Things Your Teacher Could Never Tell You

No, I haven't had the baby yet

2006-06-20T13:33:00.000-07:00

And why the heck do people keep asking me this? I'm busy, trying to close out my school year and pack up my classroom, which is being moved for the 3rd time in 3 years.

Sailor Boy has dropped and I'm walking like I'm holding a ten pound watermelon between my thighs, but people, if I hear, "Haven't you had that baby yet???" one more time, I'm gonna kill someone. Oooo, listen to the crabby pregnant lady.

Just a quick brag. I have married the world's most wonderful man. While I lay on the couch, he made dinner, bathed Missy HooHaw, did 3 loads of laundry and the grocery shopping, then sent me to bed while he paid the bills. What a man, what a man, what a mighty good man, in the words of Salt n' Pepa.

No wonder he doesn't want to have another.

SOOOO glad it's Monday...

2006-06-19T09:09:00.000-07:00

I never thought I'd say this, but I was really happy to come back to work. This weekend is making me rethink the SAHM gig.

Friday was Drama Queen's slumber party. It was actually a big hit and fairly easy. The girls arrived, got into the pool and stayed there until 9:00 pm. They devoured strawberries and pizza, frosted and ate cupcakes and sang horrendously off key karoke, all outside. Aside from having to keep Missy Hoohaw inside and safe from the mania, it was a breeze. (Jenny, do you remember the bus to school and the soundtrack to Annie? These girls sounded even worse!!!! heh heh heh)

The girls came inside and opened presents, then went back to DQ's room for more karoke. I swear, that karoke machine was a bigger hit than our pool. And, by the way, have you ever noticed how dirty the lyrics are to the songs from Grease? Hearing my daughter warble "Summer Nights," I realized the song is a little filthy and, oh my gosh, does she understand what she's singing???? She was very put out that I would not allow her to purchase the cd with her birthday money.

The girls were up watching movies until 3:30. I only had to come out and ask for quiet twice. They were groggy, but up for more karoke at approximately 8:00 am, after fueling up with sugared cereal, which is a HUGE treat in my home, but apparently, not so much in others. Oh well. We said goodbye to the last girl at around 11:30. This was a pleasant surprise, being as I really didn't expect them gone before 1:00, since the invitation said the party was over at 10:00 am. Anyone who has hosted a birthday party knows this. I actually overheard one girl calling her mom and telling her not to come until 2:00. I quickly intervened and pointed out that we were ending at 10:00 and we had an appointment at 11:00, so mom needed to get her ASS over here. No, I didn't swear, but oh, I wanted to.

After the party, we headed out to my parents house for an early Father's day celebration. The older my parents get, the hotter they keep their house. It was 87 degrees in there, I swear. We had a great time, but DQ was asleep for most of it. I wonder why...

That night, DQ woke me up and said she was sick. This was followed by vomit. All night. Urgh. Sunday, I packed Mr. Clairol off to a baseball game with my brother and dad, then tended to a still nauseous DQ and tried to keep Missy HooHaw entertained while doing laundry and dishes. Oh golly...I can hear your jealousy a-brewin. Don't hate me for my glamorous life. Mr. Clairol did offer, several times, to stay home with me. I bravely said no and wished he would insist on it. He didn't. When he came home, I was so tired, I was in tears watching some guy on Miami Ink get a tattoo of his daughter, who was dying of Tay Sachs. Dear Lord.

One more little tid bit, then I quit my whining and get on with life. Sailor Boy dropped sometime in the night. I got up 7 times to pee and hoooooweeee! The pressure, she is intense! I'm just trying to get through Friday. It's close to impossible to get a sub and I'd like try to see my class through. I was wanting to make it to Saturday, since Friday is date night, but I don't care anymore. We'll have a date in L&D. See how fun I am?

The Noxema Incident

2006-06-14T09:46:00.000-07:00

I am a terrible wife. I am a horrible and mean person. I shame myself with my lack of compassion. But Oh. My. God. I must relate to you what will forever be known as, THE NOXEMA INCIDENT.

If you have no clue what I am talking about, you really need to read yesterday's post.

I brought home a large tub of Noxema yesterday, certain that this would succeed, where aloe, benzocaine and lotion had failed. For decades, I have heard how Noxema is the perfect antidote to sunburn, soothing and cooling the burn, while moisturizing the skin. I was flush with anticipated victory.

Never flush with victory anticipated. It tempts the gods.

We did our evening routines. Mr. Clairol had Missy Hoo Haw and Drama Queen in stitches, laying on the carpet and wriggling around, trying to relieve the itching. Yes, I was laughing too. We are horrible, horrible people. We bathed and put the kids to bed. We settled in to bed and turned on Fear Factor. All was in readiness.

I opened the tub and sniffed deeply. I looooove the smell of Noxema. I wish they still made Bonnie Bell Ten-o-Six. The scents of my adolescence. Aaaahhhhhhh. Mr. Clairol was skeptical, remembering my claims of relief with the aloe and benzocaine. I swore this would do the trick and cajoled him. Okay, I called him a big pansy and told him to man up. Same difference, right?

He was already shirtless, so after I got him turned around and facing the TV, I did the countdown that is now a ritual every time I plan on touching my husband's back. 3 - 2 - 1. The Noxema went on and he shuddered violently, saying, "WOW! That is COLD!" The shuddering continued for a moment, then calmed and I thought to myself, damn, I'm good.

Not so much. After a moment or two, he started twitching. Another moment, and he was writhing. "Get it off." he said quietly, "GET IT OFF." He was trying not to yell and wake up Missy Hoo Haw, but the desperation was there. I wiped the cream off as well as I could, while he convulsed and had what I'm thinking was a grand mal siezure. He whimpered...seriously, whimpered. "This shit burns like a MOFO!" he told me.

I was apologizing profusely and warming up the shower for him. I even got in and washed his back for him. Usually this leads to marital fun, but not last night.

Now, for those of you who don't know, Noxema leaves a film behind. It's not unpleasant, like soap scum, just a tingly, soft skin coating type of thing. I can't really describe it. If you've used Noxema, you'll know. If you haven't, don't listen to my husband. You should get some. Really.

Shut Up.

So, this film remained on my husbands back and all the soap and water in the world could not erase the phantom tingling on his back. This drove him (and me) crazy last night. Not just irritated. Bats in the bellfry, lonny tunes, apeshit. A-P-E-S-H-I-T. He tossed and turned and muttered and moaned all night long. Every so often, he'd shoot me a death look. It was dark, so I couldn't see it, but I felt it. Oh yes, I felt it. I would murmur an apology that he'd ignore. It was a looooooooooooooong night.

This morning, he was still twitchy, but he hugged me and made my lunch. A lunch I am NOT planning on eating, just in case my usually mild mannered husband has developed a mean streak. One that smells faintly of Noxema.

What was that?????

2006-06-13T11:17:00.000-07:00

Sorry about yesterday, kiddies. I meant to give you a fabulous play-by-play of my scintillating life, but damnit, nothing happened.

Oh sure, I yelled at a few kids. I graded papers and snickered a bit when my aide couldn't find anything on her desk, then blamed me for moving stuff. I arranged last minute childcare for Drama Queen and made a fabulous dinner that my entire family devoured. I even grocery shopped. But really, a typical day for the educational/ domestic goddess that I am.

Last night, however, the unthinkable happened. Mr. Clairol gave me permission to put sunblock on him, at my discretion.

Last summer, my husband got it into his head that he wanted a fire pit in our back yard. SO he and my brother gathered brick and mortar and built a pit. With their shirts off. In June. In some serious sunshine. I went out and asked Mr. Clairol if he had applied sunblock, to which he stared at me and replied, "Huh?"

"Did. you. apply. sunblock?"
"No. Why?"
As I beat him over the head with a brick, I screamed, "So you don't get burned, you braindead idiot."
The last part happened only in my head. I simply shook the can and sprayed his back with the stuff. He promptly freaked out. On a major scale. See, Mr. Clairol has a abnormally sensitive back. It's really bizarre. He frequently goes shirtless because the fabric irritates him and I either buy tagless or cut out the tags on all his shirts. I don't scratch his back, I rub it with the pads of my fingers. I am so not joking.

I learned that day to never put something on my husband's back again, without warning. Unless I want to witness the bizarre, jumping, whirling dervish dance. Which, come to think of it, was pretty dang funny.Anyway, I'm digressing.

So last weekend he was working in the yard, and tinking of all the times I offered to apply sunscreen and was rebuffed, I didn't bother. Hooooo, BABY, was his back red! All Sunday, he was sore and grouchy. Yesterday, the itching started. Now the pain he can handle. "Pain is weakness leaving the body," and all that crap. But the itching? He is going mad. Serious tweakage. We tried aloe...no. We tried the benzocaine spray...no. We tried lotion...no. We even tried Benadryl. Everything I applied only seemed to aggravate the itch. He took 4 showers last night.

I finally made him take a Tylenol PM, so he would sleep. I'm buying a tub of Noxema today. We'll see what kind of dancing that provokes.

Want not

2006-06-12T12:20:00.000-07:00

So the ever-talented and mind boggling Mir of Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda fame has created a new site devoted to household hints and bargain shopping. Interested? Go to http://wantnot.net/

I guess training for a marathon, bailing out her basement, licking FEMA agents and blogging EVERY FRICKIN' DAY wasn't enough. Man, she makes me tired.

So anyhoo.

Two more weeks...

2006-06-09T11:01:00.000-07:00

I haven't been blogging about teaching, because, while I appreciate the well placed curse word, the entire entry would be a blue rant. Recently though, I've developed some perspective and I think I can give it a try. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. He is my censor.

We have two weeks left. This week, I have been innundated with requests for grade checks. Most of these lead to the question, "Is there any extra credit?" Oddly enough, they don't seem as amused by this as I am. My laughter is always ill-received.

My policy is this. If you have turned in all your work, throughout the trimester, and taken advantage of the numerous opportunities to correct your work, you're getting at least a B in my class. If you haven't, then asking me to create and grade a project that will lift you 20-30 percentage points on the scale is unfair. I explain this at the beginning of each trimester. I send letters home 3 times a year explaining this. And yet...

Last Friday, I sent out updates, so parents could see what their child was earning and why that was the case. Needless to say, on Monday, I had 5 billion messages from parents wondering about extra credit and little Johnny turned this in, I know because I helped him with it...blah, blah, blah.

It should be noted here that teachers DO lose work. I've done it. And I am happy to give benefit of the doubt. But when it's a major project that I had to call home about? I'm thinking I probably didn't lose that one. You never returned my call from a month ago, regarding that project. Why is it that you're calling me on this now?

The long and short of it is that I have to turn in grades by next Wednesday. Huh, you inquire? Why Wednesday if you have a week and a half of school left after that day? I don't know why. I do as I am told. Have I mentioned my principal hates special ed and does not understand the need for having on a mainstream campus? Uh-huh.

I'm sure I'll be spending the next three work days trying to surface from the pile of papers on my desk, grading like a mad woman. Thank God for my stalwart aide. Guess I better enjoy this weekend.

Coming Soon: Drama Queen's Birthday Spa Slumber Party!!!!

Conversations with a Toddler

2006-06-08T07:45:00.000-07:00

I've gone and done it. I've turned Missy HooHaw into a Starbucks fiend.

Seriously, this kid is frickin' smart. Every so often, I'll take an alternate route to work, one that has a drive thru Satrbucks on it. The minute I diverge from our normal path, she says "More?"

In MH-speak, this means, "I want a bite of whatever it is your eating and you'd better fork it over or face my enormous wrath." She packs a lot into her verbage.

So, this morning, we left the house early and I decided a tall caramel macchiato was in the cards. I pulled into the parking lot and MH says "Why?"
"Because Mommy needs some coffee and you need a scone." I reply
MH starts bouncing in her seat, waving and clapping her hands. She's chanting, "More, more, more, more, yay!" I'm laughing so hard I almost ram the Dodge SUV in front of me.

I feel the need to clarify that I am not putting coffee beverages into MH's sippy cup. Mr. Clairol and I have agreed that the little fireball should be caffeine free for as long as we can manage. We barely keep up with her now. No, it's not the latte she's jonesing for. It's the tiny little (crack filled, I think) vanilla scones.

A few months ago, I ordered some, thinking they would settle the queasy stomach and go well with the tea I was ordering. They filled the bill on both counts, but three was too many, so I gave MH one to nibble on during our ride. Plus, she was screaming, "MORE!!!!" and had morphed into a green-skinned, fire breathing, red-eyed monster. She spent the entire 20 minute ride to day care humming to herself in the backseat, singing, "yum, yum, yum, yum, more?" We had a hit.

Now, I'm pretty careful about what my kids eat and I know that these glazed scones are basically a rich man's donut. But every once in a while, Mama needs a hit and since MH has to travel 45 minutes to daycare, she needs one too. It's a co-dependent thing, dig?

So, I ordered a three pack of the scones and my caramel machiato and laughed my butt off as I waited for them, MH shaking the car with her bouncing, saying "Jumpy! More? Jumpy! More?" I'm sure the guy at the window thought I was nuts, but seriously, that was some funny stuff. I handed back the first bit of scone and she laughed a big, deep belly laugh. The bite quickly disappeared and she asked for, "Moh, peez." This through a big mouthful of scone. Twenty minutes later, we've arrived at daycare and she's worked through one scone, because we had to take a break and say good morning to the cows, don't you know. I'm saving the other two for less leisurely mornings. Or maybe on the way home. Who knows.

