Really, people, I know I haven't written in a long time, but no fewer than three of you have given me grief within the past two weeks about my leave of absence from the blogosphere. So, with nothing more to say, I sit here before the keyboard with a dozen or so writing assignments remaining to do for my grad course before Thursday, and for you, dear ones, I will find some little tidbit to keep me legit enough for you to pop by for the occasional reading visit. Okay?
Better still, I'll throw some possible topics out there and let you readers choose which you'd like me to pursue first. Oh, but wait, that requires that you actually comment, which might put a little pressure on those of you who prefer to be voyeurs. Regardless, you can have fun with the stories you imagine based on my list. How's that?
1. Estate Closing and other fun facts of life and death
2. Kori's Elf and the whole Christmas Thang
3. Gettin my baby fix
4. The pros and cons of having faily living nearby
5. The pros and cons of having family live far away
6. Belief systems, religion, and my acknowledgment of my struggles and delights within them
7. Cleaning house, literally and figuratively
8. On writing, and not-so-much
9. Procrastination tips for the organizationally constricted
10. It just seems like there ought to be ten
How's that for an invitation to return? Let me know which number(s) you'd like for me to explore so you can get deeper in my warped head.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Mercy
I just awoke from a decent night's sleep, considering that today is the first day of school and I have the first day jitters, which I am sooooooo glad to still get after all these many years! Anyway, what awoke me was my dream...
I have always had the most obnoxiously vivid and real dreams: recurring ones, nightmares, freaky morphing from one thing to the next kinds of dreams that I am sure the psychologists would enjoy hyperanalyzing. This is not always a good thing. I honestly can't tell sometimes if something that happened in my dreams happened or not, as they start to grow their own little synapses and mess with my memory... This is not a good sign of things to come, I imagine! And it might be because I watch entirely too much TV, but frequently, one night's dream picks right up where I had left off in the morning, like the next episode in the series. Annoying, almost.
Anyway, after a series of unfortunate events in my dream last night, I awoke this morning because of the way my dream ended...
Imiagine me standing in the middle of the road surrounded by people going about their daily lives. I am standing with my arms in the air and my face to the sky, just like Andy Dufresne in Shawshank Redemption, who had just crawled through the river of poo to escape prison and was feeling the rains pour down over him. And I am singing - well, more like bellowing - a song that I think I must have picked up from my momma's gospel eight-tracks back in the day...
God have mercy, mercy on me.
God have mercy, mercy on me.
God have mercy, mercy on me.
The Lord have mercy on me.
Now when I say bellowing, I mean that exhausted crying kind of singing you might hear someone doing and wonder if they are actually an injured cat. This was all accompanied, of course, by me doing some ugly crying (see previous post) so the words had to have been almost unintelligible to my ephemeral companions. If you run into me, ask me to demonstrate. I promise, it wasn't pretty.
So, you know me, I am trying to make sense of this, as it was enough to send me to the computer on this, the first day of school, rather than sneaking in another half hour of rest or a cup of decent joe.
I need me some mercy and I need to give it out, too.
There's some old school prayer that repeats the line "God have mercy on me, a sinner." Mercy is more than forgiveness, it's more than graciousness. There's a sense of compassion, of justice, of wholeness-of-the-Body involved. Now, I am not all into "sin" as a concept that I find troubling. (Another post altogether, I suppose) but I do know that most of us do wrong to each other without truly meaning to cause harm. Okay, I know I do... I won't speak for the rest of you. But I think I need to remember this MERCY thing more often, particularly as the new school year begins.
God have mercy on me as I do my best, which is often not good enough, with my children, my student-children, their parents, my colleagues, my siblings, my proverbial neighbors.
God have mercy on me as I hurt the people I love, the people I don't-really-LIKE, and the people I don't even know.
God have mercy on me as I grow out of my less-wonderful self into the self I hope to be.
God have mercy on me as I learn to show mercy on all the aforementioned parties.
Ahh. Now I feel better equipped to start the year!
I have always had the most obnoxiously vivid and real dreams: recurring ones, nightmares, freaky morphing from one thing to the next kinds of dreams that I am sure the psychologists would enjoy hyperanalyzing. This is not always a good thing. I honestly can't tell sometimes if something that happened in my dreams happened or not, as they start to grow their own little synapses and mess with my memory... This is not a good sign of things to come, I imagine! And it might be because I watch entirely too much TV, but frequently, one night's dream picks right up where I had left off in the morning, like the next episode in the series. Annoying, almost.
Anyway, after a series of unfortunate events in my dream last night, I awoke this morning because of the way my dream ended...
Imiagine me standing in the middle of the road surrounded by people going about their daily lives. I am standing with my arms in the air and my face to the sky, just like Andy Dufresne in Shawshank Redemption, who had just crawled through the river of poo to escape prison and was feeling the rains pour down over him. And I am singing - well, more like bellowing - a song that I think I must have picked up from my momma's gospel eight-tracks back in the day...
God have mercy, mercy on me.
God have mercy, mercy on me.
God have mercy, mercy on me.
The Lord have mercy on me.
Now when I say bellowing, I mean that exhausted crying kind of singing you might hear someone doing and wonder if they are actually an injured cat. This was all accompanied, of course, by me doing some ugly crying (see previous post) so the words had to have been almost unintelligible to my ephemeral companions. If you run into me, ask me to demonstrate. I promise, it wasn't pretty.
So, you know me, I am trying to make sense of this, as it was enough to send me to the computer on this, the first day of school, rather than sneaking in another half hour of rest or a cup of decent joe.
I need me some mercy and I need to give it out, too.
There's some old school prayer that repeats the line "God have mercy on me, a sinner." Mercy is more than forgiveness, it's more than graciousness. There's a sense of compassion, of justice, of wholeness-of-the-Body involved. Now, I am not all into "sin" as a concept that I find troubling. (Another post altogether, I suppose) but I do know that most of us do wrong to each other without truly meaning to cause harm. Okay, I know I do... I won't speak for the rest of you. But I think I need to remember this MERCY thing more often, particularly as the new school year begins.
