Time Travel Thursday

This week's Time Travel Thursday is brought to you by Courage. When you're not sure, do it anyway, and do it with feeling! You were probably right in the first place.

Come with me, if you will, to August, 1985. I was raised in a town of about 400 permanent residents, called Alden, Michigan. An odd chain of events had brought me to the tiny campus of Graceland College in Lamoni, Iowa. I had originally planned to attend Central Michigan University (being from Michigan, and all), but when I went to my final year of church camp, one of my good friends convinced me to change my mind. So, I called Graceland College, asked if I could possibly reinstate the financial aid package I'd turned down a few months before; then called Central Michigan University, coincidentally on the last possible day to get a full refund of my deposit, and told them I wasn't coming. Little ole' me, who had only been out of michigan to go to Cedar Point (an amusement park in Sandusky, OH) and Canada, just across the river from Detroit, packed up my life, left my fairly serious boyfriend who was being wishy-washy anyway, and traveled with the aforementioned good friend and her family to Lamoni, Iowa. Population not many.

But, it was mid-August. Soon, over 2,000 people would converge on the small town in the form of students. I still marvel that I thought 2,000 was a huge number of people. There are probably at least that many within a block's radius of my house.

Graceland College (now Graceland University) is sponsored by the Community of Christ, which was formerly The Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. You can see why they thought a name change would be nice, eh? I'd been born into this church and raised in it, and it was cool to be going to "our" college. But when the station wagon with my friend's family in it drove away, leaving my friend and me staring at the red glow of tail lights driving out of the parking lot and into the sunset, it seemed less "cool," and more like the most frightening, stupid, crazy decision I'd ever made. What was I thinking!

It was time for dinner, though, and my friend and I went into the commons. Do you know what a "commons" is? I had no idea. It's Graceland's word for cafeteria or dining hall or place where your food resides. It was named after Floyd McDowell. I guess he must have been a big eater.

So we walk into Floyd McDowell Commons. And there's a line. A big one. Goes all the way to the basement down a big, wide stairway. Since we'll be there for a while, and since I'm scared to death and want my mommy, but she's hundreds of miles away, I decide it'd be a good thing to make friends. I started talking to this boy in front of me. He had on a white tank top with navy blue edging, and across the front, Phoenix Phoenix Phoenix was in navy blue letters. The Phoenixs started higher up on the right side in solid letters, then the middle one was in the middle (huh! who'd have figured?) in a lighter pattern, and then the last one was lower and in a much lighter pattern.

I opened the conversation with some witty repartee:
"Phoenix...that's in Arizona, right?"
The boy was very polite, and said "yes, it's the capital." Then I thought I'd be cool and make him feel like a college student: "you must be a freshman."
"Yes," said the boy.
"And where do you go to school?"
"Here," he said, starting to look at me like I may have been dropped on my head. That day.
"Oh, my gosh! I'm sorry! You just look so..."
"Young. I know. I get that all the time. Nope, this is my first year here."
"Oh." (More witty repartee, as you can see)
"Are you sitting with anyone at dinner?"
"Just my friend, Anna.* Oh, this is my friend, Anna."

We all sat together at dinner, and we had roasted chicken. I remember that, because I had never seen anyone eat roasted chicken like he did. He could have survived three weeks on one piece. He got EVERY LAST BIT of anything resembling meat off the bones. I was amazed. And a little nauseous.

After dinner, we parted ways and got settled in our rooms, etc. Anna wasn't on the same hall as me, but when I went to see her room, I noticed where the bathroom was. Later that night, I went in to take a shower. I thought it was odd that we had to walk so far, even through the lobby of the dorm! But, I'd never to college before, so whatever. I got my shower, went back to my room, and as I did, I noticed the bathroom (complete with showers!) on OUR hall. Oh, well. I hope the parents and students in the lobby liked my mint green terrycloth robe and the towel I'd wrapped my hair in(I was perhaps a LITTLE out of my element!).

