singapore fling

One year ago today, I was on a flight to Singapore. At this exact time, three hours in the air, I was probably still trying to impress upon my friendly seatmate Mike that I was finished chatting. I had started flipping through magazines, engaged headphones, opened my laptop. In each instance, friendly Mike would make a friendly comment - "Oh, you like that magazine?" You mean this one, in my hands, that cost nearly an hour of substitute teacher pay? "What kind of music do you listen to?" You mean when I actually get to listen to it? "So, is that your husband there?" My screen background picture of Gael?? Um, actually, yes it is. Please let me be, Friendly Mike.

I loved my time in Singapore. It's hard to even explain how much, because lots of people travel and it's nice to get away, visit new places, see amazing sights, try exotic foods. There was something about flying alone - 21 hours of aloneness (except for you-know-who) - and even wandering around the city state by myself while Stu was working that made me feel more alive than anything else I've done. I suppose giving birth was an eye-opening, hyper-alive feeling, but it was also relatively quick and affected by various drugs. Being in a foreign country for a week, really getting into a rhythm with the people who lived there, was extraordinary. I strolled through parks and shops, toured a 200-year old church, took a cooking class and walked through a spice garden. I hopped on and off their mass transit system, finding my way around the island.

I'm realizing that I am truly passionate about traveling. I adore teaching and find great satisfaction most of the time, but there are also significant moments of despair (or less dramatically, dejection). When I go places, even the weird stuff, the mistakes, the minor irritations are satisfying. For example, when in Shanghai a few years ago I got enmeshed in a strange situation (that I still haven't quite unraveled) that ended up with a very angry Chinese man not allowing me and some students from Beijing leave his sight until he was paid cash for a tea ceremony that I thought was free. Rather unnerving, but at the same time exhilirating.

Same with the older Italian guy who followed me around the Singapore Art Museum last fall until I told him I had to meet my husband for lunch. In our hotel room. (And even then I wasn't sure he didn't want to be invited...). I had to make a cryptic phone call to Stu at work explaining I was going to be a bit late but was on my way; he was rather confused, and then concerned, but it was a great story in the end.

I want to enjoy my present, but I can't let go of those pieces of the past. I guess that's why I keep the receipt from Washy Washy (the laundromat we used) and tags from my Raffles Hotel tea bags along with the hundreds of photos. Sigh.

willing the weekend to begin

I don't like to be the person who says "I CAN'T WAIT!" too often because it usually means I'm not paying close enough attention to the here & now, and that can be sad. I try to appreciate as many moments as I can, reminding myself that no one likes to feel rushed or, worse, unimportant and dismissed.

However.

Today I had a weird fogginess about me and even developed some shakiness during my first class this morning. Ack. The fogginess turned into a headache that was quite literally throbbing by 2:00; I noticed I was speaking very slowly and squinting as I escorted my last students out the door. They were backing away with worried looks, bless 'em.

I sat at my classroom computer with that I CAN'T WAIT feeling rolling over me - tomorrow I'm heading out to the Oregon Coast with my two best girlfriends for a weekend retreat with my church ladies (they're not these kind of church ladies, fyi).

Here are some weird and/or stupid things I narrowly avoided doing today in my fog and restlessness:

• Resting my face on the cool smooth surface of my desk every few minutes
• Gritting my teeth as I told a student, for the tenth time in 30 minutes, Yes you will be giving your speech today
• Writing a blog post during lunch about how tired and out of sorts I felt
• Telling a particularly obnoxious kid to just get the hell out of class, please, now, yes you
• Crying when some immature boys kept guffawing through John Hannah's recitation of "O Tell Me the Truth About Love"
• Lying down on the floor of my office for just a minute
• Running off the road while trying to unwrap a Tootsie Roll on the way home
• Crashing into a bus while trying to unwrap another Tootsie Roll

But avoid those things I did and I made it home unscathed, with a slightly diminished headache. I actually finished some PTA work (gasp!) and am now feeling more settled for the evening. I think I'll go spend time with the man who endures it all, just for me (and his occasional back rubs) before I disappear for three days.

seasonal delights

I usually do this at A-Lister, but today it feels better here. I don't know why - recent full moon, end of a trying back-to-school-after-long-break week, day before I get to retreat with my best girlfriends for the weekend...Regardless, enjoy.

1. Sweaters & gloves back in style
2. Football
3. Freshly baked chocolate cookies (they taste better when it's cold outside)
4. Possibility of snow
5. Likelihood of snow not staying too long
6. Christmas music! (My family kind of hates me already...)
7. Did I say football?
8. Warm apple cider
9. Hot cocoa with tiny little marshmallows & whipped cream. And more whipped cream.
10. The thick scent of piney wreaths and bayberry candles
11. Performances of A Christmas Carol & The Nutcracker everywhere we go
12. Bell-ringers who still smile & say "Merry Christmas"
13. Seeing family during the holidays (I get all Clark Griswold at this time of year...)

More eclecticity at Thursday Thirteen.

it is TOTALLY going to stick

My son has decided he should be a meteorologist (yes, he used that word; he is a geek-in-training) because he is SURE the very slushy snow falling this evening (really more like thick raindrops) is going to produce a lush blanket of stay-home-from-school by morning. Here is the joy:

And here is the view of our first "snowfall" (you'll want to train your eyes on the blue spots; don't hurt yourself straining):

I think we're sticking with acting lessons for the boy. He can play a meteorologist on TV.

selective love

I only became a lover of Ludacris (figuratively, of course) in the last few years. When I saw him in Crash and then Hustle & Flow, mm mm mmm. I mean, he's a good actor. I was intrigued, did a little background checking. Essentially, I have decided to adore the maturing performer with the hot lava voice who runs an organization to help young people make smarter decisions. This guy:

And I am turning a blind eye to the juvenile gangsta whose newsletter is called "Word of Mouf" (I can't even say that out loud; I'm far too white) and who has album covers that look like this:

Granted it was from some years ago, but frankly not enough.

