Blackwater Writing Project

Where Am I? No, seriously.

2011-11-14T19:02:00.002-05:00

I'm not sure where I am. I do know that I'm in a "funk." I want it to go away! I've opened up this blog to write like 97 times, by the way, I just never really felt like it until right now. I'm never, never, never (ok maybe sometimes) ever in a bad mood. Ask my husband and he will tell you otherwise. I just feel like blah. I love my job and I love my life. But I just feel...pissy. That is all. Pissy to my students. Pissy to my husband. Pissy to my friends. Pissy to my family. I don't really feel like being nice. Is that okay?

I should be excited. Thanksgiving Break is next week. My wedding anniversary (year two...yahoo!) is this weekend, and I just found out that I get off at noon on Friday. I should be jumping for joy. But I'm just not.

Then comes the part where I feel guilty. Guilty for feeling pissy when my life is EASY compared to others. I know so many people right now going through serious medical issues that they have to wake up and think of all day long because it is impossible to live without thinking of their issues. I have nothing wrong. Nothing. I'm just pissy. That is all.

PS-Why do "i" and "u" have to be side by side on the keyboard? I won't tell you how many times I typed pissy and used the wrong vowel...

Where in the world am I?

2011-11-14T14:46:00.002-05:00

Sometimes I really have no clue where I am. Ok, no… make that most of the time. Most of the time I have no clue where I am. I feel so… displaced. Distracted. My life is in constant motion… constant disarray. I live in Baxley, and I drive to Douglas to teach 5 days a week. I spend a little over 9 hours in the car over a period of 4 to 4.5 days – however long it takes me to go through a whole tank of gas. (I only know this because my super cool new Edge tells me so on my trip meter.) I stay late at school to lesson plan or grade papers, and then I drive back home to Baxley to fulfill other obligations. I help out with the show choir in Baxley, and I’m active in my church. Those things keep me very, very busy. A good busy. I feel like I only light at my house. I go there to sleep and sleep only. And do laundry. (Which apparently is never-ending. Geeze.)

Where I am… I’m caught in the middle. I’m caught in the middle of my job in Douglas, my family, friends, and show choir “babies” in Baxley, and my closest girlfriends in Valdosta and Thomasville. I feel like Stretch Armstrong. I’m being pulled and stretched. My body is in one place and my heart is in two completely different other places. It’s not that I don’t love my job in Douglas. I love my students, I love my colleagues, and I love the friends I’ve made there. But I love Baxley. I love living on the farm and being close to my family. I love Greg and Karen and my show choir “babies” that I work with on Monday nights. I love my church family. And I also love Valdosta and Thomasville. Jennifer and Nicole and Bridgett. The Blazers. Coyoacan. Blackwater folks that I don’t get to see nearly often enough. Good shopping. (Never thought I’d say that… but Baxley has NOTHING.) La Berry. Fun. Familiarity. Peace. What once was home is now home away from home. What I really wish is that I could take all of these things that I love and combine it all into one. One big ball of happy.

I literally feel torn. I want to be in three or four different places all at one time, and I have absolutely no clue as to where I am really supposed to be.

That’s where I am.

Crossroads

2011-11-12T07:13:00.003-05:00

Most of the time here lately, I don't even know where I am. I know everyone at times feels like they have a thousand and one things rolling through their mind, and I know all of you, so I know I'm preaching to the choir. However, I feel this is one of the most stressful times I've had in a long while. Not bad stress - good stress - but definitely stress. I love every last thing that is happening to me right now, am grateful, and honored, but my goodness did it all have to happen at the same time?

So here is where I am right now.

I am planning my wedding which will be in February - I choose to give myself 5 months to plan it. At this point I have figured out the place, the dress, the photographer (that was an easy one), and the food. Right now on my desktop, I have my guest list pulled up and am trying to finalize it so I can start addressing invitations. This reminds me, I have yet to get Matt’s guest list. He keeps just telling me he'll post an invite up at work. Really??? Just get me a list of names! I'm also looking up DJs and have a constant eye on Pinterest, Etsy, and the Knot for ideas. I've started moving my things over to Matt's a bit at a time so it's not all at once, so my things are strung out from one side of Hahira to the other. Then those things need to be organized and put away, because the week after Thanksgiving family is coming into town for my shower. However, there is no space for those things because Matt has to clean out his closets and drawers before I can start putting my stuff into them. I also need to find an seamstress to start my alterations and mend my mom's veil which I'm planning to use. Any suggestions are greatly appreciated... Then just the simple stress that I'm trying to get use to the idea of being Mrs. Ruffo - just the change in name thing is something to get use to. Along with thinking about all the paperwork to change my name, insurance, benefits, address... just not going to think about that right now.

Besides the wedding, I've got all the projects at school. I'm getting everything together for my teacher of the year application for the state (19 pages and growing). Did I mention that I'll find out in February if I'm a top 10 finalist? Yup - right at the same time as the wedding. If that slim chance of being a top 10 does happen, I'll have a 2 week time frame to turn around with a video compilation of my teaching, lessons, and interviews to submit to the state. - I'm really not going to think about that right now. - I also seem to be going to more conferences and meetings this year than ever before - I am at 10 professional days so far this year - I hate writing sub plans. It's more effort to prepare for a sub than it is to be at school. I think it's ironic that I win TOTY, and I've been out of my classroom more this year than any other. Next week, I'll only be in my classroom one day. In addition, I have my kids participating in a Book Club with a high school class, which involves Skyping and posting on our Wiki and broadcasting the morning news show daily. Both of which has to continue even with me not there - I feel for my substitute.

I feel like I'm growing so much as a teacher and a person this year. Just the couple of opportunities I've had so far this year professionally have changed me and how I deliver lessons and opportunities to my students, and the year is far from over. Then obviously the wedding and becoming part of a unit rather than independent is a huge change for me.

Now the pull of writing sub plans and finalizing the guest list is making me feel guilty for sitting here enjoying the release of writing it all out, so I guess I'll get back to it.

Dogs in Backyards

2011-11-11T12:43:00.000-05:00

Flip, the husky mix my husband and I had for years, died nearly a year ago this month. Yeah. What a discouraging start, eh? But Flip was a good guy—Senor Guapo was his fancy name, as he often pranced when he walked, high stepping with a rhythm that encouraged the tips of his ears to bounce in unison. He had an imposing fang that escaped his top lip—a little snaggle with his waggle. My husband and I insisted the vet save his tooth when Flip had to have several teeth pulled. And on a cold morning, after several excoriating attempts to actually take our child, put him in our car, and take him to the vet to be put to sleep, we were finally able to let Flip go. As I write this, he hangs out next to me in an engraved cheddar chest. He was, after all, the first pet my husband and I ever lost.

And on an even colder morning, Lucy found us. Before Flip died, I asked him several times to send me another dog just like him. I laughed every time I said it, as I am not one to believe anything transcendent or physical could grant such a request. But I asked anyways. So, about three weeks after Flip passed, Lucy arrives. She first came to my mother-in-law’s house during a particularly cold stretch of winter last January. My sister-in-law, Kay, who is twelve, noticed Lucy shaking outside the gate that leads to the yard and house. Lucy had no collar, and her short Pointer fur gave her little warmth in such weather. In hopes that Lucy would return to her owner, she was ignored at the gate. Two hours later, there Lucy was. She had taken her slender legs and tucked them under her arched body with her nose buried towards her stomach. She shivered and refused to look for a warmer spot. So, we went outside and wrapped Lucy in an old blanket. She shivered even after we brought her inside. She was covered with larger tumors. The nails on her paws had grown to the point where she couldn’t walk with the pads of her feet firmly on the ground. We kept her for two weeks—searching for her owner door-to-door, contemplating whether we could return her to someone who would let her live in such a condition. No “lost dog” flyers. No microchip. No one missed her.

So, Lucy became ours. She was a full grown miniature Pointer mix. Old enough to have benign tumors popping up. Old enough to have progressing cataracts. She was ours. As I half-played-with-half-bathed Lucy in a warm bath, I noticed how similar she was to Flip. They have the same white and brown markings—a brown patch around one eye, most of an ear covered in brown spots. But she was the short-hair Flip. When he was alive, I would shoot curt assassins towards Flip, “Damnit Flip. Why the hell do you shed so much?” every time I swept our hardwood floors and rugs of his incessant hairballs. Lucy was Flip with a little less shedding.

She loved us; although, she also loved running. A lot. She was dart out the door and race three or four blocks over. We could tell which direction she went by the trail of barking dogs in backyards. Man, I could have killed her. So, we’d wrangle her in. And on a nice spring day, Lucy again did her ceremonial dart. I wasn’t going after her this time. I had spent too many hours running around my block, two blocks over, three blocks in my fleece penguin pants. She’d have to decide she wanted to come back. I, of course, did nothing but worry. My stand to do nothing just made me feel guilty. I did some chores: moving furniture outside in preparation for new furniture—Lucy had destroyed the stuffing in all the cushions on our furniture. Yes. That’s right. Maybe another reason why I was unwilling to do laps around the neighborhoods in my penguin pants. I left the furniture outside by the street for a special sanitation pick-up I requested for later that day. As I lugged the pieces outside, I stretched my neck to see if I could see Lucy; I concentrated so I could hear the barks of dogs in backyards. Nothing. One hour. Still nothing. Four hours. Where’s Lucy? Five hours and six car trips around the neighborhoods later, no Lucy. I would never forgive myself for not going after her right away. No wonder she didn’t want to come home. As evening came, I went outside for another inventory of the neighborhood. I walked down my drive way and toward the furniture that was still sitting by the street. Asleep on the cushion-less couch was Lucy. She had found her way home, to her couch, and slept off the exhaustion of her day-long adventure. She didn’t mind when I picked her up, saying “Damn bad dog” and laughing, and took her inside for the night.

So, now we have Lucy. We love her. She is sleeping under the blankets in my bed, next to Flip and me, right now. She’ll have a happy life here.

Cali Here I Come

2011-11-10T21:56:00.002-05:00

I’m sitting in a million year old recliner, but I want to be in California. I’m watching reruns of Big Bang (which is set in California), after watching the new episode, and a commercial for California pops up. So I want to be in Cali beside that dude from Food Network with the bleach blonde hair eating some massive man meal he just cooked with our guest of honor Sheldon Cooper.

People swear parts of California aren’t what they are cracked up to be. According to Tucker Max and Joe, LA is the worst place in the world. As Tucker Max pointed out, there is a reason the reality shows featuring people who are famous for being famous such as Laguna Beach and that other show with all the blondes is set in LA. Joe just thinks LA is dirty. Which doesn’t make sense seeing as all the blondes erupting from there look very clean. “Look” is probably the operative word here.

My sister-in-law swears San Diego is the best place in the world. She lives in Vegas and has traveled all over, so I trust her. Apparently the weather is perfect year round and wine just falls out of the sky straight into your mouth. I’m not a big wine fan, but for perfect weather I could learn to love wine. If I could ensure there would be magic little elves to make my coffee in the morning with fresh ground beans I’d be packed in a second.

The commercials always show a variety of landscapes. I think I would like the variety. Imagine: snow, beaches, deserts, cities, and forests all in one state. Forgetting the fact that it takes several hours to drive from one landscape to the next, I would never be bored. I could skip school on Friday for a hike through the redwoods, spend Saturday snowboarding (I don’t know how to snowboard, but like the wine thing, I’m willing to learn), and then Sunday lounging by a vineyard.

Another thing those commercials always show…famous people! I haven’t met anyone famous yet and I desperately need to meet someone famous. I have a few in mind and I don’t even know if they live in California, but I feel like being in the state would be enough to up the chances of me meeting someone famous. I’m sure I would make a fool of myself and stammer while staring uncontrollably, but it would be worth it to share a moment with Josh Hartnett. Or Alexander Skarsgard. Maybe even Ryan Reynolds. And definitely Betty White.

When I’m finally done with Georgia, Cali will welcome me with open arms. Austin is willing. That snowboard idea is right up his alley.

Where Is Shane? or Where Shane Is.

2011-11-10T13:55:00.001-05:00

Right now, I am literally in my office at Georgia Perimeter College's Newton Campus. I've just finished a stack of (better but still not great) Learning Support essays. I could get a head start on research paper grading for my 1101s, but I think they can wait.

I've had some ideas clawing at my insides, trying to get me to commit them to paper, and I will be sure to do that soon--maybe after I finish this.

I'm in north-ish Georgia now. A cold front is moving in, and I just shaved my head for the first time. The hair loss was (and had been for a while) approaching comb-over status, and I vowed I would never let it come to that. So I had a shot of bourbon and buzzed it all off. It's kind of nice...and still a little terrifying.

I'm at the bottom of a zero calorie Monster energy drink. I'm in the latter half of my big chunk of Thursday office hours. I am one hour from teaching my last class of the week. Then I'll be at the weekend.

Like Karen, I'm all over the interwebs. I on Twitter (@nomadshane), I'm on Worpress (nomadshane.wordpress.com), and of course I'm here and still in some other places.

I adopted the NomadShane moniker this summer when I was bouncing back and forth between Albany and Valdosta, Albany and Covington (prepping for the move), and my townhouse in Albany and literally anywhere else with a sofa. Sour break-ups can force you out of your homeland and into the wilderness and turn you into a hunter-gatherer. I thought of ditching the adjective, nomad, recently, but someone pointed out to me that I have always been, and I think I always will be, a social nomad. Even if I am physically located in this place for a while, I have revolted against solid and clear circles of friends, and I've opted, instead, for loose and malleable groups of acquaintances. I have close friends, but they are fairly nomadic, too. I rebel against borders and boundaries...sometimes...in selecting who to hang out with, at least. I am a social drifter.

I'm going to crack open my journal now and try to get these ideas out.
-Shane

Where in the world am I?

2011-11-09T10:46:00.003-05:00

I am everywhere. I bounce all over the place in my mind, yet my body slugglisly goes forward. My mind flies all over with the words of various authors: Wordsworth, Plath, Roethke, Speinback, Nobokov, and Walker spiraling me into deep pondering. Thoughts of Thanksgiving, family, friends, and change keep me somewhat connected with the actions of my present life, but I am finding I like getting lost in the ideas and writings of others who have finished with this challenging journey. Constant motion. Propelling forward. Never still, yet I must be still to keep sane as life whirls around me. Deadlines, final papers, grading, moving, changing, glorious life.

Where in the world am I?

2011-11-08T11:32:00.001-05:00

Where in the world am I? is a question that I often ask myself these days. This last week I joined Google+ and joined in the Educators’ circle (over 530 strong at the moment). At the prompting of another educator, I joined Twitter. I have two Facebook accounts: one for students and one for family. Additionally, I have two wiki accounts for student use and one for mine. If that were not enough, I have four blogs on Blogger and one on Tumblr and one on WordPress as well as having accounts with various sites for bookmarking, aggregating, and for entertainment. Oh! I forgot. I am also a member of the English Companion Ning and, of course, the National Writing Project. As I am writing now, I am listening to my music collection stored on Google Beta or I can read from my web Kindle app.

All right now. It is official. I can deny it no longer. I am a geek/nerd, and I am addicted. To show how addicted I am, I don’t want to be cured. I want more.

Lord! My horoscope said that I shouldn’t share too much today, but I am tired of hiding my geekness. I love the web and going to these different worlds. I can glimpse lifestyles of the not so famous or rich and see what we have in common.A Year in New York In the educators’ circle, I get new ideas every day from teachers willing to share, my own PLN. At the click of a button, I can see what is happening in Mecca with the cameras installed for the Hajj or view New York Harbor from the cameras installed in Liberty’s crown. For the life of me, I can’t understand why people shy away from everything that is now available. Where in the world am I? I am everywhere. Oh . . . my addiction is showing. I’ll stop now. But before I go, my twitter name is eremus7 and my Google+ handle is Karen M. Join me ;-)

My place

2011-11-08T08:17:00.002-05:00

My place is much more crowded and insane and sweet and frustrating since last year. Plus, my place still feels new. We moved into a new house over a year ago in August when I was six months pregnant. I'm still trying to figure out where we put some stuff. The house stays disordered but in a completely different way. Our last house was filled with the tools of partial reconstruction: paint cans, brushes, sawhorses, sawdust, carpet samples, drywall mud, sanders, etc.

Now the floor holds a motorcycle, a fire engine, blocks, a beanbag chair (for falling face first on), an Elmo chair, puzzle pieces, and of course books. All the non-board books are put out of the boys' reach. Apparently, they like to rip off the jacket covers and tear them. Sigh.

Board books are everywhere. I need to start reading Tucker the one Rebecca bought him: Hands are Not for Hitting. In our case, though, the book should be titled Hands are Not for Pinching. Poor Parker. He has two places on his face that look like bug bites, but they're Tucker pinches. His pinches are hard to catch because he starts off by hugging Parker, and Parker giggles. It's only when Parker tires of the hug that it turns a little more violent. And it has only happened once that we didn't catch it in time. But still, poor Parker.

Um, back to my place . . . my place is a lot louder than it used to be. Tucker likes to talk . . . a lot . . . loudly. It sounds like he's fussing at first, but he isn't. He just likes the sound of his own voice. In a way, I envy that. I don't like the sound of my voice.

My place is full of distractions. No matter what I'm doing, if I happen to catch Tucker's or Parker's eyes, the chase is on. They both LOVE to be chased. And caught. If I don't catch them fast enough, they'll slow down and look over their shoulder to see what the problem is. Sometimes, Parker will run to me instead of away from me, eager for the part where I catch him and tickle him or catch him and throw him in the air. Yeah, I'm usually ready for that part too. Plus, the giggle that accompanies the catching is awesome.

My place has little free time. I struggle to stay up with my work. And I now have less sympathy than ever for my students who complain about not having enough time to do their work, but their out-of-class entries detail hours of boredom and parties and extracurricular activities. I want to tell them they don't understand what a lack of free time is yet, but I love my life, so I don't want it to sound like complaining. What I didn't realize until now is how much of my free time I devoted to my job. Now, if I don't get work done while I'm at work, I may have an hour or two for it at night, but that's only on a good night. That's assuming the boys go to bed on time, and I've gotten bottles ready earlier in the day, and the clothes from the morning have already been dried and folded and that Wes didn't have late photo shoots.

My world used to be bigger. It used to include summers of teaching in London with side trips to Paris, Edinburgh, Dublin. Now it includes Valdosta State University and my neighborhood with side trips to Whigham, Moultrie, Albany, and Tallahassee. But that's okay. Every time the boys open their eyes, they're learning so much more than I ever learned in any of my trips. And our world will expand beyond the South again when the boys get a little bit older.

My place limits my roles and expands them at the same time. Mom is a new role, one I'm still experimenting with, discovering I'm hands-off in some areas and overly rigid in others. I refuse to lock all the cabinets doors, insisting that the boys can learn what's allowable and what isn't. I refuse to force them to eat foods they don't want, but I will hide the vegetables in the fruit if I can get away with it. I can with Parker but not with Tucker. I'm still a daughter, still a sister--probably better as both now that the kids are born. I talk with my family members more since Tucker and Parker came along. I also need my family more now than I did before. I'm still a wife, still a daughter-in-law, still a professor, still a writing project director, still a writer (barely), still a reader (mostly of magazines, Entertainment Weekly and Parents, and children's books, especially The Napping House).

I'm sure I occupy other roles too, but it's 8:34 a.m. My office hours started four minutes ago, so I need to stop writing and be ready to answer last-minute questions from students about their papers that are due Thursday.

Write Week:Geography or Where in the World are You?

2011-11-08T08:12:00.003-05:00

We're baaaack . . . Write Night is back, except it's Write Week, and the topic should have been posted Sunday night or Monday morning instead of Tuesday morning, but here it is finally.

Today plays in the background while my household gets ready in the morning, so I've been staying up a little with this year's "Where in the World is Matt Lauer" segments. Those segments prompt this month's topic: Geography or Where in the World are You?

You can write about where you are literally or metaphorically, where you stand on an issue, where you want to be right now, where you've been, or where you're going. Have some fun with it. As always, you can completely ignore the topic and write whatever you want.

Grandparents and Dirty Jokes

2011-03-09T19:00:00.002-05:00

I was completely over "that's what she said." My husband used this line at least once a day and I wanted to encourage him to act more "mature." I think this all started over comic book hero boxers and the next obvious step was to rid his humor of offensive sayings. Then my granddaddy unknowingly plopped a "that's what she said" into conversation and it was downhill from there.

