tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72140802208797476942024-03-07T23:23:21.863-08:00Ruled by BellsJanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239726254734283923noreply@blogger.comBlogger109125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7214080220879747694.post-15731539041377072592012-05-20T14:28:00.003-07:002012-05-20T14:28:58.104-07:00The Toast Thief<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">A couple of weeks ago my husband and I were away celebrating our 20th wedding anniversary. On our first morning, we decided to partake in the hotel's breakfast buffet. It appeared to be a decent spread and, most importantly, there was a good-sized staff working hard to keep everything replenished and fresh. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">My husband put a piece of bread in the toaster, grabbed a cup of coffee, and sat down to wait while his toast, well, toasted. He heard the tell tale, "Pop" and went to check it. Not being exactly how he likes it, he put in back in to toast for a bit longer. Sensing that it was done, he grabbed a plate and went to retrieve it. In front of him stood a boy who appeared to be about 6 years old. My husband, anticipating the toast popping out of the toaster, began to reach out his hand…but he wasn't quite fast enough! For just as his hand was about to connect with the toast, the little boy in front of him snatched it! </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">My husband returns to our table and jokes, "That little punk over there stole my toast." He relayed the "toast thief" story to me and we shared a good chuckle. And then we decided to watch the boy. Because that's what happens when you've been married so long. Your idea of entertainment involves the buffet habits of a 6-year old!</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So we're watching the kid…and on his plate, along with my husband's toast, are a couple of pieces of fruit. A nice breakfast choice that his parents would certainly be proud of. Except, of course, his parents were nowhere to be seen. My guess is they were probably hiding from him so that he wouldn't steal their food, too!</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Anyway…on top of my husband's toast, and the fruit, the boy proceeds to pile on a muffin AND a croissant. We both look at each other and instantly know that we are thinking the exact same thing, "Ain't no way that kid's eating all that food." The kid then goes to sit down next to his sister…but instead of sitting down to eat his enormous pile of food, he sets his plate down, STANDS UP, and heads over to the cereal counter, where he pours himself a Mt. Whitney-sized mountain of Froot Loops! Meanwhile, my husband's once perfect, now soggy and buried, piece of toast sits just a few feet away from us, taunting my husband. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The boy FINALLY sits down to eat. He's eating so slowly that I swear he's eating that bowl of cereal one loop at a time. Before he finished the cereal, which, at the rate he was going would have certainly taken him until lunch, and way before he began to tackle the croissant, the muffin, my husband's piece of toast, AND the fruit, my husband and I, having finished our meal (and feeling that holding in the magnitude of laughter we were currently stifling could, in fact, be hazardous to our health) took one final look at the boy's plate, exited the dining area, and laughed all the way back to our room! </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Here's the deal, I actually felt kind of sorry for that kid. My husband is an amazing cook who can make even a simple thing like toast taste out of this world. And, really, I should have thanked him…because, after all, he did give us a great laugh AND a good story to tell, and, well, what's better than that?</span></div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239726254734283923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7214080220879747694.post-17082607044511207202012-04-28T19:38:00.000-07:002012-04-28T19:39:54.958-07:00You. Naked.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">My family and I recently enjoyed an incredible adventure in Costa Rica. We were on one of those tours and our hotel rooms were all based on double occupancy. We couldn't imagine that our 17-year old son and 15-year old daughter would want to share a room, so the boys roomed together and we girls did the same. It was all going swimmingly…and then, near the end of the trip, this little exchange occurred:</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">As I'm getting dressed one day, my daughter says, with pure exasperation, "I don't know how dad stands it."</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Now, I will admit I'm not the easiest person to share a bathroom with, so I thought she was referring to something along those lines. Turns out I was wrong…very, very wrong.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">When I inquired, "You don't know how dad stands what?" she replied, "You. Naked." </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I didn't have to guts to tell her that not only did her father "stand me naked" he actually liked it…very, very much. And I <i>really</i> didn't have the guts to say the very first thing that came to my mind, which was, "Take a good, long look sister…this is your future!" </span></div>
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<br /></div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239726254734283923noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7214080220879747694.post-13129074652986922502012-03-05T06:00:00.001-08:002012-03-05T06:00:18.995-08:00Ha, Ha, Ha, Son, Real Funny<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">So I started taking my running a little more seriously this year, and by this year I mean 2012 (hey, I'm a teacher, so "this year" could also mean "since last August" right, and, you know, I like to be real clear-like when it comes to important stuff like this). </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">So I'm trying to become a better runner…I even joined a running group, <i>and</i> I'm trying very hard to get in four runs per week. So far I've been successful. I'm feeling pretty good about myself…making the commitment and all, and also getting a wee bit faster. Yay, me!</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">I have a 10K coming up and so I emailed the amazing leader of our running group and asked him what he recommended I do, running-wise, the week before the race. His suggestion for the Sunday run was, "5 miles easy, with five 30-second strides after the run, resting for one minute between each stride." </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">We do strides as part of our weekly track workout, so I know what they look like in that environment, but I wasn't quite sure what they would look like doing them on my own (and <i>after</i> a long run - we have always done them at the <i>beginning</i> of our track workouts, never at the end). Since I'd never done strides after a run, and since I'm more than a little, um, OCD, I wanted to be sure I did them right. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">My son runs for his school's cross country team and so I asked him for clarification.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">Me: "Um, son, I need to do these strides, but I'm kind of confused because I usually do them <i>before</i> a run, not <i>after</i>. So do I, you know, cool down first, after my run, and then do the strides, or do I, just, like, do them right away, with no cool down?"</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">Him: "Um, mom, you know, the pace you run is pretty much a cool down, so, you know, you don't really need to worry about doing an <i>actual</i> cool down after your run, since your <i>entire</i> run will, um, be a cool down. You know, you'll <i>already</i> be running a cool down, so, you know, you, like, don't have to do <i>another</i> cool down."</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">(Seriously?! I swear to gawd if he had said "cool down" one more time with that smug, self righteous look on his face, I would have smacked him! Well, you know, not really, since he's bigger than me and all, and, since, well, you know, I don't want to go to jail and all, but, you know, you moms all know what I'm talking about, right?)</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">"Your run is a cool down." Ha! Real funny, son, real funny…punk!</span></div><div><br />
</div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239726254734283923noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7214080220879747694.post-26053574103203460412012-03-04T15:10:00.000-08:002012-03-04T15:10:29.769-08:00Funny Thing 1 and Funny Thing 2<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">Dr. Seuss's birthday was the other day. (I'm sure you already knew that. And, for the record, can I just say how much I love that man!) He would have been 108 this year, but age, for someone like the beloved Dr. Seuss, is truly irrelevant. His stories, and his legacy, will live forever. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">I love him just as much today as I did when I was a little girl. (Psst, here's a little secret: The real reason I became a teacher of the little ones is so I could read Dr. Seuss books year after year after year.) I can't even express to you how much I look forward to reading his books to my students, not just on March 2, but all throughout the year. (When I am old and gray and in a nursing home, it is my sincere hope that someone will visit me every March 2 and read my two all-time favorites, <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Yertle the Turtle</span> and <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Gertrude McFuzz</span>…I promise I won't fall asleep in my soup…or, well, I'll try not to!)</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">This really wasn't supposed to be a mushy, gushy ode to Dr. Seuss, but I just can't help myself! I really did have a point when I sat down to type this little story, um, 30 minutes ago! And that point, my friends, was to share with you two funny things that happened this March 2. In honor of Dr. Seuss, I'm calling them Funny Thing 1 and Funny Thing 2. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Funny Thing 1:</span> On Dr. Seuss's birthday last Friday, there was a sprinkling of First Graders who dressed up as various Dr. Seuss characters. On the playground I spied Thing 1 and Thing 2, Sam I Am, and one of my cutie pies was wearing a beautiful, full-on, Cat in the Hat costume. One little boy had on your basic, run-of-the-mill black jogging suit. Upon seeing the other kids dressed up, he looked at them, he looked at me, he looked down at his black jogging suit, he looked back up at me, and he said, "I dressed up as a black man today." This kid is as white as white can be, but, hey, he's got a black jacket on, he's got black pants on, and, like most First Graders, he doesn't want to be left out of any fun goings on, so, well, he's a black man! And, really, why not? </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Funny Thing 2:</span> Later that morning, as I held up the first Dr. Seuss book that I was going to read, <span style="text-decoration: underline;">The Cat in the Hat</span>, a student very excitedly shouted out, "I like it teacher style." Teacher style? Oh, my, do I dare ask? You know me though, curiosity always trumps common sense, and so I said, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Teacher style? What do you mean?" </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">"You know," she said, "when the teacher reads the book." </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">Oh, whew! You can imagine how very relieved I was to learn that she was talking about reading! And, of course, I think she's absolutely right: Dr. Seuss is way better "teacher style."</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">So that's my story, and now it's done, and I really, really hope you had fun! </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">And if you'll just indulge me for one more minute, I'll leave you with two of my favorite Dr. Seuss quotes. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><u>Favorite Quote 1:</u> "Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened."</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><u>Favorite Quote 2:</u> "Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind."</span></div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239726254734283923noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7214080220879747694.post-21899541412229870202012-02-26T09:21:00.002-08:002012-02-26T09:24:14.288-08:00Taxes, I Didn't Hear Nothin' 'Bout No Taxes<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">About nine-hunerd-leven times a day (that's First Grade speak for, like, <i>a lot</i>) some kid busts out with something random. (One of my little sweetie pies has now started prefacing her random tangents with, "I know this doesn't have anything to do with anything we are talking about right now, but…." Love her!) Anyway… </span><br />
