girls, taffy, and time

I was reading Is There Any Mommy Out There and she was talking about her surprise at being through the Halloween ritual three times - time had done to her what it does to all of us: lulled and rocked and moved right on. What brought me up short was when I thought, "she's been through this three times and I only have three more left."

My stepson, 11, wanted a costume. Not to trick-or-treat in (he declared he'd rather just hand out candy, which since we have ZERO neighbors, amounts to "I'd rather just play computer games or watch Bear Grills) but to go to a party. With GIRLS. "Gak," I replied, stunning him with my parenting skills. This is a terrifying turn. Not because it isn't expected (I have two older daughters; I KNOW what is coming), but because ... well, let me tell a story to explain.

I had to take him to get a filling done. My first child with a cavity - I reeled when the dentist told me. It was awful - they had to get a paper bag and everything. So we took the afternoon off, just him and I, and went. On the way home, being Mother of the Year, I bought him a big ol' watermelon Laffy Taffy. He couldn't eat it yet, since he still had to keep checking that he even HAD a tongue, so he was turning it over in his hands and noticed the jokes on the back. Being the loving child he is, he read it aloud:

"Hey Rikki, why are football players never cold?"

I ponder this, and give up (see? Mom of the Year, I'm telling you).

"I don't understand the answer."

Me: "What do you mean, buddy? Tell me and we'll figure it out."

"Under flap."

Me: "huh?"

Him: "It says 'under flap.'"

That I have to explain to this wonderful boy that the answer to the joke is under the flap and he is at the stage where he's starting to notice girls, ah, makes me worry a tad.

So I'm going to enjoy the now, the third-from-the-last trick-or-treating.

The best 2/3 day of my life

As a teacher, I had hopes - high ones - that I would impact the lives of a few of my students. I know that few kids like to read. Ok, this might just win Understatement of the Year, since the majority of my students would rather rake their eyes out with a rusty Garden Claw rather than read Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl, so I knew that few of my students would even like me, let alone look to me as a mentor.

I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

As with so many things in my life, I was wrong. I was wholly unprepared to have them impact my life. It was Christmas time during my first year of teaching, when I was irritable and a little weepy that I could not afford to buy each of my 168 students a gift, that I realized, with a little start, that I loved my students. Even the ones that made it really, really, I mean really difficult to love them, I still did.

This was not supposed to happen.

I was supposed to be the cool, consummate professional, whirling through my day, encouraging learning in many, a love of literature in some. Of course, since I teach English (if I am to follow the example provided my English professors), I would have to whirl dressed as a shepherd with dangling earrings, funky glasses and truly ugly shoes, but still ... I would be whirling. But my students had other ideas. They smiled at me, talked to me, were nice to me even when they were getting bad grades. Good Lord, what else was I going to do?

Four years ago I took on the job of being an adviser for the class who just graduated. We ran a booth at the fair, held fund raisers, decorated and rode floats in parades and threw red and black drink cups to the bystanders (I had to apologize to the one bystander who really wasn't expecting nor even wanting a cup, but one glanced off her head anyways), put on dances, cried together when we lost a student with the face and heart of an angel to cancer, and laughed so hard at least one girl peed her pants at least 900 times. This litany doesn't even come close to telling our story, but when they graduated it was one of the hardest things I have ever done: saying goodbye to all of them. It was different from when my oldest daughter graduated; I knew she'd come home at some point, even if it was just for homemade stuffing and mashed potatoes at Thanksgiving (I put sour cream in them). I have no blood ties, no holds to make them come back so I can make them mashed potatoes.

But once again, wrong, thanks for playing.

They have come back. Some by emails, some by stopping by, some by seeing me in odd places, like the fair or the grocery. So when my Teacher's Assistant for three years, the one who babysat the Peanut and was her Kindergarten aid, walked back into my classroom, I died a little. Right there, in front of my third period, I died a little bit from happiness. Then, at our BIG football game against our rival, she comes to the game bringing part two of the TA Trio, which made me so happy I wiggled. Embarrassing, but, sadly true. Since the third member of this reunion of joy was too busy (yeah, babysitting, whatever) to be there, making it only the 2/3 best day of my life, I will post a ridiculous picture of him here:




Mess with the bull's happiness, you'll get the horns. And on this one, I am correct.

kachinas and blogs

I realized that I had not posted to my blog in over two weeks.

