By the time I was a gangly teenager, I was hooked. And I was also lucky. I came of age in a time when Title IX made women’s soccer the fastest growing collegiate sport at the time. If you had any amount of game, let alone decent grades to go with it, you could play soccer in college, and it could pay for your time there. So that’s what I did. I ended up playing Division II soccer at Truman State University, which ended up being the perfect place for a player like me to spend their career. I sat the bench for a year, all the while working my ass off to earn the right to start and learning what it mean to play at that level. In fact, it was the summer between my freshman and sophomore seasons, that summer I spent running and lifting and getting as many touches on the ball so that I could be in the starting 11 come fall, that the United States hosted the Women’s World Cup. And it was July 10^th, one day before my 19^th birthday, when Kristine Lilly cleared an almost-sure goal by China off the line with her head. When Briana Scurry saved one, just one, penalty shot during the shootout. When Brandi Chastain scored the winning penalty shot and ripped off her jersey in jubilant celebration, revealing the muscled, finely-honed physique of an athlete. And those same founding mothers celebrated and hoisted the championship trophy, they did so with their children, because the founding mothers were, in fact, actual mothers with small children.

And so, 12 years later, I watched a different US Women’s National Team, one filled mostly with players younger than me, but still filled with the same heart and guts and hustle instilled by the women who created the legacy. They were playing Brazil in the quarterfinals of the 2011 Women’s World Cup. My heart sank as break after break seemed to go to Brazil. But even after a questionable call essentially gave a goal to the Brazilians and took a US player off the field, leaving them a woman short for much of the second half, these new stars, Solo and Wambach and Lloyd and O’Reilly, never, ever, ever gave up. When all hope for victory seemed lost, after over 120 minutes of pure hustle, in one last push, Megan Rapinoe—who came off the bench, the bench!—served a perfect ball across the mouth of the Brazillian goal and there was Wambach, through two defenders, heading the ball in for a truly last-minute goal to send the game into penalty kicks. And there was no way that Hope Solo, the keeper with ice in her veins, or the rest of these women, would not finish this game with victory. 12 years later, to the date, another shootout, another victory for the team that refuses to quit. I found myself, tears streaming down my face, goosebumps on my arms, remembered just why soccer was—is—so important.

I went on to start for the rest of my career at Truman. My experiences with that team were formative to the woman I became—the woman I am. I learned the power of drive, of heart, of hustle, of hard work and delayed gratification, of loyalty and pride and integrity and grit. I learned what can happen when women work together and lift each other up. I made friendships that are still with me today: I held two of my former teammates babies this weekend; I will stand up for another at her wedding in October. I have a forged bond with some of these women. They are my sisters.

What some people don’t understand—can’t ever understand—is how soccer, for women, is more than just a game. They don’t understand that thousands and thousands of girls and young women will remember Sunday’s game for the rest of their lives, and some part of that game—maybe Wambach’s goal, maybe one of Solo’s saves, maybe Ali Krieger’s final penalty kick—will forever remind them of what they can accomplish. What they can accomplish might be on the pitch, but it might not be. It might be becoming a doctor or starting a nonprofit or running for office or being a mother who empowers her own daughters for greatness. It can be really, truly, be anything. All these women,  who worked their asses off and held day jobs while training and even mothering, they did this because of what the game means to them and to the rest of the girls and women who look up to them, without the promise of million-dollar contracts at the end of their journey. They did it because of the journey. This—THIS—is why women’s soccer is the beautiful game.

It’s been a while. I’ve been busy and when I have had time to sit down and write, somehow I find my mind drifting to other things with nothing left to trickle from my fingertips. But Thursday was the first really gorgeous day of the year, and it was a day that made me feel like just about anything was possible, so here I am.

The last month has been full of changes. I slowly quit just about all of my writing gigs and downright abandoned this space here for far too long. I was sad to leave MamaPop; so many current and former writers are truly my blogging tribe, but I think the door is always open there should I determine I need more weekly time with the Real Housewives. I’m also cutting back on my shifts at the kitchen shop; I absolutely love working there and being around people who are really into food, so I want to stay on as long as I can. I just don’t have as much time, especially during the day, any more.