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">The other day we're in the middle of something - don't ask me what - we're always in the middle of something, now aren't we? So we're in the middle of something and a kid raises his hand and says, "I'm going to my papa's house tonight at 6:00." (If there's one thing I've learned from teaching it's that, to get to the funny, you have to ask the oh, so important, "Why?" And so I did:</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">"How come you're going to your papa's house today at 6:00?" </span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Well," he said, "That's because my mom and dad have to go pay their taxes." </span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>Ah, </i>I thought to myself,<i> an appointment with their accountant, lucky them.</i> </span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">"How fun for you," I said, "to get to spend some time with your grandpa." </span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Yeah," he said, "I'm gonna be there for 10 hours!"</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Wow!" I replied. "Ten hours. That's a long time. How come you're going to be there for 10 hours."</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Well," he said, "that's because my mom and dad have to pay a LOT of taxes."</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">I try hard not to LOL, and he continues, "Yeah, my mom hasn't been paying her taxes, so now they have, like, two taxes to pay."</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">At this point I've heard all I want to hear as I picture myself in a courtroom being grilled by a judge, "Mrs. So-and-So, on the afternoon of February 23, 2012, did little Johnny here tell you his mom hadn't been paying her taxes?"</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Er, um," I would reply, "Paying her taxes? Um, no, I think he said, 'Snack-ses,' not 'taxes.' You see, First Graders often have trouble with word endings, so I'm sure he said his mom hadn't been 'packing his snack-ses' and NOT 'not paying her taxes.' No, I'm certain I didn't hear nothin' 'bout no taxes not being paid, no sirree, I'm positive he said 'snack-ses', I'm sure of it in fact."</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">The judge would look down at me from behind his spectacles and give me a look that would let me know he clearly knows I'm full of it. I would then raise my hand and say, "Tomorrow's my cousin's birthday!" He would roll his eyes, pound his gavel, and declare, "Case dismissed!" </span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
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</div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239726254734283923noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7214080220879747694.post-38773415849748013662012-02-08T20:27:00.000-08:002012-02-08T20:27:47.183-08:00Now That Was Unexpected<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">So here's something you don't ever expect to come out of the mouth of a 6-year old boy…</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">We were walking back from the post office today, on what was a bright, sunny day, and one of my little darling boys looks at me and says, "Teacher, I'm hot. I'm wearing black underwear and I'm really, really hot."</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">Er, um, well…am I on Candid Camera…<i>again</i>?!</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">(And while we're on the subject of clothes and, well, heat...the other day we were walking to the computer lab and another one of my darling little boys tugs at his very fancy sweater vest and says, "I'm hot. My mom doesn't care about me being hot...she just cares about me looking nice.")</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">One of the best things about working with kids, folks? They truly have no idea just how funny they are. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><br />
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</div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239726254734283923noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7214080220879747694.post-50252483795326995122012-02-05T18:19:00.000-08:002012-02-05T18:19:41.573-08:00Criss Cross<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">So I've got this kid in my class and he's pretty much "That Kid." Luckily for him, I actually have two "That Kids" in my class this year. (I secretly call them Frick and Frack because together they are hilarious.) Frustrating? You betcha'. Inappropriate? For sure. But very, very funny nonetheless.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">You know, they're the kids (and I'll just come right out and say they're boys), but they're the kids who, when walking up to the lunch line, decide that that's a good time to compare each other boobies! Seriously, they had the necks of their shirts stretched down practically to their waists and they were discussing their bobbies…in the lunch line…for all the world to see…and hear. Oye vay!</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">The first kid I mentioned, let's call him Frick, is probably the more "That kid" of the two. If there's any mischief going on, you better believe he's the one that started it. He'll probably grow up to be his generation's Jim Carrey, but for now he's quite the handful. Cute kid, and totally lovable, but my, oh my, is that kid ever a challenge!</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">Lucky for me, though, every now and then the "teacher gods" shine down upon us and we extract our little teacher revenge without even lifting a finger. Like the other day…we were outside with our jump ropes having a grand old time. We always start in a circle, do a few jumps/exercises together, and then I let the kids have some free time to jump while I work with some kids who, bless their hearts, can't seem to turn the rope even one time without getting themselves all tangled up in it. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">So the kids are doing their "free jumping" time and a lot of the girls are doing "criss cross." If you haven't been on a school yard in a while, maybe since you were actually in school yourself, "criss cross" is when you cross the rope in front of you and jump over it. It's a fun trick to master and I have quite a few kids who are already quite adept at criss cross. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">My little friend calls me over and says, "Look, I can do criss cross." He then proceeds to cross his FEET. He then takes a huge jump and lands, you guessed it, flat on his bum! (As painful as it might sound, he was not, in fact, one bit hurt. I would not be writing about it if he were hurt. Seeing a kid in pain, even the kid who makes you the most looney, is not one bit funny. But I swear that kid is made of rubber….you should see the stunts he walks away from with nothing more than dust on his hands.) But the shocked look on his face…priceless! </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">I looked up toward the heavens, smiled at my teacher god, helped my friend up, and proceeded to show him how to do a real criss cross.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
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</div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239726254734283923noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7214080220879747694.post-59755063632544481982012-01-29T17:12:00.000-08:002012-01-29T17:12:41.981-08:00Playing Cards on a Tuesday Just Because<div style="font: 16.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">10:45 on a Tuesday. We’re leaving the computer lab and a student asks, “Is it time to go home yet?” Now, at the beginning of the year, I get asked that question, literally, all day long. But it’s January now. Our daily routine is well established and the kids know, for better or for worse, they’re stuck with me until 2:35 each and every day. (Don’t get me wrong, they’re still 6-year olds, and I do still occasionally get the “Is it time to go home yet?” question, but it’s typically toward the end of the day, not the beginning.)</span></div><div style="font: 16.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 16.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">I looked at the student who asked me this, giggled politely, and said, “Buddy, we haven’t even had lunch yet. Sorry, but it’s not time to go home.” He sighed the sigh of a weary 6-year old, smiled, and waited as the rest of his classmates lined up behind him to go back to class. While we were waiting, I inquired, “Are you tired, or do you just want to go home?” He looked at me, and with complete and total sincerity said, “I just want to go home.” </span></div><div style="font: 16.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 16.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">I like to think of myself as being pretty entertaining, well to 6-year olds at least, so when one of my students wants to go home early, well, I want to know why, and so I asked him. He smiled and replied, “Well, I want it to be time to go home because my mom said she’d play a card game with me today after school.” Ah, ha. So it’s not that he wants to leave me; it’s that he wants to spend time with his mom. Fair enough. Actually, more than fair enough. And for the record, I don’t blame him one single bit. In fact, it’s moments like this that make me love my job as a First Grade teacher so much. </span></div><div style="font: 16.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 16.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">I love that this kid can't wait to go home and play cards with his mom. It’s a small thing, isn’t it? A simple, little card game. But to a child it can be the highlight of a day and something to look forward to all day long. In a way, I’m envious. I have teenagers now, and I must confess to being more than a little bit jealous of the mom who gets to spend time today playing cards with her little boy. I’m also envious of the child, who is ticking off the moments of his school day so he can get home to his mom and play cards. </span></div><div style="font: 16.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 16.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">More than anything else, though, I’m excited. I’m excited that, amid all of our modern technology, there are kids out there who still enjoy the simple things. I’m excited that, amid all of our modern technology, there are moms out there who still enjoy doing these simple things with their children. And, most of all, I’m excited to hear all about this little boy’s special time with his mom tomorrow because, almost as fun as the event itself, First Graders love sharing their adventures, both large and small, and so I know that during our Share Out time tomorrow, his hand will go up and he’ll tell us all about the fun he had playing cards with his mom. I can’t wait! </span></div><div style="font: 16.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 16.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">It's moments like this that make me stop and remember how important it is that we parents never underestimate these simple times with our kids. It seems the world is spinning faster and faster these days; we're all in a rush and sometimes it's all we can do to keep up with the bare necessities, like making sure everyone is fed and clothed. Who has time for games? </span></div><div style="font: 16.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 16.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">Well, we all should. Because guess what, folks? Blink, and your kids are standing in line waiting to take their driver's tests, or they're walking out the door for a babysitting gig, or they're off to see an R-rated movie because, well, they are now old enough to do so. </span></div><div style="font: 16.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 16.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">I forget a lot these days, just ask my poor husband. But I will never, ever, ever forget the time, a few years back, when the father of one of my students just randomly showed up one day to have lunch with his child. The look on that little boy's face was one of pure joy and wonder. The term "over the moon" comes to mind, though in reality, his expression was even beyond over the moon. Way beyond. The way he proudly walked with his dad to the lunch line is a moment I will cherish forever. </span></div><div style="font: 16.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 16.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">I had tears in my eyes as I walked back to my room and I thought, "This is what it's all about." It's not about fancy trips (though those are nice) and it's not about buying our kids the latest, greatest gadgets (though those are fun). No, it's about creating these small moments with our children, moments that, when placed one on top of another, day after day and year after year, form the foundation of a blessed childhood. </span></div><div style="font: 16.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 16.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">So let me ask you, what are you doing next Tuesday after school? Because if it's not playing cards with your kids just because, well, it should be. </span></div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239726254734283923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7214080220879747694.post-41035032703861063462012-01-27T06:00:00.002-08:002012-01-27T06:00:00.301-08:00Found Money<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I've said it before and I'll say it again…one of the best parts of my day is reading what the kids have written, be it in their journals or for a formal writing assignment. Buried in the pile of papers is always a gem or two that makes me LOL.