It's true

I'm not going to lie. You'd know I was and I'd know I was, so what's the point? I'm just going to come right out and say it: Yes, teachers have favorites. We try not to, but we do. And now I'm going to show you some of mine.

Here's the first:

Tetris Post It notes! Yes, of course I meant favorite presents. What did you think I meant?  What?? Are you crazy??

Anyway...so maybe I did have each of my ~110 students hand write a letter to Santa for homework on Tuesday telling him just how good I've been, and that I really and truly deserved to get these in my stocking. One must use the resources one has at hand when dealing with that jolly old elf. I knew those post its would be mine--Santa couldn't possibly resist the innocent pleas of 110 fifth graders.  But, I have to say that I am blown away that one of my little darlings went online that very night to find them and deliver them to me today.  Poor Santa, made obsolete by a 10 year old.


Number 2:

Candyland band-aids! These are from Juliet, who isn't technically a student, but I do school her in many things--like what is and is not an acceptable music choice for instance--so it counts. These are so freaking adorable that I kind of want to cut myself just so I can put one on RIGHT NOW before Amaya finds them and commandeers them for her own boo-boos. I don't share well with others. Don't tell Santa. Oh, wait you can. I already got my Post Its.  o










And last, but not least:

A hand drawn card illustrating what I've taught him in Social Studies thus far. I have to be honest again here. I find the county's 5th grade SS curriculum to be drier than 5 day old toast. That's neither here nor there really, just a side note. The point is that the best gifts are always the ones that time and thought have gone into. And the ones that acknowledge all that someone does for you, and that tell you that you deserve a wonderful Christmas break. The ones that make it clear that you matter to someone, that you've made a difference in his life. Those are the ones that make me tear up and the ones I'll save for years. Those are the ones that keep me doing this job when I have days when I think I should do anything but teach. It's more than just paper, it's the gift of purpose--reminding me that I have one, and I need to keep on trying to fulfill it. 

Hammer the Grammar

On our way to our fifth grade Christmas dinner/gift exhange/reason to enjoy an adult beverage, we found ourselves behind this vehicle:

 First, I had to laugh. Because, well, it's so very Christian like to have a snarky bumper sticker. Then I forced Lauren to take a picture because I was in the back seat. Which made me laugh some more at my own ridiculousness. Yes, I force others into partaking in my madness. They call this leadership.

Next, I had a private, chipmunkesque little chuckle over the questionable use of the word close. Inner monologue: "Come on Mr. Bumper Sticker creator. WWJD yo? You need an adverb there dude. Cause you're modifying the verb following? Are you following me here?? Closely? The word you want is closely. Unless of course, you want to get into the whole ambiguous adverb debate, but really who wants to do that? Best to stick with established forms for professional writing. Wouldn't you agree? I bet Jesus would."

Giggles at my own nerd girl ways were quickly followed by a few nervous guffaws to mask my growing concern over the decreased level of my own sanity for having an entire conversation with myself over the grammatical virtue of a red rectangle stuck to a minivan. And all that before I even had a single sip of this...

Mango Margarita. I will be following it quite closely. As it goes in my belly! Religion found. Which probably explains why for the rest of the night my response to every question was: WWJD dude? Whatever it is, I'm following Him thhhhhiiiiiisssss close, Lee. *snort*

Potty Humor

Note left on the classroom bathroom door.

Made me chuckle.  I do believe the truth in advertising people would take issue with its accuracy though. 

So many toys. So many unhappy people.

I did it. I can't believe it. But I did. I survived Toys R Us on a Sunday in December. It was touch and go there for a bit, but I made it. I did have Emily as a wing man (wing woman?) but I am the one who steered the cart the majority of the time and that's where all the real danger lies. She was more of a navigator really. She's the Michael Collins to my Neil Armstrong. Who? Exactly.

TRU Check out dude: Do you have your Rewards Card with you?

Me: No, but I do have a Groupon.

TRU COD: Is there a phone number tied to it?

Me: My groupon? No, an email address? Wait. You mean the Rewards Card. No I don't have one at all.

Different TRU COD: Oh, so no rainbow in your wallet then.

Me: Um no. No rainbow. Two circles though. Master & Card.

Both TRU CODS: (blank stare)

Me: Nevermind.

TRU COD: You must have a Rewards Card. They only give Groupons to people who have a Rewards Card.

Me: Hmmm. Nope. Still no rainbow in there.