The tiny flicker of our school is starting to catch fire. We have a building, and we have an office up and running. We have actual students enrolled. Families believe in what we’re doing enough that they’re willing to trust us with their child’s education. We’re hiring teachers–exciting, talented, passionate teachers. And, most importantly, we have a neighborhood.

Friends who’ve been close to this process know I was in love with a building in Tower Grove South that didn’t work out for us due to circumstances beyond our control. Our Plan B was a temporary fix; an old Lutheran school sitting empty just two blocks north of Arsenal on the corner of Pestalozzi and South Grand. We can stay here for two years; hopefully we’ll outgrow it after that, and we’ll move to our permanent home. But I can already say with certainty that I hope we move somewhere close. We’re so lucky to be a part of the South Grand neighborhood.

We know our student population is going to be incredibly diverse. Our neighborhood is mixed-income and pocketed with thriving immigrant communities: Bosnian, Hispanic, Nepalese, Bhutanese, and Vietnamese, to name a few. Our office window overlooks Tower Grove Park. Within walking distance is sushi, Vietnamese, Thai, Afghan, Mediterranean, a diner, Italian, and Middle Eastern restaurants. There is a public library six blocks away. Health clinics. Churches. International markets. A bookstore. We are part of a real, thriving, diverse community.

I keep saying “we”, because I’ve accepted a position with our school. Two weeks ago, I started working on a contract basis with the school. I have a desk and keys to the building. My “stuff” is there: my files and professional books and such. As of last Thursday’s  board meeting, I am officially working as the Director of Curriculum and Instruction of South City Prep. I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to get to continue the work I’ve been doing for over a year, but with an actual paycheck. Since then, I’ve spent a ton of time doing staffing. Processing resumes and moving forward (or not) through the hiring process is really time-intensive. We’ve had a very wide pool–no surprise due to the economy and the fact that almost every district is laying off teachers–but that pool has been much deeper than I initially thought it would be. I’ve talked to so many amazing people I would be privileged to work with.

Speaking of community, I am humbled by the outpouring of support we’ve had from our friends and family and even strangers who are just behind what we’re trying to do. Those aren’t just words. Our trivia night, which is the first fundraiser we’ve done, sold out in less than two weeks–without us even needing to put out the flier that Iron Stef designed for us. We’re at capacity for the venue. Almost all of our needs for the event have been graciously donated by friends, including so much from the food and restaurant industry here in town. Someone donated all staff and office furniture for the school. Another person donated tons of copies of Office. Organizations have approached us to provide our after-school and school break child care/enrichment needs at no cost. Over a dozen people came and canvassed businesses for us on a Sunday, an event that Jaelithe organized. My good friend Meghan has designed all our promotional materials. Other friends have graciously donated their time for whatever we need. Literally, multiple friends have said “I’m broke, but put me to work”. Friends volunteered to paint classrooms after construction. Another friend volunteered to paint a giant crest for our entryway. A work colleague wants to teach our kids how to cook and garden. All of our PR has been donated by Nick Sargent at Standing Partnership, who has taken us on as a pro-bono client. It’s just so fucking fantastic to have people believe in what we are doing enough to contribute, and my faith in humanity has been restored by the generosity of St Louisians.

Listen, I know this post makes me sound like I’ve turned downright optimistic. Where’s the outraged, pissy, sarcastic KBO of yore? Oh, she’s still here. Trust me. And my “boss” is down with the B-L-O-G because he’s also down with the Constitution. But I feel good. I feel like this is what I’m supposed to be doing right now. I feel like I did “before” depression. So in the face of asshole politicians kicking democracy in the nuts here and abroad, I’m choosing to celebrate the democracy we’re exercising by starting this badly-needed school. I’m sure I’ll rail against the patriarchy, evil corporations, religious zealots, and pretty much everyone else trying to keep the middle and working classes down again soon, but for now, I feel good.

Last week, a team from SCP, including myself, visited three high-performing charter schools in the New Orleans area. Because of the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, New Orleans has a huge charter school populations. More than half of their public schools are charters. We saw some downright awe-inspiring schools getting incredible results, and I left feeling really inspired and motivated about what’s to do to get ready to educate kids.

