punctuality

This week has been absolutely overwhelming. Some days here I don't feel busy enough, but this week I was lucky to eat lunch by 3:30. I need a pair of skates the way I run up and down the halls. I literally had kids lecturing me for not getting to them soon enough after they left notes for me. I want all of them to feel heard and important, but I think they forget there are almost 500 of them and only one of me. Two little girls: "Umm, this is the THIRD time in two days we came looking for you. You SAID we could talk!" I found myself hanging my head in shame and repeatedly apologizing for not being more responsible.

Anyway, I was hanging with one of my kiddos who is often very unpredictable and difficult to read, so I decided to give him a short learning styles profile and multiple intelligence assessment to gather more information about the best ways to work with him. I read him the questions aloud as he played with my big orange squishy stress ball and made farting noises into it with his mouth. Yuck. But I pick my battles, and this was not one of them. Anyway, one of the true/false statements toward the end of the multiple intelligence test was: "I am concerned about how others feel." When I read it to him, he looked at me like my head had suddenly sprouted an extra set of eyes. He replied, "No! I'm eight." Oh, honesty! Needless to say, interpersonal intelligence did not turn up as a particular strength of his.

This week I had two more, "I never thought I'd hear THIS in elementary school" moments. What is going on?! Some days I feel like a high school counselor and that my little people are so much older, more mature than their appearances would suggest. Despite anonymity, I do not feel comfortable sharing many of these stories here, but I am keeping a journal of the heartbreaking, strange, awkward, and of course funny occurrences that I have already occurred in my short 6 months on the job. I have never once felt bored. What will next week bring?

Ovaltine

I have daily breakfast duty at my school. It's a real treat. The smell alone in the cafeteria sufficiently stifles my appetite for at least 6 hours. This morning a child threatened to dump her carton of strawberry milk down my leg again. She got me real good before winter break--my sock and shoe were soaking wet for hours. Although I have to say that it beats having syrup dripped down your pants. I disliked that very much.

Today after the morning bell rang I was left supervising one dawdling little seven-year old. She is the long lost poster child for "ragamuffin." No front teeth, mismatched rumpled clothing, wild tangling hair, speech impediment....the whole bit. Anyway, she opened her chocolate milk, took a big gulp, scrunched up her face, and yelled, "This tastes like horse shit!"

"Excuse me?" I whipped around. She repeated it.

It was a full minute later before I figured out that she was trying to say "Hershey's."

Scrunchy face + disdainful tone + "hoorshee" = horse shit, no? Apparently not. And thankfully so, because I wouldn't have been able to keep a straight face to reprimand her for such a comment anyway.

That's it.

How Can We Be?

Now that my pretty little carpet has once again been urinated upon, I'm reminded that I haven't updated in a while. Last week I received my first holiday gift: a mug that says "Dentist." This gem was lovingly bestowed upon me by an adorable seven-year-old, who smiled sheepishly and proclaimed that she'd picked it out especially for me. How fitting. By the way, I'm closing the office for the holidays, so if you find yourself in need of an emergency root canal, it's not my problem.

Today I received a handmade card that said, "Happy Hanukkah," with a picture of Santa Claus beneath it.

I kid, but the mug and card are proudly displayed in my office--I truly appreciate both and love, love, love the children in my school. I have picked out more than a dozen I'd take home with me in a second.

Ok, I need to get back to pondering "how we all got here" so that I can get back to an anxious six-year-old with some sort of intelligible (or cop-out) answer.

Bye.

P.S. A young child walked out of my office a few weeks ago declaring that the hallway was "moist." How to respond?

Going Going Gone

I am truly a model of dedication to serving the little people. Yesterday I spent over 30 minutes combing the hallway for a lost tooth. The poor girl had quite literally lost her tooth. Somehow while being closely examined by another six-year-old friend (eww) on the way to the nurse, the tooth slipped out of her hand and skid across the floor. Feeling mighty guilty, the friend was found doing quite an impressive split while frantically searching for the lost enamel gem. Of course the hallways have been cleverly designed to disguise dirt and any sort of small object with their multicolored speckled tiles. I ran to the custodian to borrow a broom so that I could try to sweep it up. Despite a valiant search with the giant broom, several minutes of crawling around on hands and knees, recruitment of kindergarten teachers, second grade students, and the assistant principal, the tooth was not found. Devastated, the first grader slumped back to her classroom sans the necessary evidence to present to the Toothfairy. I decided to write a quick note to her parents, explaining the situation, including, "I suspect that the Toothfairy will understand." I tossed and turned all night wondering if indeed the Toothfairy had graciously left a monetary gift despite the lack of usual exchange. Or perhaps my little friend awoke to find merely a note scribbled, "No deal."