And so. This is all I've got. Peace out.

A to Z me

Thank you, bff Lisa. My next post could have been entitled "Why I Might Quit My Job In the Next Thirty Hours" or "500 Ways Teenagers Ruin Poetry." But you saved me (actually, so did the very same teen students I was getting a headache from - this afternoon's seating arrangement miraculously improved their ability to listen without giggling or poking people or throwing objects across the room). Anyhoo. Deep breath. I'm home I'm home I'm home.
_________________________________________
The rules:
List a word that describes you for every letter of the alphabet. Offer as much or as little explanation as you wish. Please keep the words positive (for example, don’t use “fat” for F or “lame” for L), and feel free to get creative. Tag as many or as few people as you wish. Link back to your tagger and forward to your taggees.

Amazing (it's what my cross-dressing student says to me everyday - I think that's a pretty high compliment)
Blessed
Cowboys fan
Droll
Earnest (it's important, you know...ha - this is me being droll)
Frantic
Goen (my maiden name - wait, don't say it: Where ya goin'? How's it goin'? Hilarious)
Happy
Insouciant (I'm really not at all, but isn't it the most lovely word to roll off your tongue?)
Juggler
Kettle Chip eater
Latte, with vanilla, thank you
Mason's mom
Note-writer
Optimist
Paige's mom
Queen, naturally
Ravenous reader
Sister
Tenacious at times
Urbanite at heart (my alter ego dwells in an upscale downtown apartment with a doorman, where she walks to the grocery store and her man takes the train to work; they're featured in an old song by Sheena Easton)
Veracious
Witty, wife
Xenial (I had to look it up; thankfully I'm not xenomenial)
Yet (it's such a hopeful word)
Zest - for life, not the soap
___________________________________________
My usual tagees can take the baton - Kate, Suz...Um, I have no other blog friends who want to do these things. L is for lonely? JK.

not sure where i'm going, but i know where i'm from

I found this nifty idea at the site of Straight Up and Slightly Dirty (who could resist that blog title?), and here is the original poem along with a brilliant fill-in guide.

I have stolen this idea for my poetry class; if all goes well, I might have some amazing stuff to share in the next week. (This is me being optimistic about 29 teenagers in a creative writing class, in the midst of holiday breaks). Meanwhile, this is who I am:

I am from Laundromats,
from All Temp-A-Cheer, Clorox, and weathered clothespins.

I am from the single-wide trailer with a splintery porch,
a closet-sized bedroom and paper-thin walls.

I am from the crooked apple tree in front and bushy wild rhubarb in back.

I am from the flea market after church and forever bargaining,

from Grandpa Doc and Grandma Minnie, and the Parkers in Texas.

I am from the glasses by junior high and gray hair by 21;
From elbows off the table and chew with your mouth closed.

I am from the Church of the Nazarene on Sundays,
Jesus Loves Me and clay pigeon candle holders;
From bookmarks for memorizing Genesis through Malachi.

I’m from Dutch immigrants in Oak Harbor, oliebollen and Waldorf salad.
From the times Grandpa went AWOL, Hey, Mr. Bakery Man!
and stories about sleepwalking.

I am from shoeboxes in Grandma's cedar chest,
filled with pieces of gold & silver
disguised as photos and letters.

paging dr. constantinople

I still have this book from my childhood, copyrighted 1972 (second printing). I remember reading it often and asking my mom to retell her own story of having tonsils removed. It seemed like such an exciting experience! Meeting with the doctor, scheduling the surgery, packing a little suitcase with essentials - "Bathrobe, slippers, comb and brush, a toothbrush...and Old Doll." (I questioned Mary Ann's intelligence considering that was the best name she could come up with for her doll, but I was still jealous). All the while everyone is smiling smiling, like this is the most fun thing ever. It was probably the prospect of hooking back up with handsome Dr. Constantinople that kept Mary Ann cheerful; he was an obvious rip-off of Richard Chamberlain's Dr. Kildare.

I'd go under the knife for that man any day. Apparently, so would my daughter. She has discovered Good-bye, Tonsils and decided she wants to get hers removed, too. Even though neither of us know exactly where our tonsils reside or what their purpose is, we want them out. Maybe for her it's more about the "nurse with golden hair" or walking down the hall "to a pretty room." Or the fat, happy, pink panda that plays a little tune, the surprise from Grandma. (Those used to be my favorite parts, before hormones took over).

There is just something magical about this book, 39 cents brand new, with its Mommy wearing gloves (that she gave Mary Ann to sleep with at the hospital) and the dreamy doctor with an exotic name and a shiny red car that miraculously accommodated six (including Baby Clay). I've tried many times to put it in the giveaway pile, but it won't go. We just can't say good-bye.

sibling revelry

After the millionth morning of bickering, yelling, whining and general sadness between my kids, I brought out the Love & Logic big guns. Well, first I yelled at them to SHUT UP (not a recommended Love & Logic strategy) then we had a quick meeting of the minds - What does it mean when I'm on the phone? What do you think happens when you interrupt me and otherwise cause misery while I'm on the phone? - before The Brilliant Plan shimmered to life in my brain.