I have learned so much through this process, particularly during our visits to high-performing schools.  I’ve seen, over and over in our visits, programming implemented the right way, with all stakeholders intensely-committed to educating kids.  I’d seen bits and pieces tried elsewhere, never with the dramatic results these schools are getting. I’m completely rethinking how I think we educate teachers. Before, I knew that we were doing it wrong, but I didn’t know exactly how I would train teachers differently.  This is something I could expound on at length but I’ll still stand by what I’ve said before, which is that it should absolutely be harder to become a teacher. I’ll also say these schools weren’t perfect, but there’s a lot we can learn and play with when designing programming for our school.

While in New Orleans, also got to scout some eatin’, and I would highly recommend Cochon if you are in New Orleans. We had an outstanding meal that surpassed my expectations, and I would undoubtedly visit again when I return to the city. You should go there if you get the chance. It’s a great place for people really into food to take their less-adventurous friends and have a meal that satisfies everyone. Totally approachable food that was still exciting.

Unrelated to anything serious, I’m a finalist for the RFT’s Web Awards in the category of Best Personal Blog. I’m going to lose to up against my friend and fellow Church of Burger Priestess Stef Pollack of fantastic The Cupcake Project. So many of my friends are up for awards, which makes me a member of the cool nerds, I guess.

Thank you so much to whomever nominated me, unless this is some weird elaborate prank to humiliate me, like on Carrie. Because if it is, me and my dirty pillows will have no problem sourcing heritage-breed pig blood that I can and will telepathically hurl at my would-be humiliators. I also still have a pig head. So, basically, JUST TRY ME.

Check back next week to see if I “win” or not. I hope, like all situations I find myself in, it involves a giant check.

1. Being able to leave groceries in the car without worry of spoilage.
2. Using your back porch as a walk-in beer cooler.
3. Hot beverages in mugs. Perpetually. Lately, I’ve been making hot chocolate with half milk, half coffee. Homemade marshmallow on top. Plain coffee will gladly do.
4. Scarves, which are my very favorite accessory ever.
5. Dogs as portable bed warmers. Neko is the best heated blanket that ruined a bunch of stuff I used to own ever.

I’m taking a J-Term class, the second-to-last elective I have in my program.  It’s on Paulo Freire, possibly the most important critical pedagogue who ever lived. My professor is an expert on him, and he’s incredibly intelligent. This means his classes are quite heavy on reading and theory–well over 800 pages for the month-long course. This also means I’ll be traveling north for two weekends this month.

We also have a grant application due at the end of the month for desperately-needed pre-operation money for the charter school, which we’ll need to have done well before that in order to revise after receiving appropriate feedback. We’re going to New Orleans for three days to visit high-performing charter schools.

I’m also writing five paid blogs posts per week and working at Kitchen Conservatory.

In short: I’m stressed.

I write this because this is my way of telling everyone I know “no”. I won’t be going out except for a very few pre-scheduled activities. I can’t do lunch. I can’t do coffee. I can’t grab a drink. If it’s not on my calendar as of right this second, it’s not happening. I’m not saying this to act self-important or snobby. I’m doing this because I have to put my head down and get shit done, and I can’t apologize for it. I just have to do it.

So I’ll probably be even more scarce around here than usual. I’ll be scarce everywhere except my couch, the library, and whatever coffee shop in which I’m working. But I still love you. I still love this space. But IS BIDNESS TIMEZ NAO. And I literally don’t have time to have a Jessie Spano-esque breakdown.

Send coffee. And cheese. See you in February.

1. Lost. While I wasn’t 100% satisfied with the finale, and it’s demise was scheduled and appropriate, I still mourn the loss of one of the most talked-about, engaging shows ever produced on television. For six seasons, Thursday mornings were full of furious discussions, predictions, and, just as often, confusion, as viewers pondered the show and pored over the mysteries within. Several shows have unsuccessfully tried to replicate the intrigue of Lost; none have succeeded. While the show was ultimately a flawed one, I’d argue, like the producers, that the ride was more important than the destination.

