Finishing

Today I finished my last piece of my Master's degree. Finished editing it. (I had APA by the way.) Finished printing 4 copies of each 60 pages. (Hate printers too.) Stacked them all. Clipped them. Slipped them in folders. Delivered them to 2 out of 4 of the professors on my committee. No matter that the other two don't have it until monday; it's gone. Can't be changed or edited. They review it and then, after an oral defense next Wednesday, they decide whether to pass me. Despite not really being done until the oral is over, I thought giving in the project would give me a sense of relief. I kept waiting, as I drove away from the university, for the little black cloud that has been hovering over my head the last couple of days, would lift. But it didn't. If anything, it sunk in lower behind my eyes and gave me a migraine. What the hell. Five years of work. (OK, I took a year and half of, but I was not eating bonbons. I was taking care of a new baby!)
All I am left with is tiredness (and that headache). I think when I was finishing my undergrad, I had so much more energy. To go celebrate. To drink, to dance and to just feel light and free. Dammit. I don't have those inclinations or feelings as I creep closer to my forties. I just want to have a drink (that's all the celebrating I can manage) and crawl into bed!
As I walked into the building to deliver one of the copies to my advisor, I bumped into my old advisor. This particular professor got me started, gave me warnings about juggling a family and graduate work. Shirley Morgenthaler became my inspiration. She is one of those people that when conversing with, the discussion touches upon everything - where you came from, where you are, and where you might go. The conversations are fantastic. I found it significant that it was Shirley, that I saw, on the day I finished. And in true Dr. Morgenthaler fashion, when I told her I was indeed finished with the project that she had helped plant the seed for, she exclaimed, "Lord be praised"!

My second home

I was sitting in my in-laws kitchen working on my Master's thesis proposal. In a rare few hours of silence (Kyler was napping upstairs, JP was 'babysitting his Aunt's children while she got some things done in her house, and Charlie was at the Harry Potter movie for the second time with my mother-in-law), I had been typing away. Just quietly typing. Well, I say typing away, but what I really mean is, typing…making coffee…typing… trying to pursued the dog to go out and pee…typing… making a snack… typing, picking the aforementioned dog up and carting him outside in the infernal heat to pee… typing….well, you get the picture.

I took a little break. Walked to the fridge and filled my water up. Then, I was struck how this house feels to me. Obviously it is not my parents house, but nevertheless I have a very strong tie to it. I lived here for nine months when I first moved here. And I visited and stayed here for a few trips, back when Kyle and I were shouldering our very long-distance relationship.

My first trip was the August of 1994, when Kyle's oldest brother got married. I walked into the usual pandemonium of the run-up to a big family wedding. (And Kyle's family is big….) I fell asleep on the trundle bed in my now sister-in-law's bedroom, exhausted from travelling overseas for the first time in my life. (Yes, I had not flown off the British isles until I was 20 years old. Let me tell you, take-off was a complete traumatic shock for me.) I drifted off to the sounds of giggles and laughter from the Rettberg cousins in the next room and I woke up to the family dog's (Lucky), wet nose in my face. Over the following two and a half years, I gradually got to know this family and this house. And they go to know me. I realized that I could, upon occasion, make them laugh. I realized that Eric and Megan was like the little brother and sister I had never had. In November of 1996, I moved here permanently. My in-laws were great, especially considering they were in the throes of a local, political campaign and it was an ugly campaign. But they welcomed me in and gave me a bedroom, with a bigger bed than I had ever slept in. There was space for my beloved trinkets and photo frames from the country and family I had just left behind. I immersed myself into the life of a suburban family. I cooked and I tried to clean (but baffled Kyle's mom when I asked her where the "hoover" was instead of the vacuum cleaner. My sister-in-law and I grocery shopped together and I experienced for the first time, a country where a kid can sign on their parent's credit card. Needless to say, we bought a lot of Brownie Bites and Alfredo Pasta-Roni. We loved that stuff. I got a reputation for leaving lights on in closets (which drove my father-in- law nuts) and breaking glasses (which my father-in-law was very patient about). I still break glasses and I still have not lived those times down.

If I tell people that I lived with my in-laws for before I got married, I usually get a very shocked reaction. Shock turns to disbelief. Disbelief is signified by the shaking of heads while telling me I must be some kind of saint. No, I say, I am no saint. I was just a girl who needed a family when she moved country to marry the man she loved. I found a family four thousand miles away from my English family. Without them, I probably would have wanted to go home.

So now, when I walk around, I may not see my baby or toddler pictures (actually they're not hung in my parents' home either!), but I have memories here. I have memories here despite not having have elementary school memories or prom pictures on the wall. But my babies' pictures are all over the walls. And our goofy looking engagement photo was up for a really long time (I say funny because it was when we thought it was a good idea to have me cut Kyle's hair…). Our wedding photo adorns the hallway wall with the rest of the family's. (That one we do look better in.) And regardless of childhood time, I spent a good part of my young adult time in this house.

I went back to my computer and finished my work. Kyler woke up, Charlie came home, JP rolled in with Meg and life carried on.