God have mercy on me as I do my best, which is often not good enough, with my children, my student-children, their parents, my colleagues, my siblings, my proverbial neighbors.
God have mercy on me as I hurt the people I love, the people I don't-really-LIKE, and the people I don't even know.
God have mercy on me as I grow out of my less-wonderful self into the self I hope to be.
God have mercy on me as I learn to show mercy on all the aforementioned parties.
Ahh. Now I feel better equipped to start the year!
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Cancer conundrum
I do not want skin cancer. I'm not sure I can think of anyone who actually would want ANY cancer, for that matter, but I am particularly not interested in having skin cancer. It's sneaky. It leaves scars when they cut it out. Favorite TV personalities get killed off their shows with metastatic versions of it. Ick.
But I don't want to be soooooo pasty white that I LOOK like I have cancer. Honestly, I feel like I look ill if the middle of summer arrives and my skin is so pale and semi-transparent that you can see the roots of my leg hairs on my most clean-shaven days.
I figure I have melanin for a reason; why not put it to good use? Yeah, yeah, the doctors all say that no tan is a healthy tan, but I think they're just jealous because they are locked up in the hospital all day and can't sit on the boats we help them buy.
I also do NOT want a sunburn. So I slap on the SPF 70 and hope enough of it wears off to let just a teensy few of the sun's harmful rays stimulate my freckle-production that is the closest I'll ever come to being tan. Sunburn hurts. Tan does not.
This seems awfully petty, now that I read over it. Maybe more than a little vain. I should protect my skin. But hey, I should also lay off the Firefly, ice cream, cheese, and other yummies while taking up a regular and reasonably intense exercise routine.
So, I'm going to keep working on trying to find the balance which gives me an identifiable shade of brown without turning me into a lobster or setting me up for chemo later on. Wish me luck.
But I don't want to be soooooo pasty white that I LOOK like I have cancer. Honestly, I feel like I look ill if the middle of summer arrives and my skin is so pale and semi-transparent that you can see the roots of my leg hairs on my most clean-shaven days.
I figure I have melanin for a reason; why not put it to good use? Yeah, yeah, the doctors all say that no tan is a healthy tan, but I think they're just jealous because they are locked up in the hospital all day and can't sit on the boats we help them buy.
I also do NOT want a sunburn. So I slap on the SPF 70 and hope enough of it wears off to let just a teensy few of the sun's harmful rays stimulate my freckle-production that is the closest I'll ever come to being tan. Sunburn hurts. Tan does not.
This seems awfully petty, now that I read over it. Maybe more than a little vain. I should protect my skin. But hey, I should also lay off the Firefly, ice cream, cheese, and other yummies while taking up a regular and reasonably intense exercise routine.
So, I'm going to keep working on trying to find the balance which gives me an identifiable shade of brown without turning me into a lobster or setting me up for chemo later on. Wish me luck.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Ugly Crying
I've always been a weepy sensitive chick, which I am sure some of you will find not at all surprising and others will find beyond shocking, but I am easily moved by both the awesome beauty and heartwrenching ugliness of this world of ours. I can remember being a young teenager and crying as one of the little girls in our church played her violin. No trip to volunteer at the Special Olympics was complete without a good boohoo. Little House on the Prairie episodes, Kodak commercials, whatever. I'm a weeper. Heck, one of the ever-so-many reasons I avoid church of late is that I can't make it through a service without a good weep caused by my haint of a momma. (Yes, "haint." That old woman haunts me.)
So imagine the Hays Party of 4 watching "Marley and Me" this weekend. I have avoided this movie with all of my being because I had heard about its tearjerking ending and just didn't feel like playing. I for SURE wasn't about to go see it at the movie theater where I might not be able to make it out of the theater unassisted.
Now y'all know I love my Casey. And I still ache, years after their deaths, for my firstborn, Esther, and my bulldog, Abby. So I knew pretty quickly into the film that this was going to get ugly. I was doing fine, enjoying the humor and all that stuff, until a scene early in the film where Jennifer Anniston was comforted by her pooch. All too real. I was transported to a rotten spring day in 1996 when my dear muttbaby was exactly who I needed to overcome a little woe-is-me grief. I started crying and laughed at my fool self and said to my Jimmy, "Oh, this is going to get ugly."
All through the movie, Austin, who had already seen it, kept checking on me to see whether I was moved by the same parts that bothered him. At some point, Kori and Austin were both snuggled face first into Caseydog on the couch. I found myself reaching for her every now and then. WE all progressed from touched to weeping to sobbing uncontrollably. By the end, Kori, also a weeper, was an ugly mess, just like her momma. We're talking snot-bubble producing, upper-body trembling, can't even talk, laughing oddly at yourself kind of ugly cry.
And boy, did it feel good. I don't think I've had that kind of totally cathartic, completely cleansing, make your gut hurt kind of cry in a long while. Not even with the events of the past few years. I needed it, I think. Puts everything in perspective. Reminds you how good life is. Makes you see the people you love and remember to hold them gently and enjoy them fully.
Great movie. Cry and all. If you've never known the genuine love of a good dog, you won't get it, I don't think. But if you have, you'll give thanks for their companionship, their unfailing love, their model for humanity. Go rent it. Grab a hankie. Watch it with someone you love, the furrier the better.
So imagine the Hays Party of 4 watching "Marley and Me" this weekend. I have avoided this movie with all of my being because I had heard about its tearjerking ending and just didn't feel like playing. I for SURE wasn't about to go see it at the movie theater where I might not be able to make it out of the theater unassisted.
Now y'all know I love my Casey. And I still ache, years after their deaths, for my firstborn, Esther, and my bulldog, Abby. So I knew pretty quickly into the film that this was going to get ugly. I was doing fine, enjoying the humor and all that stuff, until a scene early in the film where Jennifer Anniston was comforted by her pooch. All too real. I was transported to a rotten spring day in 1996 when my dear muttbaby was exactly who I needed to overcome a little woe-is-me grief. I started crying and laughed at my fool self and said to my Jimmy, "Oh, this is going to get ugly."
