I don't blog; I list.

In no particular order, some happenings and quotes from the past few weeks.

1. 3D Shape Teaching Fail
Me: Alright friends, it's time for morning meeting! Today we're going to pass around a 3D shape during morning meeting. I'll go first: My name is Ms. Magiera, and this is a rectangular prism. Then you say: "Good morning, Ms. Magiera."
Students: Good morning, Ms. Magiera.
...I pass the shape. 13 students later...
Student: My name is G, and this is a rectangle pumpkin.

2. Friends Debate. I win.
Roommate: I want to google "I hate friends," and I bet you tons of websites will pop up. 
Me: I'll do it right now. 299 people on Facebook hate Friends. Now let's see...13,260,343 like Friends.

3. I moved up on the Cubs' season ticket waiting list.
"Thank you for your support and your patience as a member of the Chicago Cubs Season Ticket Waiting List. With the conclusion of the 2011 season, we've updated your Chicago Cubs Season Ticket Waiting List number to 82238. ... While you have moved up the list, we do not anticipate at this time that we will be able to offer you season tickets for the 2012 season."

4. Overheard at Lunch
Teenage boy trying to impress a girl who was clearly not interested (sorry, friend) at lunch: I'm, like, friends with our housekeeper.
Leggings+Ugg-wearing suburban teenager (who apparently does not go out at all because she is so embarrassed to drive the family van): Oh my god, I wish I could be, but ours speaks Mexican.

5. Zoo Animals
Me: So what animals do you want to see at the zoo today?
G: A pig.
Me: A pig…hmm, I’m not 100% sure if we’ll see pigs at the zoo, but you never know! What other animals do you want to see?
G: A goat! And a horse!
Me: Maybe we need to take a field trip to a farm…

6. Yo hablo español
Parent: What ethnicity are you?
Me: Oh, I’m 100% Polish.
Parent: I was wondering if you were Mexican somehow.

7. Everything in life relates to Friends
Me: Dad? Dad? Okay, well I’m guessing you’re there, but I can’t hear you so I’m just going to tell you what I had to say. Remember last week when I switched my phone from USA English to normal English, like London English? Well, now when I use the voice dial setting on my phone, the man sounds like the lady from Friends who is Monica and Phoebe’s old friend with her fake British accent…and I am asked if I want to call “Home or Mobile?”. Okay, that’s all. Bye!
2 seconds later, my phone rings: Hi Alex, it’s Dad. I just wanted to let you know I heard what you said.
Me: Did you understand what I was saying?
Dad: Sadly, yes.
Me: Oh I’m so sorry to catch you on your mobile! If you didn’t want to catch me on my mobile, then don’t call me on my mobile!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gsM2QR8GBl8

8. Why People Should Eat Food
Chris: I don’t understand people who go on fasts and don’t eat at all. I have a friend who went on a fast, and then he was telling me how he feels great—and he started eating today. Well of course you feel great. You ate food. If I didn't eat food, I would feel awful too.
Chris and me (at the same time): Lay off me, I’m starving!!

9. Mr. O’Loughlin would be proud

me: hi

want to read what i wrote

so far

im almost done

Chris: sure

you have an errant comma in there

me: it's a good thing then that there won't be sub or supertitles appearing at church tomorrow

10. My dog stole a jar of peanut butter.

11. Only in the suburbs:

Oh, Olive! The Olive Oil Store. …For real?

12. I opened a beer by myself for the first time. Ever. Success.

Round 2

(I swear I have started at least 3 posts in the last week, but I never finish them.)


Just the other day, I was home in bed with an awful migraine. I actually kept reminding myself: “Chemo must have been worse,” because my head was hurting so much. I took some medicine, pulled my blankets over my head, and squeezed my eyes tight.

I swear, at the time, it felt as if I squeezed my eyes tight enough, I would be home in Lake Forest, and my mom would be in my room before I knew it bringing me a miracle cure for my headache. A cheeseburger, dark chocolate, and chicken noodle soup all seemed like wonderful and perfect options that I know she would have brought in for me—there’s also of course the strong possibility she would have brought rum balls in as well, since they are the Polish cure for everything. However, when I opened my eyes, all I woke up to was 1. A continued splitting headache and 2. My house in LA. Sometimes it’s tough to miss someone so wonderful.

This is why, a little over a month ago, when I wrote my mom’s eulogy, I wrote a letter to her to convince her of her amazingness. It seemed only fitting that I outline exactly how amazing she was, because she deserved such a reminder. I mentioned her giant heart, her penchant for striking up conversations with total strangers, and the fact that she was always right (despite how much I hated it) and the fact that she always knew what to say in every situation.  I shared her infamous advice to me when I was in grade school: “Life is tough, Alex. People aren’t always going to be nice to you. Suck it up.”  (And of course, she was right. Case in point: the fact that I am standing up here right now…). There are certainly times that I’ve needed her advice and wish she were here to give it to me right now.