Granddaddy and my aunt were discussing something my Granny said. My aunt asked, "Is the pot in here?" To which Granddaddy answered, "That's what she said." Now, I understand his use of the phrase does not match the connotation, but my husband and I took it the correct way. Now we look for chances to use "that's what she said". We have lengthly discussions on how to use it properly, clever ways we used it that day, or ways that we wish we could use it. My maturity level has dimishined and I will soon be wearing comic book boxers as well.

The teacher in me does not allow this in my classroom. I love that teenagers think I have no sense of humor and I am completely out of touch with today's world. It takes only one time for me to calmly say, "I know the connotation behind that phrase. Please refrain from using it again." Then I go home and make a joke with husband.

For the catch phrase portion of this post, "Bazinga" is my latest favorite.

TWSS

2011-03-09T16:11:00.002-05:00

I laughed when I first saw the topic this month. Countless times, I've comeback to someone's comment with either a "that's what she said" or, in text version, "TWSS." Many of those are lewd and probably not the best to write about here. They get good laughs, and the best is when I catch people who unsuspectingly set themselves up for a good "that's what she said."

I just came back from a leisurely stroll to the courthouse, which, incidentally, is a good 6-7 blocks from my office. Traffic citation payments. Not mine, mind you, but my husband's. What's with not being able to pay online? To quote a disgruntled student in my office the other day, "WHERE'S THE HUMANITY?" (seriously, melodramatic much?). I was deep in thought and looked up and saw this scrawled on the side of a building...maybe a parking garage or a government building...I wasn't paying much attention:

Without even a pause, I snapped a picture and sent it to one of my friends. Well, really to her, another friend, and my husband. All of the messages had the caption "TWSS" attached to the image. As funny as it is, I started thinking about it and how many times people have said that. Mostly girls.

It's such a typical girl line: "Was it something I said?" Seriously? Probably, but more than likely, she already knows the answer to that question. Why is it, though, that women take the fall? Even when it's not our fault, we usually assume the blame for a situation, especially in a relationship. It blows my mind. I used to be like that more than I am now. Previous relationships, previous situations. Now, instead of "was it something I said?" it's "yeah, that's what I said." Confidence in myself and total trust in unconditional love is an amazing thing. I forgot what that was all about.

I'm feeling pretty random today. It's been a weirdly emotional day for me. I went to Ash Wednesday service, and my work study pointed out to me a few minutes ago, "Do you know you have something black on your head?" It was bittersweet and I admit to tearing up a few times during the service. Some of it was because my ex-father-in-law was the pastor, and it's been year--since before he retired and before he was my EX-father-in-law--since I've heard him preach. But mostly it was what he was saying...healing old scars, especially emotional ones.

I've definitely got some old emotional scars. I need to heal those. I think I'm on my way, though, because I'm not a "Was it something I said?" kinda girl anymore.

TWSS.

Write Night (Write Week)

2011-03-08T14:36:00.003-05:00

Topic: That's what she said

I just want to see where this goes . . . The alternative topic is Catch Phrases. I'm thinking of Gary Coleman's "What you talking about, Willis?" or the guy from Quantum Leap's "Oh boy." What catch phrases do you remember? What catch phrases are part of your vocabulary?

Permission Slips

2011-02-16T10:34:00.002-05:00

Ah, the power of permission slips, of creating a form that allows someone to do something . . . it's just too much power for me. I don't like permission slips, even though I understand their necessity. I certainly want some people to ask permission now before they do certain things like offer the boys ice cream or sweetened tea--always a concern at big family gatherings. We walk in the door, someone says, "The twins are here," and then we don't see them again except when someone comes to complain that another family member won't share. Seriously, that happened Thanksgiving and Christmas. We became referees.

Okay, back to permission . . . I have to ask permission, well, not really ask permission as much as negotiate now with Wes. We have to plan things I used to take for granted, such as going to dinner with job candidates. So far, I've attended every dinner I wanted, but it means Wes has to leave work early, and sometimes that's a struggle. We have to negotiate weekend plans. I've already worked out babysitting for the May PreInstitute and leadership meeting. Yeah, I'm a little bit of a planner and worrier--maybe just nerd is the better description. Still, I like to know things are taken care of. I will not be the person who shows up to a professional meeting with two babies in tow--one would be okay, but not two. No one would get anything done. And I wouldn't blame them because let's face it, my boys are adorable. Who can concentrate with such cuteness around?

Hmm, I just can't stay on topic, but still I'm glad I'm writing, even if it is the day after Write Week was supposed to end. Sitting at my computer, typing away, makes me feel re-connected to you, to my teacher friends whom I don't see that often. I just catch glimpses of you on Facebook, maybe in a picture, but more likely in a status update or when you like a musician or news article. It's like catching a ghostly image, but it's better than nothing.

See you soon--here or on Facebook or via email or maybe through reading your updates in the newsletter.

Please and Thank you

2011-02-10T22:02:00.002-05:00

After my best friend and I moved out of the house we decided to drive to Tallahasse for the day. Just for fun because we were adults and could do that. Jessica, who talks to her parents every day, told her parents our plans for the day. I called Daddy a few days later to catch up for the week explaining I had spent Saturday in another state. He was none too pleased. The conversation went something like this:

Dad: You did what?
Me: We went to Tallahassee.
What for?
Just because. We looked around at the mall and ate at Olive Garden.
You couldn't do that in Valdsota?
No sir, we don't have an Olive Garden.
Did anyone go with y'all?
No, just me and Jess.
Do you know how dangerous that is?
(Big fat sigh from me.)

Another similar conversation occured with my mother. Mama lived five hours away from me at the time. I hated driving in the daylight because the roads were always so busy. I discovered it was easier to leave after class around seven and arrive in Dalton around midnight. The conversation went something like this:

Mama: What time are you leaving?
Me: After class.
What time is that?
Around seven if she doesn't keep talking. Sometimes she forgets to let us out on time.
Do you mean to tell me you are planning to drive up here, through Atlanta, in the middle of the night?
Well, yes.
Nikki! It will be dark. (You should really hear my mother say my name when she is exasperated with me. Her Scarlett O'Hara personality comes out.)
Mama, my jeep has headlights.
(Big fat sigh from my mother.)

I'm not sure why everyone is concerned with where I'm at all the time. It seems as though it is easier to discuss plans with my parents in advance as though in a simple "here's what's going on in my life right now" kinda of way. It works better for all parties involved even though I have a husband with a black belt.

At school I feel like I am always asking permission for lesson plans. I'm a talk-thinker. Therefore I have to ask my colleagues, "So, could I do A and then B and then change directions again so they are really confused and then take their product and hot glue them on the wall outside my door?" My AP now tells me, "Nikki, sometimes it's better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission." (Seems to be a popular theme for the blog this month.)I only follow this adage if we are in cahoots together on something. One day I will be the one in charge and won't need to ask anyone for permission. One day. You just wait.

Permission and Poodles

2011-02-10T14:34:00.004-05:00

Being an adult is weird. As a kid, I did, indeed, have to ask my mom's permission to do the big stuff--go out of town with a friend and her family, go to Tallahassee on a date, but more often, I didn't have to ask permission to, well, anything else. I didn't have to tell my mom if I was going over to my friend Liz's after work, if I was going to eat dinner at the neighbors, or if I wanted to cut off all my hair and wear red lipstick at the age of 14. As long as I eventually came home at least once a day, my mom was satisfied.

Now, before everyone thinks my mom is an uninvolved crazy lady, I have to say that I grew up on plantation land, with several other families, as my friends and I would run around the woods and dirt roads until we have to, inevitably and expectedly, go to our respective homes. And, yes, occasionally our shenanigans spread beyond the Georgia clay roads, and when I stared taking an interest in the neighborhood boys, so came the red lips. (Note: red lips do not, indeed, make a chubby girls with glasses and a headgear more appealing.)

But now that I am an adult--well, now that I am financially independent--it feels icky. Being "an adult" is not something you grant to yourself. Being an adult has more to do with others giving you the authority that is given to other adults. I find myself sitting, intently trying to conjure up some gleam of a lost memory from when I was a kid. I find myself standing in the shower, forgetting about the shampoo afro I've been sudsing up, as I make failed attempts to piece together sequences of times and spaces from when I was little.

I never wanted to grow up. I was never one of those kids that always wished of being an adult. I liked my mom doing my laundry, cleaning my room, and making my meals. When I came to college, my mom and I had our worst fight ever--a fight about why I, as I explained to her, was not moving out. I remember being so mad at her when I had to live by myself. I didn't call her for three days.

I suppose the icky-ness of adulthood, for me, is that I do not know what being an adult means. It doesn't mean "permission" to do whatever, since for me permission is, often, something asked for out of politeness--in which case, permission is superseded by action, meaning we know what is right and wrong in most cases.

My mom always talked to me like I was an adult--she knew I knew better when I screwed up, so there was no lesson to learn, just me experiencing the repercussions for whatever I did. (Example: I shaved the neighbors poodle because I wanted to see if I could be a dog groomer. When the stylistically mutilated dog returned home, the neighbors called my mom. Since I did not dispose of the evidence--the large cotton-ball puffs of hair--in the bathroom's trash can, my mom knew I was to blame. So, I have to walk to the neighbors and handed over a couple months of yard work allowance. I didn't learn a lesson, really, because I knew, before shaving the dog, that I shouldn't do it; I should ask for permission. But I was positive I could make the dog look better than it did. Somehow I've managed to mangle permission, disillusion, and arrogance. Ha!)

May I Please?

2011-02-08T13:48:00.002-05:00

Don't "they" always say that it's much easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission?

And who is "they," really?

Regardless, asking permission is important to me. Maybe it's the "whopper" in me (WOPT: What Other People Think), but I need approval. Quite often it seems. I guess I equate permission with approval. If I ask permission to do XYZ, then I receive approval for the choices I make. It happens when I request leave at work. I ask permission to be away from work (using, of course, time I've earned and accrued, but I still need permission to take it). When my boss responds, I am getting approval for my choices. Do I feel guilty about asking permission to take Friday off so I can spend the day with my daughter, engaging in activities at school all day to celebrate Georgia Day? Absolutely. But when it's approved, I feel validated. As a mom. As an employee. Or maybe that's just Working Mom Guilt.

Over the Christmas break, I taught my daughter and step-daughter how to excuse themselves from the table. I'm not a fan of people just popping up when they're done eating, but I understand and remember how boring it can be for a 7 year old to listen to grown up talk long after the meal is over. Manners are important--ma'am and all its forms (yes, no, and in the form of a question) is expected in my house. And likewise, I'm not a fan of the "I wants" and other such demands. So, we had a lesson about getting up from the table, complete with practice and execution. They have to ask permission "May I please be excused?" and then wait for one of us to say "Yes, you may." They learned after a few wobbles and finally have it figured out.

Asking permission does have pretty awesome benefits sometimes.

But there are those times that I confess I'd rather beg for forgiveness. It's just way easier.

On a separate note that is completely unrelated: My 1st grader and I had a lesson the other day (you know, the other day that was really 3 weeks ago haha) about punctuation. She knew the exclamation point, the period, and the question mark. She was even vaguely familiar with the apostrophe (and used it CORRECTLY without my help in a sentence she was writing! PROUD MAMA MOMENT). We also talked about commas in a series. Yes, I told her she has to have one before the "and". I'm Old School like that. Then, she asked me to teach her some math. Wrong person to ask about that! And then, maybe a week later, my nephew called and asked about when you use a comma after words like well, yes, etc. at the beginning of a sentence. Even though I had to look up the formal name for that to explain to him (he's in 4th grade and actually cares what it's called--but I think he really wanted to impress his teacher), I felt all important because he knew who to ask for the answer. Or maybe it was because he couldn't get in touch with my mom. I'll continue to believe it's because he knew I knew the answer. ;)

Write Night

2011-02-01T12:17:00.002-05:00

Hi folks,

Write Night (well, really, Write Week) starts February 8. I'm hoping people will post during the week and return the next week to comment.

The topic, which I lifted from NWP, is Permission. Write about the things you need permission to do, the things no one should be permitted to do, the times you got into trouble for not getting permission, whatever. Or ignore the prompt, and just write.

Donna

Uncle Joe

2011-01-17T22:46:00.003-05:00

I always wanted an Uncle Joe, that generic uncle who is a little crazy, but good-hearted. The uncle who is kind of a father figure, but a little looser, a little more free wheeling. My dad's great, and my two uncles are as well, but they're both solid, upstanding members of society, responsible. I don't have crazy stories about them, just normal stories.

It makes me wonder about myself. I'm an uncle now, to a little girl named Lily Grace Wyatt. Soon, she'll be joined by two other little girls and I'll be a three-fold uncle. Right now, it's fairly easy. I see my niece when I can, which isn't as often as I'd like. Our conversations are mostly one-sided, but one day we'll be able to talk and I don't know what I'll say. There are the usual uncle things. I'll tell embarrassing stories about her mom, my sister. I'll take her out for ice cream or take her to the movies, introduce her to lattes. But what do I say when she asks me The Questions. How do you live life? How do you make choices? What's it all about? If she asks me how they make marshmallows, it's simple to answer: they are harvested from clouds. The logic, taking tiny white things from big white things, is obvious. But how do I answer the questions that I still struggle with, the question of what to do with your 78, on average, years? What do you invest all of those days in? Who do you invest all of those days in? How do you find the middle ground of not being selfish, but making time for yourself?

I'm thankful she'll start with simpler questions: Knock Knock jokes, why's the sky blue (it's made out of the ocean), why's the ocean blue (it's made out of the sky), etc. Questions I can answer on a whim or a whimsy. But how do you answer all of the other questions?

Uncle Jug

2011-01-11T22:20:00.000-05:00

My mother has one brother. He was named after my grandfather, so he is a junior, but we all call him Jug. My mother insists that she gave him that nickname because when he was young, he liked to read Archie comic books. Or maybe it was my mother who used to read Archie comic books. Nevertheless, he acquired the name of Jughead from somewhere. All I've ever called him is Uncle Jug.

Uncle Jug was always my favorite uncle. My Granny used to tell me that my Daddy was always jealous of Jug because I would do anything in the world for him, including eating everything on his plate. I wouldn't touch a tomato with a ten foot pole, but if Uncle Jug had it on the end of his fork, it was soon in my belly. Everything he fed me was pure ambrosia!

When I graduated from high school and went to college, I chose a college thirty miles away from where my Momma grew up. I saw Uncle Jug every weekend when I went to my Granny's house to wash my clothes and fill up on home cooking.

Every October, hunting season began in Effingham County, and Uncle Jug continued the family tradition of belonging to a hunting club. He decided to initiate me into the family tradition of deer hunting as well. While there are plenty of details I could share about our hunting trips, the most unusual one is Uncle Jug's CB handle.

The first morning I went hunting, I didn't realize how important the CB's were. The hunters used them for communicating, especially when they were trying to find missing dogs. In Effingham County hunting deer with dogs was allowed. The sun was barely up as we were heading to the meeting place. Static played a fanfare on the radio as first one and then the other hunters started calling for "onion head" and asking if he had his ears on. At first I didn't realize they were calling Uncle Jug until he responded to their calls. It seems that onion head was appropriate--when he was in his twenties, Uncle Jug lost every bit of hair on the top of his head except for a halo about ear-level.

Weird Relatives

2011-01-11T14:06:00.002-05:00

Hmm, I know I came up with the topic, but I worry immediately that someone will recognize his or her portrait if I start getting very specific. I'll just write about the ones who can laugh at themselves.

My oldest first cousin

When we were playing kickball after Thanksgiving lunch several years ago, one of our cousins hit his wife on the butt with the kickball to tag her out. My cousin said, "Not much to be proud of there. How could you miss that target?" His wife is maybe a size eight, definitely not huge, but everyone is a target for his tongue. He is really funny, always teasing people. I love that man.
Another time we went on a cruise. He had heard that you had to pay for soft drinks on the cruise, so he packed a whole suitcase full of Mountain Dew, his soft drink of choice. When he was unloading his suitcases, one of the soft drinks apparently got a hole punched in it, so it looked like his suitcase was taking a leak.
When we were planning that cruise, he kept threatening to bring a cane pole so that he could fish off the side.

A good friend from college

In the pre-cell phone days, she called me on my home phone one day. "Hello?" I answered. "Where are you?" she asked. There was a long pause. "Um, at home," I finally responded, thinking, "Duh!" Finally, she realized what she asked and started to laugh.

Okay, I'm blanking on specific incidents and characters, but it seems like my family and friends are all characters in different ways. I can't wait for the boys to get to know my family. At Thanksgiving, we lost the boys as soon as we entered my aunt's house, only seeing them in passing as they were being passed from one person to another. A few people came to me to complain that someone else wasn't sharing the babies as if I was supposed to mediate that conflict. I heard people negotiating: "I'll let you hold Tucker while I eat, but you have to give him back when I finish."

Those boys are loved, but they will still be in for a big spot of teasing as they get older. In my family you must have a sense of humor and not be thin-skinned--and I like it that way. I show up for Thanksgiving lunch and Christmas lunch, expecting to hear lots of laughter and arguments over who gets to go through the line first. My cousin and my sister are usually pretty close to the front.

I'll have to start jotting down notes at each family gathering because I forget them too soon now. I want to remember family moments to share with the boys, but my brain seems like Swiss cheese. My memory is shot. Now that I'm back at work, maybe my memory will return as well. I hope so. I miss it.

January 2011 Write Night

2011-01-06T16:14:00.003-05:00

Hi folks,
It's a new year and a new write night! I'm opening write night early to make it more convenient for posters. The topic for January is Uncle Joe. Okay, maybe you don't have an Uncle Joe, but since we just came off the holidays, where we spent tons of times with our relatives and friends, it might be a good time to tell some stories about our favorite (or least favorite relative). Maybe it's Uncle Joe who always shares too much information about his bodily functions, or maybe Aunt Doris (who's 93) always flirts with her great-granddaughters' boyfriends. Let us hear about it. Or, as always, ignore the prompt altogether, and write whatever you want. Just write and read and respond.

Thankful for blueberry muffins...

2010-11-13T15:00:00.004-05:00

Several years ago when I was... 15, I think, my grandparents from Florida decided they wanted to get together with us for Thanksgiving. They didn't want to just meet up at our house or theirs, they wanted to go to Cypress Gardens and look at the plants growing. The *best* part about Cypress Gardens is that it's ridiculously expensive, so my grandparents like to stay in a little town about 50 minutes outside of wherever Cypress Gardens is at a cheap mom and pop kinda place. My parents agreed, and since 15 year olds don't have any rights, they graciously agreed on my behalf.

Fast forward to Thanksgiving day. It's about 5AM and we leave for our long trek to this tiny little town and mom and pop's Pink Flamingo inn, with all the charm of an unkept hotel from the 50s has to offer. We drive for about 9 hours and arrive at the hotel to discover my grandparents, who only had a three hour drive, hadn't shown up yet. Confused, we called their house but no one answered. Figuring they'd arrive at the hotel shortly, we all decide to nap before going out for Thanksgiving dinner. I remember waking in a dim hotel room to the sounds of our dalmatian crying. I rolled out of bed to see him standing by the door wanting to go out. A quick look at the clock shows that we'd slept all afternoon and it was a little past 10 at night. Still no sign of my grandparents. I took Pepper out for a walk while my mom tried calling again. I returned to learn they didn't answer the phone. My mom and I decide it was time to get some food. We left my dad still sleeping, threw the dog in the van, and started looking for anything open at this time of night on a holiday. We found a gas station. For that Thanksgiving dinner, my mom and I had prepackaged blueberry muffins and hand-held milk containers. Pepper got some beef jerky.

The next day, my grandparents finally showed up to tell us that the just didn't *feel* like driving on Thanksgiving day, and oh, sorry they didn't answer the phone, but they were having dinner with friends the first time we called and were sleeping the second.

Anyone else have a memorable Thanksgiving?

November 2010 Write Night

2010-11-08T11:16:00.002-05:00

Topic: Giving Thanks

I know it's a topic that's been done before, but I thought we might take a new twist on it. We can, of course, list the things we're thankful for, but consider very small things like the nightlight that helps me find my way around the kitchen at night when I'm getting bottles ready or the light in the refrigerator that always works.

