Shoveling and Sundry Items

I gotta say it...Shoveling and I are so not BFFs. Our driveway is red rock gravel which is fine in the summer, pretty mucky in the spring, okay in the fall unless there is a lot of rain, but the winter.......not fun. In the beginning, it seems like I am shoveling half rock, half snow.

Right now, our current issue is the recent thaw of a couple days that has produced a beautiful, glorious inch to inch and a half of wonderful.....ice. Clear, smooth, and slippery as all get out. Both of us have had trouble staying upright on it. Which makes shoveling easier because it is smooth, but more difficult because well, you are on a sheet of ice.

I am such a complainer. Let's change the subject.

I have a new part time job. I am an advisor for curriculum for a summer exploration program for high school students at a fancy-schmanzy college out east. I am excited because it is a virtual job meant to be done over the computer. Sweet. I had to make contact with my advisee before the first of the year and set our three week work period. Let's just say that it didn't go well in my brain. I had to call back and change the date as when I went to write it on the calendar of plenty, I realized a scheduling conflict.

So, I called her back.

Which was great, as she had realized that she has a conference in the middle of that period, so we set it for a week earlier. As I hung up, I realized that I kept saying March but I meant February. Crap. Double crap. I knew I said March as I could hear my voice in my head. Mind you, I had just called her back the second time not more than 4 minutes after our first conversation. But, what if she understood March instead of February? Then, she is thinking she has a month more time before we get all Nitty Gritty Dirt Band.....and no one wants that.

So, I called her back.

I really know how to make a fantastic, competent, professional first impression. She is most likely hashing it over with her family over dinner. Stellar. Eh. Gotta let that one go. Wish I could take back those last 10 minutes, but oh well. We all do something similar every now and then. At least when she answered the last time I was laughing and saying something to the effect of I am not as incompetent as this in real life. (For those of you keeping score, she understood it to mean February 9th and not March 9th. Phew. An embarrassing moment for nothing. Great.)

On an up note, I still have most of a week left of break. Which is good because I have not done jack with the school work that I wanted to get done. I don't even remember if I brought home stuff to correct. That is how complete the mind break was. It has been fantastic.

I have been dreaming of Italy. No shocker there, but it has been like three nights in a row that Italy has figured into the dreams that I remember in some fashion. Hmmmmm. It doesn't mean anything portentous as I usually think about going through, traveling in, or moving to Italy in some fashion almost every day. It has not reached obsession status, although it sounds like it, it is more of a casual pastime, really. It is my favorite country I have been to and I like daydreaming about it as a moment of escape from school, families at Christmas, winter......shoveling.

Aim High.

One must have goals. Mustn't one? (Say "mustn't one" three times fast. Does it sound like a rancid appetizer? No? Must just be me then. Huh.) So. Goals. Having them. Here were my goals today. Let's call them my "goals". As opposed to my "real" goals. My on the DL goals.

My "Goals": Get up, go to locally-owned, non-chain, coffee place that I heart. Preferably with my Sweet Baboo. Come home. Clean the entire house in, like, 2o minutes. Take the dog to the groomer to get nails cut. (I could totally do it if I HAD to, but the nail quick part kind of ooks me out. And, the groomer totally cut one to the quick and it looks like it hurts, but she is a professional and probably wouldn't start sobbing if it happened. Just sayin'.) Go work out. Lose 12 pounds in three minutes because of said stellar workout. Come home, shower and do something productive. Go to department Christmas party. Come home. Sleep through 3:30 am, unlike the last two weeks.

Now, those are my goals on paper. Let's look at my "real" goals. My "Answer Like a Guy" goals. (We play "A.L.A.G." a lot at our house. I tend to use a lot of words. Ones that might or might not need to be said out loud. I verbally vomit my thoughts as I think them and share my whole process of decision making. Which doesn't really work out well for the audience because I am not convinced that, if I had to, I could make a decision to save my life.

Seriously, like "K. You must choose a favorite color or we kill you. K. Go." And most likely, my answer would be something like this: "OH, oh my...okay. Uhm, my favorite color is green because I really like the different shades and my eyes are green and it signifies new life, but I also like red because it is bold and fiery and the color of watermelon which is also green so it sort of works out perfectly because red and green are my two favorite colors. It's like Christmas, but I also really like the silver at Christmas time with a bright, bright blue or another jewel tone. I can't really pick a favorite color because it is totally situational. Sorry. Kill me." At which point the listener-slash-killer in the story has killed himself.

The A.L.A.G. version: "K. You must choose a favorite color or we kill you. K. Go." Me: "Green. See ya.")

Back to my goals: Here's how it has gone so far.....let's call them what my "Goals" should have been because then this day would be a RockStar success:
Wake up and stay in bed next to the Space Heater. Watch the light and day emerge. Make a real breakfast of toast, eggs, and breakfast sausage. Screw the fancy coffee and make a pretty damn good cup of coffee. Make lunch for Sweet Baboo. I heart him, and I make his lunches with extra love most days. Correction: On the days I do make him lunch, it is with extra love. Check e mail for the first time in three days. (That is like a bajillion years in So...There...Then Time. Seriously.) Fart around and putter for about 45 minutes. Take Sophie to the dog groomers (Thing Number Two I will Never EVER Do To My Dog: Express the anal glands. Enough said.) Go workout. Decide to listen to music and read trash celebrity mag while sweating instead of the planned "Think Deep Thoughts About My Life". Worked out much better this way.)

After work out, came home. Checked my e mail. Farted around and puttered some more. What? I am really good at it. I did, purely for show, dust the buffet and the shelves. Oh, and watered plants.

Turns out that when my mom brought over a Christmas Rosemary Tree yesterday it was a double whammy good gift. We don't have a Christmas tree this year, so...done. And it also turns out I committed my 39th planticide. My rosemary that I transplanted from the garden to a pot so I could have it inside over the winter. Friggin' died. All on it's own. It was like it wanted to make me feel all bad and killer-y. The new Rosemary Christmas Tree came with a booklet that specifically said: "Rosemary is a plant that will not come back from too little water as a houseplant." Great. Is this common knowledge? That is my main approach to plant care. "Oops. Forgot to water the last two weeks, they look kind of droopy." Then I water the crap out of them and they come back to life and look good. (Usually. Thus the 39th planticide discovered this week.)

So. There. Then I went to The Crack Box(Target) and got a gift for the party tonight. Then, to pick up Sophs. Home for lunch and blogging.

That should have been my original plan. I think next time I take a PTO day I will have official plans to do whatever the crap I want. Which is what I end up doing anyway. Plans are overrated.

I might take a nap. I might not. It might matter, it might not. The point is, people, everyone should have a figurative day to hangout in their jammies with the footies on the bottom and play with legos. There doesn't always need to be something to be done or dealt with. Having said that, at some point today, I do PLAN on vacuuming up the half of a dead cricket that has been at the top of the staircase for the past week. I guess maybe we should have some goals. My original plan of ignoring it and it disappearing doesn't appear to be working out so much.

