Mothers Day

This week for school we are working on Mother's Day projects. On friday we have class until noon and then we head home, and the students come back with their families to celebrate the holiday. Apparently this holiday is almost as big as Christmas here. In my class, my boys are going to come up with a rap of their own and then, of course, dance to it. My girls are going to read a poem. And possibly, if we can get our stuff together, we are going to act out a drama:

The father and mother of 7 children are going out to dinner. All day long, the mother slaved away cleaning the house for the family. The children arrive home from school and the parents leave for their date. When they come home, the place is still clean except for the kitchen. The children were trying to make a cake for their mother, but instead made a huge mess. The mom at first starts to cry because she cleaned so nicely before. But then she realizes the motive behind the mess and the whole family makes the cake together and the drama ends. Kathy, one of my students made this story up while we were trying to brainstorm on Friday. If she can write the script out and translate it in Spanish it might just be a success

A quick, stupid moment of this past week: Antoinette (a new teacher who just arrived from LA) Stephanie and I went to the Chinese restaurant for the first time on Saturday. We had no idea what the food would be like or how much they would bring us. We each ordered an entree and then added some fried rice to that. The woman could have warned us, but either she was thinking "hey lets watch these stupid american girls try to eat all this food" or she was thinking "well they are american they do eat a lot" (we arent quite sure yet what goes on in the minds of the people here when they interact with us) but she brought out SOOO much food. So much that she had to roll it out on a double shelved cart. No lie, we left there with enough food to feed all three of us for the next three days. Tonight is, once again, left over chinese food night.

One rather interesting thing about this culture. Last week the President said that Honduras is going to try Daylight savings time. So we teachers had a meeting on whether or not we wanted to participate in this event. We decided to change our clocks back an hour and have school start earlier. So as I sit in this internet cafe, my watch says its 5 minutes to 3, however in the cafe and most businesses here, it is 2pm. Who knows how long this will last. Miss Lena, one of the teachers who has been here a long time says she gives it two weeks.

Stephanie and I swear we are going to learn how to dance the bachata and the merengue, possibly the salsa. We are determined to find someone to teach us. We also swear we are going to learn how to cook. And let me tell you, Betty Crocker is our new best friend. The director, Nidia, has a Crocker cook book in ENGLISH! which we were rather excited about, not only to learn to cook, but yet one more book in the language we know best.

For now, I must go. I must catch up on grading homework and today I head into town to try to find some decent paint brushes. Somehow I was chosen to draw and paint a picture of a mom and two children for the mothers day event. Not easy to do with old Crayola paintbrushes that still have paint stuck on them. Wish me luck.

A tribute to my mother

Do I become a runner
When I lace up my shoes
Or is it when the sweat drips down my face?

Did I become a writer
When I first picked up a pen?
Or is it when others said I had talent?

When did I become a teacher?
When I bought a grade book
Or when I first cared to challenge my students?

There are moments in which
My identity transforms
There are moments I am
Who I never thought I would be
And moments
When I am exactly who I knew Id be

Is when my foot first touched a football
That I became a soccer player?
But the days of training are over
Have I lost that piece of me?

BUt you gave me a constant identity
I will never question if I am still your daughter
The moment I breathed life
Was the moment it started
No action, no outside force, no physicality
Can define or take this away from me

At the moment of birth
You gave me more than life
You gave me a necessary constant--
One thing that will never change
Your blood runs through my veins

So even though part of my journey
Is learning who you are
And realizing who I am
I will always be yours
I will never have another mother.

And as you watch me change
From football player to writer
From student to teacher
From runner to traveler
Maybe you will see
The you in me that you like
Maybe you will smile
And rejoice in the identity
You have given me.