Or maybe we can write about the things we're thankful for not happening, such as being thankful that we didn't snap at the old lady in front of us who had twenty items in the ten items line at the grocery store. Yeah, it would have felt good to tell her off, but nicer that you didn't.

Or you can write about your Thanksgiving traditions or favorite Thanksgiving foods.

Or you can ignore these prompts and write about whatever you want: vent, rant, rave, embarrass, whatever . . . Just write and respond.

Can you say "IN-uh-PRO-pree-uht"??

2010-10-14T15:36:00.005-04:00

Oh my, do I have stories to tell about inappropriate behavior. Between work and personal, I've had my fair share of experiences in the last few weeks. Let's start with work, though, because the personal ones are just...wow.

Inappropriate behavior #1: Sticking out your tongue at the presenter during a class

Seriously? Yes. I'm just sad I missed it, although I would probably have been a big, fat B to the kid by calling him out and treating him like a kid. So, my department and 2 others spent 4 days presenting to 1600 students--college freshmen to be exact--on our departments' services. 20 classes. 1600 college freshmen. 4 days. Yeah, talk about burnout. I was smart enough to "delegate" a day to one of my employees while I took a "mental health day" off work. So, she's the lucky one who witnessed a college freshman stick out his tongue at one of my colleagues while she was presenting to the group. Seriously? Inappropriate.

Inappropriate behavior #2: Taking pictures of people during a presentation

I don't know if this is more inappropriate or just plain oogie. Tuesday, as I was presenting the ins and outs of an assignment to an art history survey class, this kid was straight up taking a picture of me. No, I'm not egotistical. Yes, I'm certain the picture was of me. He was holding his phone up in front of his face, not texting or reading anything. He was pointing the phone at me. Then, he pushed a button and put his phone down. So yes, I think he was taking a picture of me. First, that's just weird. And oogie. Second, a little subtlety would've been appreciated. Good gravy, when I snap camera phone pics of things I shouldn't, at least I have the wherewithal to be sly about it. Actually, my friend Joseph showed me how to take pics on my phone by holding it up to my ear and pretending to talk to someone. It works--you should try it some time. But still. Ick. This was some 18yo freshman, I'm sure. Just....ewwwww. Inappropriate.

Inappropriate behavior #3: Sending mean emails to staff

Where did manners go? I mean, seriously, are they still stuck back in 1999 because that's what it feels like. One morning last, after explaining to a student why his appointment had been canceled (dude, you're 19 minutes late to a 30 minute appointment, but whatever), giving him a card with our phone number to call in the future if he thinks he'll be late, AND reinstating his account because he'd already missed a few appointments before, this student felt he needed to voice his frustration by emailing one of my employees. Fine. But seriously? Are ALL CAPS necessary? (Let's not even talk about the grammatical errors in it...) I'm fine with someone voicing concerns, but I draw the line when the tone is ugly. And I'm completely over it when the response to my email calling him out on his inappropriate behavior--and I actually used the word "inappropriate" in the email--was an "oh, I mixed up the names, that was for you." Seriously? .... Seriously? Sending emails that call out people IN ALL CAPS just ain't gonna fly in my world. Inappropriate.

Moving on to the personal ones...

Inappropriate behavior #4: Flirting with your babydaddy over the phone in front of your husband

Yes. I'm serious as a rake in the head. So, the boy's babymama, or better yet babymamadrama (BMD for short), got in trouble with her husband a few weeks ago for flirting with the boy. Oddly, I'm not jealous (and if you know me, this is MAJOR because I'm normally the jealous type). Instead, I'm amused. And I just sit back and eat my popcorn while it all happens. Apparently, she tells him that her husband called her out for flirting. Lines like, "we get each other's humor" and "I just feel so comfortable talking to you" and other such things--all in the same conversation--just ain't gonna fly for the husband since those lines weren't directed at him. The boy tells her that what she's saying is inappropriate considering the facts that they're not together, she's married, and he's with me. She missed that memo. So the next time they talk, BMD tells the boy about her husband not liking her flirting with the boy...and then starts flirting yet again! Seriously? So, in the words of the boy, he just says to her: "Inappropriate!" Amusing, yes. But still. Inappropriate.

Inappropriate behavior #5: Calling your babydaddy girlfriend

Boy howdy at the popcorn-worthy drama. Let me preface by saying I wouldn't ordinarily have a problem with BMD calling me. However, when BMD picks a fight with the boy and gets nowhere with him, it's completely and totally inappropriate to call ME to try to power play ME through passive aggressiveness (on voicemail of course) in an effort to power play her babydaddy. First, when did I become part of the parental equation? Oh wait, that's right. I'm not. Second, when did I agree to be mediator between the two? Oh wait, that's right. I didn't. Third, when did it become acceptable to call me when he didn't answer her (repeatedly ignored) calls? Oh wait, that's right. It never did. So yeah. Inappropriate.

Wow. It sounds like I have a chip on my shoulder and am all cranky about some of this stuff. Rest assured I'm not. I laugh at them--mostly--and chalk it up to inappropriate behavior.

But you know, the more I think about it, I'm starting to think it's not inappropriate behavior as much as it is just flat out immature behavior in these situations.

Inappropriate behavior often seems to fit right along with immaturity.

Or so it seems.

Or is that just me?

Inappropriate Stuff

2010-10-13T22:08:00.003-04:00

Just so everyone knows, I am watching South Park as I write this.

And I just sent a suggestive text to a couple of my friends. I also have a potty mouth, but I'm not the one cursing in elevators next to Alison. I try to watch it in public. I shoot birds whenver possible too. Maybe I shouldn't be complaining about inappropriate behavior since I seem to be the epitome of inappropiate behavior.

I'm going to be lazy, well lazy for me anyway, and make a list of what I think is inappropriate.

Tonsil hockey in the hallway.
Rude phrases in the hallway/classroom. Ex: "That's so gay," "That's what she said," etc.
People who can afford new clothes, but not the rent money they owe me.
My cousing bringing my high school nemesis to our family reunion. I'm sure she has 20 different diseases and infected the grass on my gradparent's property.
Higher up's not being completely honest with their subordinates.
Along with Alison, this male student who keeps hugging me.
This sub who kept trying to wake up my students who WEREN'T asleep. Incidently my co-lab teacher is no longer allowed to be absent .
Students discussing their weekends where I can hear.
Comedy Central in general, but I love it.

I think just turned into a list of things that get on my nerves. I see inappropriate behavior all the time, but I just don't remember to keep up with it. Maybe I will add to this later.

2010-10-13T20:47:00.000-04:00

Funny that I wrote about something similar today in my ABAC class. In my 9th grade English class today, I saw a boy who is dating another student in the class (female) start to act very ugly to her. She looked up at me, quite embarrassed. My mother in me wanted to snatch him up, but the teacher in me realized that wasn’t best course of action. So, I did the next best thing. I asked one of her friends to talk some sense in to her. Why do these girls think they have to take that kind of treatment? I will admit that when I was in high school, I was in an abusive relationship; however, I learned so much and wish I could share that will all teenage girls. I have endured my share of abusive relationships, and at some point, I will write a book about it, but right now, I simply want to rant about inappropriate behavior.

What about cursing?? I know the occasional word isn’t that big deal, and as shocking as it is, I do curse given the right circumstances. However, one of my ABAC students cursed today in class. I was shocked because I felt that this is an unwritten rule “no cursing in class” but apparently I am wrong. On another day, a student, not mine, used the f-word in the elevator. When I jokingly said “Whoa there. Let’s watch the f-bomb,” she acted like I had four heads. When did the abnormal become normal???

I’m not a prude, but I simply believe in common courtesy and I don’t believe those show common courtesy at all. When watching TV or listening to music, I can choose to turn the station. However, when trapped in an elevator, I can’t, so why can’t people be respectful of others?

On to another inappropriate subject. Why do high school boys try to hug their teachers??? When did this start? I find myself telling way too many boys that I don’t hug students. I guess I will have to add that to my syllabus, “Don’t try to touch the teacher in any way.” Hello?? What the heck?I just remembered another. So, a few months ago, I was at a movie night outside with my kids and lots of other families. One of my daughter’s best friends and her family was there. As we are all sitting and watching the movie, the dad comes by and rubs cold drink cans on me. I thought that a little inappropriate. So, just recently, same family is at school, and we are all participating in PE Fitness day at the school. One of the games was “cleaning house” but it was really old-school dodge ball, with softer balls. As we are all throwing balls, I get hit in the head with a ball. I look up, and the same dad is laughing hysterically. Are we six again? Dude, you are married. Get a clue. He obviously has no understanding of inappropriate behavior.

Well, I guess that sums up my current rants. I know I could go on for days, but I don’t want to foster my already Mary Poppinish image too far. Love to all!

inappropriate behavior

2010-10-13T16:18:00.002-04:00

I'm generally pretty lucky to avoid most inappropriate behavior. When things get awkward, I bolt. However, a few days ago I was eating at Mori's and witnessed a pretty awkward date.

The lady was obviously new to the area and enjoyed eating a variety of foods from different cultures. At the beginning of the date, she was talking about enjoying a certain Korean dish and wondering if there were any good Korean restaurants around.

Her date, however, had obviously never been out in public before in his life. When the waitress brought out their sushi plate, the guy got this bewildered look on his face, poked the food and said, "What the hell is this".

"They're eel rolls," she replied, encouragingly, excitedly.

"Oh. OK". Poke. Poke. Poke. "Uh, is that guacamole" he asked, stabbing the wasabi.

She was horrified; he was confused.

"No, that's called wasabi. You use it to cleanse your palate." I think the word "palate" confused him.

"Oh right" he said, trying to cover for his mistake. "I didn't think it was guacamole, 'cuz we ain't at no Mexican place". She started eating faster.

Shortly after he answered the phone and began talking to his daughter... for 20 minutes. I can understand a child coming in first over a date, but it's generally pretty rude to hold a drawn-out conversation about gymnastics, grandparents, school assignments, and what Tasha said at recess.

After people started finishing eating, she repeated a few times that they should leave, because she didn't want him to be late to some event. Clearly she wanted to escape this date. He was clueless and kept saying that everything was fine.

"Well, you know, I really don't want you to be late".

"No, no, it's fine. I have time."

"Well, OK. I don't want you to be late, so we can leave at any time."

Oh awkwardness.

October 2010 Write Night

2010-10-13T14:28:00.002-04:00

This month's Write Night topic is Inappropriate Behavior. Maybe you want to describe behavior that you've seen recently that seemed out of whack (like the sixteen-year-old I saw in the hospital sucking her thumb) or to discuss what should be appropriate versus inappropriate. Or maybe you just want to make fun of the way people behave or narrate your most recent experience with poor customer service . . . whatever works for you.

Or you can ignore the topic altogether and write whatever you want.

Just on a side note, I may not write tonight (depends on how the feeding and sleeping schedule goes), but I'll definitely log in later this week and join the discussion. And please remember to think of Write Night more as Write Week. Join us when you can.

2010-09-16T19:48:00.002-04:00

Why can't I say no to anyone??? What in the world possess me to believe that I can actually do it all and still have the time for myself and my loved ones? Sorry that this post begins with a rant, but I'm upset that I missed Wright Night and am now posting late all because I have WAY too much on my plate. I guess the Fall prompt is working well because I always fall for a request. I speak a good game at saying, "I'm going to say no this time", but yeah right. When it comes time to actually say, "No", what do I say?? You guessed it, "Sure, I can. No problem." I know I'm not the only one with this affliction. In fact, it seems to be a common problem among women. Why is that? What makes us think that we not only can but are supposed to do it all?

Okay, so off the rant. On another note, I am absolutely ecstatic about cooler weather. I really, really want my longer recess time. Right now, the kids are actually getting into line before we even blow the whistle! Soon though, they will be begging to stay out a little bit longer (and we teachers will be too!) I love those days! Nothing better than taking class outdoors in the wonderful fall afternoons!

Falling into Fall Semester

2010-09-15T20:19:00.004-04:00

I fell. Right on my face. That’s what the past two months have felt like—a continuous rising and falling action. New mothers often claim to better appreciate their own mothers after they’ve had babies; they now understand their mothers’ pain/struggle/sacrifice, etc. Well, I’m not a new mother, but I am a new teacher. Sure enough, I now see teachers (the good, the bad, and the ugly) in a whole new light. I now understand the pain/struggle/sacrifice, etc. that effective teaching demands. I now appreciate and respect teachers in a way I never had before.

Since I referenced good, bad, and ugly teachers, let’s discuss bad teachers for a moment. You know who I’m talking about: the scowling, I’m-only-here-because-I’m-getting-a-paycheck teachers. I realize that the line between good and bad teachers isn’t so clear-cut. Excellent, good-intentioned teachers have the potential to easily cross the boundary into “bad teacher” territory. It happens, I think, after they’ve dedicated time (an excessive amount of time), energy, blood, sweat, and tears into lesson-planning, only to have snotty little I’m-too-cool-for-anything-you-say-or-do students scoff at their brilliant intentions. Yap, I have some of “those” students, and I now understand why some teachers retreat to the “dark” side. Bad students could push good teachers to be bad teachers. Of course, most of us won’t allow the snotty snots to have that control. I won’t. (Deep sigh.) I won’t.

While I’ve had some not-so-pleasant instances since the beginning of fall semester, I’ve also had some rewarding experiences. There have been times when both teacher and students dropped their shields and weapons and crossed lines into “no man’s land”: times when we relinquished formalities and learned and gleaned and laughed; times when my lecture engrossed twenty-five attentive minds; times when an essay provoked hearty debates; times when a freewrite brought us (the girls, at least) to tears (yes this happened—another story for another post); times when I thought: maybe I do have what it takes to be a good teacher.

I continue to walk this thin line between the good, bad, and—just to make it complete—ugly. Teaching—effective teaching—is hard work. It takes time, dedication, patience, sacrifice, and coffee (or Coke, depending on the mood). I continue to stumble and fall, but I’ll continue (hopefully!) to rise and strive.

FALL...ing

2010-09-15T14:03:00.002-04:00

Fall... Oh my. This is gonna be good. I can write about fall-related stuff all the livelong day. It's my favorite season...and why shouldn't it be? Between GEORGIA FOOTBALL and my birthday, it's the greatest evah. And then there's the whole start-of-a-new-school-year excitement and cooler weather and piles of leaves and brisk autumn mornings and the promise of Gingerbread Latte season right around the corner. And my birthday. And GEORGIA FOOTBALL season...I heart fall.

Quick story:

There was this one time...at band camp...

No seriously, I have those, but I'll save them for another time.

I was the drum major of my high school band during my sophomore and junior years. What's a drum major you ask? I was the person who conducted the band during the halftime show. And I wasn't any old drum major. I was The Big Bopper (according to the DA at the time). I was awesome. For real, I rocked their faces off. For my debut as the drum major, I was lucky enough to have a shortened version of our halftime show because the school happened to be celebrating the 50th anniversary of the first graduating class with some ceremony recognizing those graduates still around during the halftime show. I was nervous for sure. Who wouldn't be, standing 5 feet in the air on a 3x3 (ish) square platform/podium on the 50 yard line of the football field? But I was awesome and survived the halftime show. We ended with the long-standing tradition of playing the fight song as the band marched off the field and squished onto the sidelines. I heaved a huge sigh of relief because the biggest part of my job was over. As I stepped down from the podium, I remember very little. There was a boot heel. And a step. And air. And the sound of velcro ripping on my cummerbund. And the ground. Yeah. I fell. On the 50 yard line. From a 5 foot high podium. Flat on my face. In front of a home crowd. Talk about embarrassing. Thank God I wasn't hurt. Bruised ego? Absolutely. I curled into a ball (Remember the tornado drill exercise in school where you're on your knees, hunched over, with your hands on your head? Yeah, like that.) on the sidelines and spewed profanity. How embarrassing. But I jumped up quickly and made my way toward the end zone and the stands. What a legend. The Big Bopper (the name came later) FELL off the podium. I had a guy hold my hand and help me on and off the podium for 2 years after that.

Falling...I'm pretty good at that stuff apparently. I still have a darker spot that looks like a bruise on my right knee from tripping on the sidewalk downtown one day. I fell straight down, just on that knee, while walking back to my car one afternoon after a very enjoyable happy hour with colleagues. Seriously? Who trips on a sidewalk?? And this wasn't one of those uneven ones famous for cropping up in downtown Savannah. It was just a plain old ordinary sidewalk. UGH. Again, seriously?

Falling in love is one that I'll leave alone for now. Is it because it's cliche? Maybe.

Or maybe it's because I have road rash. Just sayin'

Falling Down from Exhaustion

2010-09-14T22:21:00.003-04:00

I apologize in advance for my totally disconnected thoughts, but I wanted to participate in Write Night even though I'm about to fall asleep. This is my last semester of classes (hopefully) before Comps, and I am still trying to figure out how to balance nine hours. (I don't know how other people do it. And I'm single.) I think that I have my one face-to-face class figured out, and I'm finally on a working schedule for my independent study. (Donna, I have finished Milkweed and am halfway through Maus.) That only leaves the Spanish class. The one that I have to pass with a B to graduate. I was excited because I thought that I was on schedule to get all my work done. Then I realized that there were audio boards and discussion questions on GOML that I had failed to complete. Add to that the pressure of being out for training Thursday and knowing I have a presentation next week. Oh, and a 5k and something we like to call Donna's baby shower. Crazy me, I also signed up to use the computer lab for three days next week because I didn't want to wait until the end of the nine weeks to publish.

No matter how busy that I am, I carve out time to run. I have become accustomed to waiting until after 8 to take Lorelai out for our run. Tonight there was a nice little breeze that added a little resistance. But I'll take that over humidity any day.

I love fall. Being a girl, I love getting to wear scarves and Uggs, although I would wear them in 90 degree heat, too. Fall reminds me of when I was a cheer coach in Douglas and the Friday nights that I spent with 20 teenage girls, many of which are now married and having children. For some reason that is always what I associate with fall.

Falling/Stumbling

2010-09-14T21:38:00.002-04:00

Well, this big belly out front has me completely off balance, so now I hold on to the rail when I walk up stairs, and I stumble on a regular basis. I probably look like an old woman when I walk, more like an old woman weeble since I wobble too.

On a completely unrelated side note, Rebecca, there's a fireman on Wipeout tonight, and the female host said she'd always wanted to be carried by a firefighter, so she was. Maybe that's the next line you can use, perhaps in D.C. at the fire station across from the hotel? Just an idea . . .

Okay, back to clumsy. Yep, that's me: clumsy. But I'm not sure what else to say about it.

Maybe I'll try to remember some spectacular falls:

falling on the sidewalk on Georgia Avenue while leaving the Honors House
wiping out on the snow in such a spectacular fashion that my skis ended up very far apart, one stuck upright in the snow, and my face stuck down in the snow--Wes wasn't sure I survived that one (but it wasn't a great as his own snowboard wipeouts on that trip, earning him the nickname Uncle Snowplow)
falling down the front steps of Nevins Hall in the rain wearing flip flops, a fall that led to knee surgery because I reinjured the knee I hurt climbing a volcano in Greece
not really a fall, but I did run into a pole and give myself a concussion when arguing with Wes about who was going into Baskin Robins to get us some ice cream--of course, no one got ice cream after that injury

Hmm, there haven't been as many falls as I thought, but I am clumsy, especially now, and a bit whiny. Remember that old cheer: "My feet are aching, my pants too tight, my hips are shaking from left to right . . ." Um, I'm not sure how that leads into a cheer for any team, but I have this vague memory that it does. Let me see what a Google search turns up . . .

I found a few references to the cheer, but not as many as I thought, and the words are slightly different than I remember. Anyway, that's kind of how I feel: my feet are aching, my back is aching, my belly is too tight, I'm uncomfortable in most positions, whine, whine, whine. I'm ready for October 13 to get here or for the boys to arrive early. I'd like to hit thirty-five weeks and for the boys to hit six pounds each, but at that point, I'd love for them to get impatient and come on.

Sorry, I didn't mean to turn my post into a whine, but that's where it went. Oh well . . .

I think I'm fallin' for you... or not.

