him.  I didn't want him to remember me or my sins.  I just wanted to be another blank nameless face out in the crowd.  Sitting there in the chair it reminded me of someone getting their hair done at the beauty salon by the way his robe hung down around him loosely and his black trousers with black shoes sticking out from the bottom of the robe.  FOCUS!  I had to focus!  I remembered where I was and began to speak.  I just opened my mouth and let the words flood out.

      " Fighting with my brother and sister," 

     Everyone says that.  My mind started to talk to me, Can't you think of anything orginial?

      "Not obeying my mom," 

      Good.  Good.  Keep going.  You have only been here a short time.   You need more sins to tell,  my brain would continue to speak to me.

      "Forgetting homework assignments.  Not doing good on tests." 

     I would think of my classmates.  How can they be with the priest for so long!  Are they that horrible of a person.  I need more sins to think of. 

     "I swear sometimes.  I stole some candy when I was little and I have lied."   

     Good with the lying and stealing.  Those were in the commandments,  my brain would appease my words.

     "And that is it."  I would end the confession of my sins.

     Father Ed gave me a small pep talk on how to live a good life by obeying God's laws.  He instructed me to go back to my seat and say the rosary a few times and that my sins will be forgiven.  He sounded like a cashier at a check-out line in the grocery store.  I try to think of some sins that I have commited and all I get is my total being a few rosary's and have a good day?!    I was dismayed by it all.  I have to do this twice a year?!  I better start sinning more so I have something to tell the priest!  I would think to myself. 

     Moving on to my junior high school years I started to really question why I needed the priest to forgive me of my sins.  This has nothing to do with Catholicism but my own personal walk with the Lord.  Why can't I just tell Jesus my sins?  Why do I have to go through a priest to be forgiven?  I started questioning other things in my faith and I started to take a step back and look for answers elsewhere which led me down a hard path in life. 

     Eighth grade came and it was time to start preparing me for the Sacrament of Confirmation.  I told my mother no.  It was a difficult decision to make because everyone around me has made that sacrament.  My classmates were making it, my brother and sister have made it and it was my turn to make it.  But I did decline.  I stopped practicing Catholism then.  It was not easy going against the grain of my family on the Catholic faith which has been embedded in our family for generations.  My mother, sister and brother still practice the Catholic faith and attend mass and uphold its traditions.  And that is all good.  We have learned to respect and accept each other's differences. 

The "Walter Mitty" Career Ideas In My Life

     Walter Mitty is a fictional character in a short story The Secret Life of Walter Mitty by James Thurber that was first published in a magazine in 1939.  In the story Walter Mitty spends most of his time in a fantasy world about some adventure rather then spending time in reality.  

     Growing up I had a few careers in mind for myself.  As I got older my career options changed, as do most people.  As children, when adults ask them what do they want to be when they grow up, mostly say a doctor, lawyer, president, professional athlete, rock star, actor or actress, teacher, firemen, police officer, etc.  but not all actually pursue it.  As they get older their likes start to change and they go down different paths in life.  Don't get me worng, there are those who, at a young age, know what they want and have the drive to see it out to the end.  There is nothing wrong with changing career ideas or what you want out of life.  It is part of growing up.

     When I was young, probably around 5 years old, there was a show called Real People.  I don't remember much of the show but they showed people doing bizzare stunts and shocking things.  One episode I seen was women mud wrestling and jello wrestling.  I wasn't much of a girly girl growing up.  I seen this and thought, WOW!  I can wrestle and get dirty too!  As a child it looked like fun.   Who wouldn't want to wiggle and squirm and try to tie someone down in a pool full of jello?! 

     My grandpa used to watch wrestling shows and I would try to copy the moves on my older sibilings.  They would sit there watching TV and I would leap across the room when they didn't notice me and pounce on them and try to hold them down for the count.  My grandpa's friend gave me the nickname Jake the Snake (after the wrestler) and it stuck.  To this very day my sister still calls me Jake or Snake.  I don't mind it.  I like it. 

     I would go places with my mom and someone would ask, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

    As proudly as I could I would hollar back, "A mud and jello wrestler!"  My mom was horrified when I would say that and the person would get a look of shock not expecting that type of answer.  When other people would ask the same question my mom would just start to cringe knowing what I was going to say.  At the time I didn't realize there was a sexual innuendo to it.  No wonder she hated it when people would ask what I wanted to be.