All through the movie, Austin, who had already seen it, kept checking on me to see whether I was moved by the same parts that bothered him. At some point, Kori and Austin were both snuggled face first into Caseydog on the couch. I found myself reaching for her every now and then. WE all progressed from touched to weeping to sobbing uncontrollably. By the end, Kori, also a weeper, was an ugly mess, just like her momma. We're talking snot-bubble producing, upper-body trembling, can't even talk, laughing oddly at yourself kind of ugly cry.
And boy, did it feel good. I don't think I've had that kind of totally cathartic, completely cleansing, make your gut hurt kind of cry in a long while. Not even with the events of the past few years. I needed it, I think. Puts everything in perspective. Reminds you how good life is. Makes you see the people you love and remember to hold them gently and enjoy them fully.
Great movie. Cry and all. If you've never known the genuine love of a good dog, you won't get it, I don't think. But if you have, you'll give thanks for their companionship, their unfailing love, their model for humanity. Go rent it. Grab a hankie. Watch it with someone you love, the furrier the better.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Playing with the background
Man, I want to learn to edit html so I can create my very own blog template. Meanwhile, I'm toying with some ready-made ones. Of course, my widgets are all gone, so I'll be forced (ouch!) to tinker with those another day.
And truly, I should be reading right now.
Anyway, enjoy all the ridiculous changes I throw out here over the next little while.
And truly, I should be reading right now.
Anyway, enjoy all the ridiculous changes I throw out here over the next little while.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Killing trees
New printer cartridge - $20
Pack of Office grade printer paper - $5
Saving trees by printing double sided - priceless.
Here's the problem with Blackboard, the online resource for college classes these days: Instead of students buying a good old Kinko's/Copytron coursepack like we did back in the day, some poor graduate assistant sap has to scan and upload a gazillion documents for students to access. Sounds pretty earth-friendly, eco-happy, tree-loving, yes?
Turns out you have to print most of this junk anyway to be able to use it in the class, mark it up with margin notes and highlighters (yes, I am so old school like that), or access it later in life with ease.
During the school year, I usually laser-print it all double-sided at school (don't tell the district, eh?) but with summer here, I figured I'd be responsible and do it at home.
Mind you, I've now invested $30 for this session's printing extravaganza, plus the $3 for a binder to put all this in. My trusty HP deskjet only has a manual double-sided feature (alas). So, here I sit, clicking and printing and turning pages and clicking and printing and so on until I grow too weary of this tedium or finish, whichever comes first. but I'm saving trees. Sort of. Right?
Pack of Office grade printer paper - $5
Saving trees by printing double sided - priceless.
Here's the problem with Blackboard, the online resource for college classes these days: Instead of students buying a good old Kinko's/Copytron coursepack like we did back in the day, some poor graduate assistant sap has to scan and upload a gazillion documents for students to access. Sounds pretty earth-friendly, eco-happy, tree-loving, yes?
Turns out you have to print most of this junk anyway to be able to use it in the class, mark it up with margin notes and highlighters (yes, I am so old school like that), or access it later in life with ease.
During the school year, I usually laser-print it all double-sided at school (don't tell the district, eh?) but with summer here, I figured I'd be responsible and do it at home.
Mind you, I've now invested $30 for this session's printing extravaganza, plus the $3 for a binder to put all this in. My trusty HP deskjet only has a manual double-sided feature (alas). So, here I sit, clicking and printing and turning pages and clicking and printing and so on until I grow too weary of this tedium or finish, whichever comes first. but I'm saving trees. Sort of. Right?
Sunday, May 17, 2009
No TV
About an hour and a half ago, our entirely-too-large flat screen TV went black. Husband has been messing with it since then, and has determined that we have a power issue with it. It will reset and work for a few seconds, then go black again. DVR is fine...it's the TV.
Dangit! I missed the Housewives and will have to watch them online tomorrow, I reckon, if the TV hasn't been been off long enough by then to be all better.
And it sure seems quiet in here.
Because TV is a family value around here, paying the bills and all, we tend to think nothing of having it on all the time. Heck, in Arkansas, we had more TV's than we had people in our house. We only have three now - one in the living room, one in the playroom, and one in our bedroom (yeah, whatever, all you perfect people out there). We LIKE our shows - is that so wrong?
What is wrong, I guess, is that it is on all the time (hence the power issue?) whether we are really watching something in particular or not. I'm already anticipating summer and all the Nicke-fricke-lodeon to which my poor brain will be exposed, not to mention those of my little people. Maybe this will be a good opportunity for us to examine those values and consider NOT repairing or replacing the TV immediately.
Or maybe we'll all just spend more time in our rooms.
Either way, the dryer is beeping (still not used to that, but that's another post altogether) and I should go hang some clothes on my way to bed.
Then I think I might just have to see what's on before I go to sleep, eh?
Dangit! I missed the Housewives and will have to watch them online tomorrow, I reckon, if the TV hasn't been been off long enough by then to be all better.
And it sure seems quiet in here.
Because TV is a family value around here, paying the bills and all, we tend to think nothing of having it on all the time. Heck, in Arkansas, we had more TV's than we had people in our house. We only have three now - one in the living room, one in the playroom, and one in our bedroom (yeah, whatever, all you perfect people out there). We LIKE our shows - is that so wrong?
What is wrong, I guess, is that it is on all the time (hence the power issue?) whether we are really watching something in particular or not. I'm already anticipating summer and all the Nicke-fricke-lodeon to which my poor brain will be exposed, not to mention those of my little people. Maybe this will be a good opportunity for us to examine those values and consider NOT repairing or replacing the TV immediately.
Or maybe we'll all just spend more time in our rooms.
Either way, the dryer is beeping (still not used to that, but that's another post altogether) and I should go hang some clothes on my way to bed.
Then I think I might just have to see what's on before I go to sleep, eh?
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Today's expense analysis
New A/C unit: $1870
Trip to Doctor: $15 copay
Brunch at Arby's because the news from the doctor wasn't enough to deter me from ordering the LARGE: $7.46
Quick trip to Target: + $37 (return), -$70 (gifts for friend and administrative professionals)
Unsweetened Tea in school cafeteria: $1.25 (yeah, I know...)