2. Paste Magazine. While they’re continuing to produce online content, Paste stopped print production in August of this year, after over a year of financial difficulty. I discovered Paste in a train station in Zurich in 2003; not realizing the exchange rate at the time, I paid almost $20 for the issue. I don’t regret it. As soon as I returned to the States, I subscribed, drawn to the idea of a monthly culture magazine that included a mix CD each month full of new music to sample. But Paste was more than just a music sampler. It’s tagline, “Signs of Life in Music, Film, and Culture” was truth in advertising; Paste provided smart, critical analysis of the best of pop culture and gave me faith that not all of America was wrapped up in Toby Keith and NCIS.

3. Party Down.  This show was preternaturally funny and produced maybe the most hilarious half-hours of television I’ve seen in years, the infamous “Steve Guttenburg’s Birthday Party” episode. Featuring hilarious writing, a can’t-miss premise (caterers in LA), and a superb cast, Party Down‘s premature demise was probably due to a strange combination of being too successful, yet not successful enough. Ratings weren’t great, largely due to original episodes airing on premium channel Starz on Friday nights while simultaneously provided on Netflix Streaming. But the cast was so damn good, Starz just couldn’t keep them around. Cast member Jane Lynch left after the first season to appear on Glee, where she won an Emmy for her role as Sue Sylvester. Adam Scott’s end-of-season guest stint on Season Two of NBC’s Parks and Recreation turned into a regular role for the upcoming Season Three, and Lizzy Caplan and Adam Scott both scored major network pilots for 2011. But the two seasons we did get of Party Down were damn near perfect, and I’ll probably watch them again and again.

4. Danielle Staub. While not dead, this Real Housewife of New Jersey did get the boot from the show, since no other cast member was willing to continue the franchise with her on board. While I’m glad she’s freed up to get the mental health care she desperately needs, she really did create a special brand of delusional crazy to Bravo. And that’s saying something. Farewell, PROSTITUTIONWHORE. Can’t wait for your next lesfaux slow ballad.

5. The vampire trend.  Sure, True Blood will return in 2011, but the Twilight-fueled vampire obsession that pop culture has been obsessed with for the past few years was supplanted by the literal and figurative uprising of motherfucking ZOMBIES. Walking Dead ruled. Forget Robert Pattinson’s brooding ass; I want axes to skulls and raw survivalism. Vamps, you were fun while you lasted, but your gothiness comes across as snobby.

6. Summer music festivals. While I was glad that St Louis was able to host its own first-year festival (and do it right, I might add) 2010 saw the demise of several festivals I wish were still around. Rothbury, 10,000 Lakes, and All Points West were just a few festivals canceled in 2010 due to the abysmal economy. Hopefully, some will be resurrected in 2011.

7. Celebrity deaths. While anyone who watched the trainwreck reality show The Two Coreys could have predicted that Corey Haim was sadly on the fasttrack to an early demise. But Gary Coleman died. Rue McClanahan. Tom Bosley. FUCKING J.D. SALINGER! Double pour one out for that enigma.

8. The Hunger Games trilogy. Well, the highly-anticipated final book in Suzanne Collins’ popular young adult trilogy, Mockingjay came and went. I read it. I liked it. I didn’t love it, because I didn’t love the ending because I’m not a fucking libertarian. But Katniss Evergreen is an amazing character, and the fact is that she’s a teenage female and she kicks an entire dystopian nation’s collective ass, so I won’t dismiss three whole books  because I didn’t like how the author wrapped up the overarching story.

What pop culture phenomenon that you will miss came to a close in 2010?

South City Prep is coming along, but not without some stumbles along the way. I’ll not get into details, only say that we’ve had two pretty substantial catastrophes in the past month that have forced us to rethink our plans. Opening next year isn’t a question, actually, we’ve just had some timelines altered and plans rearranged largely due to circumstances beyond our control. Yes, that’s cryptic, it’s just that things are still up in the air in a few key areas and I want to keep the details under wraps until those areas are 100% done deals, otherwise it’s just a big jinx and my soul can’t handle any more “surprises”, thank you very much, unless said surprise is winning the lottery.