La La La...I can't HEAR you!

2006-06-05T14:03:00.000-07:00

Maybe it's just me. Perhaps, just perhaps, I should post a top ten list instead of this. But folks, I gotta get it off my chest...

Can we not hear another FUCKING pseudo news report about Angelina Jolie's baby? Please? I don't care about damn Brangelina or damn Jennifer Aniston or the damn babies and children or frickin' Africa or whatever already!!!!!!

Stop talking about it! No one cares anymore! I didn't want to know in the first place! SHUT UP!!!!!

AHHHhhhhhh.

Much better. Thank you.

Now, is it just me or is Mark McGrath way less sexy since he started anchoring for an entertainment news show?

Jeremy

2006-06-01T14:42:00.000-07:00

I love the blogosphere. I especially love reading the blogs of other women. I have my favorites, and usually, the old favorites introduce me to new favorites. Today, Izzy introduced me to Crouching Mommy, Hidden Laundry. Aside from her ferociously funny title, today's post was funny, touching and fuzzy, wavy flashback- inducing. I read about her encounter with a childhood sweetheart and all I could think of was Jeremy.

So in the tradition of good blogging everywhere, I'm going to steal...ahem, use the inspiration and take a little trip back in time myself. We all have "the one who got away." Jeremy wasn't my longest relationship by any means, but one of my most significant. Though there were many men after him, he was the precursor to the love of my life, Mr. Clairol. I would see shades of Jeremy in him and remember what I might have had with him. For that reason alone, I would pursue Mr. Clairol, though I had never pursued a man before in my life. I was brought up better than that, don't you know.

I met Jeremy when I was 19. I had a friend who was socially awkward and shy around boys. One night, she called me and sobbed on the phone for thirty solid minutes about this horrible boy she worked with, who wouldn't stop teasing her. She was at wits end and in true teen fashion, I told her, "You need to tell him if he wants to pick on someone, he should choose someone his own size."

Well, she did. And then, she gave him my number!

And He Called!

After the initial conversation about why it wasn't nice to pick on my friend and his justification that he was toughening her up (bullshit), we meandered on to other things. I know...I know. But he was smart, charming, funny and articulate. Rare things in a teenage boy. I don't recall the conversation, only that I had agreed to go out with him at the end of it. Or perhaps I only hoped he would ask me out. I can't remember. Eventually, we went on a date.

When we first met, I was in awe. I was a sheltered, little Christian girl, who had never dated a boy without the explicit approval of my father. Jeremy was tall and lanky, with long red hair and a beat up Camaro. He wasn't handsome, by any means. But, oh my, the boy oozed sex. Seriously. Even my mom remembers him and will tell you he was HOT.

Perhaps this was why, when Jeremy came to pick me up one night, my father ignored him. Jeremy attempted conversation and my dad watched sports on T.V. He said nothing to him. He did not reply to anything Jeremy said and seemed hell-bent on pretending he wasn't there. But Jeremy hung in there and kept coming back.

Daddy may have hated him, but I didn't. He awakened my inner rebel. Had he wanted it, he probably could have had my virginity. God knows, I wish it had been him and not the shmuck I married. (1st hubby, not Mr. Clairol) We went out, made out and he opened my world a bit to things I hadn't really thought much about. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was halfway in love with him when I went back to college.

We spoke on the phone that semester and saw each other when I came home for breaks. But 19 is a fickle age and I was hearing rumors that his ex was back in the picture. We had never agreed, explicitly, to an exclusive relationship. I was succumbing to a strange fever that gripped my Southern Baptist campus. I wanted a "real" relationship, one that was destined for the altar. And I knew, in my heart of hearts, that Jeremy wasn't that relationship. So one night, when I was introduced to and swept off my stupid feet by some poetry spouting knucklehead with wire-rimmed glasses and a slick line, I sloughed Jeremy off.

I went home and made a date with Jeremy. I sat there and told him that I didn't think he was "marriage material" and that I needed to move on. I was a shit. I look back and cringe at the words I used. It might comfort Jeremy to know that my idea of marriage material couldn't hold a job, cheated on me repeatedly and to this day, does not pay child support. Not only is 19 fickle, it is moronic.

Perhaps if I hadn't been in such a hurry to get married and so sure I wanted roses and moonlight, Jeremy and I might have developed something more permanent. Perhaps we could have grown up together. Who knows what might have been. I can't say I regret my decisions, only that I regret the way I treated a fine young man. My first marriage shaped me. It caused me to grow up and become the butt-kicking babe I am today. I don't think I would be who I am today without that and that would be a shame, because I like me. Plus, I wouldn't have Drama Queen. And I'm fairly sure I wouldn't have Mr. Clairol. Even if I could, I wouldn't go back and risk that.

But every once in a while, I get a little nostalgic and wonder where he is now. I hope he is successful and happy and completely satisfied with his life. I hope he pursued his kick boxing and his fascination with the Japanese language. I hope to God he kept that Camaro. Because, however brief our time was, he left his fingerprints on me. In a very good way. (Get your mind out of the gutter...I meant in a metaphorical sense. Yeesh.) Every time a brown Camaro passes by, I think about that red-haired boy and sigh. And, to this day, hockey games get me "in the mood."

No, I didn't share that part of the story. Some things are too much information. Trust me.

Fighting the Good Fight

2006-05-31T13:00:00.000-07:00

In order to maintain my current weight, which if I haven't mentioned before has not gone up since I got knocked up, I have been monitoring my food intake.

By monitoring, I mean thinking to myself, "Self, perhaps you shouldn't have another bowl of chocolate ice cream." I then drown out the voice of inner reason with ecstatic yummy noises, inspired by aforementioned ice cream.

(The inner voice of reason is connected to your inner second mouth, which is not to be confused with the third eye, which is you pituitary gland and....never mind.)

Seriously, though, I have been upping by veggie intake and limiting my sugar consumption. Shut up.
This was sabotaged by my darling father, who is already on my hit list for other more serious crimes, but who further blackened his reputation by bringing me a box of my greatest temptation in life.

Dewars Chews. Oye.

I'm sure he received the box as a part of the swag he frequently collects for speaking engagements and the like, and since his mid life crisis has reached truly epic proportions he has sworn off sugar. So, give it to your grandkids, right? Great in theory, but that box will NEVER reach my children. I am snarfing this stuff up at record rates.

Never heard of Dewars? Let me enlighten you.

I Bakersfield, CA, there is a candy shop ( duh, Dewars) that makes a superior white taffy that is wrapped around peanut or almond butter. Both varieties are stupendous, but almond is my very favorite. I think there are other flavors as well, but I haven't gotten past the peanut butter or almond to try them. I can put them out of my mind when they aren't around, since they are a) hard to get and b) a little pricey. But when I'm given a box? Watch out. I nearly snarled at Mr. Clairol for trying one. Yikes.

So we'll see what the scale says at tomorrow's visit.

Yoga and the expectant mother

2006-05-30T14:29:00.000-07:00

Did you know that your third eye is your pituitary gland, which is connected to the baby?

Yes, I know...I was surprised too.

I'm 8 months along and in an effort to eliminate a sore and achy back, I've purchased a yoga tape. Mir would be proud. I got it second hand and only paid $2.00 for it. It's been sitting on my desk for about a month, waiting for me to actually do it after the students leave.

Today, I attempted it for the first time and I've developed some helpful rules for the pregnant and yoga minded.

Top Ten Rules for Yoga and Pregnancy

10. ALWAYS pee before yoga.

9. Laughing is not the same as chanting.

8. That's okay, because chanting is not necessary to reap the benefits of yoga. Despite what the guru says.

7. Divine is not spelled Devine. I guess if I had my eyes closed like I was supposed to, I wouldn't have noticed. But why put it on the screen if I'm supposed to have my eyes closed? Is that where the third eye comes in?

6. Jeans are not yoga wear. Even the saggy, baggy maternity kind.

5. Wear slip on shoes, because tying sneakers is akin to very (crazy) advanced yoga in your third trimester.

4. Getting up off the floor is REALLY hard, no matter how easy the women on the tape make it look. I'm starting to suspect they are simply wearing pillows under those shirts.

3. Clear a very large space. This is important.

2. Yoga teachers love the word pelvis. Seriously.

1. Always pee before yoga. Yeah, I know that was number 10. It bears repeating.

Here's another factoid. Did you know that yoga builds your electro-magnetic field, which protects you and the baby during labor? Uh huh.

Also, Smarties are very Zen candy. I've been experimenting and they are chock full of Zenny goodness.

Closing thought. I will not chant anything I'm not sure of in translation. Call me paranoid.

Love of Language

2006-05-30T13:52:00.000-07:00

I am a word geek. I have a large vocabulary and flaunt it shamelessly. I use words like erudite and soporific in conversation. This has earned me a few "huh?" looks, but I don't care. I like having a good word for the occasion and using it. Being articulate is somewhat off-putting in my social circle, but you know what? So is groping your girlfriend at the company dinner. Which I NEVER do.

This being said, I was less than clear in an email I shot off on Friday. I was asked to pass on some information that I had gotten from our school counselor. So I typed up an email to our district special programs director and considered my work done.

Perhaps not.

Apparently, I used a poor turn of phrase, referring to something we would like to see happen as "our recommendation." This inspired a flurry of panicked phone calls and emails to various and assorted entities. Basically, I made it sound like my IEP team was recommending something we had no business recommending. Whoops. I've spent all day emailing and calling, assuring people that we were not grossly overstepping our legal limits. Instead, I "miscommunicated" and "used poor phrasing."

Somehow, I don't think I'll be called on by the White House or even the Governor's Mansion to handle any PR emergencies. And that's fine, 'cause the thought of being groped by Ah-nold makes me a little queasy. But, then again, that's probably the pregnancy talking.

And no, the nursery isn't ready for photos yet. Shut up.

Timing is Everything

2006-05-25T13:17:00.000-07:00

As an SDC teacher, I teach a lot of different subjects. One of those is 7th grade science. As any Californian teacher knows, this is the year of life science, which in turn means...the reproductive cycle. Oh yeah, baby. That's right.

So we've reached the end of the book and the last chapter is all about sex and reproduction and babies and birth. I am a living, breathing, science model. The kids listened to the chapter on birth and development today and had so many questions, we used most of the period for discussion. This is what I had fantasized teaching would be like. As I was standing there, answering questions about placenta and uterine cavities, the little sailor did a monster somersault that was FULLY visible to my horrified and delighted class.

"Was that the baby?!?" one young woman wanted to know.

I simply smiled and nodded

"Oh now, that has GOT to hurt!" said a young man.

"Not really. The kicks in the ribs hurt worse than that." I replied.

They continued to pepper me with questions about delivery and water breaking and epidurals. Sailor boy, bless him, kicked and jabbed like Billy Blanks on speed. Every time my belly jumped, they would oooh and aaah. We pulled up a picture of what a 32 week old fetus looked like and one of my brighter students realized that 9 months was 36 weeks. We then talked about how pregnancy is really 10 months, not nine and how, in four weeks, I could give birth at any time.

"What if you water breaks in class?" A asked.

"I guess I would have to call the office and get a ride from class. But that's not going to happen. We're done here in about four weeks anyway and my last pregnancy was 41 weeks long."

"41!" the girls squealed.

Heh heh heh. It's excellent birth control if you ask me. Maybe I'll let Mr. Clairol tape this birth...

Random Bits of the Here and There

2006-05-24T11:53:00.000-07:00

Bit #1

Oh my GOD! I love being pregnant. During the first trimester, I lost a bit of weight. This is to be expected when you're throwing up everything you eat. I figured that we would be using the post weight lost figure as the base line for measuring my *dum dum dum* WEIGHT GAIN *dum dum!*

But no! We are using the pre weight loss figure as the base line! As a result, I have not gained any weight during this pregnancy. I Have Not Gained Any Weight During This, My Third Pregnancy!! My ObGyn tells me I should probably try to gain at least 10 pounds in the next couple of months. Heee hee hee. I'm still a little giddy, folks. I'm an economy sized girl, so I'm pretty sure this is the first time a doctor has told me gain weight. Dr. Lovely has recommended adding a serving of low-fat dairy to my daily intake. I think that means have a cookie.

Bit #2

I am rediscovering my love of teaching. Somewhere along the way, my bad attitude has evaporated (must be the top 10 lists) and I am rekindling my passion for the craft. This is not to say I am rethinking the SAHM track. Come on people, the worst of this years crop is sixth graders. I'd have them for another two years!!! It only means I will be a little sad in 22 days. And by the way, I haven't gained ANY weight with this pregnancy.

Bit #3

I love my mom. She is the smartest, prettiest, most talented woman on the planet and she's hanging tough through a really bad stretch of life. Men should not have the option of leaving a thirty year marriage because they aren't happy any more. Even if they've been diagnosed with a terminal illness. Because, really, is it your marriage making you unhappy? I think not.

Anyway, she's coming over Friday, during the day and we are hoping to complete the transformation of the brown fish room of doom into a lovely nautical nursery for the baby sailor. Golly, I sound like Paige Davis from Trading Spaces. Is she still on that show? Is it even still on? I haven't gained any weight with this pregnancy.

If we can get the room done, I'll try to post pictures. I hear flicker is good for that. Unfortunately, I can't post any before shots, because contrary to my best intentions, I never remember to take before shots, until the room is almost done. Trust me though. It was ATROCIOUS.

Bit #4

I haven't gained any weight with this pregnancy. Is that getting old? Too bad.