Fave?

Baby shower last night. Book theme. And wine themed. The beauty of adopting? You can drink. Oh.....and the whole bebe thing.

I had been trying to get a handle on what might be my favorite children's book.....I cannot be forced to say "of all time". There is just no way, my friends. Let's go for random books that pop into my head that I am able to remember from childhood that I loved.

Near the top, for sure, is the classic: "Where the Wild Things Are." How can you not love this? Unless, maybe you were a scaredy cat. That's cool. Embrace it. (wuss.)

Actually, anything by Maurice Sendak. We did the musical version of the Nutshell Library in 5th or 6th grade. I can still remember what's-his-name singing "I don't care!" as Pierre. And "I'm Really Rosy". Ah, good times. Do you know the Nutshell Library? I almost got it for the baby shower.
Strongly recommended.
Always a fan of Harold and the Purple Crayon. I coveted that damn crayon. You lucky bastard, Harold.

I think it was called: Max and the Flying Machine, Except for I can't find the cover picture so that might not be the name. I can distinctly remember the pictures. This kid, whom I had previously thought was named Max, turns out it is anybody's guess. So, this kid decides to build a flying machine and he takes an apple crate and turns it on its side and scavenges all this junk to piece together a machine. And he ends up cruising around flying, but I can't remember if it was for reals or just in his imagination. I really liked it. When I worked at the before/after school care center, they had a copy and I was gonna stickyfingers it and have it "accidentally" appear in my bag to go home and then "forget" to return it. But then, one of the little people took it and didn't put it back in the library and so I couldn't find it. Maybe the Mystery Reader was a Junior Klepto. You never know, do ya?

I never had Goodnight, Moon. I don't get the appeal. Sors.
Those are just a few of mine......what was your fave?

Remember in grade school or Sunday school or sometime type of school..........those chain link calendars? Strips of paper, interlocked and glue together and you rip off a circle for each day? What the frick are those called?

Okay, So turns out they're called paper chains. Brilliant. I just did a search for a photo and typed that in and now I feel like an imbecile for thinking there was some magical academic name for it. Christ. So. Here's the stupid picture ( It's not the paper chain's fault that I didn't know that is what it was called, I take back all my venom, Papes. Sors, Old Friend.): So. Another teacher who is also feeling swamped with lesson planning and grading this quarter has been counting down the days until the end of the second quarter. I have joined by asking on an almost daily basis how many the count is at. And I suggested that her student aide make us paper chain calendar. Which was done today. (Your tax dollars, hard at work. Can you hear them grinding away at the millstone?)

Which got me thinking: children, waiting for a particular day, asking how many days until said day, irritation mounting with each request for information, biting of inside of cheeks to keep from crying out in pain, Light bulb. What can I do to not go insane the next time "How many more days?" is asked?

Thusly and ergo... Enter, stage left. I think it is really going to help my colleagues keep from pummeling my head with a shovel within the next 27...no wait.....26 more days of school before the end of the quarter. (It isn't even midterm, people. That is friggin' next week.)

Garanimals.

So. I might be holding a grudge towards Garanimals. Yeah, 30 years later? So what? Turns out they still exist. Garanimals have come up in conversations lately and I have them on my brain, so I checked out their website.

Here is what they have to say:

Garanimals was born in 1972 out of the idea that there is a positive connection between how children dress and how they feel about themselves.

The kid-friendly Garanimals mix-and-match separates provide a simple, coordinated system that makes clothes easy to pair and fun to wear. The Garanimals pairing system brings creativity and independence to young children as they select their own clothes and dress themselves. Through these small, successful decisions, children develop early feelings of self-confidence.

Raise your hand if you wanted Garanimals with an all-encompassing passion, a lust if you will, when you were younger. That's what I thought. If you have no idea what I am talking about, I have no time for you.

Turns out some of us fuller figured kidlets were too big to fit into them by the time we knew about them. Which only served to make one want them more. And, then, I don't know, tantrums may have ensued (while in-store) tears may have been shed, mothers may have been embarrassed, it may or may not have become an...gasp....incident.

I am not saying it was me that did this, in fact, it wasn't. But I can (even today) experience the fine, fine, line between tantrum and the opposite of what Garanimals says its purpose in life is. Children develop early feelings of self-confidence.....unless they are...husky?

I had a solution to the Garanimals Debacle. I chose to find my self confidence in clothes that fit...well, fit-ish. I distinctly remember....the year was 1976, mind you....my new faves. My version of garanimals without the stupid fat hippo tags and vapid looking giraffes. Blue and white striped t-shirt---horizontal stripes, baby, I ain't hiding the pudge...forget the vertical stripes for the slimming effect. It was reminiscent of a French sailor shirt without the boat neck. And then, brown saddle shoes a la Bert from Sesame Street. And the finale, the cherry on top of a huge friggin' sundae.....white denim bell bottoms....wait for it....with two back pockets BUT ON THE FRONT of the jeans...one blue with a white star in the center and one red with a white star in the center. I was hip, I was cool, I was the "it" girl of first grade.

I wore the shit out of those pants.

With my little first grade belly poking out in some pictures. Thank you very much.

On a crisper day, I might wear my blue knitted/crocheted (I have no idea how it was made, I just know it was hand crafted by someone??)....get ready, people......poncho. Two side ponytails, worn low, a huge five head. I can still feel the pride, the self confidence.

Stickin' my tongue out at you, right now, Garanimals.

Terms of Endearment.

This is not about the movie. Cripes, what a bawl baby fest. I will not willing watch that movie again......unless I am wallowing in self-pity and need something to kick start a sobbing jag to cleanse the system. You know the kind from when you were eight. Suckin' in the air, can't breathe, loudly sobbing. Ah, good times.

What I actually had been thinking about was actual terms of endearment. The standards: "Honey", "Sweetheart", "Dear". I really don't like "Dear". In fact, I despise it. It just seems patronizing to me. I am not sure why.....maybe a movie from the 50s or something?

I like and use "Baby". I love "Love". I love "My Love" even more. "Babe".

"Sweet Baboo" is a personal fave. A lot.

"Cupcake", "Sweets", lots of food oriented tags.

How do we get to them? The Sweet-Based names make sense, someone who brings sweetness into your life and you want to acknowledge that sweetness. (I like "sweetness" as a term of endearment also.....I get called that occasionally and it makes me melt. Not really sure why. And not really care why.)

When I lived in Italy, there were many for kids that I loved: Piccinino (Little Pigeon). Zuccona. (Big Squash/pumpkin) Tesoro Mio (My Treasure)

We kind of have those odd ones: We use "Pumpkin", too. Why? How did that get to be a thing? Pumpkins are orange. They are big and fat. They sit on the stoop. We carve them in October. How the heck do they imply love or endearment?

