Becca Wilhite Blog

August 26, 2013

My Girls Are Funny, Kinda.

Filed under: familyness — becca @ 4:16 pm

Kids 1 and 2 did a road-trip this weekend. I wanted to say it was EPIC, but in fact, it was to Boise, Idaho. So, not particularly epic, I guess. But still, so fun for them. My sister’s family, complete with 2 girls very nearly my 2 oldest Kids’ ages, lives in the Portland area, and here we are in the Frozen Mountaintop area, and Boise is rather in the middle of that. So these four cute cousins met up for a couple of days of girlish goodness.

When I asked Kid 2 what she thought of the trip, it was all gladness. When I asked her what she thought of Boise, she was slightly underwhelmed. I asked for some details of what they’d done. This is her response. “We went downtown to see what there was to do. We ended up at the capitol building. There are 87 things to do in Boise [apparently there was a LIST] and the capitol is three of them.” I love my kids.

August 20, 2013

On blogging and plans.

Filed under: cuteness,Dads,familyness — becca @ 6:47 pm

I was thinking ¬†about posting on this here blog this morning. I really was. Planning it, even. It was a clever post detailing my underwhelming admiration of Ryan Gosling, and about how whenever I see one if those “Hey, Girl” memes I just see the scrawny, awkward Ryan Gosling from “REMEMBER THE TITANS” — remember him? With his super-bleached hair and his country dancing moves? My feelings are so maternal that it’s almost embarrassing to watch 40-year-old women swoon. Know what I mean?

Anyway, in place of the “I’m too old for Gosling” business, I give you an evening at 4th grade tackle football practice. Oh, the nearly unbearable cuteness. I’m sitting on the grass in the sprinkling rain (protecting my phone and ignoring my hair, if you’re wondering) and witnessing adorability. Plant, pivot, over the shoulder. Guys, it’s choreography. In full pads and helmets. And we all know how I feel about choreography. And I didn’t even get to the part about the pants. Oh, the pants. Nearly painful cuteness. Dads on the sidelines watch their boys line up, arms crossed, trying not to burst with pride. I love football. Happy fall.

August 16, 2013

The Things

Filed under: familyness — becca @ 6:35 am

Happenings are happening all over the place around here.

The baby. (I KNOW he’s nine. And a half. Stop reminding me.) He’s playing tackle football. With helmet and pads and those cutest stretchy pants. Oh, the heart.

Kid 3 has read a book a day this week (Rick Riordan’s Heroes of Olympus series) in anticipation of The End of Summer (school starts Tuesday). When she got to the end of the ones that are actually published, she asked if she could read THE HELP. I said yes, but hey, Kid, it’s got some hard stuff. She told me after 2 chapters there was only one thing she didn’t understand. Chose to show it to me instead of saying it aloud, just in case. (It was the line about “cootchie like rotten oysters”, so I told her “Good call.”) Her heart breaks for May Mobely already, in chapter three. That little girl has a grown up soul. (My 12-year-old, not May Mobely.)

Kid 2 turns 16 on Sunday. Finally. She’s been anxious for this day for a very long time. I do not exaggerate when I tell you that she’s been saying “I’m almost sixteen” for seventeen months. She’s already passed her driving test and is waiting only for the calendar to allow her a license. She’s seriously the loveliest girl and I am all kinds of proud of her. Yesterday when I was at school preparing and drowning in my very deep unsurety, I heard her fiddling in the commons and my day turned right around. (The student government kids [who call themselves StudGov, is that strange to anyone else?] were making a video for the first day assembly and that was her part. She rocks the fiddle.)

And TODAY! Today Kid 1 comes home from a very successful first term at university! Today! She’ll stay with us for almost two weeks and I am so glad. (Those two exclamation points were a clue about my so gladness.) I imagine it will be tricky for her to come back, since she wont’ have an actual bedroom, and she’s been on her own and now she’s back in our house, and all the things, but I’m eager anyway. I hope it’s not too strange for her to climb back into the nest, because the nest has missed her an awful lot.

The things are good things. I’m a glad girl today.

August 12, 2013

First Day; Also Karma

Filed under: anxiety,books,food,priorities,school — becca @ 6:34 am

I go to work in about 90 minutes. It’s District Training this week, and there are things. Things to worry for. Not very many. But still. A list.

Things to be Nervous About

1. What am I wearing?

2. My hair. It’s notorious for not cooperating.

3. Do I bring lunch? Will they let me go home and eat with my family? Do I really need food between 8:00 am and 4:00 pm? (Answer: Duh.)

4. The school-issued laptop. Guys, it’s not going to be a Mac. What if I can’t figure out how to turn it on? Or send an email? Or link to a printer? Or access YouTube?