Love & Logic says I don't have to come up with a consequence for behavior on the spot. This is contrary to what most parents have been taught - we're generally expected to have the perfect disciplinary action ready for whatever misbehavior emerges at any given moment. That's hard. Love & Logic doesn't want parents or teachers to have a hard job (I love them). They give us permission to say "What you've done is not okay. I'm going to have to do something about this. I'll think about what should happen. I'll get back to you. Try not to worry about it." And of course kids do worry that I'm going to think all day and come up with the most diabolical plan ever, so they go into Perfect Kid mode. If we're angels, she'll forget about punishing us! Or she'll let us off the hook because we've been so good. So masterful.

I told my kids that anything solitary was not allowed today; whatever activity they chose should involve the other person somehow, so they could show me they know how to be loving and kind. Or at least be near each other without making my ears bleed and brain hemorrhage. As I finished some work downstairs, they practiced magic tricks then started setting up the Zathura board game. I went up to shower and after five minutes, Paige came in and announced, "Mason & I are done with brother/sister time since we played a game. Can I play on the computer now?"

Deep breath. "Well," I am calm, loving, and logical, "I'm glad you played a game together. Find more things to do with each other." Small sigh from beyond the shower curtain. Two minutes later: "Can Mason & I watch a movie TOGETHER?" Clever children. "Not just yet," says Delayed Consequences Mom, "we'll see how well you guys can do other things together today." Conspiratorial whispers; I feel a wave of shared dejection roll through the bathroom. At least they were miserable as a team. I considered that progress.

Later there was a fart-sound competition, horsey rides, joint hamster cage cleaning, and surely plenty of covert discussion about the crabbiest, weirdest mom ever. I heard there was a degeneration of the love while shopping at Costco with dad, but it's the first day we've specifically required them to be so together and pleasant. They played later amongst friends without incident. We're now deciding if we let them have a movie night, or try to draw out more camaraderie by putting it off until tomorrow. Bribery & blackmail, thy name is Love & Logic.

and it was good.

Girl & Dad bonding. It doesn't matter if the game was a blow-out.
It matters that the Cowboys won. We may now carry on with the festivities.

I don't know what my mom

thinks this hand gesture means.

I just hope she doesn't do it to the wrong people...

My daughter and her prized 10 cent
"Little House on the Prairie"dress
from the thrift store. (Stu's shirt also
quite a bargain in Singapore, but he
doesn't beg to wear it every single day...).

Must...watch...movie. It was a

long day for this social butterfly.

(New buzz cut courtesy of dad,

who refused to honor the original

request for a mullet).

My cousin Jay and his son
Caleb, also on the verge of
worn-outness.

Jay's wife Melissa with adorable Elijah.

Remarkably, she didn't seem nearly

as tired even though she did most of the

chasing and feeding and wiping and...

Now I'm exhausted.

My sis, Shel, and her mini-me.
(Mason took this pic with his finger
over the flash so I had to perform
some photographic surgery - Michelle
is like the elusive Loch Ness Monster and is
very difficult to photograph; you have
to take what you get).

stop me before i clean behind the fridge

Advantages of staying up until 1 am the night before Thanksgiving:

• Getting everything tidied so I can concentrate on myself in the morning (translation: I can sleep until 10:30, worry-free)
• Pies are baked (and I'm out of our Lilliputian kitchen while Stu takes over tomorrow)
• Table is set, with places & dishes marked (see "OCD much?")
• Every piece of laundry washed, folded, and put away
• This post counts for Thursday

Disadvantages:

• The potential for unbridled crabbiness at any moment increases with each waking/cleaning minute past midnight
• Forgetting to put on oven mitts before removing pies from 400 degree oven, because the tired brain says "You didn't need them when you put the pies in there"
• I will probably change the table layout tomorrow anyway; in fact, I'm already ruminating over whether the yams should be next to the green beans
• Nearly put folded Hello Kitty underwear on the boy's pile; shrieking would have awakened me (before 10:30 am)
• I will forget that I wrote this and have recurring panicky MUST POST moments throughout the day

Happy Thanksgiving, friends in the States!

Happy Thursday to foreign readers & those who reject bourgeois American holidays...

OH - and I put up my Thursday Thirteen guilty pleasures at A-Lister. Go there. (Please)

alternate reality

The reason I still haven't started laundry or cleaned my house is this:

You will live in shack.

You will drive a butter yellow outback.

You will marry gael and have 0 kids.

You will be a teacher in london.

(It's MASH, played online. Who has all this time to create irresistibly torturous games for me??)

Thanks a lot, Betty.

getting ready for the relatives

I really really do love them...

Visit more Wordless Wednesday

scene 2 from a complicated marriage

Cut to close-up of couple on couch. Woman & Man have just finished watching a sappy, overrated, totally predictable yet irresistibly sob-worthy movie.

Man: I'm sorry Ryan Gosling will look like that when he's old.

Woman: Shut up. You're just jealous.

Man: Of what? I totally look like that with my shirt off.

Woman: Whatever. You're an idiot.

[Note: Man denies having said any of this. Disregard any protestations.]

Man: What are you writing anyway? Put that damn thing down! You already posted today...
_______________________________________

You all should hear what the Man thinks really happened. It's pretty funny. But I won't let him have the laptop, and he doesn't know my passwor----

(We've had wine, and chanterelles...And THERE'S NO SCHOOL TOMORROW!)

and so, i did nothing

So I was done with school today at 2:00 and didn't have to pick up my kids until 4pm. Bountiful time! I had a few things to grade, some assignments to enter into the computer, copies to make; updated my white board schedule, changed the date on the chalkboard, arranged papers for Monday. (Yes, I am very comfortable with my OCD, thank you). All the while listening to classic rock and feeling very free free free.