What terms of endearment am I forgetting?

Why Do I Open My Bigass Mouth?

So. Here's the scene. The past 5 days have been spent discussing the conflict between the Israelis and the Palestinians. The background, who said what when, who did what when, why, and why, and why, and causes and effects and why, and why. Today is the final day of the unit; and I have them work in groups on an online simulation/game. It rocks.

The goal is to get 100% approval ratings for both the Israelis and the Palestinians..... oh and the world, too. So, you know, that's pretty easy and all.

They play the parts of either the Palestinian President or the Israeli Prime Minister. As a teacher, it is always one of my favorite days. Exhibit A: Students engaged. For and hour and a half. Exhibit B: Said students working....gasp....together. And I mean, not just one student doing all the work and the rest texting each other on their cell phones. As a teacher, I hate cell phones. As me, I heart them. I am complex.

Exhibit C: By the end of the game, they "get it". They understand that you just can't blow everything up, you can't give Jerusalem to one side and expect no repercussions, you can't "make" them get along. Much like me, the issue is complex. The issue might be a little more so than moi.

So, this was the first year that I offered extra credit for those groups that could succeed in getting an approval rating for BOTH sides of at least 30. My first thinking was: "No way." But two groups did it. I had one of the groups getting up into the 70s and 80s for approval percentages and it was nearing the end of the class. Other groups were giving up as they were in the negative approval ratings and were coming over to watch the group that was now in the 80s and 90s. Here's where I made my mistake. I open my mouth and said, "If you can get 100% approval for both sides, I'll make cookies for the whole class." As soon as I said it, in my head, I said, "Shit. Why did I go and say that?"

So. Yep. Uh-huh. So right. With 30 fat seconds to go before the bell, the majority of the class in a U-Shape around the group, cheering them on, giving advise, reasoning out pros and cons of each action, glancing nervously at the clock, they did it.

A cheer goes up from the peanut gallery, slaps on the back, "way to go"s all around and one soul says, "Ms. SoThereThen, you really are gonna make us cookies, right? You weren't lying, right?"

What do you say to that? "Yeah, I don't have any eggs. (Which I don't. Crap.)"

So, my last class, which is also the same content...World Studies, had heard about said incentive. So. Yep. Uh-huh. So right. Have to be fair. They also got one group that had 100% for both sides. So, now I am making cookies for two classes. Which isn't all that bad as I had promised someone in our house that I would make "Not Bad" cookies. (I used whole wheat bread flour last time and apparently that equals less than tasty.).

So, I am off to the store for eggs.

The funny thing is, I am at the District Office tomorrow for a meeting all day; the students are going to think I am avoiding them. I can just tell them I had to take the day off to make them cookies.

Try As I Might......

I cannot fathom life without this dog. I can't. You can't make me. She is the pea to our carrots, she is the jam to our peanut butter. But Ol' Girl is pushing maximum age, especially for her breeds.


She had a tough day today, was the report I got upon arriving home. She just can't seem to get comfortable, sleeping a ton over the past couple weeks. Most of the pictures we have of Sophs are during slumber. Parents of pups might think because that is the only time she is still and will sit long enough for a photo. Falsies. It is because that is what she does ALL THE TIME. Snoring, gaseous excretions, old guy lip smacking in her sleep, and running man dreams.


I am pretty sure that part of her lack of hearing is on purpose, but some of it has to be real. The fake part? Yeah, she is a total sleep fibber. Exhibit A: She no longer comes upstairs and sleeps in our room at night. That began a year ago as the stairs were just too steep for her to navigate down. We could help her back end up, but she was too scared and shaky to come down on her own and too stubborn to let us help her safely (i.e. carry 100 pounds of dog down the stairs. Kinda glad it worked out this way.)


When I come down every morning about 6:30, she makes no sudden movements, no noise. I get her breakfast ready, and our breakfast ready and do puttery stuff and then the last thing is to go and wake her up...most days. Sometimes, I let her sleep in because she can and I am a nice human. But, when I lift her blanket off her, and she is fighting waking up.....hand to God, it's like she is a teenager. Burrowing under the blanket, snuffling, exasperated huffing, puffing, sighing, sneezing, every manner of communication to explain her displeasure. And this is before her eyes are open. She pretends she is still sleeping until she realizes that I am not going away because of all her shenanigans.


Then, the games truly begin. I might try and "help" her my lifting the blanket corner a little, as if I was a magician and going to pull the tablecloth off the table and leave the place settings there. Ala Kazam! In her youth, she would spring up and make me feel really crappy that she thought I would do something so mean-spirited. Then, in her middle ages, I used it as a threat to get her ass up. Now, it doesn't even make her flinch and even if it did, there is not much spring left in Sophers.


Now, she just uses the momentum from me lifting up one side to turn over to her other side. If she could have toddler noodle limbs, she would. We do a little dance of me trying to "help" her get up by lifting up her limp ass and her flopping back and forth trying to burrow under the blankets and away from my meddlesome ways.


Eventually, I win. Then there is what I used to think was the dramatic march to the front door to go outside (Now, I think she is just old.). You know the type, parents of humans.....Resigned, defeated, she is making me go on the Bataan Death March AGAIN. But, usually it is with human children going to bed and fighting it or human teenagers going anywhere with their parents and fighting it. With Sophie, it is becoming awake in the morningtime.


Once outside, and back in to check madam's food bowl for the choice morsels, it is back to bed. Saturday, I was home for the morning. We had gone to "Quantum of Solace" on Friday night and were home late. She went out for the last time midnight-ish. Saturday morning, I let her sleep in as I did lesson planning and puttered doing shores around the house. ELEVEN O'CLOCK, PEOPLE. That is what time she reluctantly hauled her butt out of bed. I. Love. Her.

No. It Is TOO Early.

Dear KMart,
I guess my question that I feel I am obliged to ask is: "Really??? Two days after Halloween?"

A radio commercial advertising their Layaway plan for the holiday season. COME ON!! I already have issues with the advertising industry and back to school stuff the day after the 4th of July (That might be an exaggeration....it may be a pooch too close to home, ya know? I'll give you that.) But, seriously, it is really necessary to begin holiday shopping two months ahead of the season?

I realize that it is survival of the fittest in these tough economic times and you feel you must do what it needed, eat or be eaten, whatever the saying is that was bandied about in a strategy meeting somewhere in KMarty land. Should you really be encouraging more credit spending? Haven't Americans proven that they can't handle the credit?

I am sorry to say that I wasn't really going to shop at KMart for holiday needs, but if I had considered it, this commercial would actually have the opposite effect from what I presume you desire. I would purposely NOT shop your aisles as a result of this tactic. I know that this stand, this rebellion, this consumer flounce of my own will have no tangible effect upon your establishment. There will be umpteen and a half other shoppers who will fill that void that might have been moi.