     By the time I was in second grade my attention turned from mud and jello wrestling to space.  I think my grandparents took a trip to Florida and went to the Kennedy Space Center.  They came back with pictures they bought of astronauts in outer space and dehydrated ice cream which was nasty.  But it all facsinated me.  I wanted to go up and view the majestic Earth down below.  I wanted the feeling of walking on air.  That must be the most blissful feeling in the world, or outside of the world at least.  Soon talk was in the news about sending a teacher into space and everyone was talking about astronauts and space.  In career day at school that year I talked about how I wanted to be an astronaut and I explained what they did.  Then in 1986 when I was in the third grade the Challenger exploded killing all, including the teacher, aboard.  (See blog entry 1/24/12 26th Anniversary of the Challenger explosion)  That still didn't stop me from wanting to go into space.  My mom finally told me that I needed to know a lot of math and science, both were subject I didn't do well at.  At 8 or 9 years old when someone shows you algebra or geometery it will scare you!  I thought I will never learn this stuff and that was the end to my space career.

     Near the end of 4th grade we had an assignment of writing a short story of a leprechaun and illustrate it.  Mrs. Dickinson, my teacher at St. Thomas Aquinas, handed us a few pages of clover shaped paper to write the story on.  Half of the clover was lined for our story and the top half was blank to draw a picture on.  I don't remember exactly what my story was about.  Something along the lines of a boy capturing a leprechaun and the leprechaun had to give him 3 wishes.  The leprechaun didn't want to give out the wishes but eventually did.  I do remember sitting there and crafting the story, putting life into the words, having a beginning, middle and an ending with a plot involved.  This was something I did.  This was my creation.  This was my thoughts down on paper.  I was hooked on writing.  The illustrating part....well....let's just say artist was never in my thoughts as a career option.

     I had a bright green hard plastic folder with a round Michigan State Spartan sticker on the front that I would carry around holding my story ideas and my pens.  Any chance I got I would be writing.  I would write in school, in church, at home, outside and inside.  I remember this one story I was writing was about space aliens who come to Earth and befriends a brother and a sister.  The aliens names were Orcho and Maesue.  They had their own alien language which they would teach to the kids and the kids would help them learn English.  I had a table of contents, chapters, even a dictionary of alien language.  I must of had 11 or 12 chapters that I wrote down.  I was very proud of this story.  Every time I ended a new chapter I would reread the whole thing to my mom and she would listen to it and give me a pointer here and there.  As much heart and sole a 5th grader has I put it all into this story.  Then one day I couldn't find my folder.  I searched high and low.  A few weeks went by.  Then I noticed the bright green folder between my sister's school books.  I pulled out the folder and opened it up excitedly.  As I open it I noticed it was my sister's classwork.  It felt like a part of me died.  I was so crushed.  I confronted my sister about it but she said when she found the folder there was nothing inside.  I don't know if I believed her then, or if I still do.  I tried to recreate the story but I couldn't.  It was too painful because I couldn't get it exactly how I had it.

     As hurt as I was for losing that story I didn't let it defeat me.  I still loved writing.  I would dabble with small stories here and there.  I think I am on my 9th or 10th diary that I have kept while growing up.  I don't write in it so much anymore but it is always like a good friend waiting for my pen to transcribe my thoughts unto it.  It is interesting to go back and see how my thoughts have changed and to read different events that happened in my life, some that I forgot totally about.  I am just glad I wrote them down to remember.

     In the summer of 2008, knowing my love for writing, my husband gave me a great story line to write.  I don't want to say too much about it but the story line drew me in.  Right away we put together an outline and I started writing it.  Then I would type it out on the computer.  Juggling 5 kids and 7 months pregnant with our 6th child I didn't have much time to sit and write but when I could I would.  Then one day our computer crashed.  I lost everything.  Losing pictures was bad enough but then when I realized my story was on there I cried.  My story that I was putting my heat into was gone....again!  I couldn't find the beginning part or the outline that I wrote down on paper either.  The same crushed, depressed feeling swept over me.  I tried to recreate the story but like before it wasn't the same.  Without my outline I didn't know which way the story was going that Brian and I had planned out. 

     A few months ago I was cleaning out a junk drawer.  In it was a notebook with papers shoved in.  I opened it up and I stopped breathing.  There was the outline and the beginning part of the story.  I stood there staring at the papers, my mind not believing what I was holding on to.  For about 3 years this story was missing.  3 years I have looked on and off for this story and now it is back in my hands.  It was too good to be true.  Rereading the outline brought a whole new excitment over me.  I wanted to write again, to create.