That being said, I think we’re close to signing paperwork on a building, a building I love in a neighborhood I love, a building that could be our permanent home. We should know in the next two weeks or so if all the pieces will fall into place, so please keep our team in your thoughts and prayers. Finding a facility is our biggest challenge next to student enrollment, and we’ve got two backup options if this deal falls through. So many things can’t happen until our facility is finalized, and the time frame for completing any renovation is tight, so we really need good karma pushing our project forward. Once that happens, we can begin the process of actually getting down to the nitty-gritty of programming and recruitment, which is what I can’t wait to dive into. We’ve been so caught up in finding a building, securing financing, working with developers and architects and realtors and loan officers, running numbers over and over again, and trying to get our charter from the state that the actual work we get to do with kids has been on the backburner. I can’t wait until we get to focus on efforts on programming that will provide kids with a high-quality education. I can’t articulate how much I’ve learned, and continue to learn, through this process, both about education in general, but also education in the context of Missouri and how politics and regionalism impacts kids. The political climate in Missouri is not good for urban schools, period. I’ll save that for another day when all our deals are already done and my mouth won’t get others in trouble.

Because the work on the school is taking a lot of my time, probably more than I thought it would, and that time will only increase, so I’ve been considering where I have to scale back my efforts. Unfortunately, many of the things I love are things that don’t earn me a ton of money, so it ends up being hard decisions. I’m on indefinite hiatus from Draft Day Suit, which Sarah and Laurie were oh-so-understanding about. I love those women fiercely, incidentally, so you should continue to support the site and read their writing.

I was also quite frazzled because I was co-chair of a trivia night fundraiser for the Safe Connections Young Professionals Board, of which I am a member. It’s a little harder to plan a “real” trivia night, and by “real”, I mean, not in your backyard with your friend’s karaoke machine and your friends’ band in the garage rocking a smoke machine. Fortunately, the evening was a pretty big success in that we hit our target in terms of profits, and there were few major issues save running out of diet soda and running over on our allotted time at the rental facility because everyone was having a damn good time. But I’m glad it’s over.

Because we need money and I love food, I picked up a new gig at The Stir, writing for their food and party section thrice weekly. My first post is up, and it’s on how to cook perfect bacon because I am a whore for endearing myself to new audiences and pork usually does the trick. This all came about from a random business card exchange at a breakfast table at BlogHer in New York, which means I have actually successfully networked, although I can’t say it was intentional or skillful by any means. ANYWAY, yes, another blog I’m contributing to, but it’s well-paid and will help me stretch my writing  and learn not to curse in every post I write. Huzzah!

Finally, my brother and sister-in-law came and visited for the very first time this weekend, and it was so awesome. It was the first time we’d done something just the four of us, and, outside of Iowa’s loss in football, we had so much fun that Andrew and Chris couldn’t take it and fell asleep at 11 PM Saturday night while Liz and I watched The Office and ate snickerdoodles. Most of my friends have moved away from Des Moines, so I feel like my brothers are my last little tether to my hometown, and whenever they give me a glimpse into adult life there, I get to feel home for a little bit. Sometimes, my life there feels like a dream. My sister-in-law and brother were at some social media networking event (Liz works in social media) and ran into my high school boyfriend. She didn’t know who he was, and when they met and that fact became known, I guess it was a little weird. He’s married now to another girl from our high school and has two kids and that just kinda blows my mind. Liz running into him just made me curious as to who he is now. I know I’m a radically different person than I was twelve years ago–is he? I just wonder if you change as much if you stay in town. Maybe you change more? I don’t know. I just wonder where everyone else from this different life of mine ended up on their meandering (or not-so-meandering) paths and if there’s anything left to say to some of these people who shared this common formative experience with me once a drunken buzz wears off. I guess it’s just interesting, and melancholy, to think about people with whom you share so much being strangers. Maybe I’d rather not know.

Tomorrow: this week’s Grace in Small Things, plus links to my interwebs writings this week.



2. Working after a “My First Thanksgiving” class and getting to eat a plateful of leftover stuffing smothered in really amazing turkey gravy. I aspire to make a gravy so lovely, then bathe in it.

3. The hastily-picked-before-the-first-frost green tomatoes, of which we have pounds and pounds, actually ripening into a gorgeous array of heirlooms on my counter, allowing me to hold onto summer, still.