Bit #5

I never thought I'd say this, but poor Britney. My sneering disdain has curdled into reluctant pity. That's all I'm gonna say.

Bit # 6

We did the pool thing last weekend and it was spectacular. I highly recommend swimming to stretch those tired back and leg muscles, refresh your too-hot system and attain a brief feeling of weightlessness. Plus, watching your husband toss your toddler around and listening to her belly laugh is like a drug, people.

Bit # 7

Jenny Lauck has a sort of new site at Clubmom called Big Slice of Life, small slice of cheesecake. She's documenting her weight loss efforts and posting some tasty menu plans and recipes. I highly recommend this site, but not because I'm trying to lose weight. You may have heard that I haven't gained any weight with this pregnancy. Also, check out JennyontheSpot. Different Jenny and you'll hate her for marathon training with 3, count 'em, 3 kids, but very good stuff.

Bit # 8

Thank you for your patience with my verbal victory dance. I know it got tiresome, but for a plus size girl to accomplish this was a huge deal. After the baby is born, look for numerous posts about trying to lose weight that I can't call baby weight in any fairness. We'll call it my pasta weight instead.

Bit # 9
Epidurals rule! Why do Obs guesstimate the size of the baby? Don't they know that freaks us out??? Missy Hoo Haw wasn't huge, but at 8lb 2 oz, she was no light weight. Did I mention 22 inches? Now Dr. Lovely is telling me that this one is probably (definitely, she whispers!) going to be bigger. The good news? He probably won't be late, like MH was. Thank you, Lord on high! He's measuring 2 weeks ahead of due date at this posting. I'm returning a bunch of the newborn size onesies, remembering that MH only wore them for a week. heh heh heh.

Bit # 10

Look for some fun potty training posts in our near future. MH is saying "poo poo" when she has to go and squatting soon after. She also starts saying "Ucky! EWWW!" when she has gone. Me thinks it's time to invest in a potty chair. And boy, they've gotten fancy! I did a little preview shopping this weekend and oh! the bells and whistles. Literally, bells and whistles! Wow. The last time I did this, pull ups hadn't even made an appearance yet.

Speaking of Pull ups...Any opinions on these? Do they help or hinder? Share with me your mothering wisdom and don't hate me because I HAVEN'T GAINED ANY WEIGHT DURING THIS PREGNANCY! whooo whoooo!

Bit # 11

Funny thing: a spell check brought up onesies and suggested replacing it with homesick. In the words of Drama Queen, "Who, what, when, where, why?"

Yes, she says this everytime she wants you to repeat something. Adolescence is such a joy!

The Outsiders...Finale

2006-05-23T08:26:00.000-07:00

Last night, I brought home a video to preview for my class. It was a filmed scene from the novel, The Outsiders, that two of my students had put together for their final project. Of course, Mr. Clairol...er... OBH, wanted to view it with me.

He loves having a teacher for a wife. This may sound like sarcasm, but it really isn't. He wants to hear the essays I am grading, look at the math homework I am creating, discuss the history I will be teaching. I love this man.

We were sitting on our bed and preparing to view the tape, when Drama Queen sauntered in and plunked herself down.

"I might as well get a few tips. I am going to be a middle schooler next year." Please envision a head toss here.

" Okay," I said, laughing silently. Or maybe out loud.

Missy Hoo Haw was also there. It was a family viewing, if you will. Can you picture it? Mounds of clean laundry, my almost two year old snuggled in a pile with an old t-shirt of her dad's (Of course it wasn't clean! Are you joking?), my eleven year old sprawled at the foot of the bed, OBH...no, Mr. Clairol (sorry, hon.) and I busily folding, the glow of the TV illuminating our faces. Norman Rockwell, eat your heart out.

The video was wonderful. It started with not one, but two introductions, artfully shot. The boys had chosen a scene from the church in Windrixville, with Johnny and Ponyboy telling Dally that they were turning themselves in. There was the requisite line fumbling, a few expository asides and then they cut to the fire at the church.

FIRE AT THE CHURCH???????

Relax. They used an RC car and action figures to simulate the boys driving to a paper church that had smoke bombs inside. With a little aerosol, they ignited the church and tossed the action figures in. The figure representing Johnny fell out (I have no clue how they arranged that...) and D screamed, "MY BACK...Oh God, MY BAAAAACK!"

Cut.

Mr. Clairol and I laughed so hard, we cried. DQ laughed because she thought the boys were really cute and maybe she does want to go to RHMS next year instead of WCMS. (Not a chance, sweetheart) She also wanted to borrow a copy of The Outsiders to read. (Again I say, No Way.) MH laughed because everyone else was. We watched it again and giggled some more, then put the girls to bed.

Later, Mr. Clairol asked if I wasn't going to miss teaching just a bit. And I guess I will.

TOP TEN THINGS I LOVE ABOUT TEACHING

10. 12 weeks paid vacation.

9. Getting visits from past students.

8. Decorating a classroom.

7. Grading exceptional work.

6. Having a student ask an insightful question.

5. Assigning a book and watching them discover they actually like what they are reading.

4. Class discussions where students are actually involved.

3. Teaching the Life Skills math budgeting and hearing students say, "I thought I was making a lot of money, but it goes so quickly!"

2. Hearing a parent say, "My kid really likes your classes."

1. Watching the 8th graders graduate and move on to a brave, new world. And crying.

Squirrel Central, Can I Help You?

2006-05-22T13:42:00.000-07:00

I don't what the heck was in the water at my place this weekend, but I'd like some more please.

Saturday morning, Missy HooHaw slept until 8:00 am...8:oo A.M.!!!!! Ahhhh, the bliss. When she did wake up, she was just as silly and happy as a girl could be, babbling and laughing hysterically at jokes only she got. She crawled over us in bed and when Daddy fell asleep and began snoring again, she laid her head down by his, shut her eyes and started to pretend snore. SO FREAKIN' CUTE! Then she started pointing out his facial features, yanking on his ears and touching her nose to his while yelling "WAKE UP!" Since I was awake, I naturally found this hilarious.

We dressed and ran some errands, while Drama Queen chirped about her friends new "secret club" and cast us dirty looks when we said the "H" word. What is the "H" word, you ask? Well pull up a chair and let me tell you!

DQ got her school pictures back on Friday and apparently, A told C to tell F that J said, "DQ looks totally hot in the class picture." Bwaaaahahahahahaha. DQ is mortified by this and will not even hear the "H" word. She brought a sample photo home, so we could make an informed choice about the package purchase. When Mr. Clairol saw this photo, he muttered, "Oh, sh**," opened a beer and sat on the couch. Every time he passed the fridge this weekend, he would glance at the picture, shake his head and sigh. Poor boy. Too be fair, she does look pretty hot in the picture. It's not the standard headshot. Oh no. DQ is reclining over a set of white stairs, looooong legs stretched out, head titled just so, with a sweet smile and a sweep of long brown hair. She's wearing a very modest sweater set and jeans, so it's not a cheesecake shot. It is however, a sobering glimpse of what is coming. Break out the shot gun.

While we ran errands (I love me some Lowe's!), we chatted about my garden and at the mention of tomatoes, MH launches into a torrent of speech. The words I understood? Grandma, 'mato, bite, yummmmm, not cheese, and cuppy. MH was introduced to grape tomatoes at her grandma's house recently and has developed a passion for tomatoes that rivals her love of cheese. Last night, she stealthily picked tomato bits out of my salad while I wasn't looking. I would look at her and she would smile a big, seedy smile and say, "Um!" hmmmm.

It went like that all weekend. There was a bit of sadness, when my dad came by to take DQ to the movies. They saw Akeelah and the Bee, then went to ice cream, where he told her about his diagnosis of ALS. She doesn't quite get it, me thinks. Her reaction? "Can we turn on the radio again?" Oh-kaaaay. When I attempted to talk to her, she simply asked if she could wear a red bracelet too. Double Oh-kaaaay.

So continues life in Casa de Ahnberg.

Top 10 things about this weekend.

10. Making more progress on the nursery. Pictures will be forthcoming, if I can figure out how.

9. Watching Missy Hoo Haw and Drama Queen dance to "Groove is in the Heart" by Delite.

8. Planting tomatoes in my brand new garden!

7. Listening to MH sing the theme song to Jack's Big Music Show.

6. The dirty looks in response to the H word.

5. Going to Lowe's and Michaels on the SAME weekend.

4. Mr. Clairol telling the stranger in the grocery check out line that no we weren't having another girl...this one was a BOY! (insert victory dance here. Oh yes, he did.)

3. Mr. Clairol telling me that I should change his blog name to Oily Bohunk...OBH for short. Go rent Sixteen Candles.

2. Swimming in our pool for the first time this summer.

1. Reading with both my girls snuggled into me and my baby boy somersaulting.

Life is SO good.

What the HECK Have I Gotten Us Into???

2006-05-18T09:30:00.000-07:00

The nursery is on the way to being complete. I've bought the first round of baby clothes and am shopping for bedding. The name is picked out and I am FREAKING OUT, people.

I"m not sure I can raise a boy. I've done all right with girls. I'm a girly-girl myself and and I love the whole twirly dress, ballet slipper, tea party gig. Love it. Now, Missy HooHaw is tough stuff and loves to rough house and play with cars and balls. But she also loves to brush hair and cuddle her baby dolls. She gets a charge out of watching me cook and playing with tupperware. Drama Queen is ALL GIRL. She's painting her nails and shopping for clothes, sampling the joys of lip gloss and pleading for "just a little glitter!"

But a boy? Urgh. See, I played soccer as kid, sort of. More like I put on the uniform and stood on the field, picking dandelions and twirling to the music in my head as the ball whizzed by. That's my sports experience in total. I never played with trucks or GI Joes. When my poor little brother wanted to play with me, we played Barbies.

I know all the wonderful books for girls to read. Eight Cousins, Nancy Drew, Trixie Belden, Ballet Shoes, and on and on. I don't know any great books for boys to read. What if he hates to read???? Even MH will sit for a half hour, looking at her board books, babbling in that curious toddler patois. What will I do with a child who turns up his nose at The Very Hungry Catepillar?

Am I worrying for nothing? I think not. I watch my friends raise their sons and think to myself, "That's not what I'm doing. Are boys really so different?" Apparently, they are. Pray for me. Daily. Without Ceasing. For I am great with child and fearful.

Sunny Side Up

2006-05-17T07:32:00.000-07:00

I have discovered that contrary to my perception of myself as a fairly optimistic person, I have a negative outlook on life. Several things happened yesterday that brought this home.

I was talking to a colleague yesterday and all of a sudden, really heard myself. I realized how negative I sounded and was a little appalled. I started to pay attention to wha I was saying and to what others were saying and got even more appalled. Mostly I like saying appalled. Anyway.

I didn't like how I sounded. My husband and I talked about it last night, and he just assumed I was miserable from being pregnant in the heat. Yikes. Then, I spoke briefly with my ex's current girlfriend and she asked how my pregnancy was. I started to give my standard, smart ass answer, then stopped and said, "Great."

I've been thinking about it for a while now. It's weighing on me. I don't like negativity. And I really don't want to model that for Drama Queen and Missy Hoohaw. Yeah, it's hot and I'm not the most comfortable I've ever been. But this is the LAST time I'll be pregnant. There is so much to love about this time and I've wasted most of it complaining. I don't want to do that anymore.

SO....

Top 10 Things I love about Pregnancy!

10. Seeing my OB/GYN once a month. Seriously...I really like her and it's nice to chat briefly.

9. My friend Andrea and I are pregnant at the same time...AGAIN!

8. My husband rubs my feet voluntarily!

7. The sweet smile I get from total strangers when they see my belly.

6. Conversations with total strangers, while standing in line. I used to hate this, but you know, it passes the time!

5. Hearing the heartbeat.

4. The way Missy HooHaw lays her head on my belly and pats it.

3. People jump to get me things...even Drama Queen. (except chicken and bread...)

2. Having a totally taut belly. Sure, it's convex and not concave, but it's still tight as a drum, baby!

1. Feeling him squirm and wriggle. What a miracle.

I thought this would be a hard list to put together, but it was actually pretty easy. I even left some things off, like the anticipation of seeing his face and holding his tiny hands. Decorating the nursery. The pride my husband feels in passing on his family name and naming his son after his father. Counting the kicks and wriggles.

Okay, now I'm all bummed that this is the last one. Dang it! This positive thinking stuff is tricky.

2006-05-09T12:48:00.000-07:00

I chose middle school because I didn't want to deal with young children. No, I'm not an ogre. I love small ones. I am enjoying the toddler years, for the most part. But 20 of them at a time? I'd prefer to have my feet burned off. I wipe noses, tie shoes and rub tummies at home. I don't want to do it at work.

However, the middle schooler is not bullet proof. Yesterday, I found this out the hard way.

My students filed in for homeroom looking healthy and somewhat awake. As is our routine, they took out a book and began the 15 minutes silent reading that starts everyday but Monday.

Seven minutes into the period, "A" came and asked if he could go to the bathroom. I said yes and he left. Two minutes later, he staggered back in, his face the livid green of a healing bruise. "Mrs. ****, I don't feel so good." He then proceeded to sink slowly to the floor. YIKES!

Of course, my intrepid aide was down in the office, making copies. I am in a rather isolated building at the outer edge of our large campus. I calmly called the office, explained I had a sick student that needed help getting to the office and could they send the golf cart up? The student was coming to and I helped him into a chair, guiding his head between his knees. I shooed the other students back to their seats, discreetly slid a wastebasket nearer to A and prayed he didn't toss his cookies. In short, I was great in the crisis.

