To Do List

I shouldn't be blogging.  I should be:

1.  Folding laundry
2. Grading Kumon books
3. Preparing for mutual: Cupcake Wars, I'm in charge
4. Collecting donations for the Highland High Choir--Do you have $500.00 to spare?
5. Shaving the dog

I even wrote a prioritized list on my cracked-screened iPhone, but lists only get me so far...

I bellyached all morning about how my only purpose in life is to be a laundry digger, baseball uniform finder.  "Is that all you need me for?" I grouched at Sam while he brushed his teeth.

"No, Mom.  I need you for more than that," he said.  I still have not found his baseball shirt.

Last week was Spirit Week at Sam's school.  He's my first homie to have ever shown interest in displaying school spirit.  I didn't pay attention to the theme of each day, and half the time I wasn't even home to see what he wore because I was subbing at the high school. After school on Wednesday, he came through the door, hair spiked like the lead singer of the Flock of Seagulls.  He was wearing Bryce's Neil Diamond T-shirt tucked into a pair of high-waisted mesh athletic shorts.  I laughed out loud.

"It's the 80s today, right?"  I guessed.

That was all I knew about his participation in Spirit Week until the Beehives came over Wednesday night.  They said, "Did Sam tell you he dressed up like Ichiro from the Mariners baseball team?  He wore the total getup: cleats, socks, pants, authentic Ichiro jersey, and hat. It was really good."

"That's so awesome," I told the girls. "He's been loving Spirit Week, I guess."

"It's not awesome, Sister Suzuki.  You know why?"

"Why?"

"Because it was Western Day and Sam thought it was Sports Day."

"Oh, boy! What happened next?" I asked.

"It was so embarrassing, he made the Grizzly News, and he had to tell the whole school how he mixed the days up."

"How's his reputation now?  Nerd Herd status?" I asked.

Then the girls laughed and we changed the subject.  But, when Sam got home that night, I asked him all about it.  I was concerned for his mental health.

"Sam...Sam, tell me about Ichiro.  I'm the worst mom for not posting the Grizzly Spirit Week outline on the cork board. Tell me what happened--all details."

"I just got messed up on which day was what, so I wore my baseball uniform on the wrong day.  It's not a big deal, Mom," he shrugged.

"What did you do when you got to school and realized the realness of your wardrobe malfunction?"

"At first I told the kids that I had practice after school, but they were all like, 'Then why don't you just change in the car?'  So, I knew there was no way around it so I just said: I messed up."

"Do you need therapy?"  I asked, half kidding, because, let's be honest, jr. high can kill a child's soul.

He said, "Mom, it's fine.  Let's not talk about it anymore."

So that's why I just blogged about it, and now I will be the cause of his therapy.

Now, let's go get our lists done!

P.S. I did ask Sam's permission before I wrote this post.

Look Up: Girls' Camp

We just returned from a 2 1/2 day stake girls' camp, an event that took me and a legion of women a year to plan. It was a successful camp: spiritual, fun, and uniting.  We sang "Mormon Boys," danced, and ate delicious food, minus the beans.  But, amongst all the success, I was preoccupied with how we could have done a better job: Don't scratch the crafts next year; Next time, have the girls perform a skit with their bishops on Bishops' Night; Have a YCL fashion show; Go to the temple more before you come to camp so that you're more spiritually prepared for these girls.  I found it impossible to live in the few days that took a year to plan.

We chose the theme "Look Up!" based on Carl B. Cook's conference talk: "It Is Better to Look Up."  Our committee spent a year deciding what it means to look up: don't compare, never fear, create holy places wherever you are, look to God, doubt not, and live.  But during camp I struggled to "Look Up."  I questioned whether our efforts were what the Lord wanted, even after receiving confirmation that we were doing exactly what He wanted. After plaguing my brain with doubt, I finally said to myself, "Katy, put all you've done on the alter as an offering to the Lord.  You've done your very best." I stood in the middle of the lodge pictured above, and I visualized myself in a barren desert--is that redundant--placing the suitcase of "My Very Best" on the alter.  For maybe the first time in my life, I felt the Lord take my offering.  He makes up where we go wrong, and I physically and mentally felt him lift my gaze upward.

P.S.  Mi Madre came and helped me make all the value banners pictured above.  She's the very best.  Also, my homgurl let me take a picture with her.  The church is true.

To This Day

Yesterday I subbed in Mrs. Horton's class, and I know her students well.  I enjoyed spending the day with them and during her senior AVID class, the students asked if they could read aloud some poems from their senior English class.  I, of course, said, "Heavens, yes!"  One girl read Shane Koyczan's, "To This Day."  Have you heard it?  After she was done reading, I asked her all about the poem, and she told me how Koyczan's poem is being used as an anti-bulling campaign.  I was so interested.


Here are my favorite lines from the poem:
"and if you can’t see anything beautiful about yourself
get a better mirror
look a little closer
stare a little longer
because there’s something inside you
that made you keep trying
despite everyone who told you to quit."

Name Dropping

As I walked out of the gym yesterday, a friend from my ward said,

"I have to tell you what Josh did during sharing time."

"Stop!" I said.  "I don't even want to know!"

She didn't listen and went on with the story.

"Well, he really, really wanted to be picked to find the hidden Easter Egg, so instead of calling out the typical, 'Me, Me! Pick Me!' he started calling out, "Do you know my mom?  Do you know who my mom is? She's Katy Suzuki.  Katy Suzuki is my mom!"

I started cracking up, and I asked my friend, "Did my name influence the teacher's pick?"

"Nope."

Are you embarrassed for me?

When Josh got home from school, I said, "Sister Johnson told me about you calling out my name during sharing time."  He blushed and while he hide behind his sheepish grin of embarrassment, I said, "Nobody has paid me a higher compliment.  You're my biggest fan, and I love you to the moon and back and to the moon again, buddy."

Moms are powerful.

The end.

P.S. Here's our Christmas card picture.  Some of my friends say we look like we're running for office.

Becoming

I spent last semester teaching at Highland High.  At the beginning of the school year I was sure that becoming a teacher was what I was born to do.  But by the end of the semester, I had changed my mind.

 I loved the students, the literature, and all that comes with teaching teenagers how to find their best selves.  I dreamed of becoming like Mrs. Bennet, my polio stricken 11th grade English teacher, who hobbled back and forth between her podium and the rows and rows of desks while moving us through a canon of classics: The Great Gatsby, The Scarlet Letter, and Romeo and Juliet.  Sitting at my desk, I repeatedly promised myself I'd become a teacher like her.  It was the only way I could pay forward.    

And, as soon as my littlest went back to school, I began working on my Master's and gathering  experience through substitute teaching. I would become like all the Highland High Greats:  Mrs. Schless, Ms. Divine, Mrs. Wallace, Mrs. Horton, and Mrs. Wayne (There are too many to list).

Through a series of experiences I had this last semester, I decided my focus needed to be more at home, not at school.  This realization was shocking, and it has left me reeling.  Now what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to focus? And where do I start? In a weird way, the video below helped me begin a list of what I should do next.  Have you seen it?

video via Dubuh Du