But I feel better having said it. I don't even want to know if you are playing holiday music in your stores already.

Signed,
Crabby McCrabberson

No TV?!!? How Are You Going to Watch the Election Results?!?!

I voted. I did my civic duty and carried out an important responsibility I have as a citizen of this nation. I am not being a social studies teacher nerd when I say that it makes me really proud to be able to do so; it is a privilege that we often take for granted.

I can get frustrated with the media coverage. I like the suspense. I like the intrigue.......fine---I.....like....the.....drama. I don't want to know who the predicted leader/next president is after 1% of the precincts reporting. How can they already be coloring in the little states different colors? I know, I know, I get the mathematics of it all, it is just.....come on, people. Can we just dial it back a little bit on the Freakshow-ness of it all???

I get that people are jazzed about this election; I understand that people are passionate about it all. Maybe because I am not as sure as everyone else is appearing that I can't get all amped up. Don't get me wrong, I love a good freak out as much as the next gal.

I just would like there to be a little more drama on this night. But that is just me.

What?

I have been gone. It was really, really important. I was updating the cold fusion process. I mean, solving world hunger. Me and Angelina...together. No? World peace-done. No? Avoiding planning for a new course to be taught? Yes. Lounging on couch with the stinkiest dog in my house? Yes. Getting back into walking everyday? Yep.

I had strayed from walking when my dad went into the hospital and then it was drama-crisis mode for a while and I told myself I didn't have time. Would I rather be at the hospital or would I rather be walking? Hmmm. If I am honest, and we are all about honesty here, my peeps, I could have done both. Tell me if this sounds familiar:

I really should _______________ before I walk. Oh, and_____________, that really needs to be finished. What am I going to make for dinner? I think I need to go to the store for the ingredients. If I walk before I go to the store, then I will be ravenous at the store and we all know that hunger and grocery shopping don't mix unless you want a meltdown from hunger-based crabbiness or you want a $500.00 grocery bill ($25 worth of chocolate to be eaten in car on way home). So I should probably eat something snacky and then go shopping, then make dinner but by then it will be too dark out. And, even though I sport the kickin' reflector-esque shoes for the fuller footed gal, it really isn't safe to walk when it is dark out. I could carry a flashlight, but I don't know where one is and I would look pretty foolish trying to exercise and carry a candle so that it doesn't extinguish, plus I am no longer to be trusted around fire (to be a later post).

That is about par for the course for moi. That's it. Changes on the horizon last week.

I'm back.

I always want to sing a few bars of "Back in Black" but that is the only part I know. Which is really lame. Not that I am a huge AC/DC fan by any stretch of the ee-madge, but I like to have a certain veritas to what I quote and what I co-opt.

Then, I always mix up the little girl in Poltergeist, Carol Anne, when she is looking at the snow on the TV screen and turns around and says: "They're heeeeeeeeeeeeeereeeeeeeee." All creepy like.
Except I keep wanting to say: "They're baaaaaaaaaaaaaack."
And then I think I confuse that with Jack Nicholson in "the Shining" saying something about Johnny and I just give up. And sing "I'm baaack." To the tune of Back in Black.

Christ. I need a drink.

Okay, I Teach Geography and I Didn't Know This.

Did you? I thought it was just a little bit cool. We learn something everyday.

The Equator Freak Zone


Plus, it is a cool website to browse around.

Down in Flames.....

You know its a bad teaching day when a student says: "Ms. SoThereThen.......you going down in flames." And it wasn't a threat, but rather......a comment on my teaching for the day.

In my defense, it was last block and I had a pounding headache. (That really doesn't defend me, now that I think about it. But it makes me feel better on the inside. So.)

There was not anything supes dupes abysmal, I just kept making dumb mistakes. like spelling "pollution" (it just took me three times before spellcheck said I had it friggin' right!!!) like this:

polullution.

And then correcting it to:

poluption.

I shit you not. Then, I kept mixing up letters in a word.......not when I was spelling, but when I was TALKING!!! Like my brain was moving faster than my mouth and the message got lost on the way out about the order of the letters.

Then, I spelled "fridge" like this:

fige.

What is going on?!?! I am losing all credibility. The students were having a bunch of side conversations (Usual, coming back from a four day weekend) and I felt like I was herding cats. I tried to re-group by saying, "Let's keep the ball rolling and keep the wheels from coming off the cart that is this class...." and that's when I got the Smackdown.

"It's your fault, Ms. SoThereThen, we can't concentrate with how weird you're being. (I kid you not.) It's your teaching. You're going down in flames today."

Which made me bust out laughing. It was true and while there are some that would gasp at their audacity, I think it is okay. It was in a jesting, kidding way. I laughed and then told them that there job is to still be focused. I will turn my ship around eventually, but they still have tasks in front of them regardless if I am being loony or not. And that worked. And they worked. And it was fine.

Going down in flames....ha! That's funny; if only they knew how some days were held together by a fine, fine filament of a threat......I meand thread. I eamn, I mean threa. Thread. Those typos are NOT, I repeat NOT, on purpose. My brain is on vacation. I need to be done with words today, I think.

Drying peppers....the lazy way.

I have a crap load of hot peppers. Mostly because a salsa pepper plant was mislabeled as an Italian Roaster plant at the nursery. It was also quite productive. There is no way we could go through the amount of hot peppers that the garden produced. It was a repeat of ZucchiniGate '04. I could put these on the radiator on a cookie sheet, but I can't have them sitting out that long as we have the house on the market and I don't want to deal with them should we have a showing.
Some are still green, and I might roast those. My housemate when I lived in Santa Fe would add roasted green chilies to her chicken soup. It was phenomenal. These two pictures were taken after I took out the red peppers to dry.
The last batch I did about a month ago, I took out the veins and the seeds. I am going to leave them in this time as see what happens in terms of drying. The heat of a hot pepper is in the veins and the seeds, so I already know this will be a much more heated batch. I cut the stems off and cut them in half. I arranged them willy-nilly on my favorite half cookie sheet from my mother in law, cut side up. Putting them in the oven on the lowest setting is what we want. We are trying to mimic the sun naturally drying the peppers.
This is after two hours at about 180 degrees.
After three hours. The edges are curling, the color is deepening and my whole kitchen is starting to smell like roasting peppers, even though we are not roasting.
I took out the small peppers before putting the sheet back in the oven. I don't want to burn them. I am going to let them cool down to check if they are brittle enough. I can always put them back in. What we are looking for is dried, completely, all the way through. We don't want them to mold. That would be bad. Very bad. I have to wait for them to cool completely in order to check that. While they are still warm, they are kind of bendy and leathery. Once they cool, it is a much more accurate check.
This is after four hours.
This is after five hours. Same temperature. I usually set the timer for an hour, just so I don't forget them and end up burning the house down. That would be bad. Very, very bad. I would probably get in trouble for that. I, apparently, am not to be trusted with candles either. I love candles.
These are the few that I took out a while ago, and it is the next day. You can see how they are a little translucent. We like that. Not all are going to be like this, especially if you leave the veins in, as some pepper varieties have thicker, meatier walls than others. I have four different varieties in this batch. I am not a Militant Freakshow about keeping the varieties separate. I don't think I will use even all these, but we have a friend, with whom we smoke meat, who makes his own meat rub mix. I can always get in good with him if I show up with a jar of dried peppers for him to grind into a powder for rubs.
This is after six hours and, again, the next day. On first look, I think they were in too long. But, it is a test and we shall see how they crumble.
These are the few that I left out. They are such a purty color of red. I like putting them in glass jars an putting them up on the shelf with my dried beans and other supplies that are also in glass jars.
I ended up putting a few peppers back into the oven for a couple hours. They were kind of sticky when I went to crush and crumble and I thought they had too much moisture (Ish. Hate that word.) still in them. I got a half jar of crushed red pepper flakes...correction: chunks. I like it chunkier, you can always crush them up into tinier pieces or even put them through a spice mill or coffee grinder to make chili powder. If you use your coffee grinder, run a couple batches of white rice through first to clean out the coffee.