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The other day, our writing center prompt was "Write about what you would do if you found $5.00 on the way to school." Interesting to note (and I'm still not sure quite how I feel about it) is the fact that not a single student said that he'd try to find the owner of the money. Perhaps expecting altruism from a 6-year old is a bit of a stretch. Oh well…</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I am pleased to report, though, that most of my students understood that $5.00 isn't a whole lot of money, and what they wrote about corresponded to that understanding. Some of the kids said they'd spend their found money on ice-cream, some said toys, and yet others said they'd save it. One girl said she'd give $3.00 to her dad and keep $2.00 for herself. Of course, when my husband heard about that one he said, "Can we adopt her?" </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">A couple of girls wrote about how they'd buy their little brothers a toy, which I thought was very sweet. One of those girls, however, said she'd buy her brother a Lego and then herself a skirt. (Clearly, she's not one of the students mentioned above who understands the value of a dollar, because even though she said she'd buy the items at Target, even on sale she'd never be able to buy both things! Oh well, the sentiment was there and that's all that really matters, right?)</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">My all-time favorite from this $5.00 prompt was:</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"If I found $5.00 I would save it and yous it for colij. Then I can go to colij so I can lrn. And maby be a techr. I houp I fyd $5.00 in rell lif." Not surprising, my husband wanted to adopt this student, too! Let's see…how much interest would she have to earn to turn that $5.00 into college tuition in 12 years? Oh brother, don't ask me…one of the main reasons I teach First Grade is that I am only required to count up to 100!</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">So, friends, what would you do if you found $5.00 on the way to work?</span></div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239726254734283923noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7214080220879747694.post-33645930071466712322012-01-26T17:49:00.000-08:002012-01-26T17:49:47.186-08:00Brotherly Love<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Lunch line conversations are the best! The lunch lady often comments how nice she thinks it is that I stay with my class, but really, my motives are purely selfish…some of my best material comes from the lunch line. Lunch line topics are quite varied, but one of the kids' favorites is bad words. (There's something to be said for working with a segment of the population for whom "stupid" and "shut up" are bad words. Too bad most adults don't agree.) Anyway…</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">We're in the lunch line the other day and the kids start talking about bad words and one kid says, "We have a jar at our house, and anytime someone says a bad word they have to put money in the jar." Ah, the old swear jar. I smile and he continues, "But my grandpa says <i>a lot</i> of bad words and he <i>never</i> puts any money in the jar." </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Oh goodness," I say, "Grandpa says a lot of bad words, huh?" </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Yeah," he replies, "but only when he's on the phone." </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">In my mind I'm cheering grandpa for giving those pesky telemarketers the what-for, when he continues, "He says a lot of bad words when he talks to his brother."</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Hee, hee, hee. Man, I love my job!</span></div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239726254734283923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7214080220879747694.post-26516988438874153532012-01-22T16:58:00.000-08:002012-01-22T17:01:24.300-08:00The Pencil Pilferer<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<div style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Pencils…they can be the bane of any teacher's existence. Long ago, I decided I would not be the pencil police. Instead, I have a very simple "Pencil Policy." On the first day of school, each child is given a brand-new, perfectly-sharpened pencil. Once the lead of that pencil becomes dull, or once the lead of that pencil breaks (or once a student pulls the lead of that pencil out - sometimes on purpose, sometimes not) that student is required to take the "old" pencil, walk it over to the "To Be Sharpened" container, place the pencil, led side down, into the container, and then pick up a new pencil from the "Freshly Sharpened" container. Easy, peasy, right? For some kids, yes; for others, no.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm a stickler for making the kids bring their old pencil because, guess what? A kid will drop a pencil, make no attempt to look for it, and then get up and get a new pencil, and then before you know it, we're all out of pencils! (I can't tell you how many times I will hear the tell-tale ping of a dropped pencil, watch it roll two chairs over, and for the kid who dropped it, it literally doesn't exist anymore. He'll shout out, "I don't have a pencil." My response is always the same, "Well, kid, you had one, like, two seconds ago, what happened?" And the kid will be like, "I don't know." And truly, he doesn't know because it doesn't even occur to him (or her) to check the floor. Cracks me up…and frustrates me to no end sometimes.)</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, if I see a kid walking over to the pencil cans with no pencil, I'm all over it, "Hey, where's your pencil?" "Um, I don't know. I don't have one." "Well, you're not getting a new one until you find the old one so I suggest you find it…pronto." (I know, I know, so much for not being the pencil police.) One quick glance to the floor typically reveals that this child's pencil is underneath his seat partner's chair. I'll tell the student this and I swear he'll look at his seat partner like he had something to do with it. </span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If you haven't figured it out by now, and I'm sure you have, the pencil policy exists so that we always have 23 pencils. Occasionally, I'll throw a pencil away, like when it's been chewed to within inches of its life, or when it becomes too short from too much sharpening. And every now and then, really and truly, a pencil does just disappear. But, for the most part, we always have a pretty healthy supply, thanks to my handy-dandy, easy-to-follow pencil policy.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And then one day, we didn't have such a healthy supply anymore. I puzzled over it a bit, but then quickly blew it off because, despite the fact that I am devoting an entire blog post to this (and my first one of the new year, at that) I really am far too busy to spend too much time on disappearing pencils. So I let it go…</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Until one day when another class is in my room (we do weekly rotations with the class next door) and a student from this other class reaches into the desk she is sitting at to get a pencil and exclaims, "Oh my gosh, whose desk is this? Look at all these pencils!" I walk over and, oh my gosh, it appears I have a pencil hoarder in my class! Seriously, in all my years, I have never seen this many pencils in one kid's desk. Occasionally, a kid will have two, maybe three, but this kid had, like, 20 pencils, at least. And I'm not exaggerating! (All those times I saw that kid out of her desk now made perfect sense!)</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now I have to figure out how to handle this. Clearly, I want her to understand that she is in, like, major violation of the pencil policy; however, I don't want to embarrass her in front of everyone by calling her out. So when we finish our rotations and my class is back in their seats and working away, I quietly go over to her desk, take her basket out, point to the plethora of pencils, give her the teacher look, and point to the pencil cans on the other side of the room (as in, you better return all those pencils missy). Thankfully, she gets the message loud and clear. Only here's the deal…she has hoarded so many pencils that her little hands can't manage the load and she has to make two trips! When she returns from returning all those pencils, I quietly remind her of our pencil policy…and make a mental note to keep a better eye on that little pencil pilferer!</span></div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239726254734283923noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7214080220879747694.post-13871458493615364732011-12-12T22:09:00.000-08:002011-12-12T22:14:47.759-08:00Impressive is in the Eye of the Beholder<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Today we were working on our January quilt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, I know it’s still December, but when the kids come back from winter break it will be January, and I have to have the correct quilt in the window each month…and on the very first day of the month…no matter what! No joke…the second those little kiddos leave on Friday, the December quilt will go down and the January quilt will go up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>OCD…works for me!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Our monthly quilts involve two 8in x 8in pieces. One is an actual quilt square (Checkerboard and Whirligig are the ones we use most often)…it’s just construction paper, people, don’t be too impressed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway, one piece is always the “quilt” piece and the other piece is always a “theme” piece (i.e., apples for September, jack-o-lanterns for October, etc.).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The “theme” piece for our January quilt is a snowflake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Now snowflakes can be a little tricky, especially for First Graders…heck, sometimes they’re tricky for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You have to fold the paper just so, then you have to cut through all those folds, then you have to glue the snowflake onto a piece of paper…without gluing the entire contents of your desk onto it as well! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As tough as they are, though, the kids just love making them.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">So the kids are folding and cutting and gluing, and I’m walking around marveling at their masterpieces.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, really, they are doing a great job…much better than I had anticipated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, of course, I don’t hesitate to tell them so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Wow!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You guys are doing a great job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are <em>all</em> impressing me!” I said in my sticky-sweet, gag-me-with-a-fork, First-Grade teacher voice. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">At that moment I happened to be standing near a student in my class who, well, let’s just say his fine motor skills are, well, um, well, let’s just say he’s “fine motor skill challenged” which means his snowflake doesn’t really resemble a snowflake at all; rather, it looks more like a piece of paper that lost a battle with a garbage disposal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I finish telling the class how much they are impressing me and he holds up his, well, his piece of paper that really <i>wants</i> to be a snowflake, but clearly isn’t, and he guffaws (yes, six-year olds guffaw) and he says, “Yeah, well, I bet <i>I’m</i> not impressing you” guffaw, guffaw, guffaw.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, yes and no, kid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Certainly his snowflake wasn’t impressive…but the fact that it didn’t even come close to resembling a snowflake…well, hey, that was kind of impressive, wouldn’t you say?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, the most impressive thing of all was his attitude.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t cry, he didn’t say, “I can’t do it,”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and most importantly, he didn’t give up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He simply walked his snowflake tragedy to the recycle box, dumped it, picked up a new piece of paper, and started over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Now that's impressive, my friends...very, very impressive!</span></div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239726254734283923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7214080220879747694.post-5094779093371852292011-12-11T21:17:00.000-08:002011-12-11T21:17:32.220-08:00What’s the Artist’s Name?When Justin Bieber first hit the scene…how long’s it been now?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like two years?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, anyway, when he first hit the scene my daughter was quite smitten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I, however, was not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not to be mean or anything because he is, after all, someone’s child, but I really couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In all fairness, I guess it wasn’t him, per se (though I did think he looked like a girl and sounded like one, too); rather, it was more that I’m simply not a fan of the whole <i>let’s throw millions of dollars at these young kids, follow their every move, and then get really excited and hound them even more when they crash and burn</i>…do the names Britney or Lindsey sound familiar? <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I teased her about The Bieb, all in good fun, of course, until one day the crush had run its course and she simply didn’t like him anymore…thank goodness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we were Bieber-free for about a year…and then one day one of her very best girlfriends decides to go and become his biggest fan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously, she is over the moon for him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She subscribes to his Twitter account, Facebook, and, of course, is a member of his fan club.