My mind reeled with the exhiliration of no teacher responsibilities for a few days. I started mentally listing all I was going to accomplish in these first few hours of freedom. Pick up last grocery items for Thanksgiving; find funky plates at Goodwill; have a coffee & decadent pastry; read a magazine.

Okay, somehow I got tied up at school (cleaning the chalk tray, straightening books & chairs, picking up gum wrappers, reading blogs answering important school-related e-mails) until 3:58. Fine, no problem, will pick up kids and run errands.

Strangely, the weather people never mentioned it would be below freezing by mid-afternoon today. I left my big coat & gloves at home; just making my way across the school parking lot nearly sent me into hypothermic shock. No errands, everyone home for hot cocoa.

Well, I have plenty of things to do around the house - laundry, dusting, sweeping, and generally making everything not look like pirates live here. But first, snacks. And why not just check my e-mail really fast?

Then it was 5:30, my family was wondering what dinner might look like, and I was tired.

Tomorrow is another day.

scene from a complicated marriage

Long angle: Woman and man have just finished watching two alternate endings of a Stephen King movie. They discuss which ending is the best; argue briefly about whether or not to watch the 'webisode' special feature. Cut to close-up:

Woman: OH NO! I HAVE TO POST!

Man: What?

Woman: I have to post! I didn't write anything for Monday!

Man: And you only have an hour and a half...

Woman: I know! I have to write something!

Man, grinning as he pins Woman with his legs: What if you don't post today?

Woman, struggling to reach for laptop: I have to post! I could win a prize!

Man: What kind of prize?

Woman: I don't know, but I want to win!

Man: How about I give you a prize and you just rub my back?

Woman glares at Man and grabs laptop.

_____________________________________________

Ten minutes later:

Man: What are you still typing? We didn't talk that long.

Woman sighs.

deliver us

Lisa & I shared a somewhat uncomfortable yet ultimately inspiring Saturday evening watching Lars and the Real Girl. It was far deeper than I expected, considering the premise is a guy who pretends a big plastic doll is his girlfriend.

As the story unfolded, I couldn't help but think about the extent of sadness and heartache and despair coursing through any given person I pass on the street - or have in my classroom - everyday. It was a touching movie because Lars' family and community are good people with caring hearts; it was entertaining because who couldn't help but laugh at grown-ups carrying a mannequin around, dancing with her and discussing her haircut. But it was also moving, in a tight-throat-stomach-hurting-eyes-stinging way, because the reality is there are so many people who skate along the surface of life like Lars and his brother, lost & lonely, not letting themselves think about and feel any grief or pain.

I keep thinking about my students in particular - no one has brought a doll to school (yet), but plenty relay unlikely stories of work they've done, gifts they've received, jobs they're offered, places they've been or are going to visit, feats they've committed. I know plenty who act too cool for schoolwork, who make inappropriate comments about my appearance, who write violent lyrics on page after page of their notebooks, who never look me in the eye. There is an obvious, heartbreaking lack of talk about loving relationships or happy memories or feelings of being smart and safe and okay.

I hope I will always be willing to accept the Real Girl and be the compassionate, caring listener to any Lars that ends up in my world. Hope hope hope.

please accept my late work

I have no good excuses for my tardiness, but I finally got around to making a Favorite Things list per Mrs. G's assignment. Check out hers, and those of her cool friends, then visit my A-Lister site. Then you can go to recess.

tragedies

I know, there should be no heartache on a Friday evening. So much hope and freedom a Friday brings - it's time to forget about school and think about all the footloose woooooohooooo that is possible for two days. There should be dancing and cheering.

Yet I am feeling drained. My hair is so straight and patently uninspired it makes me sad just thinking about it, much less witnessing it in the mirror. I haven't taken off my coat since I got home, nearly two hours ago, simply because the closet feels far away. I've spoken perhaps 10 words to my kids, and most of them had to do with getting off the computer and doing something constructive (ha). I'm supposed to be preparing dinner for those kids so my man & I can hit the town. In an hour. Our cat's litter box is making my eyes water but I can't find the garbage can we empty it into, and I'm too frickin' lazy at this point to bring the rolling one around. I won't look directly at the mess that is my kitchen. I'm trying not to panic about getting this house cleaned before my parents & cousin arrive Wednesday. I don't know yet if the Cowboys/Redskins game is going to be televised this Sunday.

Calgon, take me away! But then I'd have to clean the bathtub...

more thanks

• Newman's Own Espresso Chocolate Chip cookies, on sale - Glorious Friday afternoon treat
• Students who get excited about Pink Floyd and poetry
• A new bigger desk waiting for me, with extra drawers that don't inexplicably lock at inopportune times
• Two boxes of new chalk (because yes, I have the last chalkboard in an American classroom) found at Goodwill
• These haiku created by Mason, after only one nuclear meltdown about how HAAARRRRRD!! it would be to write them:

We were very scared,
on the dark Halloween night,
with ghosts everywhere.

White as the moonlight,
they cried out into the night
to their demon friends.

We were exhausted
when we got back to our homes,
and went to our beds.

And so off I go to my bed, exhausted (but not very scared). Be well.

i so totally heart the eighties

I don't know what's come over me (let's check the moon phase below), but I am caught in a quirky nostalgia vortex. I've had Squeeze in my car CD player for a few weeks, punching it on and singing along like an idiot (especially "Pulling Mussels" - check that skinny tie & feathered hair!), and I just finished downloading The Rick Springfield Collection onto iTunes. I can't stop repeating "Jessie's Girl" and "Love is Alright." And I swear I haven't been huffing from the mousse can.