You never know....in my experience the Toothfairy was rather unpredictable. I once received a fake coin (in exchange for the fake tooth my sister and I hid). Often I received an admonishing note indicating that my tooth was not up to cleanliness standards. You just never knew.

There's even a little rug for the bathroom!

I had a ten year old student tell me yesterday, "No offense, but I want to see a professional counselor." Ha! Well excuse me and the entirely free and convenient services that I provide during the school day. Fine, bye.

These kids crack me up. I've now had my pretty new yellow chairs loudly farted upon, my checkered carpet peed on, and all the contents of my little fish tank dumped all over the counter and floor (thank goodness my little fishies are battery operated--they would've been goners). My room has officially been broken in (well, christened if you will) by many cute, germy, and somewhat nosy little children. I also have them to thank for my current illness.

Many kids come in and stare, and I mean stare at my dollhouse. Wide eyed, they ask, "What is that?" Um, it's a little house for dolls, not hard to figure out. I think they ask as a way of drawing my attention to their attention to it--letting me know that they would really, really, really like to be invited to play with it. I admit that some kids have even caught me playing with it when I'm alone in my office. I much enjoyed watching my husband assemble it a few weeks ago. Once it was completed and we were unpacking the furniture, he toggled between looking painfully bored and put out by having to help with such a project and excitedly picking up items and proclaiming, "Look at this! The lid to the grill opens! And look! Here's a little ladder for the bunk beds! Wow!" The novelty of it to a grown man who did not grow up with any sisters greatly amused me.

Star Struck

So the whole way home today I was craving, and I mean craving, pickles and oranges. Bizarre, right? And no, I’m not, to my knowledge anyway, pregnant. NEway…

Thanks to our awesome friends who shared their tickets with us, this past weekend we went to the national golf tournament hosted by Tiger Woods. It was a beautiful day and a lovely golf course. We were so excited to see Tiger Woods in action and to greet him up close. As he walked right past us at the 10th hole, however, I promptly leaned over and threw up.

We're sitting right up against the roped off course watching him tee off. I'm chugging a red Gatorade because it is so darn hot outside, but I get overzealous and accidentally dump half the bottle down my throat. Trigger gag reflex. My husband, blissfully oblivious to the fact that I'm barfing Gatorade all over my new white pants, starts smacking my shoulder, telling me to pay attention because Tiger is about to walk right in front of us. I am distracted, however, by the current yakking and subsequent ruining of my pants that I’m not at all aware, nor do I particularly care, that Tiger stands within 5 feet of us. Yep.

Does this story surprise you or seem out of character for me? Sadly, it seems to be par for the course of my life (ha!)

I recounted this at work today, and my coworker Rebecca quickly sympathized, saying something along the lines of "I found myself in a similar situation a few years back. When I saw Tiger Woods in person, I had poo squished between my toes." How unfortunate. Cue the obvious questions on my part (Poo? Whose poo?).

Well, that about covers it.

I knew that the lights of the city were too heavy for me.

Sometimes I feel really disheartened by the way some people treat one another in DC, particularly those with whom I come in contact using public transportation.  Today a woman came out of the metro and starting yelling, "Tell them to hold the bus! Hold the bus!" as she hurried as fast as she could toward it. Yes, it was loud and a tad annoying for those of us around her, but she was clearly in a hurry. She seemed to have some sort of physical disability because her legs didn't bend much as she walked. She was trying to run, without much luck, toward the bus. The man walking in front of me, who weighed 400+ pounds and was using a cane to steady himself as he hobbled along, yelled at her, "Geez, get steppin, lady. For someone who wants to get that bus, you're sure not trying!" 

Was that really necessary? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. If the tables were turned, I doubt anyone would yell at him if he were trying his best to get somewhere quickly. Or, sadly, maybe they would. 