Weekday Morning.

This is the kind of fall morning I love. A little bit of frost in the front lawn in lower areas, the lake calm, still, a couple ducks resting momentarily....the trees across the lake changing, crisp air (it was 36 at this point: 8 am) bright sunshine, leaves on the still green grass. And I don't have to go to work on a school day. I love that.

I can do puttery stuff that doesn't relate to school. As it should be on a no school day. I am drying hot peppers from the garden (different than roasting; a post is coming on that.), I pickled eggs, I made a farm breakfast for us, I cleaned out my cabinet of cookbooks. I went through and organized all the recipes I had in a three ring binder: got rid of the ones that I know I will never use, have used and didn't like, bothered me because they were old Weight Watchers recipes and didn't taste good (There are some really good ones that I have kept) and put them into categories. Then, all the annoying loose recipes, magazine pages and cards from friends that were all crazy unorganized were put into the binder as well. I found four recipes that I thought I lost.

This kind of activity is as satisfying as making lists and crossing things off them. I am preparing the nest for winter. I sure love fall.

Phoning It In.

I heart test days. We have a short week because of MEA (Statewide professional development convention......I have never been. Our district doesn't require it, so I have never really been motivated on my own to go.) and today was the last day of the week.

It is usually the day where I give a big world map test re-take and then the kids don't have homework over the long weekend. I always hated the teachers that would assign a huge project or paper over a long weekend. I try not to be "that" teacher too often.

Some kids have already tested out and passed the test, so they had a study hall. The ones that were taking the test, were a little stressed. A few were "sick" and a few were not accounted for. In addition, many of the students that passed the first one, were taking the PSATs today, so it was nice that they were not missing anything crucial by being gone.

Every block--the whole block, 90 minutes, was used by at least one student. Blessed quiet. Blessed productive-ish work. The majority of the kids did better, some much better, on the second test. Some did not.

From a teaching stand point, there was a whole lot of not much direct teaching going on today. AND......I was able to get them all corrected before I left, so I ALSO do not have homework. Not true. The end of the quarter is in two and a half weeks, I will be teaching a new class (Western Civilization) next quarter and I have read exactly one section of the first chapter. Yikes. It takes a lot to plan and prep for an entirely new class. So. That is what I will be doing over much of my long weekend.

That is really, truly one of my least favorite parts of being a teacher. I get extremely jealous of those folks that can leave their jobs at their job. When they metaphorically punch the clock, they are done.

Eh. I won't have the alarm going off at 5:30 tomorrow morning. I will probably still friggin' wake up at 5:30, but I don't have to get up then. Yay.

The Smoking.

A year ago (?) we began smoking meat with a couple of friends. Seriously. It just tastes so much better. I also would like to point out that I use the term "we" loosely here. This is the first smoking of 3, maybe 4, that I have even seen. Up until this one, it has a cult-ish, secret initiation type vibe as it was much talked about, and unseen by mine eyes. I saw it mostly because it was our turn to host it at our house and foot the electrical bill. (Which was so not as bad as I thought it would be.) Turns out the actual smoking consists of checking the thermometer a bunch of times, futzing around with draft holes, and drinking scotch. And maybe or maybe not shooting air rifles at targets. Now I realize that not everyone is going to do this as it takes a lot of time to prepare and a ton of time to smoke it. Not that I would know, a fact for which I am extremely pleased. Here are a couple shots from the last smoking, or meating. I like both terms interchangeably.

I believe in this picture, there is some rubbing of briskets. I have never tasted anything so good meat-wise after tasting this for the first time. I have no idea how much they smoked, but I think we ended up with three briskets in our freezer, which is a little too few for my comfort.
This was stuffing the casing for the salami. Which, by the way, was phenomenal. As a sidnote, the immature gal in me giggles at this picture. I had no part in creating it or planning for it or the actual smoking of it. And that's the way I like it. Because I was useless in the process, I can gush and ooo and aah over this meat. I'll provide food and booze for the smokers until the cows come home. I have heard allusions, stories and other sordid tales that the womenfolk (Throw in a facetious air quote here, please) might be invited (again......air quotes.) to help this time. Ironically, we might be put on overnight shift. Ah, no. You really don't want someone in charge of a 24-48 hour process whom has a great deal of trouble making it past 9 pm on a school night.
These are three pork bellies (I seriously never knew that pork bellies really existed. I just thought it was something made up for "Trading Places".) Again, Iwill never go back to store bought bacon if I can have any say whatsoever about it. These are actually hanging in the smoker.
These are briskets on the left in front and also on the right with the fat cap facing the other direction. Behind those: summer sausage. We have given away a couple sausage bits, but I don't think we have personally eaten any of the summer sausage we made. I'm not really a summer sausage fan. Country sausage, sure, love it. Bratwurst sausage, yep you betcha. Summer? Eh. Reminds me of those Hickory Farms Christmas packages/boxes that my dad would get every year with the mini jars of jam and mini pinwheels of cheese. Most sausage I like without complaint.

Attempted Lockdown.

When Sophie isn't sleeping when I am home.....which is like 92% of the time I am here---she is after all, a bajillion years old--she is usually putting me on Lockdown. This consists of following me from room to room. If I sit on the couch, it is sitting right next to me on said couch. At least until she wants the spot where I am sitting. Then, she will bark or come and give me the prison stare and THEN bark. Specifically blowing her death breath in my face whilst barking.