A couple of weeks ago, the teacher who uses my room first period was showing Pretty in Pink to her class (there was a good reason, not to worry about the state of public education) and two things happened to me: First, I was compelled to ignore my prep work and watch, then I nearly started crying during the prom scene. You know, when Duckie is being all cool yet sweet, asking Andie if she really wants to go in and she says Yeah so he's all proud walking with her, then they see Blane (That's a major appliance, that's not a name! I know, I'm a complete geek) and then...*sob*...They look at each other and Duckie shakes Blane's hand and makes her talk to him and Andie's trying to be all aloof and Blane tells her he believed in her but he didn't believe in himself! And (eeeeeeeiiiee) he says I LOVE YOU...ALWAYS! And then Steff is being all asshole cool rich guy (James Spader is the ultimate bad-guy-you-can't-help-but-want-in-naughty-naughty-ways), hashing on Andie still and Blane tells him off, saying You couldn't buy her, though, that's what's killing you, isn't it? Steff? Then Duckie says the thing about ruining an incredibly romantic moment and makes Andie go after Blane and they talk and KISS! Waaahhh.

Oh, man. I had to go into my office and hide with the tissue. I couldn't bear to hear our 21st century students laughing about the hair and clothes and dancing. That was me they were laughing at, that was everything I wanted. I coveted Molly Ringwald's pouty lips and her funky style, and I was pretty sure I would marry Andrew McCarthy with his sweet innocent boy face. I already had a Duckie - the lovable goofy guy who worshipped me for no good reason or result. Watching the end of that movie got me thinking about all the other 80s movies that were touchstones for me - Sixteen Candles, St. Elmo's Fire, The Breakfast Club, Ferris Bueller's Day Off, Weird Science, Some Kind of Wonderful, Say Anything. Everything about them colored my world; I decided on outfits, haircuts, makeup, music, boyfriends (that went well, as you can imagine) because of those movies. Which is kinda sad, really, but there it is.

I tend to get this weepy longing feeling when things get hectic; I grasp at the stuff from when life was easy (although I certainly didn't think that was the case then), uncomplicated, wide open. Not that I feel things are particularly difficult or closed for me now, it's just that there is so much more I need to think about and plan for and schedule and take care of. Life being fuller is a good thing, but sometimes it overwhelms.

So, bring on the dancing horses.

you lookin' at me?

Wordless Wednesday. I'm not the only one here.

hey, who voted for canada?

My huge voting constituency of 8 has largely determined that I should spend my big happy-40th-birthday-you're-not-really-old-and-in-fact-are-still-totally-hot extended vacation next summer in Great Britain as opposed to flitting all over Europe in a desperate attempt to see everything. And now that I put it that way, it does seem far more sensible. When I think it through, with a clear head and not the clouded frantic mind of one who is afraid she might never get back to The Continent (I'm practicing being erudite & sophisticated), the whole original point of spending more time in London is that on our last visit, we were in & out of the town within three days. Yeah. Kinda frenzied. Awesome subway system, thank goodness, but still my shins were killing me and we had to do the Griswold family quick nod then hop back in the car thing at most of the sights.

So to avoid that silliness at the Eiffel Tower and various other places of note, I will heed your wisdom, Eight Loyal & Helpful Readers, and plan a fantastic tour of Scotland & England, and possibly Ireland. Is it weird that I get a bit weepy thinking about the history of places I'll see? Castles where would-be kings & queens were held, walls that held back ancient armies, lakes and churches and countrysides that inspired poets & playwrights - I might touch the very things those people touched hundreds of years ago. Okay, I probably won't because there would be shouting and fining and deporting and such, but I would be close enough to touch those things.

This is the most appealing trip I've found so far, except for the eye-rolling corniness of Day 4's "Sheep Thrills" excursion. Groan. If any of the other 22-26 tour members laugh out loud at that, I might throw up my bangers. (I'm getting very good at this local lingo, no?) Ooh, but then I clicked on "Why this tour is physically demanding" and noticed a number of troubling items - namely, carrying luggage three flights and sleeping without air conditioning. Hmm.

Stay tuned for my next poll posing the question of whether I should pay big money to take a tour with potentially old & wacky people who get excited about visiting sheep centers and insist on calling the United States "the colonies."

thanks for rain, stan lee, girlfriends & the beatles

Even though torrential rain & wind woke me early this morning - actually it was the neighborhood's garbage cans & recycling bins blowing around the streets that did it - I have managed to keep a sunny outlook. It's a free day (thank you, veterans, again & again) and I decided to take advantage in many ways.

First, my best friends had invited me to go walking around a nearby lake this morning, letting our kids run wild ahead of us while we engaged in blissful mom-talk. Despite the scary storm sounds (and the prospect of actual exercise), I was looking forward to this adventure because...I got NEW BOOTS! Nothing makes inclement weather better like new shoes. They look basically like this:

We decided not to go walking after all but I wore the boots anyway. They were PERFECT for my trek across the street. I splashed through a puddle; it was delightful. I kind of want it to rain everyday now.

When our kids (7 total in one house, ages 6-11) exhausted themselves with free play, we plugged in Spider-Man 3. Mason was excited yet a little irritated that I was so willing to say "Okay" today when I've been putting him off for six months because our policy is for parents to screen PG-13 movies first (we haven't yet seen it; I know, we're lame). I gave him the simple choice of being snarky and smug and going home or being grateful and getting to see the movie with his friends. Because it was Mom Time, my girlfriends & I didn't watch but we did get into a philosophical discussion about how Stan Lee's characters and stories are so admirable. He brilliantly allows his heroes to have flaws and his villains to have redeeming qualities, just like real people. That was followed by talking about how cute Topher Grace and James Franco are.