After I got Alex sent off to the office, I called his mom, so she had time to leave work and get here. I called the secretary to let her know what was up and knew exactly when Alex came in the office. She gasped and whispered, "He's so white, he's green!" Yep...that had been my impression.

I figured A was going to be down for a while, but who should saunter in this morning, looking chipper and fit?
He reports a trip to the emergency room, but no diagnosis. The medical community had no clue what the problem was. He seems fine today. I'm still minorly traumatized, but hey, I'll deal. Still beats kindergarten.

The Joys of Being "Spouse"

2006-05-08T12:28:00.000-07:00

This weekend was my husband's annual employee appreciation dinner. Hoo Boy.

Now, I'm not one to bitch and moan about a free dinner and an open bar, even if I do have to wear a nametag that reads, "Spouse." It's a pretty sweet deal. There's cocktail hour and the catered dinner is surprisingly good. Plus, it's a huge company with 13 car dealerships and the employees move alot between dealerships. We get to see people we haven't seen in a while. My husband still gets a charge out of escorting me around and introducing his wife. He honestly believes I am the most gorgeous woman in the room. (He's a better judge of engines than women, apparently.) It's pretty fun.

Except when you're sober.

This year, I was pregnant, so no open bar or wine with dinner. That's not to say I wasn't asked to go get drinks for a couple of the guys who had been cut off. Yeah, I'm serious. And yeah, I refused. I sat at the table and realized for the first time, that my husband and I have some seriously obnoxious friends.

Our table was loud. LOUD. The president of the company had to stop talking twice because the noise from our group was distracting. This is a ballroom with over 600 people in it. These guys and their wives were yukking it up, heckling the people being introduced, whistling and hooting...you get the picture. I have to say, this is kind of the president's fault. He gives a long speech. His father, who started the company, gives a short speech. Then there is a 3 minute video for every person getting a 5, 10, 15, etc. year service pin for all 13 dealerships. And to ask a bunch of drunk mechanics to be quiet for all that? Not fair. Even I wasn't paying attention, but there were a lot of distractions at our table.

The couple next to us started dating a couple of months ago. He had both hands up her skirt and was kissing her cleavage. NO, I am not exaggerating. I am serious. Thankfully, they disappeared for an hour after desert. The couple across the table was hiding the centerpiece, a HUGE silver vase, packed full of pink and white carnations, under the table so they could take it with them. The couple on the other side of us were so drunk, they were staring around with silly grins, saying the F word loudly, while the table next to us was shushing them.

They weren't the only ones. I started counting the F bombs early in the night, but lost count after 187. Again, not exaggerating. I hang out with a classy bunch. And I didn't even count the MF bombs. I put that in a different category of cursing.

Then there was the entertainment. Last year, it was a troop of musical theater actors doing numbers from Broadway musicals. You know, Phantom, Cats, etc. They were fine, but it was plain why they were singing for a car dealership and not Stephen Sondheim. This year was Fabulous Fifties and the same group, doing golden oldies. They were actually worse this year. My group left the room and congregated in the bar, probably because there wasn't anything to throw.

We came back for the raffle, in which 15 $200 mall certificated were given away. The woman beside me was counting how many times people from the same dealership won. Curious? Sure you are. Audi won 6 times, Acura won 4 times, Land Rover won twice. Lexus: 3, but hey...they came all the way from Concorde! No one from the VW store won, which caused a loud chorus of boos and "Fix!" from my table. I think they were drunk enough to slur their words, so probably, no one could understand anyway.

My favorite moment was when I went to the bathroom and two older ladies were at the mirror. They got very quiet when I walked in and I recognized them from one of the tables surrounding ours. I'm sure the dirty looks were the give-away. I smiled and very nicely apologized for my table. They just shook their heads and left. Hey, they were lucky it wasn't the aquaintance I'll dub "Miss Mai Tai." She actually invited a 60 year old woman outside at Outback one year. Yessiree. Classy.

We went home shortly after. It was a 4 and a 1/2 hour evening that seemed about 12 hours long. Thank heavens most of them had rooms at the hotel that night. And thank you, sweet Jesus, that they did away with the Christmas party.

Next year, I'm getting hammered.

Treading Water...sort of

2006-05-04T13:56:00.000-07:00

I'm back from my off track time and I wish I could say that it was just what I needed to get some perspective. Unfortunately, that would be a lie.

I won't complain. I won't whine. I'm looking on the sunny side. Really.

So today, I'll blog as a mom. That's feeling like a pretty great job right now.

I was driving home Tuesday with Missy HooHaw and Drama Queen, when I realized I had forgotten to pick up a rotisserie chicken on my way to get MH. No big deal, right? WRONG!

1) nothing was thawed for an alternate dinner
2)pizza night was Monday
3) I had cleaned out the fridge and given leftovers to Angus, the canine garbage disposal.

So go into the store and get the chicken, you say. HAHAAHAHAHAHA. You, dear reader, have forgotten what it is to wrestle a 32 pound toddler into her car seat in the 7th month of pregnancy. Missy Hoo Haw HATES her car seat and is not above fighting dirty to avoid sitting in it. What to do?

I pulled into the parking lot of our hideously overpriced, but familiar neighborhood supermarket and turned to (11 year old, almost 12) Drama Queen. "How would you like to run an errand?"

"Sure," she said, "what do you want me to do?"

I handed her ten dollars and said, "Go in and buy a cooked chicken and a loaf of bread."

Obviously, in teen speak, this means "Run around naked, screaming the Star Spangled Banner at the top of your voice." She was horrified.

"I can't do that!" she exclaimed.

"Why not?"

"People are going to see some kid buying chicken and bread and think I'm an orphan or something!!! What if they call the cops?" I'll insert here that she wasn't joking...she really believed this was a possibility. The nick name making more sense? I thought so.

"Honey, no one is going to think you're an orphan. And as long as you PAY for the food, they won't call the cops. You can even get a candy bar with the change."

"Oh great!!! A kid buying chicken, bread and a CANDY BAR??????" They'll really think I"m an orphan! What parent lets their kid buy CANDY?!?!?!?!?"

No, I didn't laugh, gentle reader. I didn't strangle her. I bowed to her logic and called Mr. Clairol, who picked up the chicken and bread (and a candy bar, soda, chips and lunchmeat) on his way home. That night, I thought of all the times Jenny P and I rode our bikes to the Superway and bought candy with our allowances, never suspecting that all the people we passed were feeling sorry for those poor orphans.

Ah, Parenthood.

Dream Days

2006-04-05T11:47:00.000-07:00

I recently gave my English class a writing prompt that asked them to describe their dream day. A few samples, unedited. Keep in mind this is a journal and we edit selected entries later, as a proofing exercise.

8:00 am: Sleep
9:00 am : sleep
10:00 am: eat cocopufs and play Runescape
11:00 am play Runescape
12:00 pm: sleep

another:
8:00 am: Have pancakes at IHOP
9:00 am: shopping
10:00 am: shopping
11:00 am: shopping
all the way to
9:00 pm: shopping

my favorite?
8:00 am: brekfast in bed
9:00 am: watch my older sister cleen my room.
10:00 am: watch my younger sister pick up the dog poop. (Normally his chore.)
11:00 am: Watch Sponge bob
12:00 pm: play basketball
1:00 pm: eet lunch
2:00 pm: play basketball
3:00 pm: wach Mrs. A do my homework. (yep, that's me.)
4:00 pm: change my grades to As
5:00 pm: eet dinner at Steve's (a local pizzeria)
6:00 pm: Go on a date with Hillary Duff.
7:00 pm: go on a date with ashly simpson.
8:00 pm: ride motocross with cry hrt. (I have no idea who that is.)
9:00 pm: Stay up all night!

My aide and I laughed until we cried at that one. Of all my students, he was the one who really took the assignment to heart. No repetetive activities. Just a dream day. I loved it and with his permission,read it to the class as an example of what the assignment should look like. He got a little grief, (mostly from me) about the dates, but he's an eighth grader and girls are looking pretty good right now.

Then my class asked me what my dream day would look like. Interesting. I've never had a class turn that prompt around on me like that. This is what I shared...

8:00 am Shower, dress, walk into a sparkling clean kitchen and breakfast made for me.
9:00 am yoga class (pre-natal, of course.)
10:00 am walk my dog along the river.
11:00 am Coffee and scones with my best friend
12:00 pm shopping spree at Pottery Barn and Crate and Barrel.
1:00 pm Lunch with my mom.
2:00 pm massage (pre-natal, of course) That would be where one of the kids asked if a regular massage would make the baby pop out. BWAAAAHAHAHAHA
3:00 pm hair and nails done.
4:00 pm fabulous new outfit delivered
5:00 pm dinner and play with my husband.
8:00 pm bed. Another student asked if I really went to bed at 8:00. I replied truthfully, "Yes, after my husband wakes me up from being asleep on the couch since after dinner. "

The student replied, "No wonder it takes you so long to get stuff graded."
BUSTED!

What's your dream day? I've decided to make at least part of mine come true, once a month. Maybe just the coffee and scones part with my best friend. Maybe just the getting my nails done. But one thing, every month. I encourage you to do the same.

A non-teaching, non-child, non-spouse rant

2006-04-03T13:31:00.000-07:00

You know what I hate? People who whine about the weather. Needless to say, I'm getting pretty irritated these days.

Any Northern California resident reading this understands what I'm talking about. It seems like it has been raining non-stop for ages. And yes, I'd love to see some sun too. But I'm not goin to moan and groan about it. Put on your galoshes, button up your rain coat and get on with it! Come on folks, it's not like we're living in, I don't know...Texas? New Orleans? Mississippi?

Now Mom, I know we just talked about the weather and no, this isn't directed at you. See, Mom is a sun bunny. The mo' hotta, the mo' betta for her. If it dips below 80, she's chilled. I get her complaints because she truly suffers in the cold. Plus, she listens to me complain about pregnancy and never once says, "hi...you actually signed up for this. Quit whining." Well, just that once.

Everyone else in the Nor- cal area needs to get a grip. Rain is NOT news. Not until it's destroyed something.

I will smack the next person who says to me, "When will this rain stop?"

Unless it's my mom. 'Cause she hits back.

Feeling Better...sort of

2006-03-27T10:20:00.000-08:00

I've left the negative behind me. Now all I have t0 do is quit going back to pick it up.

This post is a lot of tiny, random things that have been preying on my mind for a while. Feel free to share your thoughts about any and all. I looooooove comments.

1. Does a toddler in a car seat really count for the carpool lane? I've been told yes, but I still feel weird about it. It feels a lot like obeying the letter of the law, but not the spirit. And I'm not sure I believe the peron who told me yes. She's gotten a LOT of tickets.

And why don't I have the same reservations about using the carpool lane with my eleven year old in the car?

2. Is anyone else annoyed by showers? Not the daily, wet kind. The bridal/baby variety. I thought I was free from showers while pregnant with Missy HooHaw. After all, she was my second. Not so! I was forced (so NOT kidding) to have two showers and while I appreciate that people want to celebrate a new life and all, the idea of showers makes me a little uneasy. I feel like I'm telling people, "Hey, I decided to get knocked up, so give me stuff." This doesn't sit well with me. Especially for a second,third, fourth, etc. child. And now people want me to have another!

I don't mind going to other peoples showers. Not my favorite thing to do, but I'll bring a gift and play silly games. And smile.

3. Why is a sleeper with oatmeal down the front of it irritating and a party dress with cupcake frosting everywhere freakin' adorable?

4. Why do preteen boys turn everything, including milk consumption, into a competition?

5. I love when student says something inadvertantly funny and the entire class, including the student and I laugh until we cry. Even sweeter is when I am the butt of the joke and my students realize I can laugh at myself. Teachable moment + comic relief = priceless.

I do a vocabulary exercise every week where I say the word then point to the class and they say the word. They have to wait for the point though. One of my students was helping a new kid learn the ropes and told him to watch, I was going to give them the finger. "You have to wait until Mrs. A gives you the finger." We laughed for three minutes straight. My mascara even ran a little. Even now, it makes me giggly.

6. What kind of crack do they put in Girl Scout cookies? 6 boxes, people, and I didn't even leave a crumb behind.

7. Is it the same crack they put in the cheesecake with caramal and chocolate ganache at Macaroni Grill? Cause, dang! I had soup and that YUMMY bread for dinner, then mowed down 3/4 of a piece of cheesecake. The soup was great, the bread,as I said before,yummy, but the cheesecake? Oh My Gawd.

8. I get enormous satisfaction from recommending a book to a child that they wind up loving. I'll be giving one of my eighth graders a copy of Margaret Haddix's Among the Hidden because when we read it as a class, last year, he loved it so much he read the other four books from my library, bought the fifth at a book fair and got really excited when the sixth was in a book order form. He and I met at lunch once a week and discuss the book he's reading. I'm going to miss that.

9. I hate it when authors kill off a central character that is beloved by the readers. Yeah, Rowling, I'm talking to you! I love though, that it provokes an hour long discussion with my daughter, who read the entire Harry Potter series,1-6, in two weeks.

Remind you of anyone, Jennyonthe spot? (Hey look! My first link!!!!!)

10. That leads to my last bit. Friends re precious. People come and go in our lives. Dear friends disappear, because life intrudes and it's hard to pick up the phone or log onto the computer. But my husband works with his childhood friend every day and we are raising our children together. What a gift. Jenny, I know that distance separates us, but you are in my thoughts daily and I miss you.