If I am moving around from room to room too much for her liking, she may give up on the one-on-one D, but will position herself strategically in the house, say..........in the hallway where she can see the den, dining room and both entrances to the kitchen.....oh and the door to the basement. I guess in case I get real creative and go to the basement to sneak out the Bilco door. So.

Lockdown might mean that if I am at the dining room table, she will come and lay on her side so that her body is up against my chair so she can feel if I move my chair to get up. Then she is bolting up out of a dead sleep to see where it is I think I am going.

It also might mean that if she sees me put on my sunglasses, pick up my purse, or get my keys....putting herself bodily between the door and me.

It might mean looking at me in an Orphan way.....or at least what I interpret is orphan-esque. It might just be gas. Or stifling a yawn. (Occasionally, if I come back into the house right after such an exchange, she is already up on the couch snoring. So. There's that.)

Whatever it is, I love her to bits and I don't mind that she gets a little crabby at me for not being around last week. Plus, we have Thursday and Friday off this week, so I will be around more than usual. So. There.

Protesting.

I am fighting the urge to make a list to quell the looming sense of overwhelmed. I am protesting the fact that the world doesn't stop if something like last week happens. The friggin' grass still grows. Clothes still get worn and need to be washed. Food still gets eaten and needs to be replaced by grocery shopping. Sophie still sheds hair that needs to be dealt with. Good lord, does it need to be dealt with. Hair balls the size of oranges hover and float as you walk by stirring up a faint breeze. Sometimes, if you make a large enough breeze and maybe don't look so closely, they just vanish. Disappear in a puff of smoke. (Did you see that? I just lied right to your face. They don't disappear. They never, ever, ever disappear.)

Maybe the first thing I would put on my list, and I am most certainly not going to make a list....but, if I WERE to make said list........the first thing I would probably put on it is to brush my teeth. For sure. Aim high, love, aim high.

I have conceded that I will most likely not be correcting papers today. Which is fine, I am okay with that. This past year I have loosened my death grip upon myself and the completely nutso obsession with correcting things and getting them back to students as soon as humanly possible. Why? Why would I feel this need? There are those high strung students that have to know yesterday what they got on the test they finished last block, there always will be these students. I was not really one of these students, so I can't really identify with this obsession......so why do I feel the need to ease their stress immediately at the cost of my having my own time of an evening? Nutso, I tell ya, nutso.

I have also arranged for the two neighbor twins to mow the lawn. Of course, it is supposed to rain today and I have yet to bring down the key for the garage. All in good time, my good man, all in good time. So mowing the lawn is off the list that I am not making. I don't even know where a pencil is in this house and everyone knows that if you make a list it must be in pencil. Pencil just sounds better on the paper than pen when you are decidedly crossing off a completed task.

If I were making a list, which I absolutely refuse to do, I would probably put a bajillion loads of laundry on the list somewhere near the top. Fine, I kid. Maybe three-ish loads of laundry. That doesn't seem so bad.

I had defrosted one of the two hambones from last week's baptism (We are "witnesses"....not of the Jehovah variety, but of the baptism variety. Easy mistake. I've never been a witness before. I grew up Roman Catholic. We had godparents. But then I quit Roman Catholicism. So, who knows what happens in religious type circles these days.). So. Ham Bone. I was going to make split pea soup today. Except when I went to look in the Hoosier cabinet, no split peas. So, I would have to go to the store...and that would definitely mean making a list because we have put the kibosh on going to the store for "just one thing". That is when the Impulse Buying Monkeys starting flying out my butt. Not really, but I tend to spend more than if I had a list. (I love lists. I really feel like making a list, but I have already declared today a list free Sunday.)

A colleague of mine lent me her Steam Shark or her Shark Steam or some weird name because it doesn't really look like a shark so I am not sure where Euro Pro came up with the name, but that is neither here nor there. Anyway, in order to not be a schmuck, I should use it and return it this week. But, first I would have to sweep and then swiffer........dog hair and dust respectively.....before I could Steam Shark. Can I make that a verb? Before I could Shark? Before I could Steam? Before I could Sharkenate?

Where do I begin? With gin? I keeeeeeed. It's only 10:57 in the morning for cripes sake! Everyone knows that 11 am is more acceptable. Imagine how much I would get done on my hypothetical list if I put gin at the top. I bet I would have a lot more fun doing a half assed job on all things listy.

My head swims less with a list. I can see progress instead of being overwhelmed. I can cross things off. And then forget about them instead of trying to remember everything like the storm window that needs to be repainted before it can go back up on our second story bedroom window from when we had the air conditioner in this summer. That kind of crap that gets forgotten and then suddenly someone is up a friggin ladder in a blizzard. Swearing. A lot. Christ. That does need to get done before that stellar moment appears.

I wouldn't need to put going to the hospital on my list. I won't forget to do that. Hopefully, a jailbreak has been thwarted today.

Surfacing.....

I have missed you. I have missed being able to blog. I have missed a normal day. I have missed downtime.

We have had a week of a lot. My dad had complications from a surgery a month ago surface late Thursday night. Admitted to the hospital. Friday, had a heart attack while in said hospital. Monday had triple by pass surgery. Thursday back into surgery to deal with said complications from last month's surgery. Today, out of the ICU.

A small, tiny, almost inaudible cheer goes up from the crowd. Cautiously. I am quite convinced that he will be okay as his stubborn is coming back, his color is coming back and when I told him he was a little crabby yesterday--in a lighthearted teasing way--he kind of giggled.

I love that man. We don't really tell each other, much less enough, those private heart feelings.......but man, do I love that man. He is my idol in so many ways. Generous. Kind hearted. Intelligent and wise...you don't always get that package deal, ya know? Goofy. Goofy, goofy and goofy in the best way a person possibly can be.

I am very glad that he is still around for a while. Things feel like they can be getting back to normal again soon. I can see the wheels turning, "I don't care what the doctors say, I am out of the hospital tomorrow."

I wouldn't be surprised in the least if he attempts a jailbreak. Mooning everyone in his hospital gown onthe way out. Only half on purpose.

How Could Your Mood Not Be Improved....

....if this was a daily view for you? It doesn't even have to be Florence to be mood enhancing, I would settle for almost anywhere in Italy as a sure fire mood alterer. I've always really liked this panorama of Firenze. Of course, living there is different than being on vacation there. But, conveniently, my brain blocks out all the headaches that go with living in another country. Even when I am there. It just seems less irritating???

Actually, sometimes the little buggers of daily life can sometimes get blown up in another country. You crave normalcy. You crave things "working"....or at least the way in which you area used to them working.....good or bad, you know what to expect in your home country and are usually not disappointed.

But.....that's the adventure. That is the exciting part. Sure. It is also the pain-in-the-ass part, but I kinda like the different-ness of it. The confusion. The "mystery" of how to do something that natives don't even think about, and you are confused beyond words. Learning the ropes, becoming an old hand at something that was once a frustration; I like that process of becoming accustomed to the differences and not being phased by them anymore.