     I went out and bought a 3-ring binder, bright green in color in honor of my first writing folder.  I put my story in there, along with 2 other story outlines I have for stories I have in mind.  No more typing it out on the computer until I am finished writing it.  There is nothing like curling up in bed with my paper, pen, dictionary and thesaurus next to me crafting my thoughts.  If only I wasn't too tired when I go to bed at night so I can write more before I drift off to sleep.

     For a brief moment in middle school I wanted to be a private secretary.  I would imagine myself being the secretary of a CEO of some important company in New York City, following the person around with a notebook and pen scribbling down notes and delivering messages.  At the end of the day I would take the company limo back to my skyrise apartment in the city and my apartment would be furnished with black leather furniture, glass and brass tables and huge exotic painting would hang on my walls.  What was I thinking?!  Looking back now it sounds so lonely and depressing.  I didn't have future thoughts of children or a husband.  Just me.  I am so glad I did not venture down that path.

     My careers drifted back to writing.  What can I do, that is stable, but involved writing?  Journalist.  I could be a newspaper reporter.  In high school I was part of an organization called Explorers.  In a nutshell different occupations (firemen, policemen, journalists, radio dj's etc) meet with teens every other week and shows them how to do the job, what requirements need to be done for the profession,  and small projects to do.  I remember going to the Saginaw News in the evening with several other teens and getting a walk around the building.  She explained how it worked and it seemed fun until she mentioned one thing.  "It has long hours which can be very hard if you have a family." 

     For a brief moment I thought who is going to watch the kids if I have to work to midnight?  It was the first time that I really thought about having a family in my future.  I didn't seem to mind the long hours but it dawned on me that if I have a family it will be those hours that I am taking away from them.  I didn't want to trade my family in for my career.  I didn't know I would eventually be a stay at home mom but I knew I didn't want to be gone for a long time from my children like that. 

     Perhaps photography would be easier.  I like taking pictures after all.  I signed up for another Explorers group.  Back to the Saginaw News for the meetings but this time with a photojournalist.  Teens would show up with their high fancy camera with attachments and tripods and I am standing there with my pocket size 35mm camera.  The leader didn't care.  He showed us the dark room and how to develop pictures.  As much as I enjoyed photography my heart wasn't into it.  I loved it, but not as a career. 

     Finally late in my high school year I realized what I wanted to become.  A high school history teacher.  Deep down I had always loved history.  The books I read, the movies I watched leaned mostly towards a historical genre.  I enjoyed working on family trees and people of the past.  I want to express that love of history to others.  I know history isn't everyone's cup of tea but I at least want children, or young adults, to know about and have a respect for the past.  I want to make it fun for them.  I am passionate about education and I am passionate about history.  My mom tells me that history teachers are a dime a dozen.  That may be true but this is where my heart is at. 

     Years from now they are going to find some small obscure career chromosome dna.  I think of the family I know.  My dad is a teacher, my aunt is a teacher, I have 3 cousins who are teachers, one cousin is finishing up his teaching degree and another cousin is starting college soon for a teaching degree.  A lot of teachers in my family.  After high school I started to pursue my teaching degree but put it on hold while children came along.  My husband and I wanted me to stay at home with the children.  College and career will always be there.  My children will not.  This summer I will actually start to resume classes and soon earn my teaching degree.

    As I look at how my life is now I think how lucky I am to have a bit of all these careers in my life.  I do educate my children along side with their public schooling by telling them historical events of the day, talking to them about historical people and places, showing them math in the everyday world when cooking or doing the bills.  I enjoy watching some of my kids arguing about who gets the computer because they want to add another chapter to a story they are writing on their own.  I get to journal down the events that happen in our family in my diaries for them to remember and recall long after I am gone.  I am the secretary by taking down appointment times, signing papers and filling out the calendar of the events to remember.  I may not have the leather furniture or the brass and glass tables but I do have the unique artwork on my walls, designed by my favorite artists - my children.  The photographer in me loves taking pictures of my family and the places we go and things we do.   At night I fulfill my space dream by going out with my family and looking for the satellites up in the sky or the space station when it comes around.  We look for the different constellations and shooting stars up in the twinkling night sky.  At times we try to view the lunar eclipse or the beautiful colors of the Northern Lights.  As far as the jello and mud wrestling, well, have you ever tried to change a diaper of a squirmy 18 month old who would rather run and play, or give a bath to a child who doesn't want a bath?  Close enough.