Okay, I'm done. Thanks for listening. Comment. I like hearing your thoughts on things.

ignoring the bad

2006-03-21T14:52:00.000-08:00

Today has been a King Kamahamaha bad day. So I'm going to post about yesterday and my cutie pie toddler. I need to not talk about today. If I do, I might cry.

Yesterday, I got home and like a good little flybaby, rebooted my laundry. I picked up a couple of hotspots, dragged the book basket and the babydoll basket out and put on some Laurie Berkner. Missy Hoohaw started to boogie and, as I folded, I boogied too, much to her delight. Even the baby was kicking. We sang and MH grabbed a baby and danced around the living room with it. It was one for the books, let me tell you. Even in the midst of "terrible twos," she continues to delight and surprise me. She sang to the babydoll after the CD ended and when Drama Queen finished her homework, she read MH a book. Seeing my girls, curled up on the couch reading got me a little choked up. I love being a mom.

Tomorrow, I may be able to share the horrible day. For now, I'm going home to stick my head under the covers and cry a little.

Ahhh Spring

2006-03-17T14:05:00.000-08:00

This weekend, I m not taking homework. I'm going to IKEA instead. hoo... rah. (Think Jamie Foxx in Jarhead.)

Here's the thing. We have a four bedroom house and two children. We knew when we moved in that we would try for another, but that spare room got filled with junk anyway. Now I have filing cabinets, a desk and computer, plus assorted boxes that didn't scream, "UNPACK ME!!!!!!" last December. Which means that I get to know sort through this pile and find new places for everything. I started this last month and got halfway through. In the time since, the stuff left in the room has procreated and birthed NEW stuff. I tried leaving a packet of birth control pills in there, but they must have been expired.

The other thing that has been occuring in that month is a continuous argument between Mr. Clairol and myself about whether the two, huge, five foot wide filing cabinets really need to be moved. I'll relate a small, representative sample of the conversations.

Me: "We really need to start looking for a smaller filing cabinet."
MC: "Another one?"
Me: "No, a replacement for the two we have."
MC: "What's happening to those?"
Me: "We're getting rid of them,because there is no where else to put them."
MC: " Why can't they stay where they are?"
Me: "Because that's going to be the baby's room."
MC: " Can't we just throw a blanket over them and use them as a table?"
Me: banging my head against a wall, because this is the 58th time this conversation had happened.

So I found a small oak filing cabinet in my dad's office that is being auctioned off. (Thanks dad.) And I'm buying a cheap computer desk at Ikea to replacce the cheap one we bought there two years ago, but that now doesn't fit the dimensions of the space we are putting the computer. All this and wallpaper stripping too.

You know you want my life. nanner nanner.

STRESS!!!!!!!!!

2006-03-16T12:40:00.000-08:00

As a new trimester dawns, I begin preparing my eighth graders for high school. This is a time fraught with anxiety and fear for parents and students, with high school looming large and unfamiliar. A new campus. New teachers. Higher expectations. The Exit Exam. Driving. Dating! DANCES!!

This same drama played out when they came to us as little fifth grade seedlings. The shift from elementary to middle school is terrifying and during the transition meeting, parents are understandably nervous. Changing classes, locker rooms and eighth grade bullies are the boogiemen of these parent's nightmares. These years are not ones that most of us remember fondly. Mine were torturous, so I sympathize. But you can't stay in elementary school forever, and by the end of sixth grade, most students are comfortable and established. They get cocky in the eighth grade, until March dawns and we teachers start reading announcements about high school orientation.

We are still months away from the thrill of graduation, but in order to move our little striplings on we must meet with the high school departments and set up schedules for out students. The students are generally excited because our high school has a coffee delivery program that it's Sp Ed department runs. They get a glimpse of ROP options and art classes. Parents are white-knuckled because this meeting talks about diplomas vs. certificates of completion, exit exams and more independence for their child. The meetings are held at the high school, so on their way in, they view a parade of young adults who seem ages older than their student. How on earth is my child going to cope with this, they wonder. How can I drop them off in this jungle every day, their bewildered faces ask.

(I know this because my fifth grader is preparing to enter the world of middle school and my fears are the same. I will freely admit to being a basketcase when eighth grade ends. I know that in three short years, I will send her to high school and her younger sister to kindergarten. Buy stock in Kleenex now. )

Here, in these meetings, I'm not the big, bad teacher who assignes too much homework and grades their child unfairly. I am not the ogre who demands a tardy slip when they are only ten minutes late. I am the security blanket. I am the familiar. I am the face of three years, who has nurtured their child through rough years. I am the one who will cry with them at graduation and send these little striplings onto bigger and better things. Little do they know, these meetings are as hard for me as they are for the parents.

An Aging Teeny Bopper Speaks Her Mind

2006-03-14T11:30:00.000-08:00

After finishing a surprisingly successful (and highly simplified) unit on fairy tales, I've moved on to somewhat contemporary literature. Last year, my class read the first three books from Margaret Haddix's Shadow Children series. If you have 6-8 graders, I recommend it. Very good books.

This year, to give my 8th graders a break, I'm teaching The Outsiders in my language arts class. They LOVE it. About three-fourths of the class is reading it independently and today, one of my students asked if S.E. Hinton had written other books. This is moment that is seldom granted to those of us who teach SDC. Our students do not tend to seek out opportunities to read. I am still basking in the glow.

At the beginning of the unit, I sent a letter home to parents and a contract for the final project. The letter detailed what the unit would include and had a permission slip for viewing the movie at the close of the unit. To date, I have had three mothers call to ask if they could come and watch the movie with the class. One asked me if she could borrow the tape when I was done with it. This did not come as a surprise to me.

You see, many of these mothers are only a few years older than I am. Movies like The Outsiders reduce us to swooning preteens again. The same thing happens when Rick Springfield or Duran Duran is played on the radio. It is unavoidable and uniquely female. The closest thing I could compare it to is the nostalgia a man feels, when he sees the first car he ever owned or the car he coveted as a teenager. In my mind, I refer to it as a bubblegum moment. I'm relatively sure everyone has them and I know they are triggered by different things. My late mother-in-law got a wistful grin when an Elvis song played. Jenny I. has them when "Ice, Ice, Baby" comes on the radio. (Yes, you do. )

I was too young to watch The Outsiders when it first came out. It was many years later, as a high school student, that I first saw the movie. I melted when Ralph Macchio gazed out of those wounded eyes or grinned slightly. I completely understood Cherry's claim that she could fall in love with Dallas Winston. I became a Matt Dillon groupie right there and then. In fact, my only real hangup about watching this movie is calling my husband "Dallas" at an inopportune moment. It could happen.

So I eagerly await the close of the unit. I've warned my class that I will probably cry. I always do when Johnny tells Ponyboy to, "Stay gold." I'm going to try to control the drooling over Ralph, Matt and yeah, even Patrick Swayze. The good news is it will be dark and I should be able to discreetly wipe the corners of my mouth.

Recovering from procrastination

2006-03-13T11:36:00.000-08:00

I don't want to jinx myself or anything, but I think I may have found a way to kick my procrastination habit.

A couple of weeks ago, I noticed Jenny mention Flylady at Three Kid Circus. The same day, Mir mentioned Flylady as well. I got curious. What is Flylady? Why are two such fabulous women, whom I deeply admire and respect mentioning it? I had to know.

When I clicked on Mir's link, I read through a section called "Shining your Sink." When I finished laughing and changing my undies, I read more. Basically, it was a housekeeping/ organization/life guide for the domestically challenged. Yep, I am one.

I scoffed at the site. You have to realize that I am a second generation slob. My mother's approach to housework was always, "Why? There are so many other things you could do!" I internalized this and adopted it as my own philosophy. Piles of laundry are silent. I have an eleven year old Cinderella, so the most pressing duties can be delegated. Dinner? hmmm. Pizza, anyone? Flylady? Forgot it. Or so I thought.

I arrived home that evening with a toddler, tween and KFC (ugh) and opened my book. The tween did her homework, the toddler romped through the (messy) house, cavorting with laundry clean and dirty. Dinner congealed on the counter, waiting for my spouse to come home. But a funny thing happened. I couldn't get Flylady out of my head. She was whispering to me, "You are better than this. You deserve more than this. Your family deserves more than this. GET OFF YOUR FRANNY!"

I put down my book. I went into my kitchen. I snapped on some gloves and I SHINED MY SINK!!!!! I laughed at myself the entire time. I truly couldn't believe I was actually doing it. But when I was finished, I had a huge smile on my face. It felt really good.

So the next day, I signed up for Flylady's Yahoo group. I began getting emails with suggestions for routines. It's starting slow. So far I have a morning routine. It's not really that much more time-consuming than my previous one. I get out of bed 15 minutes earlier, which is not less sleep, but less snooze bar. It took a week to really get it down, but this morning, I left with a clean bathroom, a made bed, a lunch and breakfast for my children, myself and my husband and a spring in my step. I feel good. Empowered. Do you know that last week, I made dinner every single night? And made/delivered a meal to a friend who just had a baby! This is epic for me. My husband is proud, my tween slightly confused, the toddler oblivious, but man, do I feel good!

Here's the weird part. It's affecting other areas of my life. I realized while I was shining my sink, that a huge part of my problem is procrastination. I put things off. A lot. When I stopped doing that at home, it was easier to do at work. This week, I am completely planned, copies made, and the next two weeks are laid out as well. My prep was spent prepping (and blogging.) and returning phone calls. My aide is impressed and, like my tween, a bit confused. It's fun.

Now if I can just keep it going.

And the winner is....

2006-03-07T11:41:00.000-08:00

I've got news. Lots of news. But I'm rationing it. You never know when life will get boring.

Last week, I was a little distracted by my ultrasound appointment. I spent Monday, Tuesday and most of the day Wednesday, telling people, "No, I don't know yet, we find out on Wednesday." That got a bit old.

Then on Wednesday, I chugged 78 ounces of water and held my straining bladder for two hours, sitting in a chair, squirming. I sat in the waiting area with Mr. Clairol, and the b**** of a receptionist kept grinning at me. I know she was thinking, "You are going to pee your pants at any minute and I am going to pretend to be sympathetic, but inside I'll be laughing my head off."

I bet they have a pool going. You know, how many women are going to wet themselves today? (I should say here that pregnancy makes me paranoid.) Mr. Clairol tried to distract me, until I looked him in the eye and said, "Do you really think talking about the Volkswagon Fast is going to make me forget I have to pee?!?" No, I'm not really what you'd call gracious under pressure.

The torture continued until I was called back. My husband recognized the woman as the tech that had performed our ultrasound with Missy Hoohaw. They chatted for a bit, but as Art was pulling out pictures of M.H., I cleared my throat and politely asked if we could start, since I REALLY HAD TO PEE!!!!!!!!! The technician fired up the machine and began to press a sonagram wand into my bursting bladder. I think she was just testing how far she could go until I cried. She didn't realize I would hit her before that happened. Luckily, it didn't come to that. She took some necessary measurements and showed us a foot and a hand. A nurse stuck her head in and said there was a woman out there with a 3:15 appointment, who was wondering if they could start her now, because she really had to pee and didn't think she could hold it any longer. The tech, bless her, looked at the clock and said, "It's not even 2:30 yet. I'm kind of in the middle of something here." I did not march out and demand that the whiner toughen up. Are you proud? I was.

After a few more stills and a shot of the brain, she let me take some of the pressure off. She gave me a little dixie cup and told me to fill it twice...no more. I would have laughed, but then I would have missed the cup.

After the filling and emptying of the cup (yeah, I filled it more than twice. SHHHHHH.), our technician commented on what a busy baby we had. And she was right. That little one was all over! Then, the moment of truth. "Do you want to know why it's so busy?" she asked, smiling at us.
My husband, clueless, said, "Why?"

"It's a boy."

And there was much rejoicing in the land.

Hello Again

2006-02-23T07:21:00.000-08:00

Unh.

I am suffering from adult onset ADD. I can focus on nothing. I start six different projects and jump between them randomly, only to abandon them halfway through when something shiny catches my eye.

Something Shiny???? WHERE?

Or maybe it's just second trimester pregnancy.

I am developing a new sympathy for the bulk of my students. It's really hard to be pissy about late assignments, when last trimester's fairy tales have yet to be graded. I'm making up the current unit (The Outsiders) as I go along basically. I hate that. I'm trying to get organized, but I'm not having a whole heck of a lot of luck. I keep looking at the calendar, counting down days. Ironically, this seems to be the ONLY thing I can concentrate on. Go figure.

The same behavior is happening at home. My house is extremely messy. I'd love to blame this on Mr. Clairol and Drama Queen, but he has been at brakes and suspension school all week. (yes, such a thing exists. I was flabbergasted. Apparently there is a class for every part of every make and model of VW. huh. This of course leads to the question, why the heck do I drive a Chevy? but that's for another post.) Since I put DQ on a plane to see her father last Sunday, I have to face the truth. It's Missy Hoohaw. Sigh.

Oh well. I guess I'll get back to work.

To Anonymous,

I'm sorry that you have such negative feelings about your principal. It sounds like you're not real happy with your current situation. I wish I had some better advice, but I'l give it to your straight. Your accusations are vague. You need to substantiate them with hard proof. Like, actual quotes, witnessed by other, reliable students or better yet, a faculty member. Get your parents on board. Once you have actual incidents documented (and spell checked ), submit it to your superintendent.