The next day I saw The Boy again. He was easy to spot...he always wore a hat. He had mostly colored fishing hats, those that old men wear, cotton with a contrasting stripe. His were all very brightly colored. He also had bright green shorts with the craziest, most colorful patterns on them. This was, after all, the 80's. But anyway, I saw The Boy walking across the lawn in front of Floyd McDowell Commons. He had on a yellow fishing hat with an orange stripe that day. I remember, because when I said hi to him, he tipped his hat! How many people do that anymore? Even then. We decidede to get together with Anna and play Trivial Pursuit that night.

We met in the lounge in the girls' dorm, which was in a loft above the main lobby. We played for a long time, and then talked for a while after that. Anna eventually excused herself to go to bed. She had a job in housekeeping and had to be up early. I had a job at F M Commons and started at 5:00 a.m., but I didn't feel like going to bed yet.

I found a notice on a bulletin board about a drama club forming, so Anna and I went to the theatre for the meeting. After all, I'd loved being in our high school plays. I'd been some type of talent agent in "Seasons in the Sun," and I'd played Frenchy in "Grease." Anna said she'd like to go, and I thought it would be fun. I walked in, and there was The Boy. It turns out he was majoring in theatre.

The three of us were becoming good friends, and hanging around having fun together. We'd play Trivial Pursuit, watch movies or the news together, go to town and see what was going on there (not much, by the way). I've always related better to males than females, and it was fun to have a new friend.

But then, one day, The Boy asked if Anna and I wanted to go to a movie in the student center. I asked Anna, and she said no, she'd better study. We saw The Karate Kid without her. Then there was a mixer/dance on the lawn outside our dorm. The three of us made plans to go, but then Anna had homework to do and about an hour before we were supposed to leave, told me she couldn't come.

I had noticed she "couldn't" get together very often anymore, and when she canceled for the dance, I finally asked her if she was upset. Did she feel excluded? I certainly didn't want that. Was he some jerk that was freaking her out, and I just didn't notice? Anna gave me a look that said, "get your head out of your butt, dummy!" But she didn't say that. She wouldn't. She was a preacher's daughter and she was, if nothing else, kind and sweet and good. "No," she said, "can't you see what's happening? He likes you. You guys would be a great couple." Then I felt bad. I said, "well, I am kind of starting to like him, but our friendship means more to me than a guy..."

"No," she said. "We'll still be friends. I did think I liked him for a little while, but really, he's not my type. He's more like a brother to me. He lights up when he sees you, and you do the same when you see him. I think you two need to be alone."

So, I went to the dance with The Boy. I explained that Anna couldn't be there, and he and I danced for awhile. It was so hot that night, everyone at the dance was practically dripping. The Boy said, "let's go sit for awhile," and we went to a quieter part of the lawn. As he sat down on a road box (from the band playing at the dance-I couldn't tell you who they were), I noticed he was REALLY out of breath. His body was almost rocking back and forth, and he was literlly dripping sweat. I asked him if he was okay, and he said "feel this." He took my hand and put it at the pulse point at the base of his neck--his heart rate was sky high! I'm not a medical person, but it was at least three times the normal rate. I went to get him some water, and by the time I came back, he was fine again.

At that moment, after the crisis had passed, I knew. Like they said in the movie "When Harry Met Sally," I knew the way you know about a good melon. He was The One. It wasn't a magical, star-studded, swelling-music moment. There were no violins. I just knew. It was more than love, it was, as corny as it sounds, a certainty that we were meant to be together.

It took him longer. We had our first "real" date on my birthday, September 14. He took me out for dinner, to The Pizza Shack in Lamoni. He wanted me to try a ham and pineapple pizza. I'd never heard of it, but didn't want to be a drag, so I tried it...it was delicious! Afterward, we went to my dorm to get the presents I'd saved to open, ones sent by my family for my birthday. We walked to the park, and in the middle of the park was a red caboose. We thought it was cool, so we went inside it and climbed around a bit, then I opened my presents from home. I got a pink long-sleeved t-shirt with the words Torch Lake screen printed on it in navy letters from my parents, and a stuffed "Odie" (from the comic strip "Garfield") from my sister. The Boy said he didn't have much money to buy me a present, but he produced a gift bag anyway. Inside the bag was a bottle of Cherry Coke. He'd been around me enough to know that I liked that. I was so touched! I thought it was incredibly thoughtful and sweet of him to do...he'd already bought dinner, after all.