Unpaid ETV pledge: $120
Time used poorly: 5 hours (so far)
Not having made any progress on my paper or on studying for the Praxis? Typical.
Mood: Surprisingly not worried about finances, paper, praxis, or work.
Now that's priceless.
Trip to Doctor: $15 copay
Brunch at Arby's because the news from the doctor wasn't enough to deter me from ordering the LARGE: $7.46
Quick trip to Target: + $37 (return), -$70 (gifts for friend and administrative professionals)
Unsweetened Tea in school cafeteria: $1.25 (yeah, I know...)
Unpaid ETV pledge: $120
Time used poorly: 5 hours (so far)
Not having made any progress on my paper or on studying for the Praxis? Typical.
Mood: Surprisingly not worried about finances, paper, praxis, or work.
Now that's priceless.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
How I am
People always want to know how everyone is. Truth is, that whole "how are you?" thing is just a social norm...most folks who ask it don't really want to know.
But if you are really wondering how I am, I don't even know how to answer that.
For starters, I just went back to my April 20, 2008 (which was written so late at night that it posted as April 21) blog post to see what I had said about my daddy on the day of his death. Then I remembered having pondered his health and mortality earlier that month or so, and I backed up to my March posts. I was punched and blessed with a picture of my daddy taken at my Beth's graduation. I've been moping around here like a kicked puppy for a few days and when I saw that shot of him, I finally had the good cry I've been needing.
At 7:30 tomorrow morning the nice man from the heating and air company will be here to analyze our potentially dead compressor. Whatever needs fixing will not be cheap, and A/C is not optional here!
Then I go to the doctor at 9:30 to find out that I am about 35 pounds overweight, have high cholesterol, a little hypothyroid, elevating blood pressure, and to discuss how well (or not so much) I've been dealing with my chronic mild depression. Most people would never suspect that I can be a total Eeyore inside, despite my chronic optimism and playfulness. Thing is, most people mistake playfulness and hopefulness for happiness, which is not always the case. The first two are intentional mindsets, the last a little harder to come by.
At 11:30 I report to my job for the rest of the day. I love my kids, and I love working with them and watching them become improved people, but I do not always love my colleagues and I generally loathe the hoops through which we must make our children and ourselves jump. I am seriously in a funk about potential (inevitable) funding shortfalls which might cut my position altogether next year. I do not like the competitive and bitter me that this anxiety has brought to the surface. I am having to work REALLY hard to keep a smile on my face when I know that my performance as a teacher and my passion for teaching and learning mean nothing when it comes down to who will have a job next year and who will not. Then, that darn optimism sneaks in, and I know that all will be well and right for me and mine, no matter what. Then I feel like an ass for being so whiny. And so on...
I have a ton of work to do for a graduate project due Friday at 5PM, then PRAXIS for Social Studies (URG) on Saturday. Not feeling like working on either of those things, but really need to so as not to exacerbate the job-uncertainty situation. Both seem meaningless if I am not to be working next year, but something seems right and proactive about giving these tasks a valid and valiant effort, sooooo...
Husband is really feeling stressed on his job for the first time in a long time. His department is down a few heads and he isn't sure he'll get to replace the most recent departure. Couple that with two furloughs for everyone in his department, plus a pay reduction to boot, and he's crabby and anxious about work. He is working so hard and I am not really treating him nicely enough (I'm really busy with my aforementioned self-deprecation). Maybe we are looking at some big changes for us all. What the heck...we've gone a whole year without any real challenges, so maybe we're due.
Ooooh, and property taxes are due on the cars. Glad I opened THAT bill today.
The sewer people left us a nasty message today, as did the power company. We always have enough money for these things, just not always the proper motivation to get them paid in a timely fashion. GOT to get back in that mode of sitting down and updating the quicken and paying the bills... One more task for my morning "off" tomorrow to prevent those seemingly important utilities from being disconnected!
But, I have a crazy sweet dog, a beautiful family, and like I said, I love the kids I work with. My good neighbor-buddy has twins coming for me to bounce this summer and there will soon be a time to relax. (Won't there?) I have it much better than many, and I truly do recognize how fortunate I am, but I need to whine sometimes and I can't think of a better outlet than this blog!
Crikey. It's getting late and I have to hit the ground running tomorrow. Maybe the doctor will have some answers in little brown bottles for this pissy attitude I am feeling of late. Or maybe just this little venting will help. Either way, it's bedtime.
Good night.
But if you are really wondering how I am, I don't even know how to answer that.
For starters, I just went back to my April 20, 2008 (which was written so late at night that it posted as April 21) blog post to see what I had said about my daddy on the day of his death. Then I remembered having pondered his health and mortality earlier that month or so, and I backed up to my March posts. I was punched and blessed with a picture of my daddy taken at my Beth's graduation. I've been moping around here like a kicked puppy for a few days and when I saw that shot of him, I finally had the good cry I've been needing.
At 7:30 tomorrow morning the nice man from the heating and air company will be here to analyze our potentially dead compressor. Whatever needs fixing will not be cheap, and A/C is not optional here!
Then I go to the doctor at 9:30 to find out that I am about 35 pounds overweight, have high cholesterol, a little hypothyroid, elevating blood pressure, and to discuss how well (or not so much) I've been dealing with my chronic mild depression. Most people would never suspect that I can be a total Eeyore inside, despite my chronic optimism and playfulness. Thing is, most people mistake playfulness and hopefulness for happiness, which is not always the case. The first two are intentional mindsets, the last a little harder to come by.
At 11:30 I report to my job for the rest of the day. I love my kids, and I love working with them and watching them become improved people, but I do not always love my colleagues and I generally loathe the hoops through which we must make our children and ourselves jump. I am seriously in a funk about potential (inevitable) funding shortfalls which might cut my position altogether next year. I do not like the competitive and bitter me that this anxiety has brought to the surface. I am having to work REALLY hard to keep a smile on my face when I know that my performance as a teacher and my passion for teaching and learning mean nothing when it comes down to who will have a job next year and who will not. Then, that darn optimism sneaks in, and I know that all will be well and right for me and mine, no matter what. Then I feel like an ass for being so whiny. And so on...