Now here we are celebrating her life again. It seems that days like these are filled with some of the most confusing emotions: We feel happiness and joy to be together, to celebrate such a wonderful woman, and we also feel this indelible pain of losing someone we loved so much. In October when we were in Florida, many of the people who surrounded us had only known my mom when she was sick. Even so, they all commented about how she had a sparkle in her eyes when she smiled and a personality that glowed even though she was unable to speak to us.

Today what is wonderful is that almost all of us here have our own memories to share about my mom when she was healthy. Whether we knew her as Liz, Lizzie, Ms. Magiera, Mom, Cioc, Jadzia, or Magiera’s mom, we all know my mom was a force to be reckoned with, and she never took no for an answer. She was a go-getter, the woman who met my dad and pretty much instantaneously decided that he was the man she would marry, despite his being 13 years her senior, and having some pretty awesome premature balding and intense sideburns. What a smart woman she was to be able to spend 39 years married to her soulmate.

About a week ago, in an attempt to break the weirdest form of writer’s block I’ve ever experienced, I reached out to friends and family to ask them to share some of those memories about my mom. As I read emails and talked with some of you about her, I found myself laughing. A lot. Yes, my mom was brilliant—she knew something about everything…and according to my sister and her husband, she would have been their “Phone a Friend” lifeline if they ever went on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, but one of the things that resonated from everyone’s stories is how my mom never really took life all too seriously. She loved her friends and family more than life itself and would do anything to protect us, but beyond that, my mom never seemed to “sweat the small stuff.”

As part of the M&M bowling team, yes you heard that right, my mom and dad were a part of the McGivern and Magiera bowling team with our church, my mom apparently employed an interesting bowling strategy. Patti, your story was just too perfect, so I hope you don’t mind my reading it verbatim: Your mom was especially fun to bowl with. Your dad, being the avid bowler that he was, would get up, get into position and then would throw a perfect strike.  And I mean every time.  Then it would be your mom’s turn.  She’d get up, grab her ball and walk up and throw it down the bowling lane without even stopping at the line to position herself.  She’d then turn and walk back to her seat without even watching where the ball would land.

If that isn’t the epitome of how my mom lived her life, I’m not sure what else is. My mom didn’t go bowling because she thrived on the intense OLB competition, and she certainly was not concerned with her bowling technique; she went bowling because she loved being a part of the M&Ms, being with her friends, and of course being with my dad. The bowling? That was just a way for her to spend time with people she loved. 

As Chris recalled last night, her attitude toward card games was quite the same. I can’t tell you how many times we heard, “Can I just put down this 7 card straight?" or “Oh, that's worth a lot of points? Here, Alex take two of the aces, that will help...". She would gladly tell anyone that she won in life by having a wonderful family and being surrounded by amazing friends, and well, winning Gin Rummy 500 (which she did…all the time…) was just a perk.

I hope you all know that if my mom were here today she would be glowing, because you are the family and friends she cherished, the people who made her happy every day. I know she would want to tell each of you how much she loves you and how wonderful you are, and it seems only fitting to take a moment to remind you of that. You are wonderful, and we are so lucky to know all of you.

Now, I couldn’t find a way to say this next part in a better way than I did in October, so bear with me:
…here we are, Mom. We’re at your funeral. In some ways, this implies I need to speak about the woman you “were”. The woman you used to be. Your amazingness though is not just in the woman you were. You are amazing, because even though you may not physically be present with us anymore, you will always be present in our hearts and everything we do.  

I’m not sure if you caught that, but in typical Liz-fashion, my mom is pushing all of us to be our best selves…and she’s not even here. There are so many people who didn’t get to know my mom, and so I know I have this obligation, this wonderful obligation, to tell my friends and family that I love them just as she would have and to try to make my mom proud. Sure, there are those moments when I hope that if I squeeze my eyes just tight enough, my mom will tap me on the shoulder or I’ll hear her voice again…it hurts sometimes, it hurts a lot, and I don’t think that will ever go away—how could it be possible to not miss someone so great? However, as I said in October, life is tough. Life would have been much tougher on all of us if we didn’t have my mom. She makes us who we are today, she gives us the strength to make it through losing her, and she will always be here with us, no matter what comes our way.