After our morning & afternoon of fun fun fun, my darling (naturally introverted) daughter wanted to go home and watch A Hard Day's Night. She was already wearing her Beatles t-shirt and had listened to the Revolver album twice before we went to play with friends; it was now time to complete the homage to the Fab Four. I so love how much she is into them - she has a little Ringo figure along with the book and a model of Yellow Submarine; there is a poster of the Abbey Road album cover next to her bed; my mom found a magazine digest all about them, complete with a hologram picture of their faces on the front. She reads liner notes for fun and has a Beatles lullaby CD in her stereo alarm clock. It makes me wish we could travel back in time so I could take her to a concert, complete with screaming fainting fans and the sweet young faces of John, Paul, George & Ringo. Paige routinely remarks on which Beatles are dead, as if hoping something might have changed since we last discussed their status. I know it's not the most healthy strategy, but I prefer to dwell in the happy place where they were all alive and getting along, making amazing music. So we watched.

A rainy day, new boots, two movies, a bunch of candy, and friends. Perfection.

it's all good (usually)

I'm a dozen days behind, so here's what I have been thankful for since the beginning of the month:

1. Excellent man
2. Brilliant children
3. Good friends
4. My own classroom
5. Students even remotely interested in learning
6. Extra hour of sleep
7. Great movies
8. Cheese, all kinds
9. Bartender Dave and his magical concoctions
10. Chocolate anything
11. Veterans like my dad, grandpa, father-in-law, cousins, uncles, and friends
12. The giant blogging community of smart, resourceful, witty people

Rejoicing in the overflow and passing it on.

brain death imminent

I have been sitting on this couch, in front of TV & laptop, for nearly five hours. I got up to retrieve Paige from her camping trip (she decided to stay at the Homestead without me yesterday), so my lazy ass got a ten minute workout. Otherwise, it's been planted here while my 'Boys win handily, kids play around me, husband brings me pizza I whined for, and the sun sets. I'm in the dark now, too fatigued to flick on the lights. I am updated on today's football highlights and have "researched" IMDb to the point of a mildly thumping headache. You are now reading the words of an expert on: who & what is cool according to Stephen King; the scariest movies according to William Friedkin; the history of Texas Chainsaw Massacre (not really based on a true story) and its actors; the making of The Lovely Bones and how it will differ from the novel; birthdates of and random facts about Daniel Day-Lewis, his wife Rebecca Miller, Jason Miller (no relation to Rebecca) and his son Jason Patric (grandson of Jackie Gleason). Don't ask me how I connected any of those dots.

The bottom line is my butt hurts, my eyes are straining, our laundry is being neglected, I have no clue what we'll eat for dinner tonight or do in class next week, and all for no good reason. I have done exactly ZERO tasks of importance today (beside picking up my daughter but I had to be dragged away from the Cowboys game to do it, and I grouched a little for her to hurry so we could get back. To the couch).

But TOMORROW, tomorrow I have big plans - walking around a lake, chatting with girlfriends, surely there will be snacks and gossip and tea (oh my). Then I'll finish the laundry, figure out dinner menus, and plan some speech & poetry lessons. And achieve world peace.

date night (not with john whats-his-face)

I am recently back from "camping" (after a brief stopover at the nearby GAP Outlet) and smell like fireplace, little girls, and an unholy mixture of old house & peanut butter. The good news is someone figured out how to turn on the heat so the temperature in the bathrooms was well above 60 degrees this time, and I actually sweated in my sleeping bag and slipper socks last night (so really, part of my stench might be from that as well). I refuse to shower on camping trips because the water is always so cold and I never recover from that discomfort; the grime and work of being outdoors most of the day is bad enough, I don't need an unsettling shower experience on top of it all.

So, point is, I must get clean before I venture out on a DATE with my very own local version of Cute Guy from The Office.

Here are some highlights from the Girl Scout Adventure:

• This shouted from the backseat in the first ten minutes of our drive - "THANK YOU FOR NOT FARTING!"
• Playing "The Quiet Game" - 12 seconds of silence followed by soft giggles then "Okay, let's start over;" 8 seconds of silence, giggling, "OKAY, FOR REAL, READY SET" giggle giggle giggle
• The main Scout leader telling 22 second & third grade girls at 9:15 pm that they weren't even close to needing to go to bed! (WHAT??)
• 22 girls pounding down the stairs (conveniently located a yard from my sleeping head) at 6:40 am to see a deer out the window (The main leader had told them, around 9:30 pm Friday, they might be able to witness such a scene, first thing in the morning...Again, WTF??)

There really is so much more, but I have to wash some of it away before I can get fun date night stuff like good food & cocktails...

countdown to brownie mania

In 35 minutes, I will be part of a caravan headed for a cabin at the base of Mt. Hood. Our vehicles will be packed with kid-friendly foods, Hello Kitty sleeping gear, and a dozen wiggly second grade girls.

I don't love camping (even in a cabin, because it is perpetually 40 degrees Fahrenheit). There are at least a dozen things I would rather be in the midst of on a Friday night than squealing Brownies. I dread the Girl Scout way of charting chores and singing songs more than the kids do. But I do love my daughter and she wants to go, and she wants me with her. This feeling on her part will not last much longer and all I have to do is look at some of my angry, floundering teenage students to know the right answer right now is "I will be there." As much as it makes my head start to pound, I will drive her up and be a smiling part of the festivities.