2010-09-14T21:30:00.000-04:00

So the first thing that came to my mind when I read the topic for tonight was that icky, sticky, oh-too-bubbly-sweet Colbie Caillat song "Fallin' for You." I'm not gonna lie... when it comes on the radio, I sing along. But it's still kinda lame. : ) So, now I'm not only singing the song in my head, I'm thinking about relationships. Double lame.

I'm mostly content with being single. Ok, maybe not completely. But even still, I haven't really been spending too much time thinking about my singleness lately. Until school started back last week. (Yes, I know it's September. No, it's not a typo. Our school system has adopted a 160-school-day calendar. Sweet!) All of the sudden, all my teacher friends are pointing out single men, waggling their eyebrows at me, and whispering behind gradebooks and giggling like schoolgirls. It's crazy. Now, I'm gonna go ahead and be real honest. The dating pool in Baxley is more like a dating puddle... very shallow and kinda muddy. I might just be single for a really long while. There's just not much to work with here. I only know a handful of single men, and despite others' attempts to provide some Holy Spirit "nudging," nothing's happened. Of course I'm a woman. And of course we tend to over-analyze everything. So OF COURSE I've chalked up these failed attempts at matchmaking as A) "It's just not the right time," B) "They're just confirmed bachelors... totally set in their ways and not looking," and/or C) "I'm just not their type."

Yesterday I was "babysitting" the library while our Media Specialist was out. (Yes, I'm still subbing. No, I'm not thrilled about it. Yes, It's a blessing/foot-in-the-door/a job. I know the drill. And I really am thankful. But year 2 of not teaching is making it a little bit harder to think positively.) Anyway, I was shelving some books during a lull, and a book caught my eye. I don't care what anyone says about 'not judging a book by it's cover.' It's the book's cover that drew my attention. Super shiny laminated book jacket... hot pink and lime green! Yes, please! I stopped to look at it. You'll never guess. Wait for it, wait for it... the NY Times Bestseller (Ha!) "He's Just Not That Into You." Oh the irony. I pick it up, start to read, and am laughing hysterically. It's a hoot!

Soooo... these women who wrote in for this book (or the examples the authors created... whatever) are ridiculously crazy.

You want to know if it's ok to call a guy because there was a blackout and during the insanity you forgot to exchange numbers? Hello?!?!?! He didn't ask for it. You work for the same company. He can look you up in the company database IF he wants to contact you. He's just not that into you.

What do you mean he suddenly dropped off the face of the Earth two weeks ago and you haven't heard back from him? Noooo... that does not mean his grandmother/aunt/godmother/sister died and he's distraught. He's just not that into you.

So the guy you "love" is yelling at you and easily angered because he's in med school? Ummm.... no, the "real guy" you fell in love with's not going to come back. Yes, he's a prick. Yes, I know you always wanted to marry a doctor. Face it... he's just not that into you.

And so forth and so on. Some of these women make me want to die. They're totally ruining our name. I mean, seriously? Get a clue. However... there are several of these scenarios that made me stop and think. Holy cow. I'm one of those crazy women... sometimes. Yep, one of those. Grrrr. Lesson learned? I am amazing, I deserve a great guy, and most importantly - if a guy's into me, he'll move heaven and earth to make it happen. : )

As for that dating puddle? I'm just gonna go ahead and throw it out there... they're just not that into me.

Mother Nature: Sadistic ________.

2010-09-14T21:27:00.002-04:00

Fall brings to mind all the incredibly cute fall fashion clothes that I can't wear. Mainly because Mother Nature hates South Georgia. I'm not sure what South Georgia did to eternally offend Ma. I've got a few ideas, but most of them come after she started punishing us. (Although if Ma knew her stuff, she would practice "behavior modification" and wouldn't punish unless it served an "academic purpose." I hate education classes.) Every fall I peruse the racks at my favorite stores: NY and Co., Khols, Belk's, which is better than Penny's, and even Target. I know, I'm a cheapskate, but I'm ok with that. However, all of these stores have cute sweaters, scarves, and hats all in autumn colors. My hair looks absolutely amazing with fall colors. Even the burnt orange compliments my auburn locks. Thanks to the swealtering heat that mock me I don't get to wear the cute clothes. And the boots! Such cute boots that I will never be able to wear. This isn't Ma's fault, it's dad's fault, or rather his mother's fault. My calves are so huge that I can't fit into ANY boots. Cowboy boots, hooker thigh boots, mid-calve boots, and knee high boots all mock me from their stands in the store. I would give anything to fit into a pair of boots that I could wear with a cute blue jean skirt or plain dress and shawl, like Reese Witherspoon in "Sweet Home Alabama," not in a old granny shawl. Well obviously not anything. The gym has been calling my name for a while and I a good at ignoring it. And anyone wearing a scarf during fall in South Georgia is just kidding herself. I bet by the time she gets home she is sweating so much she needs another shower.

Good thing about fall weather, my feet finally stop sweating in my flip-flops.

Fall - The Best Ever

2010-09-14T21:02:00.001-04:00

Fall is absolutely the best time of year. As soon as I start feeling that crispness in the mornings, I know fall is on the way. My favorite memories of fall are of the fair. The fair always came to town at the beginning of October, and the air was just beginning to get cool at night. My best friend and I would get my mom to take us to the fair and leave us for hours. Oh how I loved this. We would walk around and around looking for boys. I found so many loves there. Funny how the scene changes as I grow older. I went a couple of years ago and was appalled at the nastiness of it all. Was it that nasty when I was there and I just didn’t notice or has it grown more disgusting? I’m not sure. Regardless, I associate my favorite fall memories to the fair.

Write Night September 2010

2010-09-14T13:57:00.003-04:00

Hi folks,

It's the first Write Night of the new academic year. Here's the topic: Fall. You can write about fall weather, fall sports, falling down, falling in love, falling away from friends, or whatever you want. Happy writing!

Donna

Beginnings and Endings

2010-06-23T08:32:00.002-04:00

As the end of the ISI approaches, I always become a little more reflective. I wonder what will happen to this community. What part will survive? Who will stay in touch? Who will re-connect throughout the year, sending candidates for the ISI our way, reading the newsletter, writing for the newsletter, serving as an E-Anthology responder next year, re-presenting the demo at another conference, serving on a committee, leading a group of some kind--just generally staying connected in some way? The Game Night scheduled for two weeks from now suggests a desire to stay connected.

But I also wonder what part should survive? What part of the ISI is worth saving and re-creating in some way, and what parts shouldn't see next year? For example, we're divided over whether or not to keep fiction as a writing genre for next year. We know we're keeping memoir and poetry, but what about fiction? We don't know. I'm hoping the Fellows' reflective pieces will tell us.

I always want the writing to continue in some form, which is why we're keeping Write Night for one more year. While I would love to meet in person to freewrite, that hasn't proved feasible here. Online Write Night is much more possible, particularly if I can get a few people to serve as responders for Write Night, just to ensure that people aren't writing into a void.

I would LOVE to have reading groups continue, but that's more for me. I need an impetus to stay up with professional reading, instead of just reading and researching frantically to prep for a demo or a publication. I don't know if BWP is the place for that or if that should happen at the university. I guess it depends in part on what the readings are. Plus, I think reading groups need to happen face-to-face, but maybe that's just because face-to-face is my preferred mode of communication in general.

I'm hungry, so I'll take a break to grab some food: bacon and sausage roll-ups, watermelon, and muffins, courtesy of my mother-in-law. Thanks, Mimi--the Muppets appreciate it.

Hmm, back to what should stay? I hope grant writing continues in some way for participants, but that's really up to them and their school situations and their time components. Sarah submitted her grant this year, Ashley has written them in previous years, and Kristy helps write grants every day as part of her job with the dean's office. I don't know about anyone else's grant efforts. We had a strange situation this year with grants because of the number of graduate students in the group. Their grant proposal is strong. I'll see if they and members of the leadership team want to submit it when I write the NWP Continuation of Funding grant in November. I'll have to come up with matching funds if we submit it, but I think I can manage an extra $5,000 in matching funds--at least I hope I can.

There are many beginnings and endings in my life right now--the ending of the ISI, the beginning of my summer break. We're putting our house on the market (we met with the realtor yesterday), and we'll be looking for a new one. We're moving from a family of two to a family of four, which will be a huge change, probably meaning an end to our travels to London, India, Greece and the beginning of sporting events and video games.

The ending of the ISI also means for me the beginning of exercise. I need to start getting up in the morning to walk, getting myself into some kind of shape before the twins arrive. I already feel like a butterball, and I'm huffing and puffing when I climb the stairs in the College of Education, loaded down with my bookbag, laptop, and breakfast stuff. I didn't bring drinks this morning because I didn't want to carry the cooler--I think it pushes me over the twenty-pound limit imposed by my doctor.

Rebecca, Shane, and I will pack up the room today, storing away ISI supplies until next year. The dolly is in the back of my Ford Edge, ready to be used to haul stuff to my car and then haul it up to West Hall to the dusty storage space around the rotunda. Some of the ISI supplies that I bought (coffee, sugar, artificial sweetener, etc.) will go back to my house for when my dad visits. Some of the ISI supplies (three-hole punch, big door stop) will go back to the English Department. Some of the ISI supplies (BWP books, stapler, small door stop, ISI notebooks) will go back to my office.

Hmm, what other beginnings and endings? The beginning of my summer break also means vacation for me, a week away from Valdosta at St. George Island with family, the annual Food Fest that is our family vacation. Each couple cooks dinner one night--I'm responsible for quesadillas, and I also take a Boston Butt that's already cooked, courtesy of the youth of First United Methodist Church. I think I'm usually responsible for laundry detergent too. I need to check on that. Anyway, I do nothing that week but sit in the sun, read trashy novels, and sleep. Maybe I'll play Scattergories or Cranium if we take those games, but I don't usually participate in the Canasta tournament or the jigsaw puzzles. I don't know why. The Canasta games take too long, and I'd rather be reading. The puzzles just don't interest me that much--crossword puzzles, yes; jigsaw puzzles, no.

Shoot, all my watermelon is gone. I think the watermelon is the best part of this breakfast for me, which surprises me because I like bacon and sausage, so mixing it with cream cheese and biscuits sounds like a winner. And they are good, but I guess this morning is a watermelon morning. The blueberry muffin was good too--of course. Mimi is an excellent cook.

Someone's music must be pretty loud because I keep hearing bits of it despite the person wearing headphones. I bet it's Kristy. Yesterday she thought her headphones weren't working because she could hear the music when the headphones were plugged in. Shane told her that was because the music was really loud.

The writing seems to be going well for everyone this morning. Pens scramble across the page; fingers race across keyboards. Except for Stuart. He's the thoughtful one in the group. I hope he doesn't have a concussion. His head took quite a whack on the television holder. Isn't that the stupidest place ever for the television to be mounted, especially when the mount doesn't seem to be movable?! He seems okay. I guess he'll need to share so that we can check his coherence.

Hmm, what else? I don't know. I guess I'm running out of steam. Maybe I'll do a bathroom run so that I don't have to leave during the sharing time. Later.

Freewriting topic for Wednesday, June 23, 2010

2010-06-23T08:28:00.001-04:00

Today's freewriting topic (for the last full day of the ISI) is Beginnings and Endings, but we considered several others: Vacations, Plans, Summer, Travel. Feel free to write about whatever you want.

Verbal Blunders

2010-06-22T08:36:00.003-04:00

Apparently, I'm the queen of misheard lyrics. I never know what songs are saying, so I just make up my own lyrics and sing along. That worked fine until Wes and I started traveling together, and he started laughing at my lyrics. Now I sing a little bit softer than before, mumbling the words I don't know rather than belting them out. I also don't think often about the implications of the lyrics. Once Wes slows me down and I realize both what the words are and what they imply, I sometimes dislike the song.

Speaking of verbal blunders, I like Spoonerisms. I tried to copy and paste a definition from Wikipedia, but it won't play nice. Spoonerisms involve transposing letters, basically. Grr, I can't even provide a link to Wikipedia right now. If you go to Wikipedia and type in Spoonerism, you'll find the definition. Apparently, my computer or Blogger or Wikipedia won't let me provide shortcuts!

The most common Spoonerism is Wes's family is "whif and en" instead of "if and when." Wes said it once in front of most of his family, and it stuck. Now we use "whif and en" in place of "if and when" fairly regularly although only in front of friends. I'm not sure it's technically still considered a Spoonerism if we use the erroroneous words intentionally.

What are some other Spoonerisms? Wikipedia offers several funny examples, but because of the aforementioned cut and paste problems, I won't be sharing those with you. After all, I can't be expected to type them . . .

Hmm, other verbal blunders . . . I make them all the time, mostly using the wrong word, not the wrong word as in using "in" when I should use "into" but as in using "ketchup" when I mean "ice cream." I wonder if there's a name for that kind of error. Hmm, I haven't found a term for it yet. Maybe it's just called being tired.

I wonder what all the noises are outside of this room. I guess it's construction right outside the building. I kind of want to go check, but I know I need to be writing, so I'll keep sitting here writing, wondering that's going on that I'm not a part of. Not that I want to help with construction, but I just want to know that's what it is.

Yeah, I'm struggling to stay on topic now. It feels like half the day is gone. Yesterday was busy with really no breaks except for lunch and dinner. I stayed in the ISI room, typing up comments until 5:00.

I went home, unloaded the dishwasher, printed Megan's comments, typed Megan's letter, printed that. Then I sent Emily a few more RSVPs that had some in, loaded the dishwasher, ordered pizza (my version of cooking last night), and took a quick break with Wes while we ate pizza. I made the monkey bread and started slicing oranges while Wes replaced light bulbs in the kitchen. Wes took over orange duty while I went and ironed two shirts for him. Sometime during all that, he scrubbed the tub since I'm not supposed to breathe those chemicals.

I started entering all the email addresses for BWP/SGWP past participants into Windows Live. When Wes finished, we filled out a checklist for our real estate agent about our current house. Some of those questions, I had no clue about. I couldn't even understand the questions! We left some blank to ask her about today. Then, I finished entering the email addresses. It took a while. I need to send out the newsletter, but I can't do that until I enter all the email addresses and figure out how to create a group.

I started looking for user guides about how to enter groups because Windows Live is not intuitive. I found a section on public groups, but the only way to enter them is to use people with valdosta.edu email addresses. Hello! I don't need to create a group consisting of only VSU people. Surely, other people have this same problem. About 11:30 when I was ready to throw stuff and punch people, we went to bed. Then the alarm went off at 6:15 a.m., and today started with cooking the monkey bread, getting ready for the ISI, stopping by Harveys for milk (which someone besides me had better drink), and lugging breakfast and my regular bag o'stuff to the ISI. The shoulder bags were so heavy today that I actually took the elevator (gasp!).

Despite the tone of these last few paragraphs, I'm not whining. I'm just tired. I enjoyed making the monkey bread. It reminds me of past ISIs; plus, it's really good. I've always wanted to make it but never needed to because either Adam or Lindsi made it. Now I have the recipe and know how to do it. That's a good thing--or maybe a bad thing.

Monkey bread also reminds me of Christmas. My sister-in-law makes it every Christmas morning, and my mother-in-law makes breakfast casserole, pretty much the same one I made for the first day of the ISI.

Yeah, I've definitely rambled today, but people expect that of me. Why disappoint at this stage?

Freewriting topic for Tuesday, June 22, 2010

2010-06-22T08:34:00.001-04:00

Today's topic is Verbal Blunders or New Words Needed. It is in honor of one of our Fellows who coined the term "spontanudity." Feel free to come up with your own words or just talk about times you have misunderstood someone else.

Freewriting topic for Monday, June 21

2010-06-21T08:33:00.001-04:00

Today's topic is an old standby: I remember . . .

Summer Institute

2010-06-17T08:36:00.003-04:00

Food functions as a bookend for the Summer Institute. We begin with muffins and coffee at the first PreInstitute, and we end with a brunch for Closing Ceremonies. Okay, that's going nowhere.

Milestones:

first car, Penelope Alexis Newberry, a burgundy 1974 MG Midget convertible, which I still think was the coolest car I ever owned. I loved that car.
first publication, a book review of Academic Literacies by Elizabeth Chiseri-Strater, published in ???. Grrr, I can't remember the name of the newsletter, and I never thought I would forget it. I even tried looking it up and couldn't find it. I
first peer-reviewed article, a journal article about using ethnography in the classroom to have students study the cultures of their undergraduate classes, published in Notes on Teaching English
first boyfriend, Brett Smoot, I think--I'm not sure about the last name. We were in fifth grade, and he gave me a Shrinky Dink heart. Does anyone besides me remember Shrinky Dinks? We lived in Delaware, and I think I have my first boy/girl party in either fifth or sixth grade. Ah, kissing tag, spin the bottle, post office . . .
first baby kick, that just happened this past Sunday night. Everyone had been asking if I had felt them kick yet, and I kept answering no, wondering if I or my babies were somehow slow. The ultrasound the week before had reassured me that all was well since one clearly kept kicking the other. They were moving; I just couldn't feel it. Finally, I read in What to Expect that the first kicks don't feel like kicks. Then I felt them. They feel more like bubbles bursting inside my belly. It's like the Lawrence Welk show broke out in there.
first job, well, that was probably babysitting, but I'm going to skip ahead to the first job at a business, which would be working at McDonald's. I worked there one summer when I was fourteen. My sister worked there, which might be why they hired me despite my being too young to actually get a work permit. I only worked that summer, quitting before cheerleading camp started since I knew that I wouldn't be able to work many weekends because of basketball games. (My high school didn't have a football team, so we cheered for basketball.)
First teaching experience, I still remember my first day in the classroom at Florida State, wearing my white dress with the wide collar (remember those wide collars from the 1990s?). I looked like a girl going to her first communion or a girl getting ready to become a nun rather than a teacher, but I thought teaching meant dressing up, and I thought dressing up would help separate me more from the kids I was teaching, who were only five years younger than I was. I didn't want them to know my age.
First Summer Institute, I was a nervous wreck, not sure how any of this would work out, not sure if community would form, not sure how Fellows would handle the switch in co-directors--one co-director had already committed to grading AP exams, so he missed the first week of the ISI, and we had a substitute in his place. I wondered who would become the next co-directors since both co-directors were moving out of town (and one out of state) almost immediately following the ISI.
First flight, trip to Utah, I think, or maybe the trip to St. Louis. Now I can't remember which one came first. Hmmm. Any way, one trip (St. Louis) I took by myself, and Wes went with me to Utah. I still remember flying into Salt Lake City. Our plane didn't land until 9:00 or so, and the landing was a bit interesting. Apparently, our plane left Atlanta late, and the pilot made up the time in the air because when we got to Salt Lake City, it felt like the plane just stopped in the air. Wes and I looked at each other, both of us thinking the same thing. We have having a Wiley Coyote moment where we just ran off the cliff and realized that we had stopped. It was pretty cool. When we landed, it was dark, and we still had to pick up our rental car and find our hotel for the night. The next morning we would drive to Provo, where the conference was. When we woke up the next morning, we were amazed by the beauty surrounding us. We hadn't seen the mountains the night before. Absolutely beautiful.
First trip out of the country: the three-week faculty development trip to India, a beautiful country. I learned so much there, about India, about myself, about my independence. That trip was followed by three study-abroad trips to London with side trips to Scotland, Ireland, and France and a trip to Greece with Wes for a wedding. All of my international trips (aside from two cruises with family members) were working trips.

Thanks, Shane. I enjoyed this topic more than I thought I would at first.

Freewriting topic for Thursday, June 17, 2010

2010-06-17T08:35:00.001-04:00

Today's freewriting topic, courtesy of Shane, is Bookends or Milestones.

Picture This!

2010-06-16T08:33:00.002-04:00

Even though I'm one of the few women who is not addicted to The Golden Girls, every time I hear, "Picture this," I think of Estelle Getty from The Golden Girls. And then I expect to hear a weird, random story.

Wes is a storyteller too. He doesn't have a catch phrase, but he likes to tell stories, embellishing them of course as storytellers do. Thus, I don't want any Fellows to believe any stories he tells about me because they probably aren't true--or at least, only the core of the story is true; then it grew beyond its borders to create a better frame, better characters, more tension.