I think that is what happens when people turn their own dissatisfaction and misery outward, or maybe when we're conditioned to treat one another like objects to be maneuvered or manipulated on our way to and from work, instead of as people with lives, families, feelings. I'm honestly no different (except the rude part, which I am not). I avoid conversation because I'm so, so tired all the time, and it's just easier to shut myself off and read or listen to music or just think. The stimulation in the metro system is overwhelming. So I retreat into myself. It's just easier.

Goodnight.

Blame it on the A-A-A-A-A-Alcohol

What a weekend! It began last night with drinks with, get this, Ben Stein and Karl Rove (what an odd pairing!) All right, I'm lying about the drinking part, but we did run right into them while buying gelato down in DC, and Pug got photos with them (I was, of course, too shy). He found them both quite nice and approachable. Oh, and Larry Summers was there too. 

Then this morning we ran our first 5k in the pouring rain! I'm so proud of us--I admit I didn't think I could do it without walking, but it turns out that I can and did! Success! Hmmm, now on to a 10k? Nah. 

First week back to work full time. Woohoo. 

Botany

So I was walking across the parking lot yesterday coming from the craft store, and I noticed that a guy driving by seemed to be petting something in the front seat next to him. Being nosy of course, I scooted closer so that I could peer inside. Expecting to find an adorable puppy or a small child, I was surprised to discover that it was instead a case of beer that he was lovingly stroking beside him. Wow, somebody was antsy to go home and get happy on a Friday afternoon! I started to laugh but then looked down and realized I was hugging the new pastel set that I'd just bought. Guess we share an affinity for PDA with inanimate objects. I went home and attempted to create a masterpiece. According to Pug, I fell asleep with purple pastel smeared all over my forehead. 

Yay April! It means grad school ends, wedding anniversary arrives, and weather turns warmer. We took a long drive through the country today and visited some pretty gardens. I feel happy. 

How the Ford Flex Saved Detroit

During a professional development seminar today I accidentally dropped my shoe into the toilet. There was no toilet paper left in the stall or paper towels in the bathroom, so I couldn't dry it off. So I squished back into the meeting, squirting toilet water out the sides of my shoe onto my nice dress pants with each step.  Then my toes went numb from the cold, wet shoe.  Then I ate lunch.  

For Clare!

Because Jenny needs to be entertained, I will admit that at the gas station the other night, I pulled up and tried repeatedly to swipe my credit card in the little opening of my gas tank. Talk about trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. It was one of those "Ohhhhhhh...that doesn't go in there.....huh, I really just did that...and I'm an idiot" kind of moments.  Okey dok, just fill up as quickly as possible and go straight home--someone's tired.

Maybe gas prices (or fumes) rendered me temporarily delusional. Oh well.

A Real Brainiac

I'm not one for getting in the car and driving 100 feet if I can go on foot.  Unless I'm carrying a refrigerator, I'm just not a fan of getting back in the car and driving four stores down in a strip mall.    

Today I needed groceries and gas for my car.  So I came out of the supermarket, put the groceries in the car, and thought, "Heck, the gas station's only across the parking lot, I'll walk."  So I did.

Only once I was milling around the gas pumps did I realize that this idea wasn't my best.  So I walked back.  

How's My Driving?

What happened to all the pictures on my blog from 2007? All gone? Strange.

Here is my tip of the day: If you're driving behind an 18-wheeler (that keeps changing lanes) with a sign on the back that says, "How's my driving?" but the telephone number beneath has been carefully scratched off, move! Clearly someone has had one too many complaints concerning his/her driving ability and needed to solve that problem fast.

Not that I have room to talk. I've had an interesting accident record. 1) Reversing into the side of a one-way bridge, 2) watching in horror as a wheelbarrow flies through the air and bounces off my hood, 3) slamming into one of those orange and white road block barrels that fell into the highway in the snow, 4) getting rear-ended by a kid whose scary father then called me using as many intimidation tactics as he could conjure. Technically, only one of those accidents was my fault. Still, wasn't taking my chances with that truck today--I like my head shaped the way it is now, thank you very much.

Who to vote for in the primaries next month? Gosh, I'm so torn at the moment. Been giving it lots of thought. If you want to try to convince me why one of the candidates is the best thing since marshmallow peeps, that would be fine with me.