I have a ton of work to do for a graduate project due Friday at 5PM, then PRAXIS for Social Studies (URG) on Saturday. Not feeling like working on either of those things, but really need to so as not to exacerbate the job-uncertainty situation. Both seem meaningless if I am not to be working next year, but something seems right and proactive about giving these tasks a valid and valiant effort, sooooo...
Husband is really feeling stressed on his job for the first time in a long time. His department is down a few heads and he isn't sure he'll get to replace the most recent departure. Couple that with two furloughs for everyone in his department, plus a pay reduction to boot, and he's crabby and anxious about work. He is working so hard and I am not really treating him nicely enough (I'm really busy with my aforementioned self-deprecation). Maybe we are looking at some big changes for us all. What the heck...we've gone a whole year without any real challenges, so maybe we're due.
Ooooh, and property taxes are due on the cars. Glad I opened THAT bill today.
The sewer people left us a nasty message today, as did the power company. We always have enough money for these things, just not always the proper motivation to get them paid in a timely fashion. GOT to get back in that mode of sitting down and updating the quicken and paying the bills... One more task for my morning "off" tomorrow to prevent those seemingly important utilities from being disconnected!
But, I have a crazy sweet dog, a beautiful family, and like I said, I love the kids I work with. My good neighbor-buddy has twins coming for me to bounce this summer and there will soon be a time to relax. (Won't there?) I have it much better than many, and I truly do recognize how fortunate I am, but I need to whine sometimes and I can't think of a better outlet than this blog!
Crikey. It's getting late and I have to hit the ground running tomorrow. Maybe the doctor will have some answers in little brown bottles for this pissy attitude I am feeling of late. Or maybe just this little venting will help. Either way, it's bedtime.
Good night.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
It's been a long time...
Just feeling compelled to post a little something since I haven't in FOREVER. Much randomness promised.
Tomorrow is the first anniversary of my daddy's death. (See post from last year about yahrzeits.) I miss him. It's so weird how my mourning for him was so delayed because of my angst about mama. I allow myself a few hours of self-pity every now and then, but I have so many blessings that it is hard to wallow.
I REALLY hope I have a job next year. I love what I do! Yes, it's tiring. Yes, it's demanding. But, it is so satisfying. AND, I feel like a freaking rock star every time I walk down the hall. You gotta love that! BUT, if the budget is so shot that they eliminate all of us who don't yet have continuing contracts, I think I really might look into some environmental education possibilities. I'd love to own/operate a Lake Murray Ecotours sort of thing...
Big project due this week for my graduate class (essentially, I have to create a vision of my classroom and plan for teaching reading next year...), PLUS I am taking PRAXIS II for Social Studies on Saturday. I continue to be amazed at how little history I actually know - and secretly, how little I truly give a rip about - so I am hoping the gods of odds will be on my side and that the answer to most everything will indeed be C.
I am about to shower and head to town with the kids. I love that we call it "going to town" when really we are not that far out in the country. Heck, they're building a new WalMart three miles away. But, I like the idea that we go to town with intentionality. I remember going to Wilmington as a kid - every time seemed like a great adventure with promises of Whoppers from KMart and either Burger King or McDonald's on the way home, depending on whether momma wanted to pay taxes to Brunswick or New Hanover County. That's probably a whole blog entry in itself...
I LOVE my new washer and dryer. LOVE them. I have moved beyond watching the laundry as it tumbles about in the machines, but I have nothing but joy about having those two energy-efficient and durable goods!
I can't wait to spend time in my house with my kids this summer. As much as I love my job, I do live playing house, as well, and I look forward to seeing what I get around to doing around here as the summer days come upon us. I also am looking forward to some time at the beach. I miss the sea. Our former next-door neighbors are moving to Knoxville, and I anticipate we will try to get the kids together in the mountains for some camping, too. Sweeeeeet.
Time to go grocery shopping. I love seeing just how much I can get for the smallest amount of money. I still don't really like planning dinner, but I do enjoy the thrill of using doubled coupons
in conjunction with half off sales to get cheap stuff.
And so, I am off. Not so entertaining, dear ones, but oddly refreshing to have entered a little something in this "space."
Tomorrow is the first anniversary of my daddy's death. (See post from last year about yahrzeits.) I miss him. It's so weird how my mourning for him was so delayed because of my angst about mama. I allow myself a few hours of self-pity every now and then, but I have so many blessings that it is hard to wallow.
I REALLY hope I have a job next year. I love what I do! Yes, it's tiring. Yes, it's demanding. But, it is so satisfying. AND, I feel like a freaking rock star every time I walk down the hall. You gotta love that! BUT, if the budget is so shot that they eliminate all of us who don't yet have continuing contracts, I think I really might look into some environmental education possibilities. I'd love to own/operate a Lake Murray Ecotours sort of thing...
Big project due this week for my graduate class (essentially, I have to create a vision of my classroom and plan for teaching reading next year...), PLUS I am taking PRAXIS II for Social Studies on Saturday. I continue to be amazed at how little history I actually know - and secretly, how little I truly give a rip about - so I am hoping the gods of odds will be on my side and that the answer to most everything will indeed be C.
I am about to shower and head to town with the kids. I love that we call it "going to town" when really we are not that far out in the country. Heck, they're building a new WalMart three miles away. But, I like the idea that we go to town with intentionality. I remember going to Wilmington as a kid - every time seemed like a great adventure with promises of Whoppers from KMart and either Burger King or McDonald's on the way home, depending on whether momma wanted to pay taxes to Brunswick or New Hanover County. That's probably a whole blog entry in itself...
I LOVE my new washer and dryer. LOVE them. I have moved beyond watching the laundry as it tumbles about in the machines, but I have nothing but joy about having those two energy-efficient and durable goods!
I can't wait to spend time in my house with my kids this summer. As much as I love my job, I do live playing house, as well, and I look forward to seeing what I get around to doing around here as the summer days come upon us. I also am looking forward to some time at the beach. I miss the sea. Our former next-door neighbors are moving to Knoxville, and I anticipate we will try to get the kids together in the mountains for some camping, too. Sweeeeeet.