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She has pictures of him on her phone that look like she actually hangs out with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Oh, look, there’s Justin and Selena at the mall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, and there they are at Starbucks.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s sheer madness!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The worst part is that she’s taking my daughter right along with her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Argh…after all my de-Biebing efforts, we’re right back where we started…my daughter swooning over Justin, and me teasing her about it every chance I get.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">A couple of months ago they heard Justin was going to be in Las Vegas on New Year’s Day, and my daughter’s friend instantly began planning how they could attend the concert, which ended up being quite easy since she has relatives who live in Vegas and her parents said they’d get her the tickets for her Christmas present.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So the friend was set, but now they had to finagle my daughter going to the concert, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Now there is no way in you-know-where that I am going to attend a Justin Bieber concert. Judge me all you want, but I’m just not that mom. I will buy the tickets, no problem, but I draw the line at actually sitting through a concert.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As luck would have it, the friends’ parents were both happy to attend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have two other daughters and they were planning on making it a fun family event and were gracious enough to include my daughter. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I thankfully dodged the Bieber bullet and really only had to brace myself for how much the concert tickets would cost me, which really wasn’t all that big of a concern.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, just because I don’t want to waste my time seeing the Bieb doesn’t mean I don’t want my daughter to go and have a great time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not that mom, either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">So we’re all set.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My daughter is going to go with her friend’s family and now all we have to do is secure the tickets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not an easy feat, but still, we’re pretty confident that if both families are on “ticket alert” that we can come up with some tickets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I go on the Bieb’s website and sign up to be alerted when the tickets come on sale; and the other family does the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fact that I then started anxiously awaiting word on Justin Bieber tickets…well, I really have no words to describe just how wrong that is…on every level.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Next comes the waiting part.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re waiting and waiting and waiting, and we’re starting to get a little nervous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, we’re nearing the middle of December and still no word on when the tickets will go on sale.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My friend’s family is really starting to panic because this is the big gift for all her girls, and, well, if we don’t get tickets, then they’ll be scrambling for the big presents at the last minute. No fun there. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">They finally decide to call the hotel where the Biebs is scheduled to perform to see what’s up and they’re told…you ready for this?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were told the concert had been canceled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More specifically, that the concert was never 100% going to happen and now it’s, like, 0% not going to happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My daughter was at a friend’s house when she found this out and she instantly texted me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though I was grateful that my hard-earned money wouldn’t be going to the Biebs, I was sincerely sad for both my daughter and her friend; they were so looking forward to this concert.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Now those of you who know me know that I’m one of those slightly OCD people who has to hear (and see) things for herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like, if I go into a store and ask for a specific item and the salesperson says the store doesn’t have the item (or is out of the item), I’m the person who will go and look for it anyway, just to be sure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And guess what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>About 90% of the time I end up finding it! </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">It’s not that I didn’t believe the other parents; it’s just that I needed to hear it for myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I called the hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And here’s where it gets funny….</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">A very nice lady takes my call and I explain to her that I am calling to check on the New Year’s Day tickets for Justin Bieber. I hear her clacking away on her computer and she says, “Hmm…January 1<sup>st</sup>…I don’t see anything on that day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What’s the artist’s name again?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I repeat, “Justin Bieber.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“Beaver?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>she says.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“No,” I say, “Bieber.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>B-i-e-b-e-r.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“Oh,” she says, “and what’s the artist’s first name?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Seriously?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I instantly fall in love with this woman. She doesn’t know who Justin Bieber is and all of a sudden I want to ask her to marry me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(But then I realize that’s not such a big compliment…I mean, I’m a pretty big shopper, I’m not all that great of a cook, and the skills I do have, well, you know, they won’t really work on her.) So I ditch the idea of the whole ask a strange lady to marry me thing and decide to simply be content that there are still people on this planet for whom Bieber fever might actually be a legitimate illness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239726254734283923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7214080220879747694.post-46873606484604466232011-10-19T06:00:00.000-07:002011-10-19T06:00:06.190-07:00Excuse Me, But That Book Is MINE!<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">One very important lesson getting older has taught me is that if you don’t ask for something, you don’t get it…Duh!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">This wisdom has carried over into my classroom in terms of Back-to-School Night Wish Lists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few years ago I started hearing about teachers putting up wish lists at Back-to-School Night, but I was always too embarrassed to be that bold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I never want to be just one more person asking for one more thing from a parent.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But…</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">As I watched other teachers get many of the items they asked for, and as I watched their classrooms fill up with really cool stuff, I thought, ‘Don’t be so stupid, just ask, if they don’t want to get it they won’t, but there’s truly no harm in asking.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So…</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I started asking for book sets to be used for reading groups (this means I need six copies of each book).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not a small donation, mind you, but not a bank breaker for most folks, either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I have found is that many parents want to donate items like this and are glad to have something very specific to look for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In any given year I might get five families who donate a set of books…over time that adds up, and I now have quite a nice library of reading group books thanks to these generous parents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway…</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">One of my dads very happily said he’d donate six copies of a Ready Freddy title I had on my list.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>GREAT!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He ordered them, they arrived, and he sent his son to school with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His son was beyond thrilled!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, he was so thrilled that he started giving them away!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With sheer pride on his face he said, “Look teacher, here’s the books…and look teacher…I already gave one to Johnny.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He started looking around like, ‘Who else can I give one to?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At this point, Johnny had already put the book in his backpack!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I was left standing there thinking, ‘NO, NO, NO!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those are MY books!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somebody stop him!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>NOW!’</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I look at him with my most charming smile and very gently explain to him that those books are for the class and that they are to be used during reading group time (and that they are mine, mine, mine).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily for me he’s one of those happy go lucky kids…he looked at me like, 'Oh, okay' and marched right back over to Johnny and told him he had to give the book back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I must say Johnny looked a little stunned, but the most important thing here is that I got MY book back!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whew!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was worried I might have to tackle poor Johnny for it!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But…</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">As the saying goes…all’s well that ends well. </div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239726254734283923noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7214080220879747694.post-88552479516041452372011-10-18T19:33:00.000-07:002011-10-18T19:33:54.167-07:00Fantasy vs. Reality<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Fantasy:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bang-up sex with your husband followed by lovingly drifting off to dream land together in a perfect spoon of satisfied bliss.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Reality:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bang-up sex with your husband followed by quick showers and him returning to the living room to continue watching Monday Night Football and you busting out the ironing board to get ready for work the next day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I know, I know…TMI, over-share, and all that jazz.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Just keepin' it real folks, just keepin' it real!</span></div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239726254734283923noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7214080220879747694.post-69926409678844895582011-10-16T13:37:00.000-07:002011-10-16T13:37:16.866-07:00Gotta' Love...Gotta’ love the kid who sits down at his desk at the beginning of the day, whips out a pair of sunglasses (from where, you don’t know, they just magically appear), puts them on his face, looks around at the rest of the kids like, ‘Oh, yeah, let the record show that we have just established that I <i>am</i> the coolest cat in the room,’ then looks at you like, ‘What?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You got a problem?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go ahead, lady, do your thing…I’ve got my sunglasses on and I am ready to learn!’ <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Gotta’ love the kid who, in the middle of an art lesson, decides his front shirt pocket is the perfect storage place for his scissors and glue stick…and then looks around at everyone like, ‘How clever am I?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the rest of you losers store your supplies in your baskets…big babies…I’ve got mine in my shirt…suckers!’