At this point I begin to feel the loss of not having a rainbow in my wallet. What kind of wonders would the rainbow bring? Aisles that magically cleared? The toy I want found marked down 85%? A check out line that opened just for me? Valet service? I must get that card! Take me to it Mikey!

But I like Peanuts

I think I'd label this an Ad Campaign Fail. Darrin Stephens would never have let something like this happen.

Two Thoughts Tuesday: Now That's a Thriller

1) I violated one of my personal rules last week. You see, I have this very, very strong dislike for how early stores stock decorative items for the holidays. It makes me feel rushed. I really don't want to be thinking about Halloween in hot, sweltering August. So I refuse to look at any of the displays until we're actually in the holiday month. But, then when that time finally arrives, all of the good stuff is gone. Which is why I broke that rule and bought this:

I mean what mere mortal could resist the cuteness of that thriller?


2) Hmmm... 

So, let me get this straight. You enter as a Woman and exit as a Man? Now that is an entirely different thrill right there.

Two Thoughts Tuesday: On Dog Walking

1) I think Iverson is confused. He must truly believe that his urine is one of those bulk rate, discount store sale papers or something. I mean why else would he think he needs to stop and deposit some of it at every single mailbox?

One hour walk = One hour sprawled on the floor panting. Old, fat dog.

2) It is probably best not to yell 'Squirrel!' while holding on to the dog's lead. Unless you really don't care if your arm remains in its socket. I'd imagine the same holds true for 'Chipmunk!', 'Duck!', & 'Bear!' though I had not the opportunity to test the theory. Maybe tomorrow.

A Laundry PSA

It is not advisable to include in your wash an entire roll of toilet paper.  Doing so will certainly not make your clothes come out Angel Soft--trust me. 

 

And you'll probably be picking up bits of toilet paper for the next 6 to 7 weeks. 

File Under: Another reason I need a cage for the kids.

You Don't Have to be Sherlock

If the puffy eyes and cranky demeanor aren't enough to clue you in to the fact that I didn't get the best night's sleep,  the crazy Elvira hair should leave no doubt.

That's going to take awhile to untangle. I am going to need a few cups of coffee first I think.

Expert Packer, At Your Service

So, I may or may not have forgotten to pack Amaya's underwear this weekend. Ever resourceful as I am though, I just plopped her into Chase's underoos until I can get to WalMart to buy her some pinky ones.

Though I might not be able to get her out of the Batman ones as girl loves anything her brother has. Chase however was less than thrilled at the idea of his sister borrowing his underpants. Observe.

Chase: Amaya if you poop in those, Batman will look like Clayface, so try really, really hard not to poop in my underwear please.

That kid cracks me up--for reals. I mean it totally would look like Clayface. See:

iPod shuffle needed

Starbucks Dude: You have an interesting accent. Where are you from?

Me: West Virginia.

SD: Really?? Not what I would have guessed.

Me: Were you thinking further south? Kentucky or Tennessee maybe?

SD: No, Sweden actually.

Me: Huh. Perhaps I have been a bit more obsessed with Lykke Li and Robyn than I thought. Might be time to give them a break in the rotation.

SD: I'm sorry, what?

Me: Nevermind. But thanks for not thinking I sound like I'm from West Virginia.

SD: You're welcome I guess.


*It should be noted that SD had an accent of his own and therefore is probably as unfamiliar with the WV stereotype as he presumably is with Swedish accents.

Two Thoughts Tuesday: When Life Gives You Lemons

1)  I'm still trying to adjust to the earlier gym class schedule. Yes, it's been well over a month now. I'm a little slow on the uptake. No, that's not entirely true. It's my kids that don't seem to want to get moving in the morning. Trying to get them up, washed, dressed, and fed before I have to get out the door has been an exercise in futility. But I think I may have at last found the solution: serve them their breakfast on a tray in my bedroom while my husband snores away in the bed next to them. Then run...don't walk, run...out the door cackling all the way.

Yes, there's a bit of a mess to deal with upon my return, but life can't be perfect now can it? This is why I have a housecleaning service come...which brings me to

2) Let me just start #2 here by freely admitting that I am a nerd. Of the highest order. It is because of that defect in my personality that I laughed until my sides ached when I saw this van:

I mean, there is nothing worse than a dirty maid, right?  Thank goodness there's this maid cleaning service to take care of that problem for me. I wonder if it's like a hose down or a full on spa offering?  I know, I know. I am a dork. A free maid cleaning to anyone who can somehow turn that particular lemon into lemonade.