Time to go grocery shopping. I love seeing just how much I can get for the smallest amount of money. I still don't really like planning dinner, but I do enjoy the thrill of using doubled coupons
in conjunction with half off sales to get cheap stuff.
And so, I am off. Not so entertaining, dear ones, but oddly refreshing to have entered a little something in this "space."
Sunday, March 1, 2009
In like a lion...
As my husband has been singing all morning... It's gonna snow-ho-ho right here in Dixie! All will be white overnight, it will be cold!
That nod to Rankin and Bass aside, I love that we are starting March with a few (predicted) inches of snow! While there is much to do and little time to do it at school over the next few weeks, I could really use a snow day.
Although my kids have had a "real" snow before, I am pretty sure their memories are only vague. I am hopeful that we'll get at least 4 or 5 inches so that they can see the majestic beauty of a snow-covered world. It's supposed to start this evening and snow through the night, so tomorrow morning they SHOULD be able to experience that marvelous "ahhhhhhh" of waking to a blanket of white. There's something holy about it - almost like watching the ocean at night - nature's best stuff is healing and exciting and soothing, all at once.
I need to get the laundry caught up so that I can keep up with the wetness of kids-and-dog-in-the-snow. We really don't have appropriate snow gear, but neither did I as a kid. It's a great opportunity to learn to make do! I remember a March snow long ago on the east coast that kept us out of school for days. We had over a foot! Because we lived two blocks from the hospital, momma took in some fellow nurses who'd need to be able to get to work easily (the road crews were nonexistent) so we had extra playmates in our already playful neighborhood. There was a couple from Maine or some other seriously north state who lived a block behind us. I think he was an anesthesiologist, she a nurse. Anyway, they played with us to build a dozen or so snowmen - our "hitchhiker" made the local paper - and we were so amused to watch them cross-country ski to work (this was before Nordic Track, of course - none of us had ever SEEN cross-country skis!). Anyway, my point started out about clothes. We went through so many outfits - soaking ourselves to the core, running in to change, then repeating. Our parents, all medical professionals, insisted we stay dryish to prevent frostbite. Mercy.
Obviously I remember that, if only vaguely, as a valued childhood memory. I want to help my little people create some images like that in their worlds. I want my students to have something to WRITE about after the stinking PASS writing exam. I want a day at home to enjoy my house, my family, myself.
Let it snow!
That nod to Rankin and Bass aside, I love that we are starting March with a few (predicted) inches of snow! While there is much to do and little time to do it at school over the next few weeks, I could really use a snow day.
Although my kids have had a "real" snow before, I am pretty sure their memories are only vague. I am hopeful that we'll get at least 4 or 5 inches so that they can see the majestic beauty of a snow-covered world. It's supposed to start this evening and snow through the night, so tomorrow morning they SHOULD be able to experience that marvelous "ahhhhhhh" of waking to a blanket of white. There's something holy about it - almost like watching the ocean at night - nature's best stuff is healing and exciting and soothing, all at once.
I need to get the laundry caught up so that I can keep up with the wetness of kids-and-dog-in-the-snow. We really don't have appropriate snow gear, but neither did I as a kid. It's a great opportunity to learn to make do! I remember a March snow long ago on the east coast that kept us out of school for days. We had over a foot! Because we lived two blocks from the hospital, momma took in some fellow nurses who'd need to be able to get to work easily (the road crews were nonexistent) so we had extra playmates in our already playful neighborhood. There was a couple from Maine or some other seriously north state who lived a block behind us. I think he was an anesthesiologist, she a nurse. Anyway, they played with us to build a dozen or so snowmen - our "hitchhiker" made the local paper - and we were so amused to watch them cross-country ski to work (this was before Nordic Track, of course - none of us had ever SEEN cross-country skis!). Anyway, my point started out about clothes. We went through so many outfits - soaking ourselves to the core, running in to change, then repeating. Our parents, all medical professionals, insisted we stay dryish to prevent frostbite. Mercy.
Obviously I remember that, if only vaguely, as a valued childhood memory. I want to help my little people create some images like that in their worlds. I want my students to have something to WRITE about after the stinking PASS writing exam. I want a day at home to enjoy my house, my family, myself.
Let it snow!
Sunday, February 1, 2009
February - even the name is just wrong...
It's February. Yippee. (note the lack of an exclamation point, indicating my best impersonation of Austin's most sarcastic tone.)
I never liked February. It's got an odd little name, too few days, and the dumbest of holidays. I mean, really, unless you grew up in Punxsatawney, why would you care about Groundhog Day? And Valentine's Day? Puhleez. The ultimate greeting-card company-created holiday. And Presidents' Day? Really? I'm not unpatriotic, but for crying out loud... How many useless "holidays" can one month have? Sheesh. At least you get a day off for the latter.
Then, my sophomore year in high school, my opinion of February got even uglier. My momma sustained a life-changing head injury and my favorite first cousin died - all within ten days. I was particularly morbid about the anniversaries of those events for longer than seemed appropriate.
February is dark and short and cold. Unless, of course, it's a leap year, in which you have to agonize through one more day of February.
AND there's sweeps. Now, I love new episodes of my stories, but my husband works in TV, so the "Feb book" is another aggravation in our lives - as if May, July, and November weren't enough times a year for the networks to see who is watching what.
But, I think this February has some exciting prospects. Austin has his Jeopardy! audition at the end of the month, so we'll be going on a mini-vacation to Atlanta for a weekend. That's good stuff. Girl Scout cookies arrive in February - there's nothing like some Lemonades or Thin Mints to perk a girl up and pork a girl out.
Anyway, I apologize if my attitude is less than cheerful. I've been fighting a one-way psychological battle with February for so long now that I can't help but grumble "I hate this stupid month," even when I really don't care that much about it. I guess one could say I have a case of the Februaries. I'd be glad to mope around a little longer today and watch TV and eat unhealthy foods.
BUT, I think I'll do one of the things that I love doing - homework. I love reading my graduate course books and reflecting on them. Really, I do! Then I'll write about what a super job I think I did during my evaluation last week. Then I'll get ready to show off again - I suspect the boss will come tomorrow to take a gander at the reasonably good stuff going on my classroom. These are good things.