</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Gotta’ love the kid who, at the beginning of a lesson in which he gets to use a pen, takes the pen, clips it to his T-shirt collar, and says, “Look everyone, I’m a dentist!” and then laughs hysterically, and then says over and over, “I’m a dentist” (ha, ha, ha, ha), “I’m a dentist” (ha, ha, ha ha), “I’m a dentist” (ha, ha, ha, ha).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A pen clipped to T-shirt equals a dentist?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you say so, kid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">And my all-time favorite…Gotta’ love the kid who calls you over while on the playground at recess…looks at you all serious like…and with all the sincerity a 6-year old can muster says, oh so earnestly, “I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, and I’ve finally figured out who my favorite teacher is.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I smile all big like, and just as I’m about to say, “Thank you,” I realize the name that came out of his mouth was not mine!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ouch!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I must confess that one hurt just a little bit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Gotta’ love…working with kids!</div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239726254734283923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7214080220879747694.post-79883823733061723332011-09-18T14:24:00.000-07:002011-09-18T14:24:21.148-07:00A Tree Grows in…a 6-Year Old's Pocket?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The other day I’m in the middle of a lesson and I hear a very loud, very exaggerated sniff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I look in the general direction of the snorfel and see a student sniffing grass…hey, it’s First Grade, folks, it’s not that kind of grass…it’s playground grass, people, I’m talking about real, live grass (or, at least it was live until my student picked it).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway…</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">As I look over I notice his hand is moving from below is nose to below his seat partner’s…he takes his handful of grass, shoves it under his seat partner’s nose, and says, “Hey, get a whiff of this.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His seat partner looks at him like, “What the heck?” then he looks at me like, “Do something…please!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I give the student “sharing” the grass “the look” and I point to the trash can…and this is where it gets good…</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Remember, he’s 6, and he’s a bit on the short side…so imagine a pint-sized 6-year old standing up…and as he stands up, what appears to be a tree starts to unfurl from his pocket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really wish I had the words to explain this, but…he stands up and there is literally a branch, with foliage and everything, bursting out of his pocket…truly, I don’t even know how he was able to sit down…I can’t even sit with my cell phone in my pocket, and this kid’s got branches, and leaves, and everything!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The funniest part is that this whole little 10-second exchange does not faze him one bit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He sees my look, sees where I am pointing, shrugs his shoulders, stands up all casual like, and heads for the trash can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, by the time he gets to the trash can, half of his “pocket tree” is now all over the floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I swear, it’s been days and I’m still finding parts of that tree around the room.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I can just my notes the first time I have a sub:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Make sure you check so-and-so’s pocket when he comes in from the playground…for trees! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239726254734283923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7214080220879747694.post-63764462906294950282011-09-12T06:00:00.000-07:002011-09-12T06:00:09.674-07:00Who Gets in Trouble?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Here’s a little something I call, “Who gets in trouble?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">As you know, I teach First Grade, which means I spend my days with 6-year olds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, technically, they’re 5, 6, and 7, and in their presence I would never, ever generalize and call them all 6; nope, whenever I talk about their age in front of them, believe me I am very sure to use their exact age, down to the month and day!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Remember when being 5½ was so very important?)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">But since we’re all grown ups here, and since we long ago stopped caring about being 5½, let’s just keep it simple and call them all 6-year olds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So…</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Last week, after the last recess, the 6-year olds piled into the classroom and returned to their seats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They settled themselves pretty quickly and quietly (it was a hot day and we were all drained by the heat).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were about to begin our final lesson for the day when one of the 6-year olds raised his hand, pointed to the 6-year old in front of him, and said, “She kicked me in the nuts.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">A little taken aback by the use of his frank language, but always one to capture a teachable moment when I can, I said, “Oh, I’m so sorry, but just so I understand correctly, what you are telling me is that someone kicked you in your private parts?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">His response, “Yeah, the private parts called my nuts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She kicked me there.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">So lucky readers, here’s my question:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who gets in trouble?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The boy for saying nuts…twice?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or the girl for kicking him in the, um, nuts?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">And you think teaching is easy…you try making these types of split-second, life altering decisions and then tell me how easy it is!</div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239726254734283923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7214080220879747694.post-32710869429235339462011-09-01T20:28:00.000-07:002011-09-01T20:28:42.190-07:00And The Eyes Have It...So the other day I accidentally only wore one contact.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know what you’re thinking, <i>How does a person accidentally only wear one contact?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, you only have two contacts in the first place, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, that’s like, what, a 50% accuracy rate on doing something as simple as putting in contacts?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, how pathetic, right? </i><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Unfortunately, stuff like this happens to me all the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like the time I went to put my keys in my running shorts only to discover I had my shorts on backwards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or the day, just this week, when I felt something was a little off all day long and it wasn’t until I got home and changed that I discovered my skirt was on sideways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, yes folks, wearing one contact on accident is right up my alley.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">In my meager defense, let me just say that when I went to put in my contacts that morning I noticed my left contact was torn so I went to replace it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I evidently became so distracted by the two extra steps it took to replace the contact that I completely forgot to put my other contact in.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
So I go about my day and I’m noticing that, well I’ll be, I’m actually seeing better than I have in a long time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, I can, like, totally see distance <i>and</i> close up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can see things going on far away <i>and</i> I can read the words on my iPhone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Normally, I can wear my contacts and see far away and wear reading glasses for close up, or I can go without the contacts and read close up but wear glasses for distance viewing…but never <i>both</i> at the same time…until now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh my gosh, a miracle has occurred!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">As my day progresses and I suddenly, and miraculously, have great vision, I’m staring to wonder what’s really going on, and the thought that I maybe, kinda, sorta forgot to put in both contacts comes to mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I did what any normal person shopping in the shoe department at Macy’s would do in a similar circumstance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I close one eye and look at something in the distance…I close the other eye and look at look at something close up…eyes open, eyes close…look in the distance, look close up…when I hear, “Mom, <i>what</i> are you doing?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(No wonder my daughter never wants to go anywhere with me!)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I explain to her my eye “situation” and my hypothesis that I think I am wearing only one contact and then I ask her, “Can you tell if I have a contact in each eye?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She chuckles, rolls her eyes, and gets in my face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So now, instead of one crazy person in the shoe department of Macy’s, there are two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is, literally, looking at my eyeballs, and I am, literally, standing there as wide-eyed and as still as I possibly can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(No wonder we couldn’t get any service that day!)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“Well,” she says.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I can see your contact in your left eye, but I can’t see anything in your right.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So now I’m feeling like the guy who discovered the Post-it note.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, I didn’t mean to wear only one contact, but now that I am I have, like, the best vision ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bye, bye reading glasses!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">When I get home, I excitedly tell my husband about my new discovery.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hey, honey, did you know that if you only wear one contact you can see, like, totally normal?”<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Him (looking at me all righteous-like behind his reading glasses):<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Of course I knew that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They say if you wear the contact for your weaker eye then you don’t have to wear anything in your stronger eye.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Nuh uh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s no way you could have known that because I just discovered it!” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Him:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Jane, um, everyone knows that!”<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Nuh uh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t know about until today…when I discovered it…for the first time ever…today!”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Him:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Exasperated sigh…</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well, I think you should try it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But if you end up liking it I think you should pay me or something since I discovered it.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Him:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Whatever…”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">So…if you wear contacts and you’ve never tried the one contact thing, accidentally or on purpose, you really should!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'll even let you pay me later…</div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239726254734283923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7214080220879747694.post-27567223024823370462011-08-25T20:47:00.001-07:002011-08-25T20:51:00.668-07:00And so it Begins...School is back in session and we are off to a great start…well, most of us are anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This year’s group is pretty similar to every year’s group in that there are those who are ready for school and ready to work, and there are those who are well, um, not! <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My group this year also has that one kid that you take one look at and know that he (or she…in my case it’s a he) is going to give you a run for your money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The instant this kid walked into the room I knew I was in for it…mind you, he’s not a “bad” kid or anything like that, but let’s just say he’s one of those kids with, “Here comes trouble” written all over his face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But he’s mine and I’ll figure out something to love about him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like, maybe, his journal entry today…</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">At the beginning of First Grade I keep journal writing simple and I basically ask for just one sentence...you know, your basic, “I can…I like…Today I am going to…” sentences…anything that makes them feel successful and that makes them feel like they are “writers” is pretty much fine with me.