Yikes.


I really enjoy doing this, but it sure doesn't look like it if you count how many entries I have made since I started doing this. I thought about this and how much homework I had due for my online masters' course, and how it looked like some kind of Stephen King monster had crept into our home while I was away at work and tried to eat every toy, marker, bill, and sock that had been neatly tucked away in its proper place but, when this proved to be too much, the monster then vomited all of these items all over my beautiful home. So I took the day off work. So that I could do my homework, clean, and then - only of there was time left - blog my heart out.

It was this idea that led me to cement my belief in God. I have always been on the fence when it comes to organized religion (I loved being a Catholic but going through a divorce kinda cured me of that. When I realized that I could have killed my then-husband and all I would have had to do to be absolved and allowed back into the fold was to state "forgive me Father," but to rectify a divorce takes a year and hundreds of dollars, I had second thoughts.) and have always had a faith that could be stronger when it comes to Supreme Beings, but yesterday, well, much of that vanished.

I started my morning off by dropping the Peanut at school and finishing up my last batches of salsa and applesauce (my oldest daughter remarked that I seemed to be canning a little more than usual, to which I replied "Well, this way when John McCain is elected and six months later we are in the throes of a nuclear winter from the crisis his 'energy plan' has plunged us into, I'll be ready!). I cleaned and did laundry and ate a wonderful lunch while watching the latest episode of Life that I DVR'ed. What a great day! Then I figured I would start on the homework that I took the day off to do. Hmmmmm, the internet is down. So I waited a little bit (well, I waited by taking a nap), and then when my husband came home, he took a look at the airport, but things were still down. So we had dinner, and when he tried to get online, it was still down. After 45 minutes on hold with Windstream, it turned out that the entire server for the state of Pennsylvania was down. Please try again in at least four hours.

So an image of a god like Loki, or one of the trickster Kachinas, came into my mind, one sticking out a tongue in a big fat raspberry, taunting "haHAhaHAhaHAAAAA! NO homeowrk for you! Good thing you took a WHOLE day off! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

And even worse, no blog. The whole reason I stayed home.

Peanuts and Grapes

Last weekend was such a gorgeous step into Fall - even with the rain. I am finishing up the canning, making Cortland apples into sauce and the house smells all crisp with tendrils of cloves and cinnamon curling into the cool breeze that politely eases through the kitchen window, ruffling the curtains only slightly.

My little peanut wanders into this cornucopia of autumn, searching for red grapes. More grapes, actually, since this would be her second helping.

"Wow," she chirps. "I'm starving."

I am one of those moms. The mom who won't let her kids say "I'm starving." It's just a thing with me and the Nut has always accepted it without question. Until today. So when she says "I'm starving," I respond with the usual:

"Oh, honey, we say 'I'm very hungry,' and not 'I'm starving.'"

"Why?"

"Because they're really children who are starving."

"Like me?"

"No, honey, children who don't have enough food to eat, so they are dying from not having enough food."

"I'M DYING?!?!"

"No, NO, you are NOT DYING. We have plenty of food to eat. You are just very hungry."

"I'm really not dying?"

"No."

"Whew! 'Cause that would be unnecessary!"

I dropped to my knees and gathered her up in a big hug, telling her "I love you, my little peanut," shaking with giggles.

I then buried my head back in the sauce pot and wondered if all seven-year-olds were like this or is it just mine?

fireworks and ice cream

I am more than a little amazed. In my line of work, kudos are rare; I mean, really, the teacher usually only gets a call when someone is pissed or worried. So when someone says, "hey, you're alright after all" it's the same as fireworks and a cheesecake flurry on a sweet summer night. With no bugs.