I Fail at Blogging

May post tomorrow when I'm at the airport and/or on my flight to Chicago. Have a feeling I might opt to sleep or read about guided reading instead. :)

How to Make a Really Great Care Package (Trust Me, I've Received Quite a Few)

Today I went to the post office to pick up a "parcel" for which I had received a missed delivery notice. In case you know as little about mail as I do, parcel does not mean slightly oversized envelope. I was expecting an envelope no bigger than 10x14...only to discover parcel meant a very large box that takes up the entire front seat of a MINI Cooper. One of my friends from college sent me a ridiculously awesome care package.

I have had at least a couple occasions in my life when friends have felt it was necessary to send me care packages (you know, cancer, and the past two weeks of course...).

Also, I have the best friends ever.

As a result, I feel I can speak fairly confidently about how to make a really great care package.

So, in case someone you know needs something to brighten his/her day, read on. Here are suggested items to include:

1. A CD you burned for him/her, with awesome music. Good music is not acceptable. Great, well, that will do, but let's be honest, you have to put some awesome music on it for the CD to be worthwhile.

2. Food. Today in my ridiculously large box of wonderfulness, I found: Triscuits, Milano cookies, Goldfish, and brownie mix. Here's the genius behind a care package with the aforementioned foods: The recipient can convince him/herself that all the food really is healthy! Afterall, Triscuits and Goldfish are crackers, right? Plus, everyone needs a little chocolate to live longer. I swear I've read a study on this somewhere.

Another brilliant food pairing when we were home in Florida was cheesecake + fruit from Edible Arrangements. Since I probably ate twice my weight in fruit, surely it was acceptable that I also ate maybe half my weight in cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory, right?

FYI Cheesecake Factory, Giordano's, Lou Malnati's, and Portillo's all deliver. Nationwide.

3. Alcohol. Be careful here. There is an art to giving a friend adult beverages. For example, one bottle of wine=perfect. Several bottles of wine may lead me to believe you either think that I am more fun when I'm drunk or that I drink far more than I do. Despite my love of margaritas, when I was home this past week in Florida, it was the first time I'd had a drink since August. Also, think about the occasion. I may or may not have suggested mimosas for post-funeral drinks. My brother reminded me we probably ought not to purchase champagne for such an event. In my defense, I am blonde and did not think my drink suggestion through--I just felt mimosas were a good before-noon drink. However, it should be noted that had my care package come with a bottle of champagne, regardless of its fanciness, I would probably not have loved it as much.

4. Small candles/yummy smelling things.  Today's care package came with small fall-smelling candles. Yum. When I was going through chemo, another friend added a couple candles to what she sent me as well, and it definitely was a nice change from hospital-smelliness.

5. Something that will make the recipient laugh. My friend Liz, whose blog by the way is far wittier and has far more and far better photos than mine, sent me an Idaho potatoes gift when I was going through chemo. Liz is from Idaho, and this gift not only made me laugh out loud as it came with a small potato stuffed animal spud-man, but it also was food so it had multiple purposes. Phenomenal.

6. Gift cards, only if you know what your friend likes. A professor from Pepperdine sent me Cheesecake Factory gift cards when I was home sick in college. Today I received a Starbucks gift card AND a Coffee Bean gift card. Caffeinate me please!

All that said, there are two important things to note here:
-I am a 24-year old female. I don't know that guys would necessarily want "small candles/yummy smelling things," but I also have a hunch they would secretly love them, especially since they could say: "Well, I couldn't just get rid of them. It would be rude to throw them out." (Appropriate Friends' reference here...sadly youtube won't let me embed the video so link on over if you'd like.)
-A hug is something you can't put in a care package but usually is pretty awesome. This morning I really needed a hug...and as much as my students give awesome hugs, I needed one of those big hugs that makes you feel so much better and only someone who knows you super well can give, and I couldn't find anyone! Never underestimate the power of a hug! (Could I be any more girly here?)

Well, I best be off to bed. I have some rockin' kinders to teach in the morning...
love,
a

A Letter to the Most Wonderful Woman I've Ever Known

For those of you who knew her and those of you who didn't, some insight into what made my mom so amazing.

Dear Mom,

Well today’s a weird day. Today is the day I am giving your eulogy. I know that many people often have timelines for their lives. By age 25, they’ll be engaged, by age 27 married, and by 30 happily living in the suburbs with a dog and a baby on the way.

First of all, let me thank you for making both Chris and me feel like we never had deadlines like those to meet. That said, if I did make a timeline for my life, I never would have said, "Hmmm…age 24…mom’s funeral,” but like I said, Mom, today is a weird day.

Today is a day we’re gathered to mourn losing you (and I know you wouldn’t want us to be here mourning, but like it or not we are, because we miss you. A lot.) However, today is also a wonderful day for us to celebrate the amazing woman you are.