5. My room is not cute. Not in the slightest.

Things Not to be Nervous About

1. Student issues. No kids till next Tuesday.

2. Forgetting my phone. I did that in my dream, so I figure I’m covered.

3. Locker combo / taking a final I didn’t go to class for / forgetting to wear pants. (Am I the only one who still has these dreams, decades after I finished taking classes in school?)

4. Making friends. I’m about a million times more confident than I ever was as a kid on the first day of anything. Plus, I already know people. So, there’s that.

5. My room is not cute. Not in the slightest. And I think I don’t care.

Things to Deal With

1. I really need to write my Disclosure Document. I put it off because I had to finish my online English class (which went fine, thank you) and now I really need to get it handled. And copied. And stuff.

2. Lesson plans… like that.

3. At some point in the next week, I need to build a teacher web page. With information attached. And guess who knows about building a teacher web page? (*sound of crickets chirping*)

4. Bring one copy at a time of THE FAULT IN OUR STARS to the school. I bought several, since I’m confident they’ll get stolen, even when I write “I STOLE THIS BOOK FROM WILHITE’S SHELVES” along the edge of the pages opposite the spine.

5. Remember that my room is not cute? Perhaps I should give them SOMETHING to look at when they tire of looking at me. (I took in 2 plants. I hope they survive. I’m not actually good at raising plants. My Kids are fine, though, if you were wondering.)

Ideas I Just Had

1. There’s only one. And it involves YOU solving my recurring issue #5. How about you send me your favorite (10th-grade-appropriate) quotes FROM or ABOUT books and reading, and I’ll print them out and put them on my walls? Because IDEAS for CUTENESS. Many great quotes = good Karma for the week. Come on, you know you could use it.

August 2, 2013

Shall We Discuss Virginia Woolf?

Filed under: happiness,musings,rambles — becca @ 7:56 pm

Oh, Virginia. I tried to love you, back in my younger days. I read something of yours that someone suggested and I didn’t get it and I moved away, like you were some strange spicy curry that my thoughts weren’t ready to taste and enjoy. But today, today you have filled my whole soul up with thoughts to think, and I believe I may love you for the rest of my life.

When I read “The Mark on the Wall” I felt like I was sitting on the floor beside your comfortable chair, wrapped in a blanket, listening to you jabber. Because JABBERING IS BETWEEN FRIENDS, and I think we could be friends. You would find me provincial and charming, and I would be happy to get up off the floor and look at any manner of spots on the wall. But not until you finished thinking about them, talking about their possibilities, examining the ideas behind the spots.

You end paragraphs with phrases such as this: “–proving I really don’t know what.” And I grin, and my heart beats in time with the dripping of the ink from your pen. And then you say things like this: “And what is knowledge? What are our learned men save the descendants of witches and hermits who crouched in caves and in woods brewing herbs, interrogating shrew-mice and writing down the language of the stars?” And you talk about the tree, the tree that feels that “close dry sensation of being wood” and “the delicious ooze of sap;” and June and winter and then, even after it falls, “life isn’t done with; there are a million patient, watchful lives still for a tree, all over the world, in bedrooms, in ships, on the pavement, living rooms, where men and women sit after tea.”

And then. “Professions for Women,” delivered to the Women’s Service League in 1942. I think I may have never marked up a textbook like I did when I read this today. Blue ink everywhere. Stars. Margin notes. Virginia, you said (in more numerous and more poetic words) that our hobby of writing is acceptable and inoffensive to our society and our men because IT IS CHEAP. It doesn’t cost anybody much of anything. Virginia, can you see me? Do you know me? You are so, so right. Whether this is a horrible travesty or a shrug-worthy fact of our lives, it is a fact that we share, you and I.

I love that you bought a cat with your first royalty check. I mean, in theory. I’m not really into cats as facts or as statements, but as IDEALS, as rebellions against butter and stockings, I am in favor. (But then, I have no shortage of either butter or stockings, because I am not living in England in the forties.)

My first royalty check bought us some leather furniture. Every time I sit in that red leather chair, I remember that I AM A WRITER. Just like every time you pick Persian cat hair out of your tea things, you remember the same.

And you strangled The Angel in the House. You throttled her, and you said what you wanted to say, heedless of propriety, of offense, of possible Gasps. You murdered her so she couldn’t “pluck the heart out of [your] writing.” The Angel told you to flatter, to be sweet, to be tender and sympathetic. “Never,” your Angel told you, “let anybody guess that you have a mind of your own.” Thank you for ignoring (over and over, again and again) the Angel in your House and letting us see the workings of your mind. It was a pleasure to spend the day with you, Virginia. Let’s do it again, and soon.

[If you click on the links, and if you read, and if you have thoughts to think, holler. Because I am taking this lit class all by myself online, and there’s not all that much stimulating back-and-forth conversation about it INSIDE MY HEAD. So, comments welcome, as always. Or email me. Or, you know, send a telepathic message and stuff. Because CONVERSATION.]

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