Some of you had Teacher Appreciation Week last week. Some of you have it this week. We have it this week! Some of you get out for summer vacation in May. We get out in June. LATE June! And since it’s 39 degrees this morning, I’m not ready.
This time of year is weird for me. I can feel the changes run through me – a sort of breathless, stomach-churning, head-banging feeling. Changes are in the wind, and I don’t always react well. All I can do is hope for the best, and be ME.
- 1 pkg. Twist Pretzels
- 1 Hershey Bar
- 1 pkg. Wilton Chocolate Melts, Red and White
- Green Tootsie Rolls
- Candy Sprinkles or mini chocolate chips
- 1. Melt each of the chocolate colors separately in bowls in the microwave
- 2. Heat 30 seconds at a time, stirring each time until melted
- 3. Dip some pretzels into the red chocolate and completely coat, then dip some pretzels into the red chocolate and only coat about half of the pretzel
- 4. Lay on parchment paper to dry
- 5. Dip the half red covered pretzels into the white chocolate to coat the other half, and put 3 little dark colored sprinkles or chocolate chips to resemble apple seeds
- 6. Next, cut little rectangular pieces of Hershey’s chocolate for the stem, and put a dot of melted chocolate on the end and stick on the top of the apple
- 7. For the apple leaves, flatten a tootsie roll and cut tiny leaf shapes out, put a dot of melted chocolate on it and place under the stem
- 8. Let them set and dry, and then give to your favorite teacher!
On the subject of teacher gifts, I wrote a post years ago that still gets a lot of hits through Google. It’s called, “The Sound of a Music Box Makes Me Cry.” Since this is strangely timely, and sort of touches upon the root of all my weird spring feelings, I thought I’d share some snippets of it here today. It begins: And so, the sound of a music box always makes me cry.
I cry at rainbow flags and Grateful Dead concerts. I cry at parades and when I’m feeling overwhelmed and defensive. I cry when someone belts out the lyrics to a power ballad, and I cry during the end of the “Jurassic Bark” episode of Futurama.
(Every single time.)
I cry at elephants and kid tears, when someone drops their glasses, and when an elderly person struggles to rise out of their seat – when in their mind and heart – they remember how it felt to soar. I cry during EMDR – when I’m gently coerced to relive the most painful memories of my life – if only to change the bodily memory and rise above. I cry when I remember what it feels like to soar, and I cry that I know that feeling almost daily but I still hold myself back from beating my wings.
I cry every time he goes to work before the kids wake up, and Des periodically asks during the day, “Is Dada coming back?” “Yes. Every time. Yes. Yes.” I cry that the answer could and has been “No. Not ever. No. No.” And I cry that those answers were to MY questions, when I was only a little younger than Des is now. I cry that when Scarlet was younger than Des, I told her she was going to her grandparents for the weekend and she looked up at me and asked, “Am I coming back?”
I cry at the passage of time and the season finales of shows. I cry that her teacher spent the last month of her career before retirement having to bury her father and clean out his house. I cry that during all of that, she took the time to pick out a Fairy Rose music box for Scarlet’s birthday, because Scarlet played “Briar Rose” in the school play. I cry that she spent nearly six hours a day with my kid, five days a week, and that she thinks Scarlet is magical and dreamy. I cry that Scarlet once told me I was so pretty she could barely look at me, and that I’m the funniest person she knows, because I can all but assure you, that I don’t feel painfully pretty or funniest anything. Except I do make a good fart joke every now and then, and everyone knows that a good fart joke makes me laugh until I cry. So I guess you can say that fart jokes make me cry.
I cry that his hands make so much, and that we made two kids. I cry that her teacher’s hands needle felted a gnome for her out of love. I cry because I’m scary when I’m angry and most of you are just too darn awesome to ever know and feel what I have been capable of when angry. I cry because I’m up here writing this blog post, when I could be downstairs watching the Grateful Dead. But hey, look at that. There’s still time. For The Dead. For the love. For the moose dreams, ice cream and Northern-lit skies we’ll see once we make those leaps – hands clasped. One foot in front of the other. Then, GO!