So Picture This . . . .what are the stories that we tell (or better yet, don't tell)?

the tree frog story--that's a don't tell. Wes will receive injuries if he tells that one.
the Jernigan's bathroom story--that one only gets told and shared among the family members who were there. I still remember every detail, and yet I still married him.
getting stuck in the deer stand--I seriously wanted Wes to go get my brother, the fire chief, to get me down. Wes was there for that, and he still married me.
Bite My Butt!--that's Wes's story, one he tells to our nieces and nephews. He can still inhabit the mind of the impatient kid he was at that time. He still gets annoyed as he tells that story about waiting for his family to go to the beach.
Keeper of the Crabs--that story we actually wrote up, and Wes illustrated it. We gave it to all the nieces and nephews as a Christmas present one year. My niece Chelsea took it to show and tell and read it to her classmates, and my nephew Will memorized it for oral interpretation. Stupidly, we didn't keep a copy for ourselves. It would have been nice to have one for our kids.

We have a lot of stories that we tell when we get together. I love to listen to people's stories, particularly when told by a good storyteller. Well, that's not quite true. I like to listen to funny stories or stories that show drama, but I don't particularly enjoy stories with heavy morals or stories designed to tug at heartstrings. I don't understand people's desire to cry. Crying sucks. Why would anyone engage in such behavior intentionally?

Okay, back to today's topic: Picture Day. Several people are wearing black today: Patti, Ashley, Rebecca, Sarah. I didn't get the memo, but I'm not sure it would have mattered since my clothing options are limited to pregnancy clothes and I wore a black dress yesterday for the Rotary Club Board Meeting and dinner last night. (Yep, there it is. The ever-present pregnancy reference.)

I did bring a brush, but that will be the extent of my attempts to pretty up before the picture. I can always ask Wes to do a head shot for me on another day if needed, but I don't think I'll be liking any pictures for several more months.

Hmm, Picture Day . . . last year the BWP folks were a Subway commercial on Picture Day. We literally broke one of Wes's benches. That's never a good sign. Maybe we should start doing Picture Day the first week of the ISI before people gain weight? I should follow up with last year's Fellows to see if people lost their ISI weight.

Okay, I'm wondering what to write now. I'm kind of running out of steam.

I look around for inspiration, but no ideas arrive. I watch people's writing processes, but have nothing to say.

Time stretches before me, time that must elapse before I can quit this writing. And yet here I sit, my fingers fumbling over the keyboard, not racing frantically, my mind grasping for ideas, for content, for thoughtfulness. I've given up on style, on wittiness, on deep thoughts, settling for words loosely connected to others. Maybe I'll get coffee this morning. Even decaffeinated coffee has a bit of caffeine, perhaps enough to jump start the synapses, make them fire, make myself seem smarter, funnier. Heck, I'd even settle for making myself believe that I'm smarter or funnier--even if no one else finds me to be so. Today seems like a day I can fool myself and be happy about it.

On another random note, um, yeah, apparently so random that I forgot what I was going to write. That can't be good. Um, I should probably stop putting my brain spasms on display. Later.

Freewriting topic for Wednesday, June 16

2010-06-16T08:32:00.001-04:00

Today's topic is Picture Day because today is the day we invade Wes's studio for group photos and headshots.

Picture Day

2010-06-16T08:31:00.003-04:00

Yes, ladies and gentlemen. It's that time again. The annual trek to Wes Sewell Photography to take headshots and the ISI group photo.

I have never been a picture type of person. When I was a cheerleading coach, I was amused by my cheerleaders who would take pictures of everything. Who knew they were smarter than I was. I eventually got on the camera train when I took over Varsity, and I treasure those pictures, especially now that I and my girls have left the halls of Coffee High. Some went on college hours from home; others moved as far away as Europe while some left Douglas only to discover that there is no place like home. Anf many are married and with children. I am thankful for the advent of Facebook, so I can see the next generation's picture days.

As an adult, I try to avoid picture day. At PGM, I thought that if I ignored the all calls about faculty pictures, I wouldn't have to take one because it had worked at Hahira for the past two years. But I guess at a small school, it's a lot more obvious when the faculty doesn't show up. I argued that I couldn't leave my reading class unattended, but alas, they still made me take my picture. So, if I ever become famous, I'm sure people will be quick to sell E! the picture of me in my PGM hoodie. Not that I plan on ever becoming famous.

I don't like people who are photogenic. Is that mean? That reminds me of a conversation from lunch on Mother's Day. I was at O'Neal's with my other adoptive family, the Grants. Susie, the youngest, told us a story about how a co-worker, while looking at family pictures posted on Facebook, stated that both John and Susie were unphotogenic. The irony is that John and Susie are in-laws. I wonder what the co-worker looks like.

Now I'm thinking about who in my life I think is photogenic and what makes a person photogenic. Is it just that he/she is attractive? Or is it something else? I'd like to think that the camera sees something that the eye doesn't. Let me go check my theory. Okay, I'm back. Now I'm wondering if there is a difference between photogenic and cute. Or are they synonymous? Can a cute person not be photogenic? Are all children, because they are children, photogenic? Do you lose your photogenic-ness at a certain age? If so, what is the expiration date? Or, can you, with proper training, become photogenic? (This reminds me of a certain friend's advice to stick out your chin to avoid having a double-chin although this resulted in her looking like a bird in family pictures.) Still, I think I shall be sticking my chin out this afternoon. And maybe some other body parts. :)

Rituals

2010-06-15T08:36:00.004-04:00

I am extremely ritualistic. About some things. For example, before I use my computer, I always take off my watch. When I get home, I have to take out my contacts although I don't always wash my face. (I know, I know.) And prior to this week, to keep me company while I ate, I would put on a DVD of Law and Order, whether it was the original, SVU, or Criminal Intent.

Some rituals are easier to follow than others. Since school got out, I have been going to the SRC at least three times a week to train for a 10k. Now that we are in the SI, I am up to four. Last week during me and Shane's writing marathon, I was surprised to discover that I could actually run for 25 if I had someone to compete with. Yesterday, I went back on my 10k training plan with the exception of running the first mile then running for six minutes at a time. Admittedly, it makes the 30 minutes on the treadmill go a lot faster. That's pretty much my goal for the 10k.

Sorry to bore all of you with my running nonsense, but it is one of the rituals that I am truly consistent with. And I think that it's because of how it makes me feel. As much as I dislike it, I think about how I would feel if I didn't go. And to quote Elle Woods, "Exercise gives you endorphines. Endorphines make you happy. Happy people don't just shoot their husbands. They just don't." So, I don't have a husband. Apply it to the general public.

Another ritual that I have is getting up super early to do work. God bless poor Lorelai. She just doesn't know what to make of me. I was just talking to my mother about this last night. I am fierce about separating my home life from school life, and for as long as I can remember, I have gone to school early, stayed late, or gone in on the weekend to get things done. (If only I could learn not to bring things home.) I wish that this was a ritual that I could break, but after ten years of teaching, I don't see it changing anytime soon. Thank goodness I work at a school, that during the school year, I can get in whenever I want to. And aside for inconveniencing my dog and my mom, who has to love me no matter what, I'm not causing any problems for anyone else. But me.

Do I wish that I could go to bed and get up at a normal hour? Yes. Maybe I need to go to procrastinator's rehab or something to reprogram my brain.

In the meantime, I will be proud of the fact that at least I am exercising, eating right, remembering to bleach at night (though not wear my retainers), and making it to church at least twice a month. (Three times if I'm on a roll.)

Rituals

2010-06-15T08:33:00.002-04:00

Hmm, what are the rituals in my life? I'm not sure how many I have right now. Many of my rituals involved food, and they've disappeared because many foods I once loved have disappeared.

Let me switch to the Writing Project, and try to brainstorm some rituals:

eating breakfast together--it's the breaking of bread, the aspect of communion, not a formalized ritual such as the dipping of the bread into the wine, but a ritual nonetheless, one that moves us away from a class and more toward a community
writing together--the insistence that teachers must write is one of the key tenets of the Writing Project, both at the national level and the local site. Regardless of discipline and grade level, teachers should experience the attempt to craft meaning, the attempt to pull together a world on the page, whatever shape that world takes, whether it involves the genre of poetry, fiction, memoir, notes, presentations, grants, letters, etc. Without writing, teachers become distracted by what scholars say about writing. Clearly, BWP values those discussions, but they need to be grounded by the reality of classrooms, timetables, and our own experiences.
sharing--perhaps the cornerstone of the Writing Project. It's not enough to write and hide one's writing away in a notebook. Publishing, on some level, even if that level is simply speaking words aloud, is necessary. Similar to eating together, sharing promotes community. It showcases that writers have good days and bad days. It creates an atmosphere that prompts growth.

Okay, let's go back to me. What are the rituals in my life? I'm still drawing a blank. Grrr. What's wrong with my? I don't usually go blank on writing topics.

Okay, it's clearly time to ditch the topic and move on. Maybe I'll just write about my day. I woke up at 6:10, three minutes before my alarm was set, and it was set fifteen minutes early because I needed to go by VSU to photocopy my log. I thought about going up there at 9:15 last night when I finished it, but I was exhausted, so I decided to get up early instead.

Last night was productive. I typed up comments from Stuart's demo, wrote letters about Jennifer's and Stuart's demos, wrote the log and strategy for it, revised the syllabi for the ISI, unloaded the dishwasher and reloaded it, and did some other stuff that escapes me know. I photocopied the demo eval forms right after the ISI yesterday, so I already had that done. Basically, I worked yesterday from 7:30 a.m. to 10:00 p.m. with a short break to make egg sandwiches for dinner.

And yet I'm not that tired today. I thought I would be. Tonight's the night I have to go to Mom and Dad's for dinner. Wes has a board meeting for the Rotary Club, and this meeting is also a social. It starts at 5:30. Who eats that early? I'll barely be home from the ISI by that time. Well, I'll definitely be ready by then, but normally, I would just be getting home, and then I'd still have the demo comments to type. I guess they may not get typed tonight unless the meeting doesn't go too long.

Ooh, plus I still have to put the quesadillas together for Thursday's lunch. I guess that can happen Wednesday night. I haven't quite figured out what all I need to bring. Maybe that will be the next list.

griddle
cooking oil
spatula
quesadillas
cooler with sour cream
salsa
pizza cutter
one real plate for cutting the quesadillas

I wanted to make a taco salad to go with it, but that's not happening now, I see. Oh well, the quesadillas should be sufficient. I'll pick up some chips and dips for munching while I'm heating the quesadillas. I made them less spicy than normal. I usually use hot salsa, but I don't know people's tolerance for spice, so I wimped out.

The twins are stirring. They're gymnasts, I think.

During creative writing group, I need to write an end comment to the grant. I've done marginal comments already. I think that's all that I still have left to do to be caught up until the demo today, which will put me behind again. Oh well. Maybe we should go back to demos in the morning. No, that would be good for me, but not for the ISI, and the ISI matters more. Having demos right after lunch gives the presenter a chance to use lunch to make any last-minute adjustments and to make sure the technology is working correctly.

Speaking of lunch, I wonder where we're going for lunch today. Ooh, and that reminds me of other tasks to do.

Review the newsletter draft Diana sent me.
Check the master calendar, brochure draft, and closing ceremonies list Emily sent me.
Contact anyone from the closing ceremonies list for an RSVP.
Contact ISI folks about closing ceremonies tasks.

Hmm, it's the normal end-of-ISI craziness. This week and next week I'll be struggling to make sure everything is ready.

Okay, I need to think about more restful ideas, which is where I thought Rituals would take me as a topic. When I got stressed, I used to relax by soaking in a hot bubble bath. That's out. No hot baths for baby incubators, even though the idea of one entices me. When I struggled to sleep, particularly to stop my brain from running through all the tasks I needed to accomplish, I used to take a Tylenol PM. That's out. No drugs for the twins, at least not yet. I assume they'll share some good drugs with me when I have the C-section. When I needed a pick-me-up, I used to head to Starbucks or Elliano's for a grande, non-fat caramel mocha. For a while there I lost my taste for chocolate. It's back now, but I'm supposed to stay away from artificial sweeteners. Caffeine also isn't great for me, but I'm allowed one cup of anything caffeinated if I want it. I thought about stopping for a decaffeinated caramel mocha this morning, but I know I'm not getting enough water, so I decided to stick with water. This conversation with myself, though, has changed my mind. During the break I'm heading to Einstein's to see what the coffee options include since I CANNOT stop myself from yawning.

Surely, that's enough rambling for today. I pity who reads this if anyone does. My mind wanders from one topic to another like a kid distracted by the next shiny object. I pick up the idea, play with it a bit, drop it, and run to the next shiny thought. No coherence, no logic, no organization. Maybe the twins are zombies, and they're starting to eat my brain already.

Freewriting topic for 6-15-10

2010-06-15T08:32:00.000-04:00

Today's topic is Rituals.

Sleep

2010-06-14T08:37:00.003-04:00

I can write an ode to sleep, and maybe I will. The trouble began for me Friday morning. Because I had set my alarm for 5:40 Thursday morning to be in Albany for my 8:30 doctor's appointment, I was exhausted Thursday night. Friday morning, I didn't have to be in class, so I slept until I work up, which was 8:30 a.m. I know that doesn't sound late to most people, but during the ISI I get up at 6:30 at the latest and go until 11 or 12, then do it all again.

Ooh, one of the boys just kicked me. Kicked is a bit of a misnomer. It feels more like a bubble burst. There it goes again. Cool.

Anyway, I didn't set an alarm all weekend and slept until 8:30 every morning. Of course, when music started playing in the bedroom at 6:30, I wanted to pound something. Nothing was really around except for Wes, and it wasn't his fault that I stayed up too late and hadn't gotten sufficient sleep, so I turned off the alarm and got up, trying to be relatively quiet about it since he didn't have to be up until 8:30 or so, and he had been up as late as I had. I couldn't sleep last night (couldn't get comfortable in this pregnant body), and apparently, if I can't sleep, no one sleeps.

Yep, I'm all over the place today, but I another random note. When I told Lindsi about one boy kicking the other in the head on the ultrasound, she said, "Oh, one of them takes after you!" That's not nice, is it? I don't know that I've ever kicked anyone. Maybe hit, punched, or slapped, but not kicked. That's way too girly, right up there with pulling hair and scratching. Okay, maybe I've scratched, but that's always been an accident when my nails get too long.

Incoherence is my theme today. Perhaps that should be my topic. My writing certainly blunders from one idea to the next with no clear sense of direction, a mini-Frankenstein.

Ode to Sleep
You rescue me,
taking me to exotic places,
revisiting Greece,
Belize,
India,
reuniting me with friends from Apalachicola, Florida,
from Rehoboth Beach, Delaware,
from Whigham, Georgia.

This morning I left you again;
these short separations must stop.
I need you,
craving your arms around me,
wanting more and more time with you.
These nightly six-hour visits aren't enough;
they tease me without satisfying me.

Name the place, and I'll join you.
I prefer our bed,
snuggled into the sheets,
the comforter pulled around my chin,
head upon my pillow
belly resting upon another pillow,
but I'll meet you anywhere:
curled up on the loveseat,
leaned back in the driver's seat of my car,
even stretched across the floor without cushions.
Just meet me,
and send me into unconsciousness,
relaxing my mind
and my soul.

Topic for Monday, June 14

2010-06-14T08:35:00.001-04:00

Today's topic is Sleeping In, which seems mean for a Monday morning, but I really wanted to sleep this morning. As always, write about the topic or ignore the topic and write what you want.

Water Works

2010-06-09T08:55:00.002-04:00

This reminds me of my time at Wild Adventures. I started out in the gift shop and soon was moved to group sales. I worked there from the time that I returned from Kissimmee, Florida (circa 1999) to when I got my job teaching in Coffee County. And every summer until 2006, I would return because 1) I liked having something to do in the summer. 2) they worked around my cheerleading coach schedule. 3) the extra money wasn't bad.

What stories I could tell about my experiences at Wild Adventures. It wasn't entirely hard work; checking in groups in the mornings always made the time go by faster. As a teacher, it always disturbed me when school groups would arrive and not know how many students that they had with them. Isn't that chaperoning 101? Count the kids before you leave the school? So, the poor children would be baking on the busses while the disorganized group leader attempted to do math at the check-in window. Family reunions were also entertaining since Wild Adventures had a twenty group minimum. So, family reunions would call earlier in the week, make a reservation for the lower rate to avoid the walk up rate, then have to scramble to find family members to make the twenty. The kicker was that the payment had to be in one form (one credit card or cash). We could split the payment twice. If we felt so inclined. That was pretty much up to our discretion. Depending on our mood, we would either leave our window open, allowing our cool air from our office to filter out into the defacto group leader's flushed face. Or give them a piece of paper and a pencil and tell them to knock on the window when they were ready.

After we checked in groups, time tended to stand still. Normally we would had to return voice mails and do mail outs of reservations. But if we were really lucky, a summer thunderstorm would roll through and one of us workers might be able to go home early. Those of us who worked in group sales loved thunderstorms.

Water

2010-06-09T08:35:00.002-04:00

Hmm, I've spent a ton on time on or near the water. Living in Apalachicola as a kid meant access to St. George Island as well as the Apalachicola River. In Delaware for a month we lived in the Henelopen Hotel, right on the boardwalk with the Atlantic Ocean outside our door (while we waited for our double-wide trailer to be moved up there). Then we lived in a trailer park with a pool--it seemed like heaven. In Whigham, the Flint River wasn't far away, and my family had a small cabin on Lake Seminole near Chattahoochee, Florida (site of the hospital/prison for mentally disturbed folks--that makes for some fright when you hear strange noises in the night).

After Wes and I married and lived in Tallahassee, we spent a week every year at the state park on St. George Island, staying in my parents' Winnebago. It was the only vacation we could afford when I was working on my PhD at Florida State, but it was a great vacation. We still try to get to the beach for a week every year, usually with his side of the family, and then we visit for long weekends whenever possible. Wes's brother has a place at Lake Eufala, and we love it there too. I think we both need water. (Yes, I know I need drinking water too, but that's not what I mean. Those of you in this summer's ISI know how much I struggle to drink water for the Muppets, which might be why I "spilled" my water bottle yesterday. Oops!)

Water refreshes me spiritually. I don't even have to go into the water. I just need to be near it, to watch the baby waves crash against the shore (if you've been to St. George Island, you know it doesn't usually have real waves), to hear the sea gulls scream. I watch ghost crabs scramble across the sands, darting furtively, watching for intruders, peeking out from their homes. Ghost crabs are the beach version of prairie dogs.

I wonder what St. George Island will be like in July. Will the oil reach our shores by then? Will I be able to lower myself into a beach chair and, more importantly, hoist myself back out?

Oh my gosh, I've become that woman I never wanted to be, the one consumed by what's happening inside me, focused on the Muppets to the exclusion of much else. Well, that's not quite true, except for my writing. When I sit down in a quiet place to write, my mind inevitably turns to them, to their progress (currently the size of cantaloupes), to their traits (smart? funny? cute?), to their health (am I staying out of the paint fumes in the ISI room enough?). I guess I'll be obssessed about them for the rest of my life, but it's still weird to me.

I like how quiet the room is this year--or at least today--while I'm writing. I like sitting across from Rebecca. She always makes me laugh because she makes good faces when she writes. Patti is a facemaker too, but not Sarah. Sarah bends over her paper, shielding her face from the eyes of others, writing by hand, her pen moving smoothly across the page. Patti's fingernails click on the keyboard, but not Kristy's. Kristy is a quiet typer, one who focuses on her keyboard and screen.

Okay, bathroom time, courtesy of the Muppets. I'll be back.

And I'm back. Hmm, water works? I've lost my train of thought. Maybe I'll just list potential topics and ask my friends online to generate some more. I want new freewriting prompts for this year rather than the same ones we've used in the past. Feel free to chime in with some more.

Potential topics:

radio ads
board games
family rituals
obssessions
high school drama
reality tv
perceptions vs. reality
stereotypes
first car
biking
the need for speed
breaking the law
punked

Any more ideas, anyone?

Freewriting topic for June 9, 2010

2010-06-09T08:33:00.003-04:00

Today's topic is Water Works. Maybe it makes you think of a crying jag a la Bridget Jones. Or maybe it makes you think of cool engineering feats with water, such as the fountains at Versailles (is that spelled right?). Or maybe it just reminds you of fun times on the water. Whatever. Take it wherever it takes you, or ignore it, and write whatever you want.