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">He finishes up his journal and I go over to his desk to have him read it to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can clearly see that he’s written “I can poop” but I want him to read it to me because, well, listening to the kids read what they have written is one of the highlights of my day and, well, listening to him read, “I can poop” is just too rich to pass up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I point to the first word, which is the universal teacher sign for, “Hey kid, read this to me.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looks at what he’s written, he looks and me, and he says, “I should probably erase that, huh?” and before I can even respond he starts to erase it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bummer, too, because sharing it with his parents at conferences would have been hilarious!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I point to his next sentence and he reads, “I can have fun in the bathroom.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh my, I can tell already his journal is going to keep me in stitches…the trick, though, is going to be to <i>not</i> let him know it!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Same kid, fast forward to later in the day…I’m in the middle of a math lesson, and let’s just be honest here, it’s the first week of school and the kids are tired.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Heck, we’re all tired.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But most of them are really and truly trying very hard to hang in there with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Except this kid…I look over and he’s pretty much headless!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Imagine looking at a child sitting in a chair and all you see is arms in the air, a shirt pulled over his head, and a wriggling body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now what am I supposed to do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t give him “the look” because all I see is a collared shirt and the top of his head!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I did what any veteran teacher would do…I looked at this headless, wriggling body, laughed out loud in my head, and proceeded with my lesson…I mean, really, why interrupt someone having so much fun?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, and, um, let’s see…was this before or after I spotted him making a butt crack with his belly button?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can you say, “Not ready for First Grade?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">It’s going to be an interesting year folks, that’s for sure!</div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239726254734283923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7214080220879747694.post-20253053326169285452011-07-31T20:52:00.000-07:002011-08-01T08:39:45.884-07:00SPANXSo my 25<sup>th</sup> high school reunion was last weekend and preparing for it caused all kinds of angst and drama.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, not in any real, serious kind of way, more like in a joking, “Oh, my gawd I’m not old enough to be 25 years out of high school” kind of way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Joking around about it and having fun with it is the only way I know how to cope with the fact that <b><u>Oh my gawd I’m 25 years out of high school!</u></b> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">In trying to keep things light and fluffy, which is pretty much what I try to do with everything that causes me anxiety, I put the following status update on my facebook page:</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i>Shopping for something to wear to my 25-year high school reunion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s see, something that will make me look 10 years younger and 10 pounds lighter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hmm, perhaps I should be shopping for a plastic surgeon instead!</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I received all kinds of funny comments, the funniest of which was a single-word response:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>SPANX.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, I’m not a Spanx wearer, not that I don’t need to be, but I’m just not.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">So I’m at the mall with my daughter and I’m trying on different dresses and I find one that is actually pretty forgiving and, equally important, quite comfortable…not to mention not too dressy nor too casual for this highly anticipated (and somewhat dreaded) event.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My friend’s Spanx comment, and the subsequent ones related to her Spanx comment (which were quite funny, I might add) got me to thinking, well, er, um, maybe I ought to give this whole Spanx thing a try.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, I looked okay in the dress, but I was thinking it couldn’t hurt to at least give the Spanx a try, you know, to smooth things out a bit and such.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I ask the saleslady about Spanx and she gives me quite the Spanx 101 lesson.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Truly, I did not know there were so many varieties of Spanx (and Spanx knockoffs) out there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She talks me into a certain variety and off I go to the dressing room to try it on. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Have you ever tried Spanx on?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, it ain’t easy, let me tell you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s basically like putting on a wetsuit…only harder…much, much harder!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I wriggle and I writhe, and I wriggle and writhe some more, and my daughter helps me wriggle and writhe some more, and I’ve almost got it on and I do one final pull and I feel a hole…in the, er, um, crotch region.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“Oh my gawd,” I say to my daughter. “I’ve pulled so hard I put a whole in the Spanx!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only guess what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>I</i> didn’t put the hole in the Spanx…it comes with a hole…for the love of gawd it comes with a pee hole!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ewww,” we squeal in unison, and I get that thing off as fast as I can, which ain’t fast at all folks, because what’s harder than getting a wetsuit on?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You got it…getting it off!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The whole pee hole thing really freaked me out and I decided against the whole Spanx thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily, too, because the one I tried on was $78!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My dress was less than that!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">So we leave the mall and go on our merry way, dress in hand, Spanx most definitely not, and we head for home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The reunion gets closer and I start to think about the Spanx again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know, how I would feel so much more confident if I walked into the reunion looking the best I possibly could, you know, with all my parts firmly in place like they used to be, not 25 years ago, forget about that, but, say, even 5 years ago. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Back to the mall I go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Spanx I had tried on earlier was the kind that went from below your bra to about mid thigh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since I was wearing a dress, I wanted to try on the kind made for, well, wearing a dress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Basically, it’s a flippin’ wrestling singlet!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I manage to get it on, again not easily, and am happy with the way it holds everything together, so I decide to go for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not as expensive as the one I tried on before, and really, my dress wasn’t all that much so I’m able to justify the extra expense…we gals can justify anything related to shopping, can’t we?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I get it home and try it on under my dress and am quite happy with the way things look.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">And then the reunion gets closer…and I start to panic a bit, like <i>What if I have to go to the bathroom really bad and can’t get it off? It has one of those pee holes but that seriously grosses me out I mean I just spent time on a river rafting trip having to squat and pee in a bucket and there was this one time I didn’t quite squat exactly right and I peed a little on myself but it was no big deal because I was right by the river and I could just rinse off but what if I was at my reunion and I tried to use the pee hole and I peed bigger than the pee hole and I peed on the Spanx and on myself well then I’m not by the river and I can’t just rinse it off and I’m freaked out about the pee hole but the only other choice would be to lift my dress up to my shoulders and then pull the singlet Spanx shoulder straps down but where’s my dress going to be like around my shoulders and what if it falls in the toilet or like what am I supposed to do<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>just take the whole dress off and then try the whole get out of the singlet thing and I’m picturing all this happening in a teeny tiny stall with people I haven’t seen in 25 years waiting to use the bathroom also and oh my gawd there is no way I am wearing that singlet Spanx thing!</i></div><br />
But…I really wanted to look my best, so…back to the mall I go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I return the frightening singlet/straight jacket Spanx thingy, purchase something similar to the original Spanx I had tried on in the first place, and call it done! </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The reunion went well…I did not get trapped in my Spanx, and I had a grand ole’ time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to say though, in looking at the pictures from that night, I did not look one bit more pulled together than I would have looked if I weren’t wearing Spanx.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, there are a couple of shots that if you didn’t know better you’d think, <i>Hmm, that dress sure would look better on her if she had some Spanx on!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Oh, I try so hard people…I try so very hard!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239726254734283923noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7214080220879747694.post-42086228287334191582011-07-22T18:44:00.000-07:002011-07-22T18:44:36.339-07:00The PorscheDue to circumstances beyond my control, but primarily involving having a third driver in the house, I had to take my husband’s big-a** truck out of town the other day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My daughter and I have been doing some back-to-school shopping for her and some reunion shopping for me…25 years…ugh…and definitely a post for another day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway, our local mall pretty much sucks; luckily, though, we have two great malls about 20 miles in either direction, and on this particular day we were heading south. <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I know what you’re thinking…20 miles…no big deal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, really, it’s not, except when you’re driving your husband’s big-a** truck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You see, the truck is really meant to carry a heavy load…and no, I’m not talking about me!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m talking about our camper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the camper is on the truck, it’s all smooth sailing; however, when it’s not, it’s nothing but rough waters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously people, parts of your body shake that you didn’t even know existed!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My daughter and I giggle our way through the bumpy ride and arrive at the mall unscathed (well, except for a bruises here and there that we both agreed not to talk about).