10 Years Younger....

This morning the nurse at the doctor's office had to use a pediatric needle on me (will I never outgrow it?) to draw blood because my veins are so tiny and greedy and don't want to oblige any request. She pounded on each arm for a few minutes trying to evoke any signs of life in there and said it was easier to find veins in elderly people who are severely dehydrated than in me. Great.

Then later I was picking up food at a restaurant, and the cashier gave me this look and asked me how old I was. (why? I have no idea--wasn't buying alcohol). When I told her, she shook her head, and was like "No way. You can't be older than sixteen." Sorry to disappoint.

Anyway, this kid's ready for a super weekend! So excited to have friends come over tonight and tomorrow. Yay! Less excited to write final papers. Boo.

These past few weeks have been so, so great--I've gotten to see friends who I rarely see anymore due to distance, and it's been sooo much fun!! (but I suck at Guitar Hero). There's something about old friends who've known you forever and love you for all your crazy weirdness and you love them for theirs that makes life so much more full. Being with them is so comforting and wonderful and goofy. I'm really lucky.

What's New is Old

Pug ruined my brand new silk dress. Accident, of course, but I nearly had a heart attack! I'd bought it for myself on a whim last night while Hanukkah shopping (oops), and because it was no drop in bucket I had planned to keep the tags on while getting the opinions of him, my mom, and my sister. I tried it on before bed and asked Pug to get the zipper, not realizing he'd just thoroughly pampered his dry hands with moisturizing lotion. Well he grabbed that dress every inche along the zipper line up the back trying to close it. I know because it now has white lotion stains EVERYWHERE. Yea, not pretty, and bit too Monica Lewinsky-ish looking for my taste. And those darn stains would not come out. So, needless to say, I'm now keeping the dress and will have the unexpected pleasure of paying to dry clean it before I wear it next month. A real joy.

In happier news, we finally hung pictures from our wedding, etc. today. And of course it took forever because everything had to be perfectly straight. We used my prized laser level (which was the most thoughtful gift anyone's ever given me!!) all afternoon. So I was again in my element, and the dress incident is now (almost) forgotten.

The weather is simply beautiful, and we can't wait for tomorrow! Happy, happy Thanksgiving, all! All my love :)

I'm gonna go shopping again. Bye.

heh?

A guy called me Shirley Temple today.

Compliment or insult?

Whatever, I'm flying high tonight. Aced my exam.

Gotta go catch up on Ugly Betty.

Song of My Heart

Let me tell you a story.

This will be sappy.

Sometime this past spring I was riding the metro to work, standing beside a middle-aged woman who was singing. The singing was audible but not loud, a beautiful tune with seemingly no words or perhaps words meant only for her own understanding. Her eyes closed, serenity spread across the woman's face. This continued for a few minutes, and I stood listening, glued next to her inexplicably, when I could have easily moved away to take an open seat. A few others stared at her, judgment in their eyes, presumably regarding her as "crazy." When she opened her eyes and saw me smiling at her, she shrugged her shoulders, offering, in broken English, "I can't help it. My insides are singing."

Wow. Witnessing her personal happiness was something I'll never forget. I smiled for the rest of the day. Really.

I still think about that woman and her singing the song of her heart on the metro that day. If only everyone could be so attuned to our own heart songs and learn to embrace them as this woman had, rather than silence, squash, or disgard them as unimportant.

This memory comes to mind because lately I've found myself so HAPPY, maybe even radiating a little from the inside. I'm not sure how to explain it, but things just make sense lately. I'm in love, treasure the amazing relationships I have with my family and my friends, and feel truly purposeful and driven career-wise for the first time in my life.

My heart is happy. And just maybe my "insides" are singing a little bit too.

Weekend Reflections

I was cooking a huge pot of green beans tonight after class, and it made me remember my blog today. And the beans were delightful indeed. A great stand-alone dinner, I'll say. Mmmm, now I want more.

Well, the long weekend was glorious. Too cold to go into the ocean, but we walked alone the beach on the army base, ate some yummy food, walked around historic Portsmouth and Norfolk, played on the swingset, and bought a plastic kickball at the dollar store and played with it in the park. It was a superb day off work, I must report.