Analyze This

Chase: Look Mama, it's a broken Cactus!

Confused? Here let this handy arrow guide your eye to the correct spot:

Totally looks like a broken cactus, right?  Rorschach needed ink. Chase needs only a splash of water and perhaps a little toothpaste smeared here & there.

Diagnosis: Time to move to Phoenix? I think I'm going to need a second opinion.

Two Thoughts Tuesday: Mysteries Edition

1) The human body is amazing. Truly. I think about this quite a bit when I am working out. Mostly, I am blown away by how my body adapts to the changes that I am insisting on forcing it into. It's really kind of neat to think about how difficult/darn near impossible I used to find certain exercises that I can now do with (relative) ease. It makes me a bit high on my own potential actually.

And while this change is gradual, I do have markers along the way to let me know I'm moving in the right direction. I call those markers: PAIN. As in the soreness of the muscles that I feel the next day. That is nature's way of telling me that yes, I can have a sleeker body, but it's going to cost me in spades. Or ThermaCares as the case may be.  Most of the time, as I'm performing an exercise, the active muscle is firing so much that I know there will be pain the next day. The burning I feel is kind of a warm up for the agony I'll be made to endure 24 to 48 hours later. Wince for wince, overall I'd say it's worth it. At least I know what I'm getting myself into. I'm asking for it really.

But sometimes, I wake up to soreness that I was not at all prepared for. I wrack (rack?) my brain trying to recall just what torture was inflicted that is now causing me to scream in protest every time I take a step forward. And I come up with nothing because to the best of my memory I sailed right on through the prior workout without any real distress or discomfort. But I NEED to know what caused this pain so I can be sure to never, ever do it again. Like, I mean ever.

At this point, I have two choices. a) I can mime my way through every movement that I executed the day before. Believe me, I'll know when the culprit has been found and chances are also good that so will every other person within earshot. or b) I can go right to the source. Which is why earlier today my trainer received the following text: Why does my ass hurt?  Oddly, she has yet to reply. I mean after seven years, you'd think she'd be expecting such a message and have a response typed and ready to be sent.  It seems she has not adapted as well as I have, eh?

2) How can something be so terrorific one minute and so darn sweet the next?

To ensure survival of the species or something? Nature. That chick knew what she was doing.

Two Thoughts Tuesday: Public Service Addition

1) It is not wise to use a plastic spoon to stir Margaritas while simultaneously depressing the pulse button on your blender. Trust me on this:

I am currently wanted in the state of Maryland for the murder of an innocent utensil and the mutilation of an alcoholic beverage. Being on the lamb is tough, y'all--it's not like I'm eating bonbons here.

So my advice to you is this--use a metal spoon. Or um just don't stir while the blender is on. Either or. 

2) A few months ago, the grocery store had Gain dishwashing soap on sale for $.99 and I had two $.50 coupons that would double to a dollar. So of course I had to scoop up my free bottles of liquid soap.  You might be confused right now since you may only know of Gain as a laundry detergent. Apparently, they're diversifying their portfolio or something.  I don't know, it was free. I don't ask questions when something's free. 

But perhaps I should have. I finally got around to opening a bottle of it today, and well, its scent is quite similar to that of the laundry detergent. So now my pots and pans smell like my socks, and I'm just not sure how I feel about that.

WTFriday

My mother and I love to go thrifting in search of treasures. It's mainly the hunt of it that thrills me most.  You just never know what you're going to come across when you're inside a thrift store. Which is why when I saw three shiny, red boxes on the shelf last weekend, I knew I had to get a closer look. I mean who wouldn't be curious as to what a Marie Osmond Fine Collectible entails.

Of all of the possibilities that ran through my head prior to opening the box--and believe me I had some strange ideas--none of them came anywhere near the horror that actually awaited me.

Perhaps a bit closer of a look?

Dude. And I thought Hedda was creepy.  Marie Osmond has some 'splainin' to do.