Lack of Communication....Between Educational Practices

2010-06-08T22:28:00.002-04:00

Last year I did BWP. I loved it. I learned so much about writing and how to incorporate different strategies in my classroom. I learned how to reach learners on all levels. So many things that I forgot some and will have flashes of BWP brilliance from time to time.

This summer is not living up to last summer.

I'm currently in two different educational training courses and will complete another by the end of the summer. Some of the ideas are exactly the same, so why do I need to learn them twice? Others just flat don't make any sense.

What I deem a unit, the rest of the world does not. The wonderful ideas I get about making one paper lead into the next unit don't quite mesh with the GPS frameworks. Please don't misunderstand. My ideas match the standards perfectly. In fact, I got 11 standards in one unit. However my ideas on how to incorporate the standards isn't exactly what the state wants. The writing assignments I design are in context with the literature, which is something I'm pretty sure we discussed in BWP.

Did I mention that this unit I'm having to write needs to cover 6 weeks? SIX WEEKS! What unit needs to take 6 weeks in a block/semester schedule? There are four units within the frameworks of the GPS 10th grade lit/comp. That would be 24 weeks per the whole 10th grade cirriculum. I only have 18 weeks per semester.

I like designing my own units with my own ideas. If I am asking my students to create a variety of products amongst themselves, why shouldn't teachers be just as different?

Freaks and Geeks...

2010-06-08T09:29:00.000-04:00

So, yesterday's topic of Freaks and Geeks makes me think of my newfound love for the show The Big Bang Theory. I was just introduced to it a few weeks ago, and I immediately fell in love with it! I pretty much gave up sleep and made my way through the first season DVDs in two nights! (Donna, have you seen this show? Somehow I think you would love it!) Anyway, it's about these two CalTech physicists, Sheldon and Leonard, who live in Pasadena. They are freakishly brilliant… and extremely geeky! The whole show is about their relationship with the extremely beautiful Penny who lives across the hall in their apartment building. Sheldon has absolutely no social skills… which is only emphasized by the contrast of the completely normal character of Penny. Anyway, it’s hysterical. If you haven't seen it, you need to watch it!

More on miscommunication and lack of communication later!

Freewriting topic for June 8, 2011

2010-06-08T08:32:00.001-04:00

The freewriting topic for today is Failure to Communicate.

Failure to Communicate . . . or write on topic

2010-06-08T08:30:00.006-04:00

"What we have here is a failure to communicate." What movie is that from? I'm fairly certain that it's a military movie. Is it Apocalypse Now? Nope, way off base. It's from Cool Hand Luke.

Cool Hand Luke. Never seen the movie, but I know it stars Paul Newman. Paul Newman. Wasn't he like the Brad Pitt way back when? Yet he managed to have a Hollywood marriage to Joanne Woodward for like fifty years. (They clearly didn't have any communication problems.) And don't forget about Newman's Own. From salad dressing that you get with your McDonald's salads (man, it's been a while since I've had one of those) to dog treats even organic faux Oreos, his foundation has been giving back to communities.

This morning I was listening to the radio about an initiative to build wells in Africa. Someone recently, when I proposed doing a fundraiser for Darfur, told me that s/he did not like to support charities outside of the United States. While I understand this thinking, I personally can't help but be concerned about other people in other countries that lack basic needs like running water. What if the situation was reversed? Maybe this person should go a day without running water. Maybe his/her perspective would change?

Am I saying that we should not be concerned about the people in our own country? No, but I also have to admit that sometimes we are to blame for our current situations. No one is telling you that you have to buy a car every three years. I drool everytime I see the new 4Runners. But since I do not know where I will be in the next five years (in the north where I won't need a car? married? with children?), it really does not make sense for me to purchase a new truck valued at $30,000+. Just because you can get financed for a house up to $500,000 doesn't mean you have to go that high. It's almost laughable the number of houses that keep popping up for sale in my neighborhood. (By the way, I proudly live with my mom. It's been that way since I moved home in 2005 when my father was still alive.)

Do I waste money? Certainly. I am not the poster child for saving money. I have my addictions (scarves, designer jeans, purses), but I also love a good deal. Thank goodness for online shopping. Many a dollar has been saved by doing a little leg, finger work.

Mental note to self: go online today and make donation. Well Done.

I love freaks!

2010-06-07T08:37:00.002-04:00

People who know me well know that freak is a pet name for my husband, but also I like people who are a little bit different. Not different in the sense of psychopaths who have no empathy with others, but different in some way. Perhaps they don't worry so much about the way they appear to others, or perhaps they sport interesting tattoos or piercings. Perhaps they challenge authority in interesting ways. Perhaps they have three first names or always surprise me by their words. Whatever . . . I like people who break normalcy . . . until they annoy me.

Random note: Shane, the fruit is good today. Thanks for bringing it. And Sarah, thanks for bringing vegetables from your garden. That's a sweet gesture, and it helps community form.

Yep, I'm jumping all over the place. Apparently, I'm a freak when it comes to coherence today. There's no structure to my comments, just the random nerve synapses firing and jumping incoherently from one thought to the other.

I'm sitting outside the classroom with my laptop on a bench, using the bench as a table. Well, not anymore. My back was hurting, so I moved to the bench itself so that I could lean against the table. That feels better, but now my computer wants to slip off my lap.

I'm in the hallway because Rebecca banished me. She has assumed Wes's role today of keeping me away from bad influences for the Muppets. The room still smells like paint, so I'm out in the hallway. Nancy wouldn't let me clean the bathroom Sunday, which would have only involved spraying Windex and wiping down surfaces. Suddenly, I've become the protected one. It's a weird feeling, one I'm not used to. It makes me feel a bit freakish.

Actually, the whole pregnancy has made me feel freakish. I struggle to get comfortable at night and turn probably ten times during the night, adjusting pillows, pushing Wes onto his stomach, pulling covers around me and tossing them off. Wes is not a big fan of sleeping with a pregnant women, and who can blame him? I'm not a big fan of being pregnant at night.

My stomach keeps growing, which means the Muppets are growing, and I'm thankful for that. But suddenly this weekend, the stomach really expanded. Seriously expanded--as in I wasn't sure I'd be able to wear home the non-maternity capris I packed, but I could. And today I still have on non-maternity pants, but they're tight. This week I bet I'll be moving to maternity pants. I already have on a maternity shirt, and I wore maternity shorts this weekend (very comfortable).

This week I went from not liking food and not being able to eat chocolate to being able to eat two to three servings of any meal. That's not good. I mean, it's good that I've only started gaining weight this week, but it's bad that I may make up for the first nineteen weeks of not eating within a week or so. I've got to get that under control.

There's so much that's different about me in pregnancy. I can get angry in a second, but I'm usually slow to anger and definitely slow to respond. I am out of breath after walking up the stairs in the College of Education. How annoying. It's just one flight of stairs. It is as if I've aged twenty years in twenty weeks. Ugh!

Yep, I've definitely become a freak during pregnancy, but not the cool kind of freak that I like. Instead, I'm the kind of freak who never knows what her body will do next. Yikes. I'm starting to run out of battery power, so I'll stop now, but I'd love to hear from some other current and previous fellows.

Freewtg. topic for 6-7-10

2010-06-07T08:36:00.000-04:00

Today's freewriting topic is Freaks and Geeks.

Famous last words

2010-06-03T08:41:00.003-04:00

When someone says, "Hey, y'all, watch this," I always perk up. After all, who knows? I may be about to see someone's life end in a particularly gruesome way. Actually, though, I more interested in the person's psychology. What makes a guy think it might be fun to be smashed in his private parts with a baseball bat while three other guys watch, laugh, and take their turn? Seriously! I guess I'm missing the hurt-me gene. Instead, I have the I-will-double-your-pain-if-you-hurt-me gene. I struggle with the turn-the-other-cheek philosophy. Instead, I think I get to slap both of your cheeks if you slap mine--and maybe add a well-placed punch to the stomach. Yeah, I guess I practice escalation. It's a good thing I'm not a Hatfield or McCoy. That feud would NEVER have ended.

Still, "Hey, y'all, watch this" grabs my attention. At the same time, though, it makes me feel gross, a little white trashish, as if I should be more cultured, more interested in watching CNN and trying to understand the health care debate instead of watching some guy try to jump from the top of this house onto the trampoline and then into the pool, ignoring the six-foot fence around the pool with decorative spikes on top, convinced that he'll clear those spikes easily. And sometimes he does. Sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes he slips off the roof and lands in the flower beds beneath, perhaps his fall broken by a magnolia tree with prickly leaves. Sometimes he misses the trampoline entirely or perhaps hits the edge, landing with one leg on either side and all the pain that accompanies that scenario. Sometimes the trampoline part works okay, only to end up with a face smashed against the side of the fence instead of his body clearing it. Either way, what prompted the whole inquiry in the first place, the thought that maybe he should try this?

But there I am, watching and wondering about his intellect and common sense. A friend of mine says she watches The Maury Povich Show or The Jerry Springer Show because it makes her feel better about herself. Maybe that's why I watch stunt shows and stupid people in general. I don't know. I hope not. Whatever the reason is, I need to stop.

Freewriting topic for June 3, 2010

2010-06-03T08:36:00.001-04:00

The topic for today is "Hey, y'all, watch this!" Famous last words . . .

This year's Fellows aren't using the blog, but perhaps some past Fellows want to reconnect this year through the blog. Happy writing!

A Vicious Turkey at Gooney Golf

2010-04-15T20:39:00.004-04:00

Generally speaking, whenever a police officer or fire fighter starts a story with "no shit, this really happened," it probably didn't happen, but in this case, no shit, this really happened.

A group of us retired police were sitting around exchanging stories when one of them brought up the call my fiance had a couple of years ago. It happened on the day shift near check off time. The dispatcher radioed Keith with a call about a vicious turkey at the Gooney Golf on Blanding Blvd. Thinking this was a prank called in by one of his buddies on the squad, he dutifully responded to the scene.

"Thank God you're here," the woman shouted as he pulled up to the miniature golf business. There's a vicious turkey on the grounds and it's making frightful noises, she continued. She escorted Keith to the last place she saw the turkey.

Sure enough, it was a full grown turkey hen backed into a corner and she wasn't happy. Not having any rope, lasso, or such, Keith opted to use his uniform jacket to subdue the turkey.

The closer he came, the more agitated the turkey became. She began making those strange, threatening sounds. "Kinda like kung fu turkey," Keith said with a wry laugh. The woman spun on her heels and took off in the opposite direction.

It took two throws, but Keith nabbed the trespassing turkey, put her in the back seat of his patrol car, and proceed to the check off point. En route, while waiting at a red light, he looked over and noticed that the driver in a pick up truck was "just laughing his ass off." Keith had momentarily forgotten about his feathered prisoner. He looked in the back seat and the turkey had worked her head out of the jacket and was looking around. The light changed and Keith pulled off, but the man in the pick up just sat there laughing as hard as could.

Once at the check off point, Keith told the guys to check out his prisoner. Everyone rolled in laughter at the sight of the turkey in his police jacket.

"She made a good meal, too," he ended.

2010-04-13T22:13:00.000-04:00

April Fools Day

Teenagers and April Fools is quite a mixture. Most teenagers aren’t brave enough to fool the teacher, and the rest aren’t smart enough. One tried to convince me a roach was under my desk. I almost believed him, but only because I saw a ridiculously large spider just a few days before. This spider was not only big, but it also attacked me. It alternated its large eight legs and stealthily stalked me screaming in my classroom while no one came to my rescue. I suppose I was the fool with the spider encounter.

April Fools day this year also had another event. During first block our principal came on the intercom announcing:

“Teachers, we are currently under lockdown. Please do not allow students to leave the classroom until further notice. No one is immediate danger, but please have all students remain in the classroom. Thank you.”

Seriously? You want me to contain twenty fifteen-year-olds the day before school lets out for Spring Break?

“Ms. Smith, he’s just getting us for April Fools, right?”

“Sorry kids, you know he doesn’t joke around.”

Thankfully, my amazing first block calmed down quickly and we continued to go over the study guide for our test the next day. While steadily highlighting, we are interrupted by dogs barking in the hallway, and sure enough, huge German shepherds come skulking down the hallway by my classroom. I think this is the point my first block realized this was no April Fools joke. Chaos ensued.

After much pleading, we calmed down yet again and continue studying once again. Until the lockdown was lifted. As soon as we got the OK to leave the classroom, five students immediately raised their hands to go to the restroom.

I gave up…the lockdown made a fool out of me.

Chain, chain, chaaaaaaain.... chain of foooools!

2010-04-13T21:58:00.000-04:00

I’ve never been big on April Fool’s Day. I don’t know… I guess I just don’t like surprises… at least not prank-like surprises. Good surprises – like news of Donna and Wes’s twins – are GREAT! As a newer teacher, I always worry when April Fool’s Day falls on a school day. I seriously worry about how I would react if some kids tried to prank me. It might not be so pretty…

Well, thinking about April Fool’s Day makes me think about the time-honored tradition of brutalizing a newly married bride and groom as they leave the reception for the honeymoon. (And it also makes me wonder… is this a Southern thing?!?) You know… flour, crickets, peanut butter, mustard, ants, saran wrap, pickles, worms, Vaseline, sardines… all that drama. (And before you even ask - yes, I have seen and/or heard of all of that being used before! Ick!!!) Anyway, I have always detested this practice. I think it’s because I am, like my Mama always says, so very, very “nice-nasty.” I hate to get messy when it’s not time to be messy.

Well, my brother-in-law and some of his good friends are alllllll about this whole tradition of “getting” the newlyweds of the group. This past Saturday, I attended Nikki’s wedding… and when I got home to my sister’s house for dinner, some of our mutual friends were there. Well these friends are part of said group that just loves to “get” the bride and groom. They asked me about the wedding, and somehow this topic came up. The comment was made – “You just wait, Carrie Beth. You will probably get it worse than any of us did!” (All of this just because I happen to be the “little sister” of the group who gets picked on… and the only single one left…) Well, that just flew all over me! I went off on this ten minute long tirade about how childish I think it is and how my sweet, simple little impending wedding would just have to be held in secret just to avoid the drama of the mess! Haha! (And by impending, I really mean non-existant-for-probably-a-good-ten-more-years-as-the-dating-pool-in-Baxley-really-sucks!)

I could totally get all melodramatic and tell you all about all of the wrong, or foolish, choices I’ve made in life. However, I try to forget them as much as possible! : ) I could also spend forever thinking about how my life has totally not turned out how I had planned and how sometimes I think I’ve got myself fooled… that I really never will have the “fairy tale” that I think is out there somewhere. However, I’m choosing not to. Instead I’ll leave y’all with another little funny…

Springtime makes me feel a little foolish. And by foolish I really mean footloose and fancy free! I’ve totally been bitten by the Spring/Summer bug now that Spring’s ACTUALLY here. And when I get Spring Fever, I get a little crazy. Err… foolish. Lately I’ve been thinking about motorcycles nonstop. They’ve always scared me a little. And I’ve always sworn that I would never get on one. (I fully expect riding on one to feel like how I feel when riding roller coasters which I totally hate! And I’m much too weak-stomached for all of that! Plus, they’re dangerous, right?) Lately it seems as if every time I’m on the road, I see like thirty seven motorcycles. They’re everywhere I turn. And I can’t get them out of my head! My students’ even had a writing warm-up this week that mentioned motorcycles several times. Crazy, huh? Since I can’t seem to get them out of my mind, I’ve actually found myself wanting to ride one! How crazy is that??? I can so picture myself on the back of a “hawg” – my luxurious locks billowing in the breeze as my arms encircle the waist of some hunky biker boy. Now that’s foolish… after all, helmets are required by law. And what’s sexy about helmet hair? Absolutely nothing…

Fool's

2010-04-13T19:41:00.002-04:00

Like previously stated, I'm not one for jumping on the bandwagon. That's why I really can't stand things like April Fool's Day or National Karaoke Week. Yes, that last one is this month. I guess I just don't like campy. Why do we have holidays every month? And I seriously heard a commercial a few years ago for Nation Bran Week. Why?!? I don't know where people come up with these things. It's all I can do to remember birthdays and Mother and Father's days. I guess it seems sort of silly that we have all of these holidays and April Fools is the most absurd.

Nobody's Fool

2010-04-13T17:20:00.000-04:00

For whatever reason, my grandmother taught me that the word “fool” is a horrible word. She even told me that I would go to hell if I used that word. She actually found scripture to support this, but I tend to disagree with her. That would be one of many situations that have caused me to look at myself as a fool. Another way I feel like a fool is the way I have spent the last ten years. Ten years ago, I married a single father who had physical custody of his daughter. Since then, I have raised her, along with my two biological children. Meanwhile, my husband has gone off to pursue all of his desires. He first decided he wanted to be in law enforcement, so he worked in a jail for a while, working night shifts lasting three or so months at a time. We never saw each other, but I was able to maintain our household seamlessly. Then, he changed gears again, deciding to be a trooper. This took him away from home for six months. We saw him occasionally on weekends, but not very frequently. As a trooper, he would spend many nights working, so he was not really a part of our lives. Once, he agreed to pick up our daughter from the sitter because I had a meeting at school. However, he forgot, and my baby was at the sitter until almost 8:00 PM. He couldn’t even handle the simplest tasks. I was a fool for thinking somehow things would get better. Not only were we not seeing each other much, but when we did see each other, we fought constantly. Few people knew this because we were so perfect at putting on the “church face.” After working as a trooper, he decided he wanted to pursue his lifelong dream of being an Army aviator. He joined the National Guard, and he was sent to flight school. That took almost two years, and now he is in Afghanistan for a year. For so long, I have tried to pretend that I am okay with all of this, but I am not, and I really do feel like a fool for enduring it for so long. My children barely know their father, and my oldest, who is my husband’s biological child, said recently, “I wish he would just go off and follow his dream and leave us alone.” What kind of fool endures all this for so long?? I thought that if he got a good enough paycheck and we had good enough insurance, I would be okay with it all. So many people have said they don’t know how I do it, but truth be told, I’ve never missed him. There is something wrong with that. I often question how I could have been such a fool and made such poor decisions, but if we had not gotten married, I wouldn’t have my wonderful babies. However, I am constantly plagued with thoughts that I made foolish decisions to try and improve my life. In theory, I wanted to protect my children’s childhood, but I feel like I’ve done anything but that. They are growing up without a father, living in a pitiful excuse for a house, and dealing with a stressed out mama. I feel like a fool for thinking I was making things better with the decisions I’ve made. But, I’m through being a fool. I will not be anyone’s fool again. I will make my children happy, and I will make myself happy. I haven’t been happy for so long, although I’ve pretended I was completely happy. What a fool I was. As I said, no longer. I am moving forward, and as the hair band Cinderella said I am “Nobody’s Fool.”

Foolishness

2010-04-13T08:34:00.002-04:00

April Fools' Day, hmm? I usually don't believe anything anyone tells me on this day. "Have a great day?" someone might say. "Yeah, right," I think. I doubt everyone and everything, but sometimes I forget, and sometimes I'll bite because of the news being shared. I'm not going to refuse to congratulate someone on April Fools' Day because I'd rather be seen as foolish or punked rather than churlish. But maybe that's just me. I guess I can't think of any good pranks. I don't know that I've ever tried to prank anyone on April Fools' Day. I just figure everyone is watching out on that day, so it's not a great day to tease people. Besides, I've realized that I have a pretty good poker face when I want, and I can tease people most anyday. Maybe I'm just a good liar, even though that's probably a bad thing to admit. I don't think of it as lying; I think of it as acting, just like I usually act a bit when I go into a classroom. I usually don my happy face whether I'm having a good day or not. It's not their fault my head hurts or my stomach feels unsettled. Besides, bad moods and whininess are contagious, I think, so I prefer to spread upbeat behavior (except on Facebook, where I will whine when I get overwhelmed as I am this week). If that makes me a liar, so be it.

Yeah, I guess I'll switch to foolishness because it's such an easy topic. The world is full of fools--or perhaps just of people who engage in foolish behavior. While I understand that they have their own lives, I also wonder sometimes if they aren't put into my path to give me something to laugh about, to make my day just a bit brighter.