I thanked him for sharing my birthday with me, my first without my family. I was sitting there on the bench, just smiling and thinking how happy I was. And he was sitting next to me smiling...when suddenly we looked at each other, and this was just like the movies...our heads slowly came together until we kissed. It was perfect, the best kiss I've ever had.

We dated the whole year, went to our formals (like a prom, but for college students) together, and were together every spare moment. We did theatre together and he taught me the backstage stuff. We spent hours and hours together doing shows, painting scenery, walking through parks, he came to the football games because I was in the band. And then, in about February, we were in a different park. The snow was melting, and we were by a river with one of those 6 foot diameter galvanized pipes that they use to route a river under a road. I said, "so, the school year is ending soon."
"Yes," said the boy."
I knew he wasn't planning on coming back for the next year, so I said, "It looks like we'll have to part ways."
"I don't want to," said The Boy.
"Neither do I, but what choice do we have? You're not coming back."
"No," he said, "but you could come with me."
"To Arizona?" (By now, I had a firmer grasp on geography.)
"Yes," he said. "There are lots of places to go to school there, and lots of jobs. You could make a living and still go to school."

And so, that's what we did. I packed up my life once again, and moved it even further west, to Phoenix. In November of 1988 we were married, both of us at the wise, ripe old age of 21. And today, almost 19 years later, we are still married. He's still a great kisser. He's a great father to our two kids. I'm just now getting back to school, but that was my choice. He's still working in theatre, as a technical director now. He's still the one person I can really talk to and remain myself, not having to fit into someone else's mold of what I "should" be. We've been through hell and back together more than once. And he still looks young (though being married to me all these years, I don't know how). The Boy is Tony. And he still buys me Cherry Coke when he wants to make me smile!


*"Anna" is not her real name.

Randomness

We finished painting our bedroom this past weekend. We also got rid of a bunch of junk, rearranged the furniture, and cut out the carpet (not in that particular order, actually). We'll eventually lay down new flooring; perhaps Pergo or it's cheaper, knock-off cousin. No carpet. Carpet and the desert don't do well together. Carpet collects so much dust. It's not good for allergy sufferers, like our entire family. So, carpet is history. For us.

We refinanced our house, and in so doing, learned it appraised for far more than I expected...yay, God! This little gem of information will help us purchase the Pergo. And the three toilets we want to replace, and more paint, and facia board for the outside of our house. And more paint for the outside. And heck, maybe even an automatic sprinkler system, if I can get brave enough to put one together and install it. But we're not doing the outside until fall.

Why procrastinate, you ask? I live in Phoenix. It was 110 degrees today, with temperatures up to 115 expected by the weekend. Happily, we'll be out of town, camping, for my son's 10th birthday. He wanted to. And, it's a heck of a lot of fun! And much cooler, too.

I checked my personal e-mail probably 16 times today at work. I almost bought 2 Coconut Lime Verbena and 2 Mango Mandarin lotions from Bath & Body Works online today at work. There's a buy-3-get-one-free sale going on. But then the total was $35.00 and change, and I thought, nah. There was, obviously, not much going on at work today. Oh, there will be. We've got a 3,000 piece mailing to get out this week. But the other admin, who swore up and down she'd ordered the envelopes for this mailing...didn't. So now I've printed 3,000 labels and...and I'm waiting.

It's kind of funny. I went to a Franklin Covey seminar not long ago because I felt completely disorganized and at loose ends at work. Now I've put everything in my planner, and it's all done. And I have nothing to do. I know I shouldn't actually say that out loud or in writing, because when I do, things start to mysteriously pile up. But you know, after twiddling my thumbs trying to look busy today, I'm up for something to do. So I don't fear writing it down. I may be busy, but at least the dang clock will move! There's nothing more frustrating than being at work with nothing to do. And no, I had no projects that I'd ignored...they were all in my planner and got done! The Franklin Covey course, by the way, was called "Focus." Totally worth your boss's money. It was really, truly wonderful.