There's been a lot of talk of WINNING lately

So how fortuitous then that I happened upon this lovely portrait while cleaning out my inbox today. This photo dates back to December, and yes it's pretty much been that long since I last plowed my way through the gnarly gnarlingtonness of my inbox. Anyway--the point here is that this is what winning looks like to me:

Not my winning. Oh no. My friend Molly is the one winning for finding that book for my son. You're confused. I understand. My thought process is hard to follow if you happen to be in possession of a normal brain as I assume most of you are.  Let me draw your attention to the book's title. You see, back in October, I'd made a silly little video that all of my friends love to laugh at. Perhaps you remember it? If so, then you know how much of a rock star from Mars Molly really was. But perhaps you've forgotten and/or never watched it in the first place. Well, I'm here for my people, so I have provided y'all with the video and the post completely unabridged :

I have something that I simply must share--Real Housewives of DC confessional style:

Did I get that silky smooth, always calm tone down just right? I think I hear Bravo calling now. Oh, and remember, this is just between you and me, don't tell anyone now, ya hear?

Hmm now that I think about it, maybe I'm winning too..bi-WINNING it is.

Two Thoughts Tuesday: Remember Me?

1) When I was in junior high, the guy who lived across the street from me drove a cherry red Dodge Stealth. I'd stare out my window at that beautiful piece of machinery while contemplating all the ways that I could con the man into falling for me so hard that he'd give me my own set of keys complete with  disco ball key chain while saying: 'Sure, baby you can drive my car.' So what if he was probably 30 and I was 13--age ain't nothing but a number when we're talking about sexy little advanced sports coupes. The Stealth was my dream--he was just the Ambien to get me there.

So today as I was driving to the library, I ended up behind an identical Stealth. Well, identical 20 years ago perhaps. This one had been pretty beaten up over the years: the paint worn down and faded to a sad tomato-ish color, taillights duct taped over, dents outnumbering scratches. And I was heartbroken that I no longer felt that quickening pulse when my gaze fell upon the car--it was too old to get me excited anymore. And then I thought to myself--I bet that's exactly how I look too. Past my prime. I think I'll eat a cupcake now.

2) Chase is rarely amused by his sister's attempts to play with his toys. It's kind of funny the lengths he will go to in order to keep her from touching his batman stash--he will even go so far as to travel all the way up to her room to get her Tinkerbell just to have something to distract her from his shiny baubles. And if that doesn't work, then he whines and yells and hisses at her to leave him alone. It's loads of fun at 7AM let me tell you.

   Which is why I find it amusing that tonight after music while we were waiting for Daddy and Amaya to return home, Chase was practically jumping out of his pants so anxious was he to see his sister. At the slightest of sounds, he'd jump up and run to the mudroom saying, "Amaya?" It was so cute and adorable that I thought, "Oh finally, he's starting to appreciate the sibling that I bore solely to give him a playmate. Thank heavens."

But no. Within 5 minutes of their reuniting, it was back to the standard knockdown, drag out brawl.

Guess it's true what they say about absence making the heart grow fonder. I think I'll test that out a bit by excusing myself for awhile.

Nothin' but Animals

Have you ever noticed there is a stretch of I68 between I70 & Cumberland that is completely void of any quick on/off exits containing clean bathrooms? Well, at least from January-April it is since the powers that be have chosen to close the Sideling Hill Rest Stop during those months because apparently no one needs to visit the restroom when it's cold. or something. And wouldn't you just know that would be the exact stretch of interstate that Chase would whimper from the backseat that he had to use the potty Right this second or else.

So realizing that it's a good 15-20 minutes before we will encounter a mother-approved bathroom, we do what any reasonable parents with a boy will do--prepare to let him pee by the side of the road. And you know most boys will jump at the chance to be one with nature, but not my son. Oh no.

Chase: I don't want to pee outside. I'll get in trouble.

Drew: You won't get in trouble. It's an emergency. It's ok in an emergency.

Chase: No, regular people don't pee outside. Only dogs pee outside. Regular people pee in potties.

Drew: Well, we don't have a potty now, so it's either pee outside or hold it for 10 minutes.


Fifteen minutes later, we're pulling into Chick-fil-A. Cause my son is nothing if not a regular person.

That'll be enough of that

Ok listen kid, it's got to stop. This thing you've been doing. This growing.

It's out of control. I mean, it isn't like I haven't made concessions. I did accept that you couldn't stay this small forever, remember?

 

So, we compromised and agreed that instead, you would stay my sweet little toddling boy for all eternity.

I have a contract buster, so don't think you can act all innocent like now and try to go back on your word. A deal's a deal buddy.

And this...

well, this just isn't allowed. Writing words and stuff--it's clearly a violation of our contract. So I am ordering a cease and desist--effective immediately. Don't make me bring the lawyers into this.