The Mom Scout Law:

I will do my best to be
loving & kind
biting my tongue
not too sarcastic
uncomplaining & gracious
responsible for what I shout or throw,
and to
respect my sanity & others'
not buck authority
use time-outs wisely
see the world as a better place, and
be a sista to every Bratz-loving, midriff-baring, sulking scowling Girl Scout.

and i have a poll you need to look at --->

Please help to decide where I will be going next summer with the millions of dollars I'm making teaching this year.

Feel free to comment on your selection here.

Thanks! You're swell. If you leave your mailing address, I might send you a postcard!

clearly i'm bored stupid

But at least I have a cute TV boyfriend...Go find yours, I don't want to feel dumb alone.

Sweet, sweet Jim. As cute as he is charming and sensitive, and able to make you feel good and have a big laugh any time you need it. Jim's worldview may seem a bit limited -- after all, it's largely a ragin' case of apathy that keeps him locked in to his "could do it with one hand tied behind his back" job at Dunder Mifflin -- but that's also part of his appeal; the love of one good woman is all this tall, cool drink of water needs to make him happy.


(To be perfectly clear, I DID NOT write the description above; rest assured I would never call any man a "cool drink of water").

hot air, the good kind

It's Wordless Wednesday, all day.

master of disguise

Who knew changing earrings would render me unrecognizable to my own children? Yet that is what Paige said when I picked her up from Mad Science this afternoon - "I LOVE YOUR EARRINGS! I ALMOST DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS YOU!" This, transcribed here in the exact all-caps tone she used, caused her instructor to glance at me strangely; I'm not sure if she was curious about just what was hanging from my lobes or if she thought I might really be a kidnapper in a clever mom-costume.

I don't know what came over me this morning, but I decided to give the diamond studs a rest. Basically, they've been the only things in my ears nearly every day since my 7-year old was born. They are timeless, classy, and go with everything, I tell my lazy self. But today my fall red sweater begged for something different, and there were the simple wires with cranberry beads, waiting to be called up. I was hyper-aware of them all day; I kept thinking they were falling out (one actually did plop onto my keyboard early on). Luckily none of my students were confused by my appearance. Frankly, I'm surprised when they notice I'm wearing clothing at all. I have two students who used to compliment me daily on my outfits, which felt good but at the same time made me tell them I dreaded the day they said nothing. Ha ha! Ha. Well. That day came a few weeks ago; I'm pretty sure they just got bored with the game. I'm trying not to care.

Tomorrow, I might go for the vintage black gem drops. You might not know it's me though. I'll be like a ninja. Beware.

i feel regal, oh so regal

How was I Queen today? Let me count the ways...

I was Queen of the Morning, actually getting out of bed a record-breaking 30 minutes after the alarm. I was ready & out the door by 7:49, putting me in the classroom two hours before my first class - I graded those papers and was able to provide my long-suffering students (the ones who were desperate to know if what they turned in put them into the "passing" category) some respite.

I was Queen of Cool Teachers with my freshman English class - six students out of 18 showed up for this next-to-last day of the quarter so instead of the writing assignment I was going to give, I pulled up a video version of a short story we had read ("The Monkey's Paw" - it's a pretty awful rendition; watch at your own risk of embarrassment for the bad actors), led a short discussion of how & why it was different than the story, then allowed for a free-flowing 40 minute gab session. We chatted about the best scary movies; taste buds and favorite weird food combinations; pets we've had (and how they died, were killed, or otherwise maimed); and what is NPR. Then I let them play with my basket of puzzles and games for 15 minutes. And I gave them chocolates.

I was Queen of PTA at our board meeting, which is to say I am purely a figurehead in the organization; I do nothing of substance. I barely remember the rudimentary parts of Roberts Rules of Order and I frequently forget to be neutral in discussions. Seriously, I do not jest - when I'm able to be at my kids' school, I basically smile and wave at everyone. People who need things will occasionally speak to me and I point them to the appropriate person for answers (rarely myself). Most of the time anyone with a question, comment, rant or request harasses one of my co-vice presidents. They are like the Prime Ministers, God bless them.

I was Queen of Preparedness, putting snacks into backpacks and setting up lunch fixings in the fridge and on the counter for ease of packing in the morning. Truly I feel giddy at having completed this step right now instead of waiting until I'm bleary-eyed and grumbly at 6:30 a.m. I don't know why I just discovered this tactic a couple of weeks ago...

I am Queen of Poorly Chosen Evening Snacks. I am in the process of eating a fourth slice of toasted French bread with margarine and am considering making another. And I'll have a glass of wine while watching the missed episode of "Survivor." And I'll surely raid the Halloween leftovers before bedtime. Let's call these rewards for a Monday well executed, shall we?

You may kiss my ring.

all hail the extra hour

I did not want to get out of bed this morning on principle. I wanted to savor the sleeping in, celebrate the bonus hour. Of course this always backfires - I spend the time slipping in & out of a fitful sleep, alternately conjuring bizarre waking dreams then outlining the details of my to-do list, neither of which make for a relaxing way to start the day.

Things I needed to do:

• Laundry
• Wrap boxes for Operation Christmas Child at church
• Watch football
• Grade papers
• Type syllabuses (syllabi? An English teacher should know this) for new classes
• Unload dishwasher
• Go to neighbor's Southern Living party
• Feed family
• Watch more football
• Write post for NaBloPoMo (I'm not sure what happens if I miss a day, but I'm afraid to find out...I envision my e-mailbox filled with notes of derision & shame; maybe that's just me)

What I have done:

• Some laundry
• Wrapped boxes
• Watched some football
• Went to party (didn't end up feeling very Southern, but had yummy food and won cookbooks)
• Fed family
• Still watching football
• Wrote this pathetic post (I should have gone with what I had for lunch...)