This may or may not get results. The hard truth is, many students have complaints about teachers and administrators. A lot of times, those complaints never get addressed. That's sad, because I think if we listened to teenagers and tried to explain things to them, they might feel like they mattered more. And even if your complaints do get addressed, the answer may not be satisfactory. Welcome to growing up.

Good luck

This Thing Called Love

2006-02-10T11:52:00.000-08:00

I'd like to think that by this time in my life, I know a thing or two about love. I've been in love a few times and been knocked on my keister by it more times than I readily admit. But for all my experience, somethings just take me by surprise.

Indulge me while I share some backstory. I married (too) young and was trapped for a few years in a miserable marriage. I almost threw a party when I discovered my husband had cheated on me and I finally had a bullet-proof excuse for ending it. Of course, I let myself be talked into reconciliation, because we had a child. Urgh. Eventually, that too failed and after the divorce was finalized, I thought "Been there, done that."

I spent several years as a single mother, dating casually, but never thinking of marriage. I liked being single and not accountable to anyone. I liked not having to compromise. As my daughter grew older, the stress of parenting eased somewhat and I had my family as a support network. I had no need of a husband. None.

And then I met my husband, who as I mentioned before, is a bottle blond and thus is christened Mr. Clairol.

He was tending bar at a mutual friends graduation party and I had an instant case of lust-itis. Not that he's an underwear model or anything. In fact, when I told my friend of my growing crush, she laughed and said, "No...seriously, who are you hot for?"

But I was hot for him. Being a fairly old-fashioned woman, a one-night stand or casual sex of any kind was out of the question. So I lusted in quiet and dated other men and thought about him. Every time our paths crossed, there was something.

Here's the kicker. He was oblivious. He knew I was alive, but that was about it. Until he bummed a ride home in my rickety old car. Did I mention he's a mechanic?

After that night, my friends and his engaged a three week campaign to encourage him to ask me out. Which he did, eventually. He was hours late to our first date, but something made me give him a second chance. I'm so glad I did. Three weeks after that date, he looked at me and said, "Just so you know, I'm off the market. I've found what I've been looking for." And oddly enough, I had found what I wasn't looking for.

And lust became love. I married him a few months after that and have never regretted a single moment of our life together. He made me believe in the whole schmoopy, meant to be, soul mate crap, which believe me, causes me some embarrasment. But when you meet a man who cheers when you pass gas, smiles at you across a room and tells you every day that you are beautiful, it puts you in a schmoopy mood.

Mr. Clairol, I love you. Thank you for our life together. I look forward to every second of it. (Except for the labor pains. Those, not so much. But I'll do it. For us.)

You may stop gagging now.

In "Honor" of Mr. Rodriguez

2006-02-07T11:34:00.000-08:00

I have finally become that teacher. You know, the one you shudder when you think back on. I've had a few in my day, like the afore mentioned Mr. Rodriguez, who had students he liked and students that he made wear a sign reading "Estudiante Estupido." His dislike was not incurred by lack of effort or linguistic ability. He was like an animal or a schoolyard bully. If he smelled weakness in you, he attacked. I should clarify. That's not the teacher I'm becoming.

Rather, like poor Mrs. Brookshire, I'm becoming disillusioned by the lack of effort students seem willing to make. I didn't like Mrs. B, because she was a bit rigid and had little tolerance for humor. She had a job to do and she was going to do it. I felt like she never took the time to know me and recognize what was special in me. Now that I'm in her shoes, I hate to admit it, but I'm finding sympathy for her.

I am fighting a battle against apathy and a false sense of entitlement. (Boy, that sounds so grandiose!)Apparently, these children have gotten the impression that school should be convenient to them and not entail anything challenging or unpleasant. Wow. If I had only known.

Today a student told my aide that he shouldn't have to take the writing assessment, because he wasn't here yesterday for the pre-writing activity. She sent him to me and the conversation went something like this.

Student: "I can't take this because I wasn't here yesterday for the planning lesson."

Me: "And you weren't here why?"

Student: " I didn't get out of bed."

Me: " Sounds like a personal problem to me. Here's the thing. When you miss school, you miss stuff. Sometimes it can be made up, other times it can't. It's not my job to get you dressed and to school. That's your job. If you can't do that, please don't expect me to compensate for that, because I won't. Sit down and start your writing assessment."

Student: " But..."

Me: "Sit down. Begin writing. Now."

Student: "I..."

Me: " Now. And I do mean now."

He looked ready to cry. I wasn't moved. I am fed up with this idea that school is tailored to their desires. If you can't get up in the morning, tough.

Then, to top it off, I passed out a vocabulary exercise and a young lady whimpered, "But I don't like these."

"Hmm, well I don't like whiny 7th graders, but I have to deal with them every day." I shot back.

Boy, I'm really moving toward that teacher of the year award, aren't I? Scarring, er, shaping young minds. I'm totally okay with the first exchange. He deserved a little reality check. Telling the student I was sick of whiny 7th graders? Out of line. A) It was rude. B) It was in front of the class, which is humiliating. I could rip out my tongue over that one. Yes, I'm tired and sick of the laziness. But these kids deserve the same respect I demand from them. Maybe this is my reality check. I don't want my name on some blog ten years from now as a teacher whom a child hated. Let me be like Ms. Niemeyer, who inspired me to try harder and work to my potential, instead of coasting. Let me be like Mrs. Boyette, who healed my third grade wounds with a dose of loving kindness. Let me be like Mrs. Brandt, who inspired me to try poetry and stretch my writing beyond where I was comfortable.

I guess I need a " 'tude check" as Drama Queen would say. Or some time off. Or to just have this baby and get rid of the crazy hormones. Whichever comes first.

And a few hours later, I've discovered a reason for student lack of effort. The same young woman who whined about the vocabulary exercise tells me in front of the whole science class that her mom doesn't get why I send these exercises home since they don't really help her and they're just pointless. Oye. I confess, I told the student that if her mom had questions about the work I send home, she should call me and I can show her research that supports word puzzles and exercises as beneficial for thought process and analytical skills. But perhaps she shouldn't give her daughter the message that school work is worthless and I don't know what I doing, since that undermines the student's respect for me.

Oh, yes I did.

Doctors and Nurses and Needles, Oh My!

2006-02-02T07:28:00.000-08:00

So Tuesday was DOCTOR DAY in my houshold. I called in a sub and took both girls to the doctor for their checkups. I was feeling super smart and, yeah, a little smug about scheduling them back to back AND getting in a urine test for myself. Their appointments started at 9:30 and hey, how long could they take, right? Pee in a cup? Heck, I can do that blindfolded. (Yes, I tried. Don't ask.)

We're standing in line at Kaiser and Drama Queen is wrangling Missy Hoohaw over by the toys in the waiting area. The harried receptionist looks up and smiles and continues to frantically peck at her computer as the couple with the new baby grows increasingly impatient. 5 minutes roll by and there is now 7 people in line behind me. The receptionist has apologized 4 times for the delay and there are 3 men gathered around, trying to help her untangle the digital mess. 10 minutes and 3 more patients after that, they fix the problem and we get checked in, 10 minutes late for our appointment. Oh well.

We go in and DQ is handed a gown and asked to disrobe. She promply freaks at this request. "Uh-uh." she says flatly, handing the gown back to the nurse.
"Yes, dear." the nurse sets the gown on the bed and smiles at me.
I assure the nurse that I will get my oldest naked and gowned, but she's a little distracted by my toddler is throwing blocks across the room.
"Lively, isn't she?" she asks.
"Just wait until her vaccination." I deadpan.
The nurse doesn't laugh.

After talking DQ into undressing and helping her with the robe, I turn my attention to Missy, who is about to topple the trashcan. For the record, the smugness is gone. I get her coralled and playing nicely with blocks, while the doctor examines DQ and announces she needs 2 shots and oh yes, since she's started her cycle, a blood test. Oh the humanity. I ask the doctor if we can come back in few days for that particular party.

Missy's turn. As DQ dresses, the doctor watches Missy pick up the blocks and put them into the box. Every block put away is accompanied by enthusiastic clapping from Missy and I. The little darling put every block away. Then it was up on the table to disrobe and get poked at. The doctor wrestled with Missy and got her checked out, though she did lose her stethoscope twice to Missy's grabbing hands. Good times. Missy is in excellent health and very strong for her age. Very Strong.

So strong, in fact, she required me holding her upper body and arms, one nurse holding a leg and administering the injections (5 in all) and another nurse holding the second leg. It was fun. I don't think I've ever seen her quite that mad. Not scared, not hurting, but MAD. I might venture to say pissed off. Hey stick 5 needles in my leg and I might be a little upset too. She didn't cry until a bit after, she just screamed at the top of her lungs. Not as easy thing for a mother to endure.

Update: Daycare called today. Selby has been exposed to Hand Foot and Mouth disease and Roseola. hmmm.
I actually knew this a while ago, but today she needs to be picked up because she has a rash on her back and neck and has been miserable and sleepy all day. This ought to be good.

I'm not even going to get into the whole pee in a cup thing. Suffice it to say, I'm taking yet another round of antibiotics. I'm definitely counting some fingers and toes come July.

I love my U2

2006-01-26T11:06:00.000-08:00

It has been a goooood day. I sailed to work today, with Bono singing how beautiful the day was and as I crested the hill, the sun broke free of clouds as the song crescendoed and Larry Mullins gave me great drum solo.

Okay, not really.

I drove to work in the dark, half an hour later than usual, thinking of how I could manage to get the days work laid out and do bus duty. Missy Hoohaw whimpered because her baggie o' waffle bits was out of reach. Drama Queen sobbed over my cell phone because we wouldn't let her have overnight company. Hello, it's called being grounded? It started to rain as I pulled into the daycare parking lot. But Bono was singing to me and that made everything just a wee bit better. Missy's arms wrapped around my neck and smacking kiss as I pulled her from the car seat made it even better. And her little bounce and giggle when I gave her the baggie made it a beautiful day.

It's the little things, you know?

Beauty and the Brain

2006-01-25T13:56:00.000-08:00

Recently, I have been bombarded with media that purports one cannot be beautiful and smart. I don't know if I'm just hyper-aware of it lately, or if that message seems to be gaining speed. As the mother of two girls and a middle school teacher, I see the effects that media has on our young women and I'm getting a little scared.

I'm attacking the boob tube first. And I call it the boob tube for a reason. My husband is an ardent fan of Fear Factor. I watch along because, hey, that's couple quality time, right? hehehe. Am I the only one that's noticed the girl's intellect is inversely proportional to her chest size? They're all lovely young women, but Ivy league? Hardly. Of course, this show is the low end of the low-brow spectrum.

Falling below that, is this thing called Beauty and the Geek. Now, granted, I've never watched it. But the trailers indicate that these girls are gorgeous and stupid. Because all really hot women are, right? uh huh.
Well, they are agreeing to appear on this show.

Now the rest of media in general. I'm sure Paris and Kimberly and Nicole and the rest are lovely young women, but please stop putting them in a position to be role models to our young women! Every time they open their mouths, they give vacuous a new meaning. Adding insult to injury, MSN has a feature today called When Hot Women Pick Hot Stocks. Are beautiful women with business savvy so rare as to be NEWSWORTHY?

I actually heard one of my female students say, "I don't want him to think I'm smart or something like that!"
Oh no. Have we really sunk this low? Is Drama Queen going to want out of her IB program so she can get a date? She was in tears yesterday, because her crush doesn't like her back. Apparently, she has the right answers too often. He is now the boyfriend of another, less academically gifted, girl. This pisses me off, people. Granted, she's only 11 and there is a lot of time for boys, but I don't like where this is headed.

You know, I'm a pretty attractive woman. Before I had kids, I had an amazing rack. And I'm smart. Really smart. Not Mensa, but brainy. My husband will tell you to this day, it wasn't the hair, eyes, rack or legs that snared him. It was my brain. He loves that I am smart. He revels in it and often will look at me in wonder when I can pull Jeopardy answers out of thin air, saying, "That's hot." I love that about him.

Dove, I love your ad campaign for real beauty. I have from the first "sea of blonde wigs" commercial. But let's add smarts to the equation, okay? Let's remind women and girls that being smart is gorgeous. Men will follow suit. They always do.

Indigo children

2006-01-24T13:23:00.000-08:00

So, I'm reading Three Kid Circus, Jenny Lauck's funny mothering blog and she's talking about the concept of Indigo Children. She did this really neat-o thing, where she made the link out of the words "Indigo Children" but I'm not that good. So here's the cut and paste version:

www.metagifted.org

Whoo. I laughed so hard, I peed myself. Yeah, hardly a news flash from the prego, huh? I can't wait for the Crystal Children. Since I'm pregnant, I'm sure I'll have one of those next. I'm just waiting for Missy HooHaw to fufill her true Indigo nature. Watch out, Xena, Missy is on your tail.

I wonder what Drama Queen is. Probably Vermillion. I think I'll start a movement for the Vermillion Children. Perhaps...

1. Is your child skilled at the art of debate?

2. Does she obsess about details, to the exclusion of larger concepts?

3. Is time a relatively meaningless concept to your child?

4. Is truth a fluid concept for you child?

5. Does your child often seem prickly and weird to others? (yeah, Mir, I stole it. Come and get it back.)

6. Does your child have a rich inner life and construct elaborate fantasy worlds?

7. Is your child flamboyant and demonstrative?

Yeah, it'll go something like that. Any ideas?

Eating Crow.

2006-01-24T12:35:00.000-08:00

91 more days. Not that I'm counting.