Today after work, I stopped at Safeway (a grocery store) to grab a loaf of bread...we were out. I bought my bread and went out to the car. I was kind of in a hurry to pick up the kids from grandma's house, because although she is totally fabulous in every way with them, I don't want to take advantage of her incredible generosity. She really is that great...and she loves my kids like they're her own. But I digress...so, I'm walking through the parking lot in 110 degree heat, which, if you haven't done, sucks. I get almost to my car, and this guy walks out from between two other cars (I really don't think he was trying to sneak, we just both walked that direction at the same time) and says "Ma'am, can I ask you a question?" I didn't expect him and was startled, and then I got really irritated. I snapped, "No!" and then got into my car fast and locked the door. Then I called the store (because the receipt had the number) and told them they had a panhandler in the parking lot.

I am usually not like that at all. I've actually emptied my wallet to give to someone who asked me for money (okay, I don't carry much cash, ever, so it wasn't that big a deal). I'm a big believer in the part of the Bible that says that when we do things for others, we are really doing them for Christ. I've given money to guys at street corners. I did call the police on one street corner guy, but only because he had a baby--no kidding, an actual infant, in a baby seat out in the sun next to him. Then, I didn't feel guilty...you DO NOT EVER sit a baby outside in the sun here. People overheat very quickly, and the little critter didn't even have a hat on! I am telling you all of this not so you'll think I'm a fabulous person. I'm not. But I don't usually get mad and just "snap" like that at people who need help. I don't know what got into me today. I just remember feeling totally vulnerable, and the only thing going through my head, was "Get in your car and lock the door." Weird.

Today I took my kids and my niece and nephew to Bible School. It was wonderful. I called in to work to tell them I'd be late, took the kids, had a nice conversation with my niece (she's 12; the others are between 7 and 10), then stopped at Einstein Brothers for a bagel and coffee, which meant that I actually got breakfast! It's a whole different day when I eat breakfast, take my medication, and take vitamins! Maybe I should do that more often. Only next time, I'm tryingi the medium roast instead of dark. I liked the dark, but it was a bit too...dark, I guess.

Well, it's late and the sleepies are catching up to me. Good night, and have a pleasant tomorrow!

Done!

Well, I mis-spoke in my last post. I didn't accomplish all that alone...God was there with me, giving me energy and keeping me going!


"We" finished the following:

-primed the ginormous ceiling patch.
-filled the plaster that's cracked next to our bed (plaster is a royal pain, by the way!).
-Decided not to prime that cracked plaster, because it's so thin it doesnt need texturing. I think.
-paint primer on the bathroom ceiling (but I didn't do the window yet. I may, later. The primer is oil-based, and wow, is it strong smelling!
-I'm out for dinner. Then I'm watching movies and knitting, unless I get a big spurt of energy after I eat. Not terribly likely.

God is good. It's a good day. There is a bunch of stuff done in my house, and I feel lots better. And lots more tired. And hungry. But good.

A Productive Day!

Hello, all you out there in readerland! Today, we're starting the "big remodel." So far, I have:

-made waffles for my son for breakfast (my daughter doesn't like waffles-she had an apple and cheese).
-made lunch.
-patched a hole in my wall which was made by my doorknob.
-spackled that.
-scraped the damaged paint off our ceiling from our roof leak years ago ('bout time, eh?).
-spackled an approximately 3 x 3 foot patch of ceiling, covering all the damaged area, so I can re-texture it.
-killed a cockroach
-killed a very large black widow spider (I was getting the primer paint from the back storeroom).
-primed the former doorknob hole so I can texture it successfully (says the can of orange peel).
-primed some other little holes I filled in "while I was at it."

And I am about to:

-prime the ginormous ceiling patch.
-fill the plaster that's cracked next to our bed (plaster is a royal pain, by the way!).
-prime that.
-paint primer on the bathroom ceiling and window (okay, we have hardly any windows in our house, but by golly, there's one in the bathroom! It doesn't open, it's too high to see out of, and it lets in the ridiculously hot desert sun on the west side of the house, and projects said sunlight to the thermostat in the hallway. Love the window).
-sit and knit and watch movies.