Now, I can already hear you scoffing—saying that other people are amazing, downplaying how wonderful you are, but Mom, you are quite brilliant. I remember learning in 3^rd grade how to write a persuasive essay. So, allow me please to persuade you, to convince you of your amazingness.

First, you have the most amazing heart. There was never a time when Chris, Dad, or I ever wanted for anything with you. You somehow managed to do everything and make it look easy. From PTA to swim meets to taking care of the dogs, you had us convinced that being a mom was the easiest job ever.

You also had a penchant for striking up conversations with strangers…and while this often made Chris or me cringe when we went into Sunset, wondering how long it would take us to get groceries with the number of people you might meet and instantly become best friends with, this was not only a skill of yours but also a blessing for others. When you spoke to a person, you made her feel like she was the only one in the room. You gave that person your full attention, and you always remembered all the details about what she said. This skill, this ability to connect with someone on such a personal level made you loved and valued by so many people, because you made every person you spoke with feel loved and valued as well.

Thank you for teaching all of us how to show those around us how important they are to us. We never miss an opportunity to say I love you or to tell the people we love how much they mean to us.

It was not just your heart that set you apart from everyone else, however, Mom. My goodness did you have a way with words. You always knew what to say. We all know you could talk for hours on end…but in those hours, you always had the right words to say. The words to comfort someone, the words to make us smile, the words to make us realize perhaps we made a mistake and actually were in the wrong. As Dad said just the other night at dinner, while we may have occasionally been bold enough to argue with you, we instantly wished otherwise since your way with words made us realize that yes you were right, and we were wrong.

Your words guided us when we were confused and comforted us when we were down, and like I said, you always knew just what to say. The infamous story I always tell goes all the way back to when I was in 6^th grade. It seems like it was just yesterday that I came home from school and told you that someone was mean to me. I cried a little, you gave me a hug, and then you simply said: “Life is tough, Alex. People aren’t always going to be nice to you. Suck it up.” I of course cried harder, thinking I had the meanest mom ever…but man, Mom, you were right. I certainly didn’t know that in just 3 years you would start to forget my name or that in 6 years I’d be rocking a scarf and a scar in the cancer center, but over the past 11 years, those words have guided me through some pretty tough times. Life is tough, but I find myself constantly reminding myself: Suck it up. Life could be worse. As such I’ve been called an eternal optimist, a label I proudly accept, because I know when I smile when times are tough, when I take on challenges that to others seem way too difficult, I’m doing it with strength I get from you.

Which brings me to the final way I’ll attempt to convince you of your amazingness. You may have noticed that I keep switching tenses, from past to present to past and then back to present again. Rest assured, Mom, Loyola taught me well, so this is not a mistake on my part. Instead, I keep going back and forth, because here we are, Mom. We’re at your funeral. In some ways, this implies I need to speak about the woman you “were”. The woman you used to be. Your amazingness though is not just in the woman you were. You are amazing, because even though you may not physically be present with us anymore, you will always be present in our hearts and everything we do. 

I wish you could see the patience Dad learned from you. Yes, the same man you married who admittedly does still get a little huffy when we are driving behind someone even older than he is in southwest Florida, has learned to be patient with himself as he loses someone he loves more than life itself. He often says he just tries to do what you would have wanted him to, and so as you live in him, know that he has become one of the most compassionate, thoughtful, and devoted fathers and friends ever.

Mom, Chris embodies your courage to follow your heart in a way that is just spectacular. He sings opera in Germany, and I know it hasn’t been easy, but he has been sticking it out for quite a few years and, from what I hear, doing pretty well. You are without a doubt present in his heart, his courage to move new places and do something other people might be too scared to do, and I hope today you can hear his voice singing a prayer for you.

Then, Mom, there is your sister, Ciocia (for those of you hearing me read this letter, you probably know her as Mary). She reminds me of you every time I speak to her. She loves her family immensely and keeps us all connected, just as you did when you were here.

Finally, Mom, there is me. Every day, whether I realize it or not, you guide me. You taught me patience, compassion, and confidence, even when singing, because yes, I got your voice, and I still sing every day in front of 26 kindergarteners.

Gosh, Mom. 60 years. I think we all could argue that you deserved more years here, and we all wish we had more time with you. However, who are we to argue or to be depressed when we were blessed just by knowing you? I had 15 years with you when you were healthy. 15. Sometimes it seems like too few, but then I remember: Life is tough. Life would have been much tougher on all of us if we didn’t have you. You make us who we are today, you give us the strength to make it through losing you, and you will always be here with us. We will miss you terribly, but we promise to suck it up, to keep moving forward knowing that while we miss you, you will always be in our hearts, and that you have given us more in your 60 years than most people give to others in 100. We love you.

Love,

Alex