When I'm heading anywhere in my car, they come out in full force. It's like a scene from The Truman Show where I'm driving along, minding my own business, and suddenly I have slow drivers in the left-hand lane in front of me and people pulling out right in front of me, making me slam on brakes, when there's no one in sight behind me. Yep, fools gather when I get on the road.

Wes loves to watch fools who have their foolishness videotaped, so the television in our house is often turned to World's Dumbest Criminals or What Were They Thinking? or Fools on Parade. Okay, I made up the names of some of those shows, but there really are a ton of them showcasing stupidity. And even though I feel silly watching them, it's pretty addictive. Maybe it's just a chance to feel smart, but I'd rather feel smart as I re-read Thackeray's Vanity Fair or Jane Austen's Persuasion. Oh well, I guess I need to take those smart vibes wherever I can.

And yes, I'm as big a fool as anyone else. I've made stupid decisions throughout my life or drifted into stupid behavior when my brain didn't engage quickly enough. Most of the real foolishness happened in high school and college, but I still have brain spasms. At least twice in the past week, I've distributed papers in Studies in Composition Theory by saying, "Take one and pass the rest," only to give the student in front one paper and keep the rest for myself. Let me repeat: I've done that TWICE in one week. I think my brain is shutting down a bit. The twins are sucking up my intellect. I thought I'd have to wait until they were born and sleep deprivation began to start losing brain cells. Oh well, I guess they're over-achievers.

Did anyone prank anyone for April Fools' Day? If so, share.

I can't wait to read your posts later. I'm posting early because I'll be working on taxes tonight, but I'll take a break to read and respond to your posts. It will be a nice, super-appreciated break. So far, I've only entered my income and our family deductions. I still have to do Wes's business. Ugh!

Happy belated April Fools' Day to you all. I hope the foolish people in your life keep your entertained.

April Write Nitght

2010-04-12T19:12:00.002-04:00

Hey guys!

Tonight's writing topic will be...

April Fool's...or just fools...

Have a great week! Enjoy the wonderful weather!
Kristin and Jennifer

Bridezilla

2010-03-10T21:39:00.002-05:00

I tried to post this last night, but the internet was not on my best friend list last night.

Planning a wedding has got to be the most stressful thing ever. Normally when I'm stressed out about something it only involves me. That paper that needs to be researched only affects my grade and maybe the professor's patience. That stack of essays that needs to be graded doesn't matter too much. Freshmen are usually ok with, "No sweetie, I haven't gotten around to those yet." Progress reports are coming up and they don't want that grade to go into their average. However, this wedding sets the tone for mine and Austin's future. If it's a complete disaster then everyone will shake their heads, tsk, and glare at me from lowered heads.

I'm getting a little fed up with everyone asking unimportant questions. Especially questions that do not involve them. Listed below are questions I'm really tired of and the answers I would like to give, but am too much of a chicken to.

"What are the groomsmen wearing?" - Are you a groomsman? Do you have to dress a groomsman? No? Then what does it matter to you? (Oddly, only one groomsman has asked me what he needs to wear...and it was his girlfriend asking for him.)

"Am I getting an invitation?" - Why don't you sit around the mailbox and see what happens?

"What flowers are you having?" - Seeing as how I can't name but maybe three flowers, roses, lillies, and tulips, then I'm sure if I had picked out flowers I couldn't tell you what they were. I only go by colors. And no I haven't picked them out yet. Not that it matters to you anyway.

"What do your shoes look like?" - Right now, invisible. I might be going barefoot. Will you wipe my feet for me when they get dirty?

"Have you got everything done?" - Yes. In fact I'm ready to get married in the next ten minutes because every bride always has everything done a month before the wedding. Can you be at the chapel in the next ten minutes?

I know that everyone is just trying to be nice and helpful, but when my three families, plus friends, plus Austin's two families, and his friends start asking questions, the same questions, it kinda gets old.

And I just realized today that we haven't applied for a marraige certificate nor have we bought wedding bands.

Redneckery

2010-03-10T17:58:00.002-05:00

I came up with this term to describe some of the activities I have had a chance to participate in while here in Jacksonville. The street that I'm living in is predominantly working class, tradesmen and women. They are simple, plain-spoken, and will give you the shirt off their backs. If you're stuck in a ditch, these people will come and help you out. They are ingenious. They can survive under any adversity. Entertainment is simple and often involves mudpits, ATVs, talking about NASCAR, debating any topic, laughing, joking, and no hard feelings.

The latest redneckery that I participated in was a backyard bonfire. It consisted of a very large wood pile, friends and relatives (and friends and relatives of friends and relatives). Everyone is introduced around and offered a cold beer. The night was a little too cold for me to hold a cold beer, so I passed on the offer and sat back to take in the happening. Someone turned up the radio in their truck and played country music for everyone there. The sparks from the bonfire drifted up into the night sky, blending in with the stars. I fully expected any of the adjacent pine trees to burst into flames from the sparks, but no impromptu wildfires.

Everyone was laughing, talking, and having a good time. We periodically turned ourselves as if we were on a rotisserie as the heat from the fire became uncomfortable on the exposed side.

It was an interesting way to spend a Saturday night. Frankly, there are a lot worse ways to spend one's time and I genuinely enjoyed the company.

Procrastination

2010-03-10T10:39:00.002-05:00

So most of my stress comes from procrastinating, which is why I'm blogging the night after Write Night. I get wrapped up in needing to do things, but honestly, stress doesn't normally strike me until the last minute and then it's more like panic than stress. My classes did an in-class journal this morning, and they responded to Baz Luhrmann's "Sunscreen Song." If you haven't heard it, google the lyrics-they're great. Some of my favorite lines are:

"Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday."

and

"Don't waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself."

I think our culture has given us the idea that we're in control of our lives, and we are, but only to a certain point. Then everyone else and our circumstances come into play. Not saying that we shouldn't set goals, but we also need to remember that most of the pressure on us comes from ourselves. Think Matrix/Fight Club mentality...when it's all over, which parts of life are real? Or do we make ourselves miserable with what we believe is reality/important when it's not?

little stresses...

2010-03-09T18:09:00.003-05:00

I've been reading about all the other stresses in people's lives, and I can't help but think that mine are not nearly as bad. The biggest things for me are: thesis and worrying about being up to snuff on my observations.

All that's going through my head is, "I have no idea what to write." What I'm writing on isn't even a huge topic. I'm writing on the Oz books which is nice because there is some critical background, but mostly all I want to say, someone else has said it in some fashion or another. All I can think is, "How on earth did Matt find something interesting and new to write on "The Faerie Queen"?" Ugh.

Of course, never knowing where I stand in my observations makes me twitch. I might not get a job next semester if I don't do well. Hello poverty. Well, ever MORE poverty.

OK, enough ranting. To give everyone a little pat on the back, I think it's important to remember that we need stress. It helps us get things done and it reminds us that we care about what we're doing. When we stress over writing a paper, grading a test, or even all the things we have to do during the day, a little stress reminds us that why we're doing it is important. I think I'd rather do things worth doing and be stressed than do nothing worth mentioning.

My Stress List, which is creating more stress by having to create it!

2010-03-09T17:57:00.002-05:00

Where should I begin. I try not to read other posts before I do mine so I won't influenced, but I glanced down the list and saw that some people used a list format, so I will follow their direction:
1. The first thing that is stressing me is that I'm at Chick-fil-a on kid's night, trying to type this, while I watch to make sure no one abducts my children, and all the while my 15 year old is continually talking to me. Also, my son has a balloon sword that he is using to hit me and others in the head. Nice.
2. The fact that I'm raising three children on my own, while my husband enjoys gifts from everyone in American, watches movies when they first comes out, and basically wants the world to believe it is so hard, when in reality he is having the time of his life.
3. Preparing for the purchase of a pony. We will be getting him at the end of the month, and I haven't built a barn or fence yet, but I'm about to get busy.
4. Society's obsession with weight and fitness, which transfers to me. I'm walking 5 miles a day and still don't feel that I'm doing enough.
5. Trying to determine the fate of my marriage - There is too much to write about that, so I will save that for another time.
6. Working on units for a school at which I don't even work and am not being paid, but I have to commit time to spend at the school to help write the units.
7. Teaching my 15 year old to drive a stick shift truck.
8. Determining where to send my five year old to school next year.
9. Updating my daughter's home school curriculum website when I've slacked off for a couple of weeks, so now I'm avoiding it like the plague. I've got to get it updated.
10. The fact that it will rain tomorrow and I won't be able to exercise. In my mind that means I will gain 10 pounds in one day.
11. Trying to figure out where I will work next year.
12. My mother being sick all the time, requiring lots of my attention.
13. My mother spoiling my children so much that they will listen to NOTHING she says to them.
14. Will the babysitter take good enough care of the kids while I'm gone.
15. Should I go see my Granny, who is 88, even though she is sick, lives in the hood, and is so feeble that taking care of her is like having an extra child.
16. Will my kids be irrevocably harmed if their father and I are no longer married?

Okay, making this list added to my stress! So, I'm going to close it now.

Stressors = Anxiety Producers

2010-03-09T16:51:00.003-05:00

So, let's talk about the stressors in my life. They are in no particular order:

1. The six-year-old dose of attitude I've been getting for the last week.
2. Money, or lack thereof until March 15.
3. Lack of motivation at work
4. Seeing annual objectives that haven't reached the point I think they should have for this stage in the game.
5. The manuscript I'm editing that, when completed, will relieve stressor #2.
6. Learning to navigate life as a single mom.
7. Learning to function as a single person after 10 years.
8. The thought of someone else seeing me...well, you know.
9. My weight (which relates directly to #8).

Ok, enough about that. As I continue to list, I can feel the anxiety creeping in, tightening my chest, creating tunnel vision.

Stinkin' Thinkin' my stepmother calls it. Snowballing...or in my case sometimes, avalanching. Haha.

I can only do the best I can until I can do better. I think Janice, my dear Ya-Ya, wrote that somewhere. Or at least she mentioned it in conversation. I think it had to do with "Something Safe, Something Free" and Willy...or really it could apply to just about any of the characters in her stories.

What if the best isn't good enough? That's a stressor. An anxiety-producer. A fear of failure. I have those all the time.

I need a crown that says WOPT on it--what other people think--because I worry about that too much. I worry about the stigma of being a single mom. I worry that I won't be able to make another person happy (because clearly I didn't succeed this time around).

Ultimately, I'm a perfectionist. When I sense imperfection, I get stressed. My stress manifests itself through anxiety. Thank God they make pills for that! haha

Students here are stressed. It's the last week of winter quarter. Their stress manifests itself in panic. Is that the same as anxiety? I don't think so.

At least not for me.

So, here's the last on my list:

10. Perfectionism.

Like Anne Lamott says, it's the voice of the oppressor. Maybe I need to get those screaming banshees out of my head. Writing is therapeutic. Cathartic even.

Stressors. Anxiety. Perfection.

Wow. I feel better.

The Stress List

2010-03-09T14:48:00.002-05:00

Hmm, life's little stresses . . .

33 comments on the blog that need to be moderated, mostly advertisement for Viagra and dates . . . yuck!
that stack of analytical papers that I really don't want to grade
this nagging headache that won't leave me alone
trying to find a comfortable place and set-up for the Summer Institute
worrying about Brenda
wondering if Spring Break might allow a quick beach trip
trying to find time to call my aunt to see if we can borrow her condo
wondering how upset my niece will be if I miss her bridal shower to go to the beach for a long-overdue mini-vacation
fretting about my messy, messy house
needing to get to the print shop to get the articles photocopied for the ISI
needing to order binders for the ISI
being kicked off the Internet at home by my temperamental router--it throws temper tantrums at the most inopportune times
the committee meeting tomorrow that I still need to prep for
the eighteen copies of fifteen-entry bibliographies to check before Thursday's class
the twenty-one reading responses to grade before Thursday
the chapter in Burke's The English Teacher's Companion I need to read before Thursday
the laundry room that needs to be swept and mopped and rugs vacuumed
the bathroom that needs to be swept and mopped
the clothes that need to be washed and ironed
that nap that won't happen despite my burning eyes
the overdue invoice for NWP

Hmm, right now, it might be easier to list what isn't stressing me: Wes, my students, my family, my colleagues, my friends. People don't stress me (for the most part--I can think of one or two NOTABLE exceptions); assignments stress me.

Despite all this stress, I'm having a good day. The house will get cleaned when it gets cleaned (although I know it will be straightened by Thursday night when Wes's mom spends the night with us). The overdue papers will be graded over Spring Break at the latest, though I'd love to return them Thursday so that they're not hanging over me during the break. My headache will eventually go away. I'll drop the photocopies off this week at the printers, and I'll ask Katina to help me order binders for the ISI. Katina, Heidi, and Emily have been godsends this semester, significantly lowering my stress levels. I've finished checking the journals that came in today, and Emily is meeting with the publications person tomorrow to send off the anthology. We are making progress, and Spring Break is next week.

I like my life, my husband (okay, I love him), my job, pretty much everything. Stress isn't overwhelming. I just need to mark off those tasks as I accomplish them. It helps me to see them in print. Just writing them down releases stress because it moves from general stress to specific stress, and the stress lessens with each marked-off item.

Stress Relievers

warm bubble bath
massage
nap
good book
chewing gum
hitting, kicking, throwing stuff
venting to a friend or on paper

Hitting stuff is probably my favorite stress relief, but then, maybe I just like to hit stuff?

March Write Night 2010

2010-03-08T20:32:00.003-05:00

Hey guys!

Tonight's writing topic will be...

Life's little stresses...

Have a great week!

Kristin and Jennifer

Valentine's...aka my classroom looks like Cupid threw up in it.....

2010-02-10T17:16:00.002-05:00

Good 'ole Valentine's Day. I think it's stupid. I mean I can remember when I was younger and we were supposed to bring cards to exchange with everybody in the class, which we did. However, there were always those "cool" girls that got EXTRA Valentine cards from the boys that liked them.
What about the nasty chocolates? YUCK! I'm all about chocolate these days, but seriously? The ones with the pink crap in them? Gag me with a silver spoon! Do people actually even like these chocolates or do they just pretend that they do so that the idiot that bought them will be pleased.
In my classroom, I just paused for a moment and looked around the other day and thought "OH MY GOD!!!!!! There is pink, red, and purple EVERYWHEREEEEE!" One thing I love about Valentine's Day in PreK...I take it as a good time to talk about writing letters. Yes, even with my 4-year old babies! We read several books (one of my favorites being I Wanna Iguana in which a young boy and his mother write letters back and forth discussing the boys desire and his mom's non-desire for a pet iguana...) and I make my writing center into a post office. I laminated lots of envelopes and printed some stamps from the internet and then placed velcro on the envelopes and stamps so that they can be used over and over. The students have a Postman outfit in which they can deliver the letters, etc. It's really fun to see how excited the kids get when they get mail. I try to make sure everybody gets mail, even if I'm the one sending it.
This makes me think about one particular girl in my class, we'll call her Jane. She is very smart, very sweet, and a great student. She shows no favoritism to any students. She would seriously probably play with any kid from any grade level. For some reason, every kid in my class is OBSESSED with her. They always want what Jane has, they want to sit by Jane...one kid even brought their Valentine mailbox to school and it said "Jane" on the side of it. When I asked if it was Jane's, the little girl who made it said, "No it's mine, I just wanted her name on it too....." Weird...
So I've come full circle back to Valentine's Day. It's dumb. Hallmark sucks. I actually don't buy greeting cards anymore. If I ever want to give somebody a card, I just write them a note on blank stationery. Fun!

Me being mean...

2010-02-09T22:03:00.000-05:00

Okay, first, I’m late posting, so I’m sorry! Now, on to my thoughts. First, I question the idea of “true lover’s holiday” because I’m not sure that “true love” exists. I guess I’m growing cynical in my old age, but I think it is a load of crap. Women get their hopes up for perfect gifts, and they get a clothes folder like clothing stores use. Yes, I got that one year because my husband said he thought I might like to improve the way I fold clothes. HELLO!! That was the LAST time I folded any of his clothes. Women, I say women because I don’t think men are this way, build up this day and expect their husbands, boyfriends, or whomever to send the perfect gift, flowers, or some other thing that is usually dead or eaten in a few days. If you are really in love with someone, every day should be Valentine ’s Day. Why wait until one day a year to say, “Oh, by the way honey, I know I haven’t told you all year, but I love you.” What is up with that? So, to answer the questions, load of crap if you don’t live it every day!

V-Day!

2010-02-09T21:19:00.004-05:00

I have never really been someone to make a big deal out of Valentine's Day. Although, I do like to acknowledge it. I think I would get a little upset if my boyfriend let it go by unnoticed, even though I always tell him it is no big deal to me. Mind games, I guess. I always love browsing the V-day card isle. I stood in Target today laughing hysterically at some of the "Hot and Steamy" cards...seriously, that was their label. I realized I should probably quit when a little girl in my class waved at me. The mushy cards are never fun to read, and I would feel outrageously cheesy if I gave one away. When it comes to cards, I have a tendency to make my own. They seem more special...

Army of one!

2010-02-09T20:37:00.002-05:00

I'm glad I waited to post. I was going to join the bandwagon and post about how much I don't like Valentine's Day, but apparently it needs someone to defend it. But now how do I defend it?

Well, I started by doing a little research on it. Of course, like most religious holidays (yes, SAINT Valentine's Day) it was originally a pagan celebration. Did you know it started with sacrificing a bull and then whiping women with bloody pieces of skin (thank you History.com). Yikes! I'm glad we don't celebrate it that way. Then the Catholic church grabbed and ran with it to make a non pagan holiday. According to History.com, one theory behind who St. Valentine is, is that he was a priest who was arrested because he opposed a sanction against marriage. So lovers would go to him in prison for a secret wedding. So it's really a day for unrequited lovers, which is actually kinda sweet (chocolate sweet, that is).

So then I learned these that it's the most celebrated holiday of the year with:
200,000,000 (for the mathematically challenged, that's 200 million) cards are exchanged each year
36,000,000 (million) boxes of candy sold
180,000,000 (million) red roses given
and generally
$14 million spent.

So who we should really dislike is just Hallmark/1800flowers/and chocolate companies and not unrequited lovers. So actually, Valentine's Day really is for singles.

V-Day

2010-02-09T19:42:00.004-05:00

Total scam. I'm not sure why we need to set aside one day to tell someone we love them. Shouldn't this be an everyday event? I think measuring love by big gestures is a way to miss all the little things that make up love. It's a Tuesday where my favorite dinner is already prepared when I get home. It's automatically turning to Greek on Monday nights. I wonder if we would be this cynical about the holiday if Hallmark had not put its two cents in. If we could walk in Walmart and not disappear under a downpour of red, would we want to celebrate the holiday of love? If we were forced to discover our own clever ways to express our love, would we still heave a huge sigh of disgust at the sight of tacky heart shaped boxes?

Ugh...after reading this I want to regurgitate. My post is cliche and cheesy itself.

One year, I decided to make my own Valentine's Day cards. As much as I love pink, there wasn't a speck of pink or red on those cards. They were orange, blue, green, and even camouflage. I was pretty impressed with my non traditional cards. My friends became worried about my disgust for all things mushy and gushy. They weren't as pleased with my efforts as I had been after making them. I got alot of, "Um...this is nice. I think?" Maybe I shouldn't have made the black card.

Just in case you're wondering (And why wouldn't you be? Because I'm sure you stay up nights wondering about my personal life.) Austin and I stopped celebrating Valentine's Day for a while now. We don't even get each other presents for Christmas. Come to think of it, he's lucky if I remember his birthday.

Valentine's Day

2010-02-09T19:05:00.002-05:00

Or Single's Awareness Day. That's how I refer to it. Have you noticed that there seems to be a plethora of romantic comedies/dramas that have hit the theaters of late? Leap Year, Dear John, and of course the aptly named Valentine's Day. And yes, I want to see them all. But since I have put myself on a food and financial diet, I refuse to go see them. In reality, I'm just bitter.

As someone who has never has a Valentine on Valentine's Day, I feel totally qualified to say that every day should be Valentine's Day. (Do you remember exchanging Valentines in school. What a cruel tradition that was!) Why should you wait for a holiday to profess your love to someone, especially in such a unoriginal way like buying a dozen overpriced roses which are going to die in a week? Why not wash my car? Cook me dinner? Leave me an e.e. cummings or Pablo Neruda poem in my backpack? Yes, Rebecca the cynic can be a hopeless romantic.