Tomorrow's list:

• Grade papers before students mutiny
• Type syllabuses (looked it up)
• Unload dishwasher
• Run PTA board meeting
• Feed family again
• Write a far more interesting post

Please come back. (You had that extra hour to waste today anyway).

je l'aime la binoche

If anything can make 40something perfectly okay for me, it's watching Juliette Binoche continue to be stunning, charming, and disarming. And, of course, fantasizing that I resemble her as I demurely go about my day. I would affect a French accent if I didn't think people would laugh out loud at me.

This evening we went to see Dan In Real Life and may I say (demurely), it is the best thing I've watched in months. I loved the second Elizabeth and 3:10 to Yuma, good cowboy Lord, but for sheer life-is-grand poignancy, this movie is it. Steve Carrell may yet make my second husband list (perhaps I'm onto the third husbands) with his perpetual wit mixed with slight self-deprecation and humble affability. There is laughing and crying and it's so good. Then we have Juliette, whom we desperately desire to hate for her impossible beauty and overall loveliness but we CANNOT. It's like she's surrounded by an invisible shield of goodness, repelling any cattiness we feel welling up. We must love her; I don't know if it's the Frenchness or the fact that she has been the love interest of Daniel Day-Lewis (sigh), Johnny Depp (double sigh), Jeremy Irons, Ralph Fiennes, and possibly Liam Neeson (super sighs) yet never gloats. It's so ridiculous, but I CAN'T HATE HER! C'est la vie. I want to be her best friend.

La Binoche lovefest aside, I'd like to also say I was pleasantly surprised by the performance of Dane Cook, which did not make me want to stab him in the eye with a fork. I have previously had that desire (see Employee of the Month - or don't; I almost hated him more than Jessica Simpson, it was that annoying). But here he was bolstered by the brilliant actors around him, not to mention the script that was clearly written by someone older than 15 (not likely the case in most of his previous efforts). Interestingly, however, he did not get to make out with Juliette Binoche. Just saying.

I'm going now to buy the soundtrack because 1) the music was moving & dreamy throughout and 2) I drank about half a bottle of Riesling during the movie.

Next on the feel-good-sobfest movie list: Juno, featuring my new favorite man-boy (okay, whatever, just a boy) Michael Cera. Rest assured I will not write a love letter post to him; I'd probably be arrested.

Au revoir, mes amis. (Did that sound demure? Do I hear Johnny Depp calling??)

it sounds kinda naughty...

So excited! It's that giddy kind of "I have no idea what I'm going to do but it's going to be super fun!" feeling. I'm pretty sure I'll be a little wiggy by the end of the weekend what with this posting everyday thing combined with my first quarter classes ending (grading! Which means matching the best generic comments to each student; I could add customized messages but it seems best to stick with "Enjoyable to have in class" rather than venture on my own and risk inputting "Narrowly avoiding a kick in the ass").

My big fat great plan is to use this book I found through sheer good luck (and a touch of panic). (I'm too chicken to buy the shirt yet...Where in the hell would I wear it?? Please send suggestions). But Mighty Girl's blog & book are delightful reading and I trust she will guide me smartly through November. Although I do get a little nervous when I have even a passing thought about telling you what I ate for lunch. But I don't often actually eat lunch, so it's not too big a worry.

Hey, tune in tomorrow for more brain numbing fun!

the crying game

Yesterday, my darling dear daughter was in a state of sobbing or near tears seven times in three hours. Within minutes of arriving home from school (I hadn't even greeted her yet), she was crying on the porch about how her brother "wouldn't stop [something something] even though I ASKED HIM 25 times!!" I had to have her repeat the problem because she mumbled the [something something] and screeched the ASKED HIM in a pitch only the neighbor's dog fully understood (he translated for me). This injustice was worked out between the two of them rather quickly, and I foolishly believed all was better.

But then I announced the Halloween policy of completing homework before carving pumpkins (I know we're late & lame; been there, gotten berated) and donning costumes. Grumbling from the boy as expected but from the girl - wailing so wounded one might think I'd suggested a bonfire of Pats. Seriously. There was no talking down from this ledge; she had to stomp upstairs and slam her door for some quiet time. Twenty minutes had passed since she stepped off the bus.

Later there was grief over the jack-o-lantern: Cutting it was too hard; she accidentally lobbed off part of the E in "EEEK;" the toothpick wouldn't hold the piece while she finished carving; the cat was walking too close; she'd never finish in time; the other E would not come out! Aaaaagggh! I usually envision the horrors of Halloween much differently.

I will not, for everyone's sanity, recount all of the ensuing incidents. The few minor sadnesses that occurred during trick-or-treating were met with increasingly shrill threats of going home - I had visions of cutting through neighbors' backyards to get to our house with my howling child. Although it was the best October 31st weather in nine years, I was still cold and not at all motivated to spend a great deal of time wandering outside.

I truly do not mean to diminish my girl's emotional pain. I definitely relate, in theory - I could easily count seven instances of wanting to bawl within three hours of any given day, but it would seem unprofessional (not to mention unstable) so I hold it in. Then I later unleash on my poor, unsuspecting husband about something as mundane as the inch of grime creeping from under the washer & dryer or the shabbiness and boring color of the kids' towels. He, and anyone who happens to witness the breaking down of my mental state, are rightfully puzzled; they don't realize it's a compounded response to a week's worth of outrageous teenage behavior + multiple meetings & appointments + piles of unfolded laundry + my own procrastination of a dozen tiny jobs. Clearly I should be following my daughter's lead. Give me the tissues, and stand back.