And I would like to apologize for taking so long to pay it forward. I have that icky cold with the nasal drip, papers due for my masters' course, and, yeah, the rest. But here they are:

http://ckbykm.blogspot.com/ this is my most awesome friend whose blog I seriously check several times a day. She is a talented photographer whose pictures just capture the essence and joy in every person. I love them.

http://www.strayraisins.com/ Is it creepy to want to be her friend? She has a hilarious, sharp, and real way of writing - the kind of writing I try to get from my students. Well, except for the part about her husband's boobs. Funny from her, but parents would complain.

http://thebloggess.com/ I have laughed so hard reading her stories that I had to change my sweatpants. Who else would have an army of angry Transvestite Lego people that bear a crazy resemblance to Tony Orlando?

http://knaphrodesiac.blogspot.com/ I love reading what is going on in her life because she is like me - I feel like when I leave comments I'm just taking up my end of the conversation.

http://www.joshilynjackson.com/mt/ It's all her fault I started this blogmadness. She was the first I read - I stumbled upon it while I was researching her for my bookclub (yep, English teacher nerd flag, right there). She is an amazing artist and I love that I get a little more of her writing nearly every day. Plus she keeps dangling a "mailing list" and "fabulous prizes" to keep us coming back.

http://betheboy.com/ uh, he has Mystery Science Theater as his banner, which makes me love him without question. I like it that he asks questions of his readers and responds to the answers! He is such a fun, awesome read!

http://theredneckmommy.com/ Her story has touched me, intrigued me, and her humor has kept me coming back. Plus, who knew Canadians could be rednecks?

Those are my favorites, the ones I faithfully read every day. Their stories have inspired me to tell my own and I thank you all for that.

My classroom was taken over by the uber-geek squad. Seriously, not only were they a computer -installation team of seven, but they even wore matching wind breaker suits. I shit you not. I hadn't even realized that they still even made that material since 1984. Fortunately, one of them looked remarkably like Christian Slater, so I chalked it up as a win.

They bustled in, like a swat-team from Revenge of the Nerds, to install my Polyvision board (which is an interactive white board that hooks up to my laptop and I can do all these crazy educational things. oh, um, wait - who's the geek in this story?). I remained at my desk after greeting them, looking all very teacher-busy on my laptop. The plan was to hang the Polyvision board between my two chalkboards, which was really going along very nicely until I noticed that they were NOT HANGING IT LEVEL TO THE CHALKBOARDS. Anyone with a touch of OCD will completely understand my instant stress. So I ask, "Um, excuse me, but could you, like, hang it so it's the same height as the chalkboards?" The ALL turn to stare at me, the only sound the faint rubbing of nylon. "I don't mean to be a bother," I stammer on, "but, um, well, it leaves like a gap."

There is a long pause. The Christian Slater's stunt-double takes a breath and slowly, since I am obviously a mite on the slow side, "that's so the handicapped children can reach it."

"gegh" is all I can manage. They turn back to their task as I ever so gently put my face upon my desk, remaining prone until I hear the last power drill and extension cord packed away, and the soft rustle of nylon as they softly click the door shut behind their exit.

And I wonder why I have yet to win Teacher of the Year.

It's NOT ok to swear at Christmas?

Today in class I was lecturing/giving notes - something I rarely do - about Joseph Campbell's
The Hero's Journey. Rather than have them read that book and The Golden Bough, I condense it all into notes and we use those notes for all the novels we read, and in one step the Hero usually has to run away, but I have it written "get the heck out of Dodge."

This reminded me of one Christmas a few years ago when the nut was only three or four. We were at Aunt Sharon's, like we are every Christmas evening, with my husbands ENTIRE family. I was sitting by the Christmas tree, snuggled up with the nut in one of those chair-and-a-halfs, when the now 11-year-old, then 7, decided to join in on the cuddle-fest. The nut hates to share, but tolerated him, it being Christmas and all. Then the older girls, 14 and 16, decided to clamber on. The nut was now pissed. She wormed her way out of the mix, yanked blanky out from under one of her sister's butts, and gave all of us the most silent, darkest glare that I have ever been on the receiving end of. I would have never even thought one so tiny and innocent had such ferocity, such righteous indignation within. Oh, but she dug deep and found it. And then stalked off, her tiny spine ramrod straight.

I laughed and said "she certainly knew when to get the hell out of Dodge."

The middle daughter poked me hard - it hurt - in the ribs and said "MOM DON'T SWEAR IT'S CHRISTMAS! And you're being a terrible role model (yes, this is actually how she talks) - the CHILDREN (looking pointedly at my stepson) will think it's ok to SWEAR TOO!" As I laughed, saying oh no, he wouldn't, don't be silly, the boy of the family slowly stood, turned to face us, and said, "oh yeah?"

He leaned in, our attention riveted, and whispered:

"Dodge."