I can't imagine a time in my life where I won't want to live in another country because of this reason. It doesn't mean I hate America, it doesn't mean I have an unfulfilled life, it doesn't mean I am running away from problems or issues or past mistakes.......Listen, some people play golf. I daydream about travel and living abroad. It is a hobby that I occasionally have been extremely fortunate to be able to live out.

Dunk Tank Update.

It. Wasn't. That. Bad.

Mostly, well all, because they heated up the water. They ran a hose from the school kitchen, hot water tap on full blast, and filled that puppy up. (Tax dollars at work, folks. I certainly am not complaining in this case, mind you.) That first dunking was like a warm bath by the time it was my turn. The second, however, was much more pleasant. MUCH. Because.......once you are wet, then the cold air isn't so pleasant. Really, not at all, if I must be completely honest. But there were so many kids that were hell bent on dunking a teacher that I spent most of my turn IN the water rather than perched above it. Which was rather nice.

Although I think cheaterpants who pretend to be coming up to pick up the thrown balls and really they are there to hit the seat release lever with their hand should get in trouble. Really big trouble. I'm not talking expulsion here, but a very firm talking to by someone. Who isn't dripping wet. Being dripping wet just makes said student giggle with glee. There was no chagrin, no remorse, no regret. Just giggling. Gleefully. Maybe even in the neighborhood or a cackle or two.

Dunk Tank.

Not a typo. For the love of Jane, what on earth would possess me to volunteer to sit in a dunk tank during Homecoming week, in Minnesota, outside, when the high is supposed to be 57 degrees? Why I ask you, I beseech you.........WHY? I'll let you know how it goes tomorrow.......if I make it. I already have kids saying they are bringing in bags of cash. Great. Fantastic. You played baseball? A pitcher? STAR pitcher, you say? Wonderful. Congratulations.

Maybe it should be drunk tank. Cripes.

Gladiators.

Ah. Il Colesseo. The Colosseum. Home of the Gladiators, Christians, Lions, Slaves and Russell Crowe. Even though it is in different shape than it once was in its heyday; it still is magical. You can picture it, your mind's eye filling in the floor, seating area and imagining it as it once was.

Further, thinking about what actually took place there gets your mind thinking. Horrible, tragic ends of lives were met here. Without most spectators blinking an eye, I can imagine. We in modern, more "civilized" times, cluck our tongues at the barbarian-ness of it all. I say, judge not lest you be judged, Mr. and Mrs. 21st century.

We still are fascinated by others' suffering. Financial ruin, celebrity fallings and missteps, humiliation of the mighty and not so mighty. Look at our abundance of reality TV for the sake of real and created drama, often consisting of one's humiliation, shame, or misfortune. Is it all an attempt to make us feel better about our lives in some small (I use this both figuratively and literally)way? Natural disasters, the war, your neighbor's dirty, ugly secret.

I think that might be a small corner of the reason that we got rid of TV. News, reality TV, vapid sitcoms, whatever. The argument could be made that if you don't say anything, it won't change. Couldn't getting rid of it all together being a statement in and of itself?

Teenagers beating up older people caught on video camera, school shootings, celebrities who are famous for being famous or drinking/drugs or misbehaving, whatever it is. It is enough to just want to move to somewhere else.

But....we can't and we don't, for the most part. We play the hand we are dealt. And there is goodness in the world, their is righteousness here, and there is kindness. Check this out if you get a change today. I mean, chance. Hmmmm. Maybe if you need a change today?

Never, Ever Run Away. Capital R, Capital A.

We are going to step in the way back machine to revisit an episode from childhood. It is not morbid, not disturbing, nor anything that will make you silently weep for me. Nothing like that. I must have been 4 or 5, maybe 6 but probably no older and was mad at my mother for some reason. Perhaps I was not allowed to do something or I had gotten scolded for something I probably shouldn't have been doing...the reason, specifically, escapes me. It may or may not be selective memory at this point in time. So. I decided that I wasn't going to put up with it anymore and I was running away. Overreaction? Yes. Melodramatic? Check. True? Yep.

I had at the time a suitcase (I believe it was called a train make up case or something) that was little, opened at the top like a jewelry box, had satin lining the top and bottom and had a mirror installed inside the top lid. It was blue and it....was....cool. So, it became my Running Away Bag. Now, the letters have changed at this point as I have created....already....different dramatic scenarios in my head. Running away, making it on my own, I'll show Mom, maybe making it big in Hollywood, being taken in by a mega wealthy kind family, you get the picture. So.

I pack my Running Away Bag with the absolute essentials according to a 4/5/6 year old. Toothbrush (dental hygiene always important...you'll note I forgot the toothpaste.), Barbie Doll WITH a change of clothes, coloring book and crayons (not the big 64 pack, just the regular 12 count box) and a change of underwear. Probably a cookie or two. Or ten.

I walked across the backyard, through the neighbor's back yard and realized, as I was walking down the next street over....I had to go to the bathroom. Uh-oh. Not BATHROOM, just bathroom. Now the dilemma begins. I was mad at my mom, and a stubborn brat that day. I had never gone poddy outside, so that would be interesting. But...I was mad at my Mom and I was determined I was not going back to the house. I had made a clean break, always look forward, there is no going back (Mind you, I was two backyards away...it wasn't like I had walked miles and miles.)

At that time, the other side of the street was still prairie grass and no houses. The grasses were tall, I was shorter than I am now....I could do it. Big girls went poddy outside if they had to go. I was an independent woman, no one could tell me what to do, NO ONE was the boss of me! So, across the street I went. I found a clump of tallish grass, pulled down my shorts and worried (But not too much) about peeing on my shoes and started peeing. Buzzing ensued. Huh?

Seems I had taken up camp right on top of a ground hornets' nest.....or whatever flying, stinging insect lives in the ground. RIPPED my pants back up, running and screaming the whole way (across the street and two backyards) home, followed by---what I imagine today a cloud that looks like the cloud that follows Pigpen in the Peanuts---screaming and crying for my Mom.

Who, quite frankly, could have been a little more relieved to see me after I had Run Away. Yes, she had no idea that I had, in fact, Run Away, but she could have "sensed" it, grieved, sat on the back step (if we had a back step) crying and wringing out her handkerchief scanning the horizons for her lost, beloved daughter. (Really....it is pretty shocking my mom is not a drinker. I cannot fathom dealing with my drama from her perspective.) So. Let's just say that absolutely none of that scene happened.

What did happen was she started screaming at me and (from my perspective) slapping the crap out of my arm, my head, my back, my stomach. I am thinking, "What gives? How the hell did she know I was even Running Away?" From her perspective: Daughter. Running at her. Screaming bloody murder. Crying like all get out. Bees/hornets/stinging things sticking out of her skin, flying all around her. WHAT THE HELL DID SHE GET INTO??