Anyway, I just wanted to grumble a little and talk myself into getting started - warming up my brain, as I'll be sitting in front of this laptop for the next little while. Sorry I didn't have anything more entertaining to add!
I never liked February. It's got an odd little name, too few days, and the dumbest of holidays. I mean, really, unless you grew up in Punxsatawney, why would you care about Groundhog Day? And Valentine's Day? Puhleez. The ultimate greeting-card company-created holiday. And Presidents' Day? Really? I'm not unpatriotic, but for crying out loud... How many useless "holidays" can one month have? Sheesh. At least you get a day off for the latter.
Then, my sophomore year in high school, my opinion of February got even uglier. My momma sustained a life-changing head injury and my favorite first cousin died - all within ten days. I was particularly morbid about the anniversaries of those events for longer than seemed appropriate.
February is dark and short and cold. Unless, of course, it's a leap year, in which you have to agonize through one more day of February.
AND there's sweeps. Now, I love new episodes of my stories, but my husband works in TV, so the "Feb book" is another aggravation in our lives - as if May, July, and November weren't enough times a year for the networks to see who is watching what.
But, I think this February has some exciting prospects. Austin has his Jeopardy! audition at the end of the month, so we'll be going on a mini-vacation to Atlanta for a weekend. That's good stuff. Girl Scout cookies arrive in February - there's nothing like some Lemonades or Thin Mints to perk a girl up and pork a girl out.
Anyway, I apologize if my attitude is less than cheerful. I've been fighting a one-way psychological battle with February for so long now that I can't help but grumble "I hate this stupid month," even when I really don't care that much about it. I guess one could say I have a case of the Februaries. I'd be glad to mope around a little longer today and watch TV and eat unhealthy foods.
BUT, I think I'll do one of the things that I love doing - homework. I love reading my graduate course books and reflecting on them. Really, I do! Then I'll write about what a super job I think I did during my evaluation last week. Then I'll get ready to show off again - I suspect the boss will come tomorrow to take a gander at the reasonably good stuff going on my classroom. These are good things.
Anyway, I just wanted to grumble a little and talk myself into getting started - warming up my brain, as I'll be sitting in front of this laptop for the next little while. Sorry I didn't have anything more entertaining to add!
Sunday, January 25, 2009
I WANT MY FREAKIN PAPER!
The nice people at The State do not seem to understand that they have thrown my entire day off balance. I got up. I started a load of laundry, which is more than I usually do. I let the dog out, fed the cat. It's newspaper time.
BUT NO PAPER. ARGH! So, now I've had to call my friend to complain ('cause that helped), fire up the computer to find the non-delivery phone number, call the nice people because the non-delivery form on the website didn't find my account info, and talk to a very nice man who was sincerely apologetic and helpful, thereby negating the previously justified cussing I had done about the printed news industry in general.
Good news: They're bringing me a paper. I guess it must have been in Arkansas that they stopped doing re-delivers (which, you'll note, is a misnomer as the paper was not delivered, and therefore could not be RE-delivered) and started crediting accounts. I had built myself all up for nothing.
Bad news: Now I've been distracted by facebook, this blog, and a hundred other things. My Sunday paper time is MY time - it's early, the light is dim, and there is no noise about except for the occasional stompity-stomp of not-so-little feet in the playroom. I touch every page - except sports (blagh) - sort my circulars according to interest level, saving the best (TARGET, of course) for last. I proceed to coupon time and the joy it brings to match coupons and store sales to maximize the benefit and minimize the cost (thegrocerygame.com). THEN and only then can I get on with my day.
So, I suppose I should be grateful for the muse brought on by the non-delivery, but I'm not. I'm just off kilter and edgy until my crack arrives.
Great. The washer just stopped. Now I feel compelled to start another load. Rats. Looks like I might accomplish something after all today.
BUT NO PAPER. ARGH! So, now I've had to call my friend to complain ('cause that helped), fire up the computer to find the non-delivery phone number, call the nice people because the non-delivery form on the website didn't find my account info, and talk to a very nice man who was sincerely apologetic and helpful, thereby negating the previously justified cussing I had done about the printed news industry in general.
Good news: They're bringing me a paper. I guess it must have been in Arkansas that they stopped doing re-delivers (which, you'll note, is a misnomer as the paper was not delivered, and therefore could not be RE-delivered) and started crediting accounts. I had built myself all up for nothing.
Bad news: Now I've been distracted by facebook, this blog, and a hundred other things. My Sunday paper time is MY time - it's early, the light is dim, and there is no noise about except for the occasional stompity-stomp of not-so-little feet in the playroom. I touch every page - except sports (blagh) - sort my circulars according to interest level, saving the best (TARGET, of course) for last. I proceed to coupon time and the joy it brings to match coupons and store sales to maximize the benefit and minimize the cost (thegrocerygame.com). THEN and only then can I get on with my day.
So, I suppose I should be grateful for the muse brought on by the non-delivery, but I'm not. I'm just off kilter and edgy until my crack arrives.
Great. The washer just stopped. Now I feel compelled to start another load. Rats. Looks like I might accomplish something after all today.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Mom Jeans
Alright, I know I am not a fashionista (I'm more of a "fashionleasta" as they called Michael Feldman on "What Do You Know" today...) but get this: (warning, I get a little judgy, which I'm sure you'll find not at all surprising.)
Today I went downtown to the University bookstore to get my books for this semester's class. It was SO evident that I was twice as old as most of the folks there - I only had four employees approach me in their red "I Can Help You" shirts (seriously, that's what the shirts said), each of whom appeared genuinely disappointed that I was able to figure out the system all by my old lonesome. As I returned down the street to my car, some little adolescent punk stoner sophomore hung his nappy long haired self out of his friend's passenger window, looked at me and said "Moooooooommmmm Jeeeeeaaaannnnnns!" Y'all know I am usually pretty quick with nice little zingers, but I was at a loss. All I could initially think was, "WHAT? These are not designer but they are by no means Mom Jeans!" So, I smirked and chuckled, said nothing, and went on about my business of getting to the car and heading to the grocery stores with my coupons! (How MOM!)