This Valentine's Day I will be headed back from Jekyll with Lindsi, Donna, and Shane after spending the weekend planning the 2010 ISI, and Gallagher will be in North Carolina with one of my students.

Sometime between now and then I need to get something for Lorelai. :)

2010-02-09T18:46:00.002-05:00

I have to agree with Donna. I am competely anti-Valentine's Day. In past years, I've "celebrated" this day by wearing all black. Yes, bitter party of one, but really??? Do we really have to wear pink and smile and hug all day?? Anyone who knows me, knows how anti-social I am and how much I love my personal space. Which leads me to wonder what in the world I'm doing teaching elementary school - the one job where I am actually forced to celebrate this holiday. I've even bought the silly V-cards to hand out to my kids at our, yes, Valentine's Day Party where we will eat heart shaped candy, watch Valentine's cartoons, and make bags with hearts all over them to drop our cards into. I know, such a dedicated teacher.

Oh well, it is an excuse to get flowers and presents ... always a fabulous thing in my book so maybe not all bad. :)

Love . . . Actually?

2010-02-09T10:58:00.002-05:00

Well, everyone who knows me knows where I stand on Valentine's Day. Hate it! It's not a real holiday to me; it's an attempt to boost card, candy, and flower sales. Of course, I'm not anti-love, just anti-public displays, particularly ones that turn into attempts to one-up others. People raise their expectations so high that it's easy to get disappointed. Plus, I have too many single friends who feel singled out on this day. Yuck. Valentine's Day is one of the games I refuse to play.

Wes knows I love him. I know he loves me. But we don't celebrate this day because love goes far beyond this day. Love is Wes's taking out the trash and the recycling when I'm busy grading. Love is my mowing the grass when he's swamped out work. Love is taking a break from our professional lives to spend time together. Love is laughing until I struggle for breath over really dumb stuff like doorbells. Love is when I stopped grading last night to watch Two and a Half Men with Wes because the show is more funny when you share it with someone else.

I know lots of people share Valentine's Day cards with friends and family, but I don't get that. I hope everyone has a good Valentine's Day, but I'm not comfortable reminding people of the day. I'm glad it's on a Sunday this year. Maybe it will be a bit calmer. I definitely won't be going out to eat Sunday. In fact, Lindsi, Rebecca, Shane, and I will be returning from a planning retreat on that day, where we will have completely redesigned the Invitational Summer Institute. (So if you have any suggestions for what should go and what should stay, let me hear them? Any assignments that didn't work for you? Any assignments we should add? Keep Gallagher? Move the ISI off campus? We're open to suggestions, and we'll have email access over the weekend.)

Love actually consists of far more than one day. It's an ongoing commitment to put someone else first whenever possible.

Yeah, I don't really want to talk about love, so I'll talk about something else. What? I don't know. Maybe Superbowl ads? I didn't understand the Jay Leno, David Letterman, Oprah Winfrey spot. What was the significance? Jay Leno was going to talk about it last night, but we turned off the television before he did. (A fabulous decision since I am well-rested today despite having graded eighteen English 1102 papers yesterday and fifteen reading responses plus having read a new chapter for English 4640)

I missed the new E-Trade commercial. I'll have to watch that on YouTube. In fact, I need to look up all the Superbowl ads since I missed most of them, but I did get to play with Baby Simon at the Superbowl party. I know all the 2009 Fellows are jealous! When I swung him in the air, he giggled, so of course I had to do it again.

Hmm, Superbowl ads isn't working for me as a topic. What else can I try? Maybe I'll just wait and write more when I see what other people write. Responding . . . it's the new writing.

February Write Night

2010-01-31T16:48:00.002-05:00

Welcome to the first EXCLUSIVELY online Write Night! :)
We are hoping more people feel the urge to join us, since Write Night is only a click away now!

As everyone knows, Valentine's Day is right around the corner. We have been seeing Valentine's "stuff" in the stores since December 26th for crying out loud! Tonight's topic...

Valentine's Day...True Lovers Holiday OR Hallmark Scam?

Happy Writing!

Jennifer and Kristin

Blogging Bandwagon

2010-01-18T00:46:00.003-05:00

Sorry I'm so late. I managed to forget my password to gmail and then forgot how to post. Is being late with everything a bandwagon?

I've started following blogs recently. A coworker is obsessed with a certain blog and decided to start her own. I've realized reading other's blogs makes me laugh and forget about my worries. So I have officially started reading blogs everyday. I now follow three, including BWP, and am looking at following another. I find that reading someone's blog is much better than reading their Facebook status. (Speaking of Facebook, that's a bandwagon I worship.) Blogs are more detailed and have room for a whole story. They also make my day more amusing. It's just one more thing I have to check before getting started on my work for the day...which is why I stay behind so much.

So why not start my own blog? I have to refer to Carrie Beth for this one. Everyone is doing it, therefore I can't jump on that part of the bandwagon just yet. I will have to wait until all those around me forget about their blogs, or I move away, then I can start my own blog.

Philosophical Bandwagons

2010-01-13T10:21:00.002-05:00

Sorry I'm late posting-that sleep thing overtook me.

Jumping on bandwagons has always been kind of amusing to me. Of course I've done it, probably anyone what says they haven't has jumped on the bandwagon of being an "individual" who refuses to admit that they conform to society in some way, but the reality of bandwagons is funny to me. It seems like things become popular because a few people begin doing them and then everyone wants to jump on-board. But then those things lose their "cool" factor because the exclusivity has gone down. Like wearing guess jeans back in the day. As long as Claudia Schiffer was wearing them, everyone wanted a pair, but when half of the class had a pair (or a pair of Lee jeans they had sewn a guess label onto) they lost their cool. So people jumped off the bandwagon. Seems like we only want to be like other people until there are too many people like us.

When I was an undergrad, having a pierced navel or some tattoo on your lower back was the height on style/sexiness. My mother pretty much threated my life if I came home with ink-probably because even she knew I would choose something trendy in the moment instead of something with any real meaning. So I opted for the piercing instead. Apparently my skin is not made for piercing, cause it never really healed like it should have, and I ended up taking it out a couple years later. Flash forward to a few years post-pregnancy and get ready for too much information. My navel now resembles a droopy eyelid. Yep, the seven years between my piercing and childbirth was apparently not enough to restore my skin's elasticity. So now I have the canopy of the bandwagon I jumped on forever on my stomach. Be careful what wagon you jump on-you may end up wearing part of it.

2010-01-12T19:13:00.002-05:00

There are certain types of bandwagons that are not so bad, and then there are others to avoid. The key is picking the bandwagon instead of letting it pick you. Certaily, we might safely say that a bandwagon with which we choose to join up with which also has inherent benefits could lead us to a better place. But everytime I just read bandwagon, I kept picturing the imagery that must have led to the coinage of the aphorism. This is my mental snapshot: a several piece brass and string band on the back of a wagon being pulled through the streets at a vehement pace by a man dressed in some sort of tophat, holding a whip in the right hand with the reins in the left. The tune being played frenetically has to be something like "Camptown Races" --"Camptown ladies sing this song, DO dah, DO dah..."

Now this type of bandwagon could be nothing but out of control. Thus it must be that popular idiomatic speech beleives that a bandwagon, and the placement of one's self on such wagon, would constitute a loss of control, thus the pejorative nature of the term. It all seems to be about control. We are taught that control is a good thing, to be in control of one's life, to control others, to control destiny, to control fate, to control luck, and the list goes on ad infinitum. But could not the loss of the control just be OK sometimes. Let someone else do the driving. See where life takes you. It could be a nice tune that you like that the bandwagon is playing. Or it could just be that the bandwagon and its players and riders seem alluring.

I know I'm on a bandwagon now. Life's a bandwagon. In this case, you don't pick it, it picks you, you are already implicated in the game -- "implique dans le jeu." There's nothing to do but hold on. I'm just barely holding on today. I like the wagon most of the time, and the only option, getting off this life wagon, isn't so attractive. But then I guess there are certain sub-wagons running within the main, unversal wagon. We don't always pick these either. And sometime, we just don't know what the wagon's all about. But wagons are wagons are wagons. We eventually get off of all of them one way or the other. You can fall of, or you can actively get off. I guess that means there is a choice. The choice of wagons is sometimes a one way choice, a non-choice that can't be rescinded. At any rate, hope you enjoyed my wagonesque pseudo-philosophizing. Buenas noches.

I'd love to write about bandwagons, but....

2010-01-12T18:55:00.002-05:00

I'm in burnout mode and don't know what to do. I've lost my creative streak, spark, ember, whatever you call it, and I'm floundering. I am finding it harder and harder to come up with exciting and creative lessons in my classes. Now, for some other people, it may not be a big deal, but you, my BWP peeps, know how devastating this is! Today I spent 2.5 hours planning for a one hour social studies class. I have two other subjects to plan for as well! This can't keep happening!! I can't spend this amount of time on each of my classes or I'll go crazy. I wish there was some big book of lesson plans I could purchase or turn to, but I can't. I wish I had taught some of this material before, but I haven't. I wish I had about 2 weeks off to make up for my missing a Christmas Break, but I don't. I wish, I wish, I wish.

Sorry for sounding so whiny and pathetic, but feel free to jump on my bandwagon of complaining if you want or share some tips on how to recharge your creative self.

Crazy Woman Bandwagon

2010-01-12T18:27:00.000-05:00

Let me preface everything I write by stating that I am at Chick-fil-a, on kid’s night, trying to make sure my children don’t tear up anything. So, if I fail to write in complete sentences, that would be a partial explanation. Another explanation would be that I am now working two jobs, doing a maternity leave sub job and teaching an education class at ABAC. So, apparently I have jumped on the bandwagon of being a super-overachiever mom. What is that all about?? I feel like I have to be the best mom, teacher, friend, woman, Christian, etc., and I am falling short on so many occasions. I am driving myself absolutely crazy trying to overachieve, and here I am in Chick-fil-a, among all the mom’s and kids, and what am I doing, overachieving by trying to make sure that I fulfill my obligations to BWP. I feel a breakdown coming soon!!

Let me think back to some bandwagons I have jumped on. One funny bandwagon that I jumped on was when I was in high school and some people were just learning about being “gothic.” I tried to start wearing all black and wearing lots of crosses and stuff. Seriously, do I really look goth?? I was such a poser, but I thought it was cool. I also jumped on the bandwagon when all my friends started smoking. I thought I had to do it in order to be cool. I tried it for a little while but never got anything out of it, so I decided it wasn’t worth it.

One bandwagon that I have jumped on that I love is the BWP bandwagon. I used some of the techniques at ABAC, but I am using MUCH more now. Today I started teaching plot to my 9th grade students. I used children’s literature to introduce this, and they loved it. Later this week, I will teach characterization using children’s literature and play-dough. Thanks BWP for giving me so many wonderful ideas. I told a teacher today that I can’t possibly ignore and not use the wonderful resources I learned about at BWP. So, I’m on the BWP bandwagon, and I love it. It makes me the best teacher I have ever been and I thank all of you for contributing to that. So, I’m signing off now to watch my children draw on the windows. It is the “activity” of the night.

Fads and fashions, boys and bandwagons...

2010-01-12T12:16:00.002-05:00

Most of my close friends can vouch for what I am about to share with you: I have a burning hatred for fads. I just don't like them. Nope, not me. Ok, well maybe a little bit. YES... I do own several different patterns of Vera Bradley in the form of too many bags and accessories and pieces luggage to count. And YES... a Pandora bracelet does now encircle my right wrist. And YES... I now am the proud owner of two Big-T Tervis Tumblers. And... ok, you forced me... YES... I do have my monogram proudly displayed on several purses and even a shower curtain!

Let me back up and try to explain. It's never the actual item that I abhor (Ok, well maybe the Snuggie is the exception to this rule); it's the fad. The all-consuming craze. The hordes of women scrambling to buy something that everyone else already has. The need to "keep up with the Joneses." More often than not, I actually love the fad, the trend, the whatever you want to call it. It's just the principle of the matter. I won't be one of them.

This ridiculous obsession with not being like everyone else can be traced back even as far as my unsightly middle school days. I remember when Nicole and Karen and Jodi and Erin and April and Crystal and Jennifer and Bethany and well, pretty much everyone thought that Brody James (name changed to protect the not-so-innocent) was THE hottest boy in sixth grade. When he moved to town, he quickly became the topic of hushed whispers, code-encrypted notes, and of course our telepathic messages to each other when he sauntered past our lunch table. Oh, he was the "junk." Everyone loved him, everyone wanted him, and no one held back on expressing interest. Except me. I feverishly denied all attraction, ruthlessly picked on my dreamy-eyed friends, and even blatantly dissed him during our inner-circle discussions. My friends thought I had lost my mind. I did not – I repeat , DID NOT – like Brody James. In fact, I loathed him. And YES... at night I did doodle his name in my Lisa Frank unicorn and rainbow journal. And I certainly DID listen to Boyz II Men, Mariah Carey, and the occasional Brian White as I cried myself to sleep over the boy I could never have.

I can also recall when Pandora bracelets first arrived on the jewelry scene. My sister bought one, Nicole had one, Michelle wore hers every day, and just about every other female I knew seemed to have one. I thought to myself “Now why would I want to have a bracelet just like everyone else? Sure they’re cute… but I just can’t do it.” Even though the whole point of Pandora bracelets was to have an individualized charm bracelet, the fact that everyone had one quickly turned me away. Fast forward three years. I recently purchased my own Pandora bracelet and have received several charms for it as gifts from my family. Why am I suddenly ok with being the owner of said bracelet? Because the fad has died down… the craze is over. And to be quite honest with you, it may be my favorite piece of jewelry ever. Except for my John Wind/Maximal Art chunky gold bracelet with the big fat “C” monogrammed disc charm and huge pearl dangle. YES… this is also a current trend in jewelry. Why do I own it??? The answer’s quite simple… I found it and liked it before everyone else bought one and it got all out of hand! Even though I received mine as a Christmas present this year (in the height of the craze, I might add), I can truly say that “I loved it before….”

Ok, so maybe I am a little quirky. Seriously... have we NOT already established that????

bandwagons bandwagons... hmmm

2010-01-12T11:35:00.002-05:00

Interestingly, I try to make it a habit of tucking and rolling for that quick exit when I realize I've found myself on a bandwagon. I'm even better at not getting on them at all. Smoking? No, thanks. Twilight? No, gracias. Now granted my reasons for not smoking (anything) are very good, I wonder why I have an aversion to other bandwagony activities. As a purely personal etymological exploration, I'd have to say bandwagons sound pretty fun. They're traveling troubadours. The concept of music and fun on the go. Why wouldn't I want to do that? Am I a party-pooper?

I guess it's because I'm a very contrary person. Not the most appealing quality in a person, but true nonetheless. But I wonder if there is something in our genetic background that makes us want to be in the group. Thousands of years ago, ostracism surely meant death for an individual. Right? We needed each other so much more long long ago. Since we can now order food, clothing and anything else we need off the internet, not to mention work and go to school online, our need for personal interaction has greatly diminished. So I see bandwagons as becoming our new version of tribes. You're in the Da Vinci tribe? Ooooh! So am I. Let's gush about it. (OK, I'm not, but you get the idea).

Although the implication that Donna might be covertly abusing herself by jumping on the coldwagon doesn't seem to ring true.

Bandwagon of Colds

2010-01-12T08:35:00.002-05:00

Apparently, I joined the bandwagon of colds. My mom had a sore throat, sore enough to seek medical attention, while she and Dad were staying with us. About six days later, Wes got a sore throat. Ms. Never Gets Sick avoided them as much as possible in our little cottage.

Most of you know that I rarely get sick, but when I do, I have impeccable timing. The day my parents leave, Wes and I head to Atlanta for a cousin's funeral, and what's that? I have a tickle in my throat, more irritating than anything else, but it's there. "It's nothing," I tell myself, but apparently, myself doesn't listen. Five days later, I had a severely sore throat and the sniffles. Well, that just won't do, so I go to the walk-in clinic, where you can almost see the germs circulating while listening to people's grossly loud, annoying cell phones ring. Apparently, they didn't get the memo that you should put them on vibrate or turn them off in small, enclosed spaces. Whatev! But that's not as bad as the people who answer them by practically screaming into the phone and then sharing way too much personal information with me. Hello? With me? I try to avoid personal info from friends . . .

Anyway, we go to Visitation in Atlanta; then Wes heads home, and I stay for the funeral. He had a photo shoot that couldn't be rescheduled since it was a grand opening. By the way, I can't wait to see our fabulous new student union with Starburcks. (Imagine the angels singing right now 'cause they are in my head--my snotty, congested head.) Visitation and funerals make me cry--or make me fight tears, neither of which works well for fighting a cold. Anyway, I lose. It wins. I go to the clinic, get a shot, but really have to wait it out.

And here's more of the impeccable timing: yep, it's the first week of classes. My students are never going to believe that I'm not one of those sickly professors who cancels class every two weeks. They'll be anticipating that sign on the door, and it will never be there. They'll feel betrayed, and I won't understand the suddenly harsh student evaluations. (By the way, one of the comments this year was "Dr. Sewell is a ham." Really? Does that sound like me? I think not. It made me laugh, though.)

Anyway, I joined the wrong bandwagon this year. Next time people in my house get sick, I'm moving to a hotel.

Bandwagons

2010-01-11T21:09:00.002-05:00

Everyday I'm entertained by my 8th graders, who are trying to figure out who they are. (Let's be honest, who isn't?) But it's interesting to watch at this level. If one student has some malady (Is that the right word?), then it is inevitable that it is going to set off a chain reaction. Case in point: crutches. There seemed to be an epidemic of students on crutches, particularly girls, at my school. But I guess it could be worse; they could be like that episode on Law and Order: SVU where the girls decided to all get pregnant at the same time.

Have you ever noticed how if one student needs to got to the bathroom, and you let him/her go, all of the sudden all of them have to go? It's quite the phenomenon. Now I know that if you hang around people enough, there is something to you all needing to go to the bathroom at the same time. (I think Lindsi, Donna, and me all can attest to that.) But I question it when it happens in my classroom.

Write Night Topic-January 11, 2010

2010-01-10T23:41:00.003-05:00

Hope everyone had a great Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Tonight's post will be...Bandwagons (we've all jumped on them from one time or another). Or, you can write about whatever comes to mind.

See you at McAllister's Deli at 6:00 or on the blog!

-Kristin and Jennifer

Nice... maybe.

2009-12-14T21:18:00.002-05:00

I guess I don't like the concept of a naughty or nice list, because I have to live up to someone else's standards. To loosely quote Calving from Bill Watterson, I also like to keep people's expectations low. When I perform, I get an unusually high amount of praise. I've noticed this concept works very well for my dogs--you DIDN'T chew on my shoes?! Goooood doggie!

Sooo, since the topic asks for reasons to be on the naughty/nice list, I suppose I'll work on that for a bit:

all As this semester +

goofed off too much and probably didn't really deserve those As -

I'm in a pretty bad fight with my dad -

He started it + (well, not really a plus; just whatever would negate that negative up above)

decided I didn't want visit family because they live so far north -

am going anyway +

worked very hard to get along with some one +

Had some disagreements over space anyway -

seriously looking for positives for every negative on this list -

easily finding positives for all the negatives +

I guess this means I'm a pretty average kid. Not too good, not too bad. I'm OK with that, really. I guess Santa will come if I put out some really great cookies. +

Who can tell who is truly naughty and who is actually nice?

2009-12-14T20:54:00.002-05:00

When you think about it, perspective is the only thing that keeps us labeled either naughty or nice. For example, if one were a villain, then being mean to someone would in fact, be considered "nice" by his standards. On the same strand, helping an old lady across the street would be deemed "naughty." Were the tables turned and Santa someone who prized these behaviors, what would the gifts he bring be? Would children receive foul tasting candy for Christmas gifts like sardine and dirt flavored jelly beans? Would women receive cockroach brooches rather than Kay's latest trend? In a world where nice is naughty and naughty is nice, giving would be shunned while shopping for oneself would be praised. Wait....isn't that what the latest Kohl's commercials are advertising now? I guess, in that case, I've been rather nice =)