Bec got a mountain bike! I haven't seen anyone THAT excited over anything in a long time-was really cute. And a great bike, indeed. I had a joyous time riding it all around the Target parking lot while they took an hour to figure out how to secure the bike holder-thingy onto the back of our car. Made me want a bike too--I just might look into it.

Then we got back to our apartment in MD at midnight this morning to the commotion of the woman below us screaming at the top of her lungs for someone to GET OUTTTTTT! Screaming and screaming, so Pug finally went down to yell, only to discover that she was alone and hallucinating. She is elderly and her husband has just died, we found out. After leaving her apartment, she momentarily quieted down but then started screaming again and banging the walls, trying to rid her apartment of the "intruders." Made me really sad. She needs help. Afraid she might accidentally harm herself carrying on and banging around her apartment, we called the police, hoping they'd send medical support, but only an officer came. We're trying to find out if she has relatives we can call to suggest they get her some help....it was a late night. But it made me even more eager to pursue my program of study...so that I can be a helper and have the knowledge, tools, and resources to at least refer people with psychological disorders to the appropriate people and programs.

Mind the Can

I think we all have our little household quirks.

Like at my parents' house growing up, we kept (and they still keep) the trash can right in the center of the kitchen. Like right in the middle. Not discreetly placed under the sink or tucked up against a wall out of the way. No, their trash can forms a little island in the center of the tiny space, a barrier that all kitchen traffic must delicately maneuver (counterclockwise, that is--it's an unwritten rule). It's been tipped, its contents dribbling and scattering out everywhere, many a time by someone in a rush to get to the stove or the sink. You'd think we'd move it. The placement is so damn convenient and yet inconvenient at the same time. But it has to be that way. Every single time the house cleaner comes, she moves in up against the wall, hoping that by some chance of fate, we'll realize that it's less bothersome, not to mention less of an eye-sore in this location, and just leave it be, but it quickly finds its way back to the center of the room. And yet if I walk in and it's temporarily missing, like accompanying my dad on a 2 minute walk to the garage to empty into the larger trash bins, the kitchen feels strangely empty and off balance to me. I guess it's earned its prime placement, and the accompanying high status, in the kitchen after all these years, and it just wouldn't seem right without it there.

In our kitchen in Maryland, Pug insists on displaying this kitchen knife of his on the top ledge of our stove. He's really, really proud of it, (called a sambuko knife or something? All I know is that he spent way too much money on it), and so he displays it in its glorious rubber sheath for all to admire. All usually being just me. And you know what, I'm not impressed. In fact, I think it's weird. I think the knife should get the hell back in the drawer where it belongs. It must scare people who walk in to see this knife teetering on top of our stove, like it's ready for quick defense should an intruder or nosy neighbor come upon us. I've tried to move the knife to other less visible locations, but like the trash can at my parents' house, it always seems to find its way back. Sigh. For better or for worse, right? Some things you just gotta learn to live with. . .

I also need to add that said knife, like every other gadget that Pug insisted we buy, gets almost no use at all. Because. We. Don't. Cook. And yet, there it is, strategically placed for easy access, should the sudden urge to prepare a meal for his tired wife who gets home much later than him each evening, come over my husband. :)

It's Been Great

I love my sister. She's one of the bravest and most strong-willed people I know. She has a strength about her that I will never have but will always admire immensely. Her commitments to the U.S. Navy, her family, and her friends, are truly admirable. She was recently awarded junior officer of the quarter at her naval hospital. Yay!!

She's always been a great big sister, making sure that she gets to make all the decisions and that I get absolutely no say in matters. She's never had a problem telling me what to do. She takes her role very seriously :) Haha, just kidding, but she does have the "first born" personality (if there is really such a thing) through and through!

I'm still mad though about the time when we were about 10 and 11 respectively, and she decided to grab my hotdog out of its bun and squeeze it repeatedly in my face before dramatically flopping it back onto my plate. Mmmm, yummy. My mom made her eat it, while I pouted and wimpered in the corner. To this day, I try to sit as far away from her as possible at BBQs.

But, Bec, all in all, I think you're great. You really are an amazing, inspiring sister and friend. (Oh, and also, I forgive you for deliberately throwing that horseshoe around my ankle as a child. The scar serves as a great conversation piece--so thank you.)