I know that ultimately the best response was no response, but I WISH I had been able to chase the little hookah-sucking Gamecock down to share with him a thing or two about my "Mom Jeans" and how I totally rock them.
First, I'd ask if he had ever actually seen the SNL sketch to which he was referring. Clearly not, as despite any weight I now carry in my midsection, my low-rise flares hardly qualify them as Mom Jeans and the trunkload of junk I carry back there is many things, but not flat.
Then I'd share with him the glories of being a mom and how fine a compliment it was for him to recognize my status as such. I'm fully twice his age. I pay my own tuition. I maintain a 4.0. I buy my own alcohol. I don't have to catch a ride to the Wendy's with my friend in his used car. People respect me. People depend on me. I am salaried and I have benefits. I do my own laundry in a machine that does not take quarters. I can sit at my house and watch any of a number of channels on one of my flat-screens and not have to worry about my roommate bringing home some skank or eating my food. Best of all, unlike my adolescent friend with the tremendous wit, I can "get some" whenever I want with no alcohol involved.
These jeans are evidence that I have been young once, and that I am as young as I feel, but I have overcome much of the self-righteous ignorance of that youth. I can be myself without worrying about what some hosehead thinks of my appearance. There is nothing more important to me than the people who gave me these hips and their needs.
Much like, I suspect, his own mom. I bet he turns to her for money, for comfort, for advice, for food, for laundry service. I imagine he's more than once lied to her, and I hope he's regretted it. I'm sure she loves him despite his low GPA, his "habit" (yeah, I'm assuming), his struggle to realize that he is not the center of the universe. I am certain that, while he probably THINKS he does, he has no idea what the words "sacrifice" and "love" mean - at least not yet. Unless his mom is dead, I am willing to bet that he fully takes her for granted.
My beloved, the best insulter I have ever known, suggested that I should have made a comment about his parts belonging to a boy, and despite the potential for imprisonment that could have brought on, I'm glad that didn't come to me. I hope, instead, that he might hear his mom's voice in his head as he goes to bed tonight, and that he realizes how much better he could have done if he wanted to impress his buddies by insulting a middle-aged woman. I'm sure they thought it was hysterical, and I hope their moms' voices creep into their deepest sleep, as well, if not tonight, but one of these years when they are married to a mom and some little twerp shows his immaturity on a Sunday afternoon with such a clever shot.
Now that I think of it, I should have said something...
"THANK YOU!!!"
(Here's the link to the SNL commercial parody - there are a ton of equally entertaining videos on Youtube, too!)
http://www.hulu.com/watch/10333/saturday-night-live-mom-jeans
Today I went downtown to the University bookstore to get my books for this semester's class. It was SO evident that I was twice as old as most of the folks there - I only had four employees approach me in their red "I Can Help You" shirts (seriously, that's what the shirts said), each of whom appeared genuinely disappointed that I was able to figure out the system all by my old lonesome. As I returned down the street to my car, some little adolescent punk stoner sophomore hung his nappy long haired self out of his friend's passenger window, looked at me and said "Moooooooommmmm Jeeeeeaaaannnnnns!" Y'all know I am usually pretty quick with nice little zingers, but I was at a loss. All I could initially think was, "WHAT? These are not designer but they are by no means Mom Jeans!" So, I smirked and chuckled, said nothing, and went on about my business of getting to the car and heading to the grocery stores with my coupons! (How MOM!)
I know that ultimately the best response was no response, but I WISH I had been able to chase the little hookah-sucking Gamecock down to share with him a thing or two about my "Mom Jeans" and how I totally rock them.
First, I'd ask if he had ever actually seen the SNL sketch to which he was referring. Clearly not, as despite any weight I now carry in my midsection, my low-rise flares hardly qualify them as Mom Jeans and the trunkload of junk I carry back there is many things, but not flat.
Then I'd share with him the glories of being a mom and how fine a compliment it was for him to recognize my status as such. I'm fully twice his age. I pay my own tuition. I maintain a 4.0. I buy my own alcohol. I don't have to catch a ride to the Wendy's with my friend in his used car. People respect me. People depend on me. I am salaried and I have benefits. I do my own laundry in a machine that does not take quarters. I can sit at my house and watch any of a number of channels on one of my flat-screens and not have to worry about my roommate bringing home some skank or eating my food. Best of all, unlike my adolescent friend with the tremendous wit, I can "get some" whenever I want with no alcohol involved.
These jeans are evidence that I have been young once, and that I am as young as I feel, but I have overcome much of the self-righteous ignorance of that youth. I can be myself without worrying about what some hosehead thinks of my appearance. There is nothing more important to me than the people who gave me these hips and their needs.
Much like, I suspect, his own mom. I bet he turns to her for money, for comfort, for advice, for food, for laundry service. I imagine he's more than once lied to her, and I hope he's regretted it. I'm sure she loves him despite his low GPA, his "habit" (yeah, I'm assuming), his struggle to realize that he is not the center of the universe. I am certain that, while he probably THINKS he does, he has no idea what the words "sacrifice" and "love" mean - at least not yet. Unless his mom is dead, I am willing to bet that he fully takes her for granted.
My beloved, the best insulter I have ever known, suggested that I should have made a comment about his parts belonging to a boy, and despite the potential for imprisonment that could have brought on, I'm glad that didn't come to me. I hope, instead, that he might hear his mom's voice in his head as he goes to bed tonight, and that he realizes how much better he could have done if he wanted to impress his buddies by insulting a middle-aged woman. I'm sure they thought it was hysterical, and I hope their moms' voices creep into their deepest sleep, as well, if not tonight, but one of these years when they are married to a mom and some little twerp shows his immaturity on a Sunday afternoon with such a clever shot.
Now that I think of it, I should have said something...
"THANK YOU!!!"
(Here's the link to the SNL commercial parody - there are a ton of equally entertaining videos on Youtube, too!)
http://www.hulu.com/watch/10333/saturday-night-live-mom-jeans
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