4. A simple lunch and good conversation with Rev Em on Saturday.

5. Making new outfits out of old clothes. Ladybum win.

1. Begin staining process. Convince husband that he really has to do the staining himself because you would mess it up.
2. Start to believe it yourself.
3. Realize this process is taking four times as long as you had planned.
4. Feign normalcy by inviting friend and three-year old daughter over to lunch in the basement. Reassure three-year old, upon urinating on the floor, that she wasn’t the first to pee on the floor that day.
5. Resume role filling scratches and holes with wood putty because you are an equal partner in this project.
6. Go ladycamping while husband stays behind to stain. Decorate your own coozie and drink vodka-spiked Capri Suns. Talk about periods.
7. Realize giant pimp tent is less claustrophobic than basement, smells better.
8. Return to beautiful, untouchable floors.
9. Clean up basement dog pee, vomit, poop, and shredded personal items.
10. Repeat #9.
11. Repeat #10
12. Referee countless rounds of Basement Dog Thunderdome.
13. Thank Baby Jesus for awesome husband as he seals the floors.
14. Agree to do all tangential helper-type activities until floors are finished.
15. Do that shit with a smile.
16. Relax in clean, fresh, carpet-free bedroom. Breathe.



Please to ignore our bare bedroom. We’ve only moved essentials thus far. More pics on Flickr.

Chris threw me a super-fun party for my birthday at Saratoga Lanes in Maplewood. It’s the oldest bowling alley west of the Mississippi, a second-floor joint with eight lanes (hand scoring) and lots of room for food, boozing, pool, and watching the World Cup final, which was less-than-exciting. And, of course, bowling. Many of my friends came and I thought we had a blast. Thanks to all who came out and rolled.

In addition:

• Our charter school had our review with the Mayor’s Advisory Panel Wednesday, and it went really, really well. I didn’t even make any wiener jokes. One member of the panel (who is the superintendent of one of the largest and most lauded districts in the state–where Chris works) said our curriculum and instruction plan was the best he’s seen from a charter. Things are starting to move, and hopefully we’ll have a facility finalized by the end of September, if things go as planned.
• You probably think I forgot about hardwood floors part 2, but oh, ho, ho, no sir. We just haven’t even stained yet. Maybe tonight. Things have been crazy around here, and if we wait any longer, the floors are going to be stained with two solid coats of dog pee and then where will we be?
• If you are in St Louis and you blog and have a vagina (or wish you did), come to our Pre-BlogHer meetup. I can’t say for sure, but a little bird told me there may be swag from Metamucil. Iron Stef says that digestive health is important at any age. Anyway, details are at that link, and please do RSVP. I highly recommend you come if only to try Schlafly’s AIPA if you haven’t already. It is so choice.
• So! Remember when I was flying Southwest and the flight attendant said not nice things about liberals and Spanish-speakers? And I got some canned replies from Southwest with a “we’re sorry if you were offended, but we’re just having fun!” non-apology? This week, I got a real, not-canned, e-mail apologizing in a pretty sincere way and acknowledging that maybe I was right to be offended. Plus a $150 travel voucher. So we’re all squared up, and I salute Southwest for how they handled it in the end. Honestly, I wasn’t out to get anything free. I just wanted them to know that that type of noise isn’t okay, and I think they got the message and I’ll continue to fly them.
• It’s so, so, so hot in St Louis. There’s no point in showering. Once you step outside, you’re damp from head to toe. Obviously, this means my friends and I should go camping this weekend. We went in this kind of weather last year and it was actually pretty fun. We even had a fire and didn’t melt into the backwoods of Iron County. The key is that we’ll spend the entire day Saturday at the lake in the state park where we camp watching mothers in jorts yell at their Dakotas and MacKynzies and Mercedeseseseses to put down the cigarette butts that wash up on shore. It’s like People of WalMart, but at the beach. Floating cooler for the win. Thank you to everyone today on Twitter who suggested syringes for getting vodka into Capri Suns. I’m sure someone at the beach  will have a few we can borrow.

While you are at it, check out my piece on that piece of shit Mel Gibson over at MamaPop, as well as my piece about the upcoming film adaptation of The Help. And, come back Monday, because I HAVE SECRETS.