My classroom is in the north forty of our campus. As a result, in the beginning of the year, I was lenient in enforcing tardies. I know better than that. Middle Schoolers sense leniency like dogs and bees sense fear. They began to abuse this leniency. I saw them sauntering up to class or standing at the opposite end of campus, talking to friends after the first bell. They waited to order lunch until the first bell rang. Students who arrived at school at 7:15 were tardy to my 7:50 homeroom. So I got strict.

I began sending students all the way back to the office for tardy slips of they came in even one minute late. I stopped excusing tardies incurred during lunch purchases. I religiously handed out detentions for those students who had been tardy three or more times. I was the Tardy Nazi.

I even checked the student handbook and interpreted the tardy code as being 2 tardies for the year, with the third resulting in a detention. It was vague, but I was pretty sure I was right.

I wasn't.

I assigned detentions to two young ladies who had two tardies from last trimester and had been late for my class once this trimester. They questioned this, but I showed them the entry in the handbook. They served the detention. They also checked with another teacher, who then talked to the principal, who verified that it is two tardies a trimester, not a year. Oye.

I was pretty embarrased after I got the voicemail setting me straight on the tardy policy. I apologized to the girls and bought them lunch at Jack in the Box. I had the detentions wiped from their records. But I still feel stupid. Dang, I hate losing credibility.

snips and snails and puppy dog tails

2006-01-21T21:01:00.000-08:00

Several months ago, one of our "couple friends" suggested that we swap babysitting nights once a month so that we could have a date night. Now these friends have two boys, four and five. Yeah, it was an accident. The boys have a rep in our circle of friends as being "difficult." One particularly twitchy mom (um, yeah, I really wanted to say something else!) calls them demon spawn in the hearing of their parents!!! Personally, I don't see it. Yes, they are occasionally loud and obnoxious, but aren't all children?

I digress. We enthusiastically agreed to this, since our teenage sitter recently got a license and a boyfriend (the little tramp) and never has time to sit anymore. So once a month, we get a night out, then experience what life with four kids would be like. I gotta say, I like it. These boys worship Drama Queen and she, being especially good with small children, entertains them and generally makes them invisible for the duration of their visit. This is one of my daughters more endearing traits.

So tonight, I'm sitting with them, watching Finding Nemo and letting them stay up way too late, so their parents can sleep in tomorrow. See how I am? And experiencing the wonder of the creature called boy. You see, I have girls and I love them and I am a great "girl mom." But with the impending arrival of an unidentified someone, I find myself wistful in the blue section of baby departments. I'd like a chance to have a son. I know that Missy HooHaw will play soccer and assorted other rough sports and be a total tomboy, because at 18 months, she already loves to roughhouse.

But a boy. I'd like to travel that road too. And maybe I will...

Drowning

2006-01-18T08:03:00.000-08:00

I am so unbelieveably busy my head is spinning. Every time I think I have a handle on things, something gets added to the plate or I remember something that has to be done today!!!!

Ugh. Can we skip the next 3 months?

94 days left.

Is it summer yet?

2006-01-17T12:16:00.000-08:00

If I were in high school, I say I had a bad case of senioritis. I'm not in high school anymore (thank-you, my dear, sweet Lord.) but man, am I ready for summer.

This is bad for two reasons. 1: Summer is 6 months away for me.
2: I just came back on-track a week ago. sigh

After years of teaching, I know that the first couple of weeks back on-track are hard. Hours of nintendo and MTV have turned minds into mush. Bodies used to sleeping until noon are schocked by an early alarm. After having the freedom of deciding what had to be done for the day and what could be skipped, a regiment of worksheets and grades is re-implemented. And the students have it rough too.

Seriously, the brain power in my class is frighteningly low. I had a normally capable class look at me blankly when I asked them to get into pairs and practice their vocabulary. I paused several beats, looking about at the glazed expression and gently said, "now?" They blinked and I mentally hit my head on my desk several times.

"Find a partner and practice you vocabulary words, now." I repeated.
"Oh!" said the class, virtually in unison. My aide was at her desk, shoulders shaking in silent laughter. After they paired up, they began silently looking at their vocabulary cards.
"You should be saying them to each other." I prompted.

Let me say this. These students have been doing this exercise every Tuesday for the entire school year. The seventh graders did this last year, every Tuesday, for an entire school year. But we just got back on-track and it's gonna be a rocky start.

Only 95 school days left.

Dipping a toe

2006-01-11T07:44:00.000-08:00

I'm going to start this post by saying, Jenny P., you rock! You are number one (not pee.)

Sorry folks. If you want to understand the last comment you'll have to read Jenny's funny and touching blog at www.jennyonthespot.com. Great for moms and those who want to understand them. She gave me a quick tutorial on the whole tagging and meme thing, along with blog etiquette (Blogiquette?)

So, now to the business at hand. As some of you know, I'm expecting a third child in July. My better half and I have been debating how to best address the budget constraints this puts on us. In addition, I keep learning more about this IB program my oldest will be enrolled in next year and whew, it's gonna be a lot of work.

So, we decided. I've handed in my letter of resignation and will be leaving the field of teaching for a few years to raise my children. It's official. And I am scared out of my ever-lovin' mind.

I was elated when I penned my letter and giddy when I submitted it. The real terror did not begin until the district sent me a letter saying they accepted my letter and who cares anyway cause we didn't like you, so nanner nanner nanner. The district letter of course did not write those words into the letter, they were more suggested by the tone of said letter.

Let me say here that I fully realize I am paranoid and reading far more into this than is there. I know it's a form letter. I know that they send the same letter to everyone who submits the letter of resignation. I know it's not at all a rejection or comment on my teaching ability. But geez, would a little wailing and gnashing of teeth be too much to ask for? Apparently.

The hurt dealt to me by my cruel district's callous disposal of me...alright, I'll knock off the melodrama.

The knowledge that I'm expendable hurt a little. The realization that we will be, for the most part a single income family caused panic. Of EPIC proportions. My husband is calm. I am afraid to spend a single nickel. Oh, it's a fun time at my place, believe you me. No more eating out. No more frivolous expenses like clarinets and hair dye (for my husband, not me...I married a bottle blond). Missy Hoo-Haw must start potty training NOW, because we will not be able to afford diapers for two children. AAHHHGGGGG!

Eventually, I'll settle down. I'll sub a little and bring some money. But the change in income is going to be worth it. I know I'll never regret this step. No one ever said, "I wish I spent less time with my kids and more time working."

Tagged

2006-01-09T12:39:00.000-08:00

My darling childhood buddy, Jennyonthespot, has tagged me for a meme. Don't know what this is, precisely, but since it involves talking about myself, I'll gladly participate.

I'm supposed to list 5 of my wierd habits (only 5? how WILL I choose?) and then tag 5 more bloggers, then link to them from my site. I do not know how to do this, but I will figure that out later. Tomorrow is another day and all that crap.

5 wierd habits of a special ed teacher

1. I religiously start my workday by sitting at my desk and flossing my teeth, then applying Carmex liberally. Even when I don't have chapped lips. Why at my desk? I don't like to floss in front of my husband. I will do all manner of other far more disgusting things in front of him but floss? No way.

2. While I check my email, immediately after the flossing and carmex ritual, I never check my voicemail until the end of the workday. Why? because if I do, I spend my prep period returning phone calls and not PREPPING.

3. I eat chewy Sweetarts all day long. Even in the morning. But not the green ones. Those, I throw away. Really. I also do not eat green Jolly Ranchers or green Chewy Spree. I will eat green M&M's, but not the brown ones. Just kidding.

3b. This is a personal, not teaching, habit and it directly relates to the habit above. I must eat these candies in a certain order. I pour them all out of the package and divide them into colors. I throw the green away, then eat the yellow, the purple, the orange and the red. This also goes for Starburst, though there are no green ones. I throw the pink away instead.

4. While at school, I only drink from ceramic mugs. I pour everything into one of the myriad of mugs I have lying about my room, even water from a water bottle. It tastes better that way, I swear.

5. I have to check my calendar several times a day, so I do not forget appointments. By several, I mean 15 - 20 times during the workday. Seriously, I am that absent-minded, even when I am not pregnant.

Okay, Jenny, there are my 5 extremely weird habits. You've made me question my ability to teach the next generation and raise healthy, functioning children but I did it. Now I just have to figure out 5 bloggers to tag and how to make a link. hmmmm

Okay, Jenny schooled me on the whole linking thing, so I'm tagging strangers whose blogs I've read and love. Mir and Jenny L., please don't hate me.

I'm tagging:
Mir at www.wouldashoulda.com

Jenny at www.threekidcircus.com

Okay, this is way more fun than tagging strangers at the mall. Some of them hit me back!

Countdown

2005-12-15T13:50:00.000-08:00

One more get up and then I'm on break. WhEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

Three weeks of vacation and I'll tell you now, no posting either. See ya in January!

Growing up WAY too fast

2005-12-14T11:59:00.000-08:00

I'm just about used to 12 year-olds who wear more makeup than I do. I rarely flinch at mini skirts that show a little cheek and visible thongs. I still break up embracing couples when I happen upon them, but I don't shake my head at it anymore. I'm becoming jaded, I guess. Teaching middle school in an affluent area has shown me a side of the teenage wasteland that makes me want to lock my children away from the world.

Today didn't help much. I went to investigate some reported sobbing in the bathroom that adjoins my classroom. As it happens, the young women in question was not sobbing but giving herself a rather noisy (word deleted- think Clairol commercial.). She was a bit embarrassed but saw very little wrong with it. The suggestion that she keep that activity at home was met with a blank stare.

Okay. I do NOT get paid enough.

Better yet, she's been busted for this before! She's an 8th grader, for Pete's sake. I knew stuff when I was that age, but not THAT stuff. Sheesh.

I'm going to talk to my daughter about you-know-what today. She's only eleven and I had planned on waiting a year or two, but recent events make me think I better address it now. Ugh.

The perils of pregnancy

2005-12-13T12:04:00.000-08:00

WARNING

This post contains various episodes of pregnancy induced vomiting and humiliation (almost) beyond bearing.

I finally did it. I have embarrased my child so completely, she may never recover. I will be paying mental
health professionals for the rest of her life. I'm considering setting up a trust fund for just that purpose.

While prenant with DQ, I was sick. Really sick. So sick, I dry heaved my way through my second and third trimester. I carried Ziploc bags in my purse and used them with alarming regularity. My OB/GYN was so worried, he gave me Fenergan suppositories. Those are FUN!

Missy HooHaw was considerably easier on me. I laid on the couch after work every night and let my doting husband pamper me, while I laid around feeling pretty ooky. Minimal upchuck, though. I still carried Ziplocs. Just in case.

Bundle o' Joy 3 has involved a constant but low grade ooky feeling, but only a single episode of actual upchuck. I've been pretty stoked so far. I even put away the Ziplocs. Maybe a bit to soon. Maybe I just got cocky.

Last night, we went to (another) orientation for the IB program Drama Queen will be starting next year. This is the third I've been to, but the first that allowed us to see actual classes in progress and talk to current students. I was pretty excited. Drama Queen was raring to go. She was SO excited to see actual dissection in the science class and is praying she passes the algebra placement exam. My little geek. Oh, how I love her!

Afterward, we attended a meet and greet with the principal and various teachers. After a bit, the principal made her way over to our corner, where we were talking to the band teacher about jazz band. Yes, she plays the clarinet. I told you. The principal is an older woman, dressed in a lovely black suit with sensible Ferragamo pumps; lizard, I think.

She talked to DQ for a bit and then turned to me and said, "I hear a rumor you teach special education. Did you know we're looking for a resource teacher?"
I replied that I wasn't planning on working for the next few years, since I was expecting a baby in July. She smiled and congratulated me, then turned to ask DQ how she felt about becoming a big sister. It was then that a sudden wave of nausea overtook me. I opened my mouth to excuse myself and threw up all over the lovely, expensive shoes of DQ's new principal.

Oh. my. god.

To her credit, she did not scream at me or in any way act upset/grossed out/disgusted. She actually asked me if I was okay and escorted me to the nurses office, where I laid down and tried to curl up and die. I apologized profusely and offered to pay for the shoes. (yeah, like I could afford them...but I had to offer.) She refused graciously and went to change. DQ sat silent in the corner with her face in her hands.

"Did you have to do that?" she mumbled

I apologized and explained as best I could, but she remains convinced that I did it out of reckless disregard for her middle school reputation.

"I am always going to be the girl whose mom threw up on the principal. I'll NEVER have friends. They'll be too afraid to come to my house because you might PUKE on them!"

Fun ride home. Real fun. Bring on the therapy.

Teacher's Pet

2005-12-07T12:36:00.000-08:00

Yes. We have favorites. It's true. And I'm utterly unapologetic about it. There are students I connect with, that I enjoy talking to and that stir my maternal feelings. They are not always the brightest, most personable children. Usually, they are the ones who struggle, who have behavior issues, who in some small way, remind me of myself.

One of my favorite students is a young man who was in 6th grade my rookie year. He is small for his age. He struggles a bit socially, but has few issues that handicap him in that area. Schoolwork is monumentally hard. He suffers from fits of depression so black that I weep for him. Without his medication, he is intractable and violent.

On the other hand, hearing him describe playing basketball with his dad is like hearing poetry. The joy and radiance in his face when he talks about his bike are contagious and heartwarming. The small smile on his face when he talks about his mom, and the way he leans his head onto her shoulder while they stand together give me pang of envy (no son of my own, yet.) And when he comes into class every morning and tells me about his evening, it starts the day off with a smile.