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now driving the truck on the freeway is one thing, parking it in a mall parking lot is quite another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because my skills in this area are lacking, to say the least, I go out of my way to park, well, out of the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find the farthest parking space I can, park in it as carefully as I can, and off we go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Our shopping trip is relatively successful…and I even have a couple of funny stories that involve Spanx and four-inch heels that I’ll share with you another time…but for now let’s just fast forward a few hours to when my daughter and I return to the truck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are about halfway there when I notice something that stops me dead in my tracks and causes me to send my husband the following text:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Oh my gosh, the nicest Porsche I have ever seen in my life is parked right next to the truck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope I don’t hit it!</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Well, you know those people who are tethered to the phones?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know, the ones who have it in their hands or somewhere on their persons at all times?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, my husband is <i>not</i> one of those people (thank goodness).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, his normal text-response time is anywhere from, oh, about 30 minutes, to, oh, about never. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Imagine my surprise when, about half a second after I hit the send button on my text, my phone rings and it’s my husband!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could have texted him that I was having a heart attack and he wouldn’t have responded that quickly…but since it involves his truck, well, he’s all over that now, isn’t he?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I know, I know, if I were having a heart attack I wouldn’t have been able to text, and I know, I know, at my age I shouldn’t even joke about something like that, but you know what I mean, right?)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway…</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I answer the phone and he’s laughing and he says, “Hey, I just finished my meeting and what’s this about you hitting a Porsche?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I laugh back and say, “I know, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What kind of dummy parks a Porsche next to a pick up truck?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mind you, our pick-up truck is very nice as far as pick-up trucks go, but it’s a pick-up truck for crying out loud…and it’s huge…and it’s got heavy doors that no matter how careful you are they sometimes just get away from you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, I wouldn’t even park my old mommy mini-van next to our truck at a mall…and this guy (or gal) parks a $70,000+ dollar car next to it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, come on, use your head Fancy Pants Porsche driver!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I know I’m making much too big a deal out of it, but I really am shocked that, with all the empty spots available in that lot on that particular day, the person driving that Porsche would park right next to our truck (seriously, it was a very, very, <i>very</i> nice, <i>brand-new</i> looking Porsche, and it was a very, very, <i>very</i> empty parking lot).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I go from being shocked to being miffed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, the onus is now on me to NOT hit that Porsche, which I’m guessing even a mere fender bender will cost more to fix than I make in a year!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My husband and I share a few more laughs about the intelligence of this Porsche driver and then he says, “Well, I’m sure he thought a man was driving.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I laugh a little bit and then say, “Wait a minute, you mean you think the Porsche driver thought a man was driving the truck…meaning if he thought a woman was driving it he would never have parked so close?!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And you know what, I can’t even be mad at him for this lovely bit of sexism because you know what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s right. Now wait ladies, before you get mad at <i>me</i>, let me clarify, he’s right where I am concerned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, if Mr. (or Ms.) Porsche driver knew that <i>I</i> was the one driving the truck, he (or she) would have parked at a different mall entirely! </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
For the record, I carefully backed out of that parking spot, carefully drove away from the<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Porsche, and ran smack dab into…a Yugo…ha, ha, ha, just kidding, but I am happy to report that no vehicles were harmed in the removal of my husband’s beloved truck from that parking lot!</div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239726254734283923noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7214080220879747694.post-219613766868406422011-07-14T06:00:00.000-07:002011-07-14T06:00:00.484-07:00The Moose-tery is Finally SolvedSo yesterday I mentioned how excited my husband and kids were upon returning from a hike in <place><placename>Grand Teton</placename> <placetype>National Park</placetype></place>, and today I’ll tell you why… <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">It was our second time in that area, well, at least it was for me and the kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sure my husband traveled there (or at least to <place>Yellowstone</place>) when he was a youngster, but for us as a family, it was our second trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">We had visited <place>Yellowstone</place> and <place>Grand Teton</place> about three summers ago and enjoyed it so much that we decided to return again this summer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you are at all familiar with this part of the country then you know it’s famous for its wildlife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, for the most part, it does not disappoint, except, however, when it came to moose. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">On our first trip to that area three years ago we saw not one single, solitary moose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not. A. Single. One.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As in zip, zero, nada!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently the moose (or is it mooses…what is the plural of moose, anyway?) heard we were coming and they decided to am-scray.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">We became a little bit nutty about not seeing a moose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, when various random people we met during our time in that area said that <i>they</i> had, in fact, seen a moose, we made them show it to us on their cameras.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, we were <i>those</i> people!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">As hard as we tried, we never did see a moose on that trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fast forward three years and we are back in that area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We hit <place>Yellowstone</place> first and spent three nights there, and then we headed to <place>Grand Teton</place> and spent another couple of nights there, so all told we were in “moose country” a good five days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And guess what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We still aren’t seeing any moose!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My husband has done every bit of research he can on where the best moose sightings are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We drive miles…and miles…and miles to each of those places, and, you guessed it, still no moose!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He overhears someone talking about a moose sighting, so he, of course, jumps right in and asks, “Where?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where did you see a moose?!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man explains where “his” moose was seen and my husband immediately starts making plans to hike that area the next day, which happened to be the day I did my big “Grand Teton/Bucket List Run.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">If you read the post about the “Grand Teton/Bucket List Run” then you know I didn’t go on that hike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know I was too tired and choose to, instead, stay in the camper and relax.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And if I didn’t go on that hike, then guess what my husband and kids saw?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yep, a moose! </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">So they come back to the camper and they’re all excited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At first I thought they were just pulling my leg, but mixed in with their excitement was a little bit of remorse because, though they were excited that they got to see the moose, they had the good grace to feel bad for me because I didn’t get to see it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I feel sorry for myself for about a minute and then face the fact that it’s just not my destiny to see a moose…ever (pretty deep, I know).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After my 60-second pity party, I join in their excitement and ask to see the pictures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only here’s the deal, the pictures are HORRIBLE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I’m not just saying that because I’m bitter because I wasn’t there…remember, my pity party was short-lived and I’m now genuinely excited for them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Anyway, back to the pictures…the “alleged” moose, which is what I’m calling it now since I can’t actually see it on the camera…anyway…this alleged moose is clearly far away because of how grainy the pictures are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And not only is it far away…really, really far away, but it’s also completely camouflaged in the trees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really, any kind of animal at all could be in those pictures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Heck, it could be an eagle for all I could see of it!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moose, yeah right!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Now I’m beginning to think that maybe they are pulling my leg after all, and that they did not, in fact, see a moose at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, they insisted that it was a moose and so I decided to believe them…but between you and me, it was a pretty crappy moose!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I later viewed some video my husband shot, and I have to give them credit, it was a bonafide moose all right, but still, the pictures were awful!)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">This moose sighting took place on our last full day in the park; the next morning we were packing up and leaving <place>Grand Teton</place> to head over to <state><place>Utah</place></state> for our river rafting trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So on our last full day, a moose finally decides to show itself to my family!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you, Ms. Moose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Fast forward again to the next morning and what are we doing?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s right, packing up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I head to the bathroom for the umpteenth time (funny how often I have to go when a real toilet is available) and as I’m heading back a lady I’m about to walk past very casually says, “Did you see the moose?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Um, excuse me, she didn’t say did you see <em>A</em> moose, she said did you see <i>THE</i> moose, as in the moose that is right <b><i>here</i></b>, right <b><i>now</i></b>…as in the moose that is, Oh. My. Gosh. RIGHT THERE! </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Needless to say I’m a little excited and I start to run back to camp…and yes, I’m even flailing my arms!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>About half a second into this little spectacle I realize running with arms flailing is, like, a totally stupid thing to do around a wild animal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As quickly as I had lost my wits, I managed to regain them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, I’m excited to see a moose and all, but I’m certainly not willing to die for one…or be maimed…or, well, anything at all other than simply see one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">With wits back intact, I slowly saunter back to camp and tell the family, “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh, there’s a moose in camp, there’s a moose in camp, there’s a moose in camp!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Totally cheesy, I know!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I quickly grab my camera and proceed to take, like, a hundred pictures of “my” moose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I barely even have to zoom in she is so close.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only is she so close, but she very graciously walks right through the camp right across from us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is, like, right there!