In the early nineties, Ronald Kotulak’s editor of the Chicago Tribune’s asked him to investigate whether new brain research would shed light on why some children who grow up in violent, high-risk communities lead violent lives and experience untimely deaths and why some do not. Ronald Kotulak wrote Inside the brain. revolutionary discovery's of how the brain works in response. There are two key issues that emerge after reading this book. First, that Early Childhood Education is extremely important due to the critical nature of development in the first three to five years of a child’s life. Second, that education appears to be the key to possibly solving some of society’s biggest issues: crime and health. I keep hearing on the radio the fragmentation of CPS. How the board of Ed intends to close small schools and keep open a big high school, despite all the research that showed that smaller high schools are much better for the students from high-risk areas. This morning, I listened to another piece about a certain area of the city that is renowned for gang-violence in high-school students. This particular young man who was interviewed has decided to get out of gang activity and try to make a go of his life. When he spoke, he said he partook in gang activity to make money. His mother struggled to provide for his family, so he took the path that he thought was the only way to help provide. Additionally, this week, I found out that Congress is proposing cuts to Head Start. The cuts could close 16,000 Head Start classrooms across the country, affecting 218,000 low-income children. I can’t put into words my indignation. Oh and that the state of Illinois is so in debt that young teachers may never receive their pensions. So, back to the book….
When you read Kotulak's book, he very simply summarizes by saying that education is truly the key to some of these problems. Why? First, because Early Childhood Education has an enormous impact on children in high-risk environments. Why? Because the way the brain is wired during early childhood can either prime a child for success or failure. It's almost that simple. Have a child with a terrible home and no role models? Provide a caregiver who makes a secure attachment and acts as a role model for that child. Reduce the stress in that child’s life and you literally lower the levels of the stress hormone, cortisol in the brain. Cortisol that has the ability, when being continuously produced in high-stressful environments, to change the pathways created in the brain. The effects are worse if the child already has inherited low-levels of serotonin (the happy hormone) from a parent. Kotulak discusses the scientific findings which suggest that certain environmental factors have the ability to change the molecular structure of the brain, affect genes and, wire the brain toward certain tendencies or dispositions. Kotulak summaries the most dangerous environmental factors as including: the breakdown of marriage/family life, teenage pregnancies/mothers, high stress during a pregnancy, and stressful or bad childhood experiences (violent and abusive situations). So, programs like Head Start are extremely important in providing safe environments with loving caregivers and educational programs for the parents. In the future, maybe these children who weren’t provided for and who had no other means of support, routine, love, and education will turn to crime and violence to solve their problems. It seems so clear in my mind what needs to be done. Take care of educators (ensure they receive their pensions for one thing), provide quality early childhood care for all children but especially children and babies from low-income, high-risk areas, and make education a priority. Otherwise the ills of society will continue to grow worse. Invest in children now. “With education you learn how to navigate your world. You learn empowerment. You learn how to articulate your needs and to overcome potential barriers.” (Kotulak, 1997,)

In a wee bit over a week, it will be my birthday. Anyone will tell you that I love my birthday. I guess it's a bit self-centered and narcissistic, but I love it. (I love it even more when I get daffodils....just like Mum used to give me. Boys? Are you listening? That includes you Kyle!)
This year got me thinking. One year ago, on my birthday, I startled this blog. I have, of late, been absent from writing it. I have so many things going on in my brain, that writing, is, actually the last thing on my mind. It's too bad really, because I find it quite therapeutic when I do write. And it saves the stream of consciousness from my mouth when poor Kyle gets home. He just has to read it to know what the heck I was thinking about on any particular day. So, in a year: I started a blog, I co-chaired a Sunday school, I completed a massive practicum project for grad school, (more pages of writing than I have ever written in my life!), and I joined the Wonderworks Children's Museum's board. I watched my two year old have speech therapy and improve in leaps and bounds. He tells me daily, "me love you vewy much..." I cried (many times), when Charlie gave us such a huge fight every morning about going to school (and other things besides), I racked my brains trying to figure out what to change or implement to help the kid feel better. I have observed in the last two weeks, Charlie literally blossom. He is this fun, funny, smart, creative, dare I say it...happy little boy. I should be thanking someone or something bigger than me everyday, since everyday is so much better that I find myself forgetting just how bad it had become. I have watched JP leave behind the world of Lego's and bakughans, and enter the world of g-mail, girls calling, and Warhammer. (Warhammer is another blog for another day. All I will say is sometimes when there are adult men in the Warhammer shop , which is run by a very nice English bloke - who JP idolizes - I like to call it Dork-hammer. Sorry....) But, he loves to paint the little figures and become all creative about the painting. Who can complain about painting? (Well....except when I find permanent paint all over my bathroom towels, in a classic JP attempt to "clean-up"!)
5 years ago, on my birthday, I started my masters in early childhood education. I turned 32 that year, and all the 40 year old PhD students teased me, warning me that I'd be doing a PhD in my 40's, like them. Well, that remains to be seen, but this year on my birthday, my LAST class will start. LAST CLASS!!! No matter that it overlaps with another class. Not a big deal that it occurs during our second busiest time of the year: two of our kids birthdays (and they are not quiet about their birthdays either!), the start of the t-ball season with both boys playing on different teams in different locations (help!),and PREP (the Sunday school program), has to get wrapped up. I don't care how busy I will be, because as of May 6th, I will be finished with the class component of my graduate degree. Big Sigh. After that is the writing of a big project with a committee and oral defense, but I will be so high from 5 years (on and off), of classes that I won't care......
I have a feeling then, that my life is going to change. Not sure how yet, but I just think it will. My boys are getting older. Kyler may start some type of toddler program in the Fall. (That breaks my heart.) I may work a bit of a job that actually pays me!
So, I guess it's true what they say, "beware the Ides of March". At least for me. It was the beginning and this year, the start of the end. And it is a gateway for everything after.