She is screaming in a continuous rotation, "WHAT?!?!? What happened? Where are all these coming from? WHAT??? I can't understand you when you are crying and screaming!! Get inside! Go! Go! Get inside!" Repeat. All the while, me with the wailing siren kid scream of unintelligent babbling. Maybe a air-sucking sob or two. Or ten.

At this point, we are now inside the house, with the swarm still swarming. My mom has a flyswatter in one hand, a dishtowel in the other, flailing around like some sort of Transformer Superhero who secret skill is Windmill Arms of Death. (Still screaming at me: WHAT DID YOU GET INTO???) Little bastards never knew what hit them. She swats at me, she swats at the air, she swats at the ceiling, the door, the chair, the stove. They were everywhere. Me still crying, sobbing, sucking in air, standing in the middle of the room, arms hanging limply at my side, snot running down my face, bees/hornets/stinging things buzzing around me and occasionally dive bombing my head.

Once Windmill has gotten most of them, we are headed towards the bathroom, maybe it was the bedroom. I am still screaming/crying/sobbing. Clothes off. Still screaming. They were inside my shirt, in my hair, thankfully, I don't remember any in my shorts or grunders. That would have been...not good. My mom is checking me over for stingers still sticking out, and I am instructed to get into bed. She leaves and comes back with a bowl with baking soda and water mixed into a paste.

Later, I am laying in bed arms and legs spread out, covered in white baking soda paste-y dots all over---mostly arms and legs but also my stomach and neck....and face....and feet. My mom pissed as hell that I scared the bejeezus out of her with my screaming and crying and swarm of pain following after me. When I confessed to running away, she softened up. I think she was confused and I can no longer remember the reason for the Running Away in the first place, so I don't remember her reaction to that information.

She stayed with me for a while until I fell asleep (worn out from all that Drama.), caressing my head (where there wasn't a paste-y dot), soothing me and telling me it would be okay. Occasionally, she would have to climb up on the bed to swat at a errant insect buzzing up in the corner of the ceiling.

I am picturing my dad coming home from work and asking how our day was and getting this story, peeking in on me playing on my floor with my Barbies, covered in baking soda paste dots. Ahhhh, parenthood. At this point, my younger brother was around, I don't remember what he was doing. but from my mom's perspective, two kids and the Flying Stinging Insect Incident makes for an unusual (Usual??) day. If I was five or six, then she could have possible been pregnant with my younger brother or he was a very tiny baby.

Really. I am surprised my mom doesn't drink.

She Surfaces....

I feel as though I have been underwater and far, far away. It has been two...three(?!?!) days since I last blogged. If you're Catholic, you KNOW you just thought of confessions. (I was raised Catholic and actually lied in my first official confession. I guess I was already doomed to hell after that...anything subsequent is just icing, right??) I didn't realize how much I missed checking in with you.

Why the delay? Well, there were stitches to remove from my head, a birthday dinner to prepare and serve, and yep.......already.......wait, wait for it.....Parent Teacher Conferences last night until 8pm. Plus, and here is where you will be jealous of my superior intelligence.....back at school this morning at 7:15---after a 12.5 hours day yesterday. I decided to crack down on foot dragging test maker uppers. Those students that delay and delay hoping the test that they skipped in the first place will go away. I gave a test on Wednesday and told kids they could make it up Thursday as I would already be at school for conferences. But, I had to offer a morning option for those with jobs and extra curriculars. So, I just tacked on the next morning. Without thinking. Friday morning. After conferences. Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice. I was the one who was dragging.

So, I shall complete a meme I lifted from Goldfish, who lifted it from Sunshine ( I feel like I am talking about the Strawberry Shortcake Mafia....I am no better with the appellation of So There Then Gal). It looked fun, you and I can get reacquainted and we shall merrily go forth. Thanks Goldfish (And indirectly Sunshine).


1. YOUR ROCK STAR NAME (first pet, current car): Sparky Cavalier

2. YOUR GANGSTA NAME (fave ice cream flavor, favorite type of shoe): Chocolate Slide..wait. That sounds way too close to a bathroom incident...I'm gonna lie (It's not like it will be the first time.) Chocolate Mule

3. YOUR NATIVE AMERICAN NAME (favorite color, favorite animal): Green Dog

4. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME (middle name, city where you were born): Marie Edina

5. YOUR STAR WARS NAME (the first three letters of your last name, first two of your first name): Berhe

6. SUPERHERO NAME (2nd favorite color, favorite drink): Yellow Sparkling Water (SERIOUSLY?!?!?! Why the bathroom theme??)

7. NASCAR NAME (the first names of your grandfathers): Matt Reinhard

8. STRIPPER NAME ( the name of your favorite perfume/cologne/scent, favorite candy): Beautiful Swedish Fish (STU-pid.)
9. TV WEATHER ANCHOR NAME (your fifth grade teacher’s last name, a major city that starts with the same letter): Schmidt San Diego

10. SPY NAME (your favorite season/holiday, flower): Spring Poppy

11. CARTOON NAME (favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now): Watermelon Jeans

12. HIPPIE NAME (What you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree): Oatmeal Linden


Over and out.

Ruined Names...

One of the casualties of being a teacher is that names get ruined.....forever. If we had decided to have kids, we'd be severely limited for name choices. There are names that I will never be able to utter without a student's face flashing in front of my eyes. Sorry to break it to ya, but it is almost never the good kids that stick out this way. It is the kids that make me question my sanity in career choices on a daily basis, if not a minute by minute crisis intervention inside my head. Those are always the ones whose names I remember.

There are also the multiples. I usually have a couple Brittanys ( or Britany or Britney or Brittney....arrgh.) in a quarter, if not a class period. Then there are the Ashleys, Amandas, and Alyssas. Kaylas, Kylies, and don't even get me started on the Kristen/Kirsten conundrum.

Boys are usually pretty straight forward: tons of Mike/Michaels, many Jakes, Joshs or Jacks, each class is always good for a Cody/Kody or two and maybe a Casey for good measure. I realize names are cyclical...but from a teacher viewpoint.....they all hit at once and I feel like a frazzled parent somedays that runs through all the kids' names (and sometimes the pets' names as well) before they hit on the right name for the kids that they are talking to or yelling at depending on the situation.

Can we just make a rule that you spell your name in a manner that doesn't take me twelve minutes to sound out like a first grader before I figure it out... Ctefani? I realize that you are forming your identity, but I am less concerned with how you are spelling your name today/this week and more concerned with how you are doing with the curriculum. Sorry. ( Disclaimer: I have never had a student with this spelling, I actually knew someone who spelled it this way when I was in junior high. I wonder if that was a phase or if she is still spelling it that way?)