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then…and then, oh my gosh, and then…she sits down!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right there!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right at the end of our camp site.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She just plops right down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And she stays there!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And there she remains the entire time we finish packing up camp…we even drive off and she is STILL THERE!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously folks, we’re literally like 30 minutes from leaving <place>Grand Teton</place> and a moose walks right through our camp!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How cool is that?!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">And then, of course, I have no choice but to razz my husband and kids about how much better “my” moose sighting is than theirs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have no choice but to tease them about how they had to walk seven miles (uphill, in the snow, blah, blah, blah) to see their crappy little moose, while I barely had to walk seven steps to see my totally awesome, up-close and personal moose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only that, but “my” moose sat down and hung out with me for a while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll spare you the rest of the ribbing, it’s really much too ridiculous to share, but let’s just say that that’s my moose story, and I’m sticking to it!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239726254734283923noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7214080220879747694.post-38778093002454618242011-07-13T13:22:00.000-07:002011-07-13T13:22:06.794-07:00The Wave<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><em>(To my three loyal readers: This one is for <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">thereddressclub</span> and it's one you've already read. Never fear, though, there's a new post right below this one.)</em></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">This is a “then boyfriend/now husband” story and it takes place, oh, about 20 years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Then boyfriend/now husband and I had been dating for a while, probably a year or so, and we were taking our first real vacation together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another couple invited us to go to <country-region><place>Mexico</place></country-region> with them…or maybe we invited ourselves…oh well, who can remember a detail like that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No matter, the other couple ended up canceling on us anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Interesting to note, their marriage did not last, ours did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hmm…I bet they wish they would have gone on that vacation with us after all.)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Anyway, we’re in <country-region><place>Mexico</place></country-region> and we’re having a great time together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">We’re lying on the beach one day just enjoying the sun and each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s summer so it’s hot, and after a while of sitting in the sun, I decide to head to the ocean to cool off for a bit. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I frolic around for a while and then decide to head back to shore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do one final dip in the water, stand up, and start walking toward then boyfriend/now husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m a good distance from him, but as I pop up I notice him waving at me. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i>How cute</i>, I thought, <i>I’ve barely stood up and he’s waving at me already.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I haven’t even taken a step toward him yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wow, and he’s waving, like, a lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, how nice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I’ll wave back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>So I do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he keeps waving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Okay, this is a little weird now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, he waved to me, I waved back, shouldn’t we be done now?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">But he keeps on waving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I notice him doing this funny movement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His hands are at his sides, and then he pulls them up to his chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hands down, hands up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hands down, hands up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What on Earth is he doing?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s like he’s pretending to pull something up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Oh…dear…gawd…no!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know where I’m going with this, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I look down, and sure enough, my bikini top is <i>down</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it’s not just a little bit down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s All.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">There’s no recovering from something like this. I mean, I can’t just shrug it off and pretend it didn’t happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to, some how, some way, pull my top back <i>up</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t care how smooth you are, people, there is simply no graceful way to pull up a <i>soaking</i> <i>wet</i> bikini top.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">With as much grace and dignity as I can muster (which is pretty much none), I lower myself back into the water, fix my wardrobe malfunction, stand back up, exit the water, walk over to then boyfriend/now husband, and collapse into a fit of laughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I was suddenly very glad that other couple didn’t come with us after all!</div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239726254734283923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7214080220879747694.post-44976525702091554212011-07-13T12:59:00.000-07:002011-07-13T12:59:14.725-07:00Did You Dye Your Hair?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Sincere apologies to my three loyal readers for my absence, and a huge THANK YOU to my one super fan for Facebooking me that you missed me…you’re the best, T!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">As you can imagine, the last few weeks of a school year are intense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Closing out the current school year, while simultaneously planning and prepping for the next school year, is all kinds of crazy! </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">And if that weren’t enough to nearly do me in, the husband likes to take our summer vacation right away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, if he had his way, we’d leave the day school gets out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No possible way I can make that happen without completely losing my mind (and he knows how close I come to that come June each year), so he gladly compromises with the day after school gets out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still stressful, but doable nonetheless.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">So that’s where I’ve been:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>almost losing my mind finishing up the school year, and then finding it again on a long road trip with the family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I realize that some people might say, “Road trip?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Talk about losing your mind…I’d totally lose mine if I had to spend every single waking moment with my family on a road trip.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I feel the opposite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The family road trip is my favorite vacation, hands down (especially as our kids get older).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love that, while driving, my husband is to my left and my kids are behind me and I can literally reach out and touch any one of them anytime I want!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love that my daughter and I slept side-by-side for 15 nights…in a row!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I love that my family and I ate EVERY single meal together for 16 straight days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No other vacation allows for that kind of 24/7 family time…and I love every single minute of it.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Being together for such long stretches of time will obviously yield some pretty funny stories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Take, for example, this one…</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The main itinerary of our road trip was <place>Yellowstone</place>, <place>Grand Teton</place>, Gates of Lodore (a river rafting trip on the <place>Green River</place>), and Vegas, and this story involves our time in the <place>Grand Teton</place> area.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">One of my “Running Bucket List” items was to run with the Grand Tetons as the backdrop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you’ve never been to this area before, I have to tell you that it is beautiful beyond words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You owe it to yourself to go!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">When we first arrived we began scouting places that might be good to run.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As luck would have it, there’s a great bike path that runs from South Jenny Lake to Moose Junction…it’s a total of 7.3 miles, which was perfect since I was looking to run about 5 miles…I ended up running 5.5!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I say running, but really I was jogging.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But still, 5.5 miles at that elevation (and against the wind…carrying my siblings on my shoulders…in the snow…hee, hee, hee) was no easy feat, I assure you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">So I walked a mile warm up, ran the 5.5, and then walked a cool down for the remaining distance of the path.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was truly spectacular! </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My family was very sweet and stopped at various spots along the way to cheer me on and take pictures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was finished, they picked me up and we headed to nearby <place><placename>Leigh</placename> <placename>Lake</placename></place> for a hike…well, they were going to hike anyway…I was done!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I figured I had had enough exercise for the day so I gladly stayed behind in the camper while they enjoyed a little exercise of their own…more than a little, really, since it was a seven-mile hike!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No way was I going on it!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Instead, I hung back and participated in my favorite camping activities:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>reading, crossword puzzles, and snacking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>About three hours later they return all excited…I’ll tell you why next time…but for now, they come back and they are all very happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I, too, am happy, because, well, I’ve pretty much been sitting on my bum the entire time!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My son steps in the camper, takes one look at me, and says, “Did you dye your hair?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Now, at first glance, this seems like a simple enough question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But remember, we’re in the middle of a road trip…where/how on Earth would I dye my hair?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First off, I don’t even dye my own hair (and he knows that), which means he thinks I went somewhere and had my hair dyed!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again, how on Earth would I do this?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are in the Grand Tetons!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The closet place I can think of where any type of grooming might even be remotely possible would be <city><place>Jackson</place></city>, which I know is about 30 minutes to an hour away, but in which direction I have no clue!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">After I gave him my best perplexed look, and laughed at him a bit for good measure, I said, “Um, no son, I did <i>not</i> dye my hair…what you see is called grease!”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Eww…my hair was so dirty that my son thought I dyed it!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Talk about gross…and talk about needing a shower…STAT!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239726254734283923noreply@blogger.com2