I live for the times when his face lights up and he says, "Oh! I get it now." It reminds me of why I chose to teach. Perhaps it means more from him because it happens so infrequently. I don't know why he touches me, but he does.

He graduates this year. In June, he'll move on to high school and leave me behind. I will always remember him. And, I think, he will always remember me. Pass the tissue.

A Very MEAN Teacher

2005-12-05T14:30:00.000-08:00

I was a mean teacher today. And you know what? It felt good. Not just good but GOOOOOOOOOOOOOD! Let me explain.

I teach SDC, which means I have to be fairly flexible in my grading and grade on what I think kids can do, not necessarily the exact right answers all the time. But lately, a few of my seventh graders have begun to suffer from the "whatevers." Oh, how I hate the "whatevers."

I gave a science test on Friday and today my wonderful, brave, valiant teaching associate graded them. She cleared her throat and said to me, "You probably want to look at these."

Oh, the trepidation.

They all failed. Not by a little either. It was a spectacular, mass, "lemmings of the cliff" sort of failure. I feel myself turning green and stretching my clothes as we speak.

We read the chapter together. They do numerous vocabulary exercises. I even pulled several dichotomous key worksheets off the internet and did them as a group in an effort to help them understand classification. Thank you, biologyspot.com. We classified shoes, wacky people and norns. They get to use all materials, including the book, to help them with the test. It is as easy as I can possibly make it. And still, they failed.

So I, being merciful and kind of heart, gave them the class period today to correct the quizzes. Two of students spent 3 minutes on their tests and then asked if they could draw. DRAW? Excuse me? I asked if they had finished correcting their tests. They said "yeah, we turned them in."

It is here that I morphed into VERY SCARY TEACHER. Seriously, I could have scared Viola Swamp.

"I just want you all to understand that you all FAILED this test. This is the only time you will have to improve your grades on this test and if you choose not to use that time, I give up. I cannot make you want to succeed or value an education. That is your parents job. If failing is okay with you, I will fail you. "

I wasn't screaming, but I wasn't talking calmly either. Some part of me takes it personally, I guess. I put a lot of effort into their success and I want them to care. I invest in them. I work to give them a feeling of ownership in their education. Ironic that behavior issues don't phase me a bit, but this drives me to the bad "Hulky" place. Hhmmmnngghh. That was my Hulk imitation. Whatever.

Plagiarism, Part Deux

2005-11-29T11:18:00.000-08:00

While reviewing the past few posts, I realized that I never followed up on the plagiarism post. Well folks, you didn't ask for it, but here it is anyway.

I sat my language arts class down and gave them a lengthy lecture on plagiarism, which somehow devolved in music piracy and their respective criminal records (very scary, by the way). After reviewing the sanctity of the written word, I passed out the essays they had written with some portions circled. They were asked to rewrite the portions that were circled in their own words. Unh. I have a lump from banging my head against my desk. After countless repetitions and variations on "How should I say this," I had an original response.

"This is exactly how I would say it," says Miss Underachiever, throwing her paper on my desk.

"Then find another way to phrase it because those aren't your words," I reply, patiently.

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do, " I smile, opening the reference book and pointing to the entry she blatantly copied.

"My father is a lawyer and he is going to sue you for libel!"

"See you in court." I probably should have resisted the little finger wave as I handed back her paper. At least it was all my fingers and not just the most significant one. What? I meant my RING finger.

And Miss Hypermammiferous? Well, I asked her what the word meant and, without blinking an eye, people, she replied, "Very energetic and mammal-loving." BWAHHHAHAHAHAHA.

Oh.my.gawd. I do so love my job.

Turkey, Money and Gloating

2005-11-28T14:50:00.000-08:00

hmmmmm. Back to work after 5 days off and yeah, it pretty much sucks. I so don't want to be here.

Thanksgiving was a joy and Missy Hoo-Haw's first actual eating Thanksgiving was hilarious. I have a 15- month -old foodie on my hands. As we wheeled her high chair to the table and she saw the myriad dishes full of yummy things, her eyes grew wide and she stretched out her hands with a grabbing motion, saying loudly, "UM UM UM!"
A dollop of mashed potatoes was stuffed into her mouth and she pointed to the stuffing with a gooey finger, mumbling, "Dat. DAT!"
We, of course, obliged, letting her sample everything and giving her more of what she loved. Green beans wound up on the floor, but everything else was shoved in her chubby cheeks as fast as she could get it in. I really think this one has a career as competitive eater.

The 11 year old Drama Queen had her birthday fall on Thanksgiving this year. She hated it, but was a trouper.
"I'm just glad I was born on a LEAP YEAR, " she declared, glaring at me, " so I only have to do this every 11 years, instead of 7!!!

" Mmmfph," was my thoughtful, sensitive response.

She spent most of the day burrowed in my mothers room, watching a DVD of her new favorite movie, Herbie Reloaded. ( Can I get a pfpfpfbbtthh for Miss Lohan?) On Saturday evening, we went to spend the $185 in gift certificates she had netted. Really people. $50 for an 11 year old? Can we say excessive? I'm just glad we had already donated the money to Powerhouse Ministries, because she was gripped by consumer fever. I suggested a few purchases for our Angel Tree child and she laughed! Uproariously, no less!

She did bow out of going for tapas as her birthday dinner, because I seemed "far too tired to handle Missy Hoo-Haw in a nice restaurant." I was. Thanks, sweetie. Your Mama loves you.

I think most of the drama stemmed from meeting Daddy's new girlfriend, Sweetie-Pie, who is expecting his child in a few months (his soon-to-be ex is SOOOOO happy for them and I'm thinking, uh-huh, saw that one coming. But I'm not one to gloat.) Drama Queen loves Sweetie-Pie, who has a cat and two dogs and birds and fish and apparently, a rather excessive fondness for baby talk. ugh. She came home spewing this baby talk and quoting Sweetie- Pie. Now, I work hard at being cordial and respectful of my ex-husband's (SUCKY) life choices. But baby talk is my pet peeve, so we made a deal. She can tell me every little thing about Sweetie-Pie and as long as no baby talk is involved, I will give her my somewhat undivided attention. See? It's win-win! Besides, I confess to a somewhat morbid curiosity about my ex's new love. I wasn't crazy about the soon-to-be ex-wife. (She was a little uptight and wasn't particularly fond of my little Drama Queen.) And now I can sit on my happily re-married perch and say, "He's no longer my problem." No, that is NOT gloating!

A few words about plagiarism

2005-11-21T14:02:00.000-08:00

And to think, only moments ago, I was writing about quitting. I can't quit! This job affords way too many laughs. Let me explain.

My class has been writing biography reports for about a month. They've checked out biographies, searched the web, read magazine articles...the she-bang. When I assigned this project, the only stipulation was that they had to be able to find one biography book on that person and two reliable web pages. Needless to say I will be changing the rules next year.

I'm grading the papers now and stumbled across one about everone's favorite pop vixen with the initials BSF. You know...the one that everyone snickers about her marriage and feels sorry for her new-born son? Yeah, I though you did. Sooooo, in this biographical report my 6th grade student has magically developed a remarkable vocabulary and discovered a here-to unknown gift for sentence structure. She has in the past given me sentences that are completely lacking in verbs and articles. (And blank looks when I ask her to read the sentence and tell me what it's missing.) She refers to BSF as "hypermammiferous." AHAAAAAHAAAAHAAAAAAHAAA. Yes, I am still drying my eyes and holding my sides as I type this. We've obviously taken the liberty of lifting a few phrases from the internet. God, I really hope it is the internet and not an actual book.

I truly cannot wait to review plagiarism tomorrow.

To teach or not to teach

2005-11-21T12:57:00.000-08:00

Oh...I am pregnant. Not sick with this one, like I was with the last, but pregnant none the less. I know this, not because I am tired ALL the time (I am), but because my husband and I are redoing our budget to fit the changing parameters of our family. fun. ooh boy.

We had balked at $820 a month for day care. Teachers are notoriously underpaid and that's a big hunk of my check. But hey, let's double that. Sound like fun? It is. Add to that, an increased grocery budget and various other expenses and you've got a panicky man on your hands.

We started to seriously consider the stay at home option, which I have long lobbied for. We're still discussing it, but it looks like I may leave my contract position and sub a few days every month. hmmm.

Yes, on the face of it, it seems like jumping from the frying pan into the flame. But I subbed for many years before getting my credential and I loved it. There were bad days and punky kids but at the end of the day, I get to walk away and never look back. Right now, I not only get to see them every day, I get to meet with their parents regularly!!! wheeeeee!

So, I may leave all the glory, acclaim and excitment. If I do, I'll go gladly. *kicking up heels*

Porcelain Gods and other musings of a sick mind

2005-11-16T10:13:00.000-08:00

I have been gone from my class for three days (4 if you count Friday.) In years past, I wondered how they were faring, had they killed the substitute, had the sub killed them...Etc. These past several days, I did not care.

Thursday and Friday were spent caring for a sick 15 month old. So. Much. Fun. My darling husband was at work both days and when I fell ill on Saturday, decided the wood MUST be split and stacked that day. This chore took all day Saturday. I was supremely, irately angry. My rage was awesome to behold. For the first time in our three year marriage, I threw things (hard things!) at him and screamed. And I was really sick. No, I am not proud of this (well, maybe a little) but we worked it out and he even took Monday off work to take care of me as I repeatedly lost everything I ate.

An epiphany happened on Monday. My husband was wiping my face with a cool cloth and mentioned how strange it was that I wasn't feverish.

"Did you eat something that might have made you sick?"

" I don't think so." I replied, silently thinking, perhaps the McDonald's you called dinner last night? Yes, I am Queen Bitchy when I am sick.

"Hmmm." He looked at me speculatively.

"No." I said, fear snaking through my veins.

"No?"

"No."

"Okay..."

"Just go get a damn test."

Yes, world. I am pregnant. My earlier reveling in a year with no pregnancy or maternity leave has bitten me square in my admittedly large buttocks. Be afraid. My husband sure is.

Field Trips

2005-11-09T14:19:00.000-08:00

WHAT A GREAT DAY! I love team teaching. I teach SDC at a middle school. Because it is a large school, we have two SDC teachers. Several weeks ago, my teaching partner came to me and said, "Let's organize a field trip."

And so we did. Permission slips were printed, busses were arranges, tickets were purchased. As we're comparing notes on which students are going and which students can not go, we realize the "stay" group is too much for a sub to handle. I magnanimously offer to stay with them.

Because these children are not going due to grades, we plan a boring lesson that has mandatory output. *insert fiendish laughter here* The students watched biographies on two historical figures and took notes, then did a math packet. I got so much work done, it was insane. I'm planned for the next two weeks. My grade book is caught up. My counters are clear. Reports have been written, IEPs filed and attested...I'm giddy with it.

I looooooove field trips.

Proud Mom

2005-11-09T07:23:00.000-08:00

I blog today, not as a teacher, but as a mother. I have a beautiful preteen daughter who is smart and funny. She has a birthday coming soon and she had requested an American Express gift card, so she could shop for herself. We were discussing her birthday the other day and she said to me, "Yes, I still want a gift card, but I'd like to make a donation to charity as well."

I was floored. My daughter has some really great qualities, but generosity has never been one of them. I guess that comes from being an only child the first 9 years of your life. Not wanting to discourage her new philanthropic urge, I cautiously asked, "So you'd want to have, say, $50 dollars on your card and donate the other $50 to a charity?"

Understand, I was thinking she'd suggest more of 80/20 split, but she shocked me again. "Yeah," she said, "That sounds good." Again, I was cautious. What had sparked this? Was my ex-husband talking up the Red Cross again? Not that I would have a problem with that. I was curious as to where the motivation had come from.

"Did you have a charity in mind?"
"Not really."
"Maybe the Red Cross or a children's charity?"
"Defintely a children's charity."
"For sick kids or homeless kids?"
"Homeless kids."

Wow. My baby is growing up. Together we researched charities online and decided on a local charity that ministers to families of prisoners. Katie and I are going next week and she will give them the check in person. I am so very proud of my child. As proud as I am of her numerous academic achievements, I am even more delighted by her developing character. I marvel at her. How could something this wonderful have come from me?

Another day in paradise

2005-11-08T11:12:00.000-08:00

There are days when I feel I should be drunk to do my job. Not today though...so far.

It's started out to be great. The kids are working hard, and yeah, I've asked for quiet more times than I like to, but they are turning in work and seemed to get how the Mongol rule of north China affected Chinese citizens. This is good.

Tomorrow's a field trip to see a play. Valium, anyone?

Meet the teacher...

2005-11-07T11:54:00.000-08:00

If you only knew the things that are said in a teacher's lounge. I am truly glad parents don't hear some of the things we say about their little darlings (though we know full well they've said worse.) Come to think of it, I'm glad parents never hear the things teachers say about them. It makes me curious about what my daughters teachers say about my husband and I. I am probably better off not knowing.

I just got yelled at by a parent who thinks I hate their child. They think this because I am failing the child in two classes. To be fair, I do dislike their child, but that's not why they're failing. They're failing because they don't do any homework.

No, teachers do not like every student that comes into their class. We have those we like and those we don't. We're indifferent to a few. But we teach them all and try a little harder for the ones we don't like, because we feel bad that they're little turds. Sorry, but it's true.

And yes, I do a little "joy dance" when that child is absent. But I wait until my prep period. Cause I'm nice that way.