I'll let you know how it goes.

It's Been Awhile...

It's been awhile since I discussed my walk with Jesus, the whole reason for the name change on my blog. March, actually. Quite a while indeed.

I was thinking about it last night and started to write about it, but then I my husband came home and I started watching a movie and totally forgot that I was writing. But, here I am now, with a few minutes free before we head to Home Depot (big "project" weekend at the house this weekend), and I wanted to give this a shot again.

As I said in my March post, choosing to follow Jesus has been a great decision for me. It's freeing. I am now a much better "praise-er," and I actually understand what praising God is. I understand what I was missing in my former religion, the Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. No, it's not the Mormon church, but an offshoot of it. I know you won't believe me; everyone I tell this to can't believe there's a difference. But there is. I won't go into all the differences now, because I want to say that it's also been a fairly difficult thing for me to leave my "religion."

When I was born, my family were members of the RLDS church. I went to the church on Sundays and made very good friends there. Close friends. When I was old enough, I went to church camps with my very good friends I'd made, and in many ways, church camp was the happiest part of my life. I met more good friends there, and I went there every summer, from the summer after I finished 3rd grade until the summer after I graduated high school. It was a beautiful campground called Park of the Pines in northern Michigan. It had three terraces (it was in kind of hilly terrain), and there was the lower level where the campground met up with Lake Charlevoix and where our campfire circle was, the middle level where most of the camp buildings were located, and the upper level that was used mostly for "Reunion," a kind of family camp also in the summer. There was a bathroom up there, and a kickin' swing set (I still love to swing on swings!), and lots and lots of spaces for RVs to hook up to. The baseball diamond was up there, too, but I didn't care much about sports.

I can remember being in the Primary arts & crafts class when I was a little kid. I remember the smell of paste and old, weathered wood that made up the building. I remember the smell of the dining hall, and the clean-but-sticky-from-humidity vinyl tablecloths, the little white plastic butter dishes with yellow daisies on the side that held peanut butter (in case you didn't like what they were serving for dinner, PB & J were always available. This was WAY before peanut allergies!). My friend Lorie and I would sing as we washed dishes when it was our turn for KP (Kitchen Patrol-essentially, doing dishes), and I remember Fred and Michelle playing with the water squirter. Michelle would squirt at Fred's feet, and yell "Dance! Dance!" It was fun. Some old ladies crabbed about the "chain gang" singing in the dish room, so we made fun of them (quietly, of course), and kept singing, but quieter.

At campfire time, it felt almost magical to be there. We were all seated around the fire on blankets, if we brought them, or logs; the water was lapping quietly, and every once in awhile a wave would hit the roller raft just right, and it would make a hollow sound. We'd sing the fun songs first, lots of them. Then we'd move on to rounds and quieter songs, and then we'd sing the really spiritual, worshipful songs. The coals would be glowing by this time, but the fire would have mostly died down. It truly was magical, and I felt very spiritual and connected with God there.

As we got older, of course, we had more free rein as to where we wanted to be on the campground at a given time. The Senior High camp had a lot of free time, and pretty much had the run of the place so long as we let someone know where we were and were back in time for the next scheduled activity. We'd talk, and play board games on the picnic tables outside the dining hall, and play volleyball, and laugh and talk some more.

And then I moved to Arizona. There are, of course, RLDS churches here. Now they're called Community of Christ. But when I got here, in 1986, we were still RLDS. My first summer here I worked as a counselor at a Senior High camp here. And it was awful. There were way fewer kids, yes; but the real problem was that they didn't seem like the kids in Michigan. They were different. They didn't hang around the center part of camp, they wanted to go off in the woods in boy-girl pairs. And yes, there was some of that in Michigan. But not all day long.

Church here was different, too. The congregation here was much larger than the one back home, but I didn't seem to fit in. I tried for years and years, from 1986 until 2002. And I just didn't fit in. Everyone tried to be nice, too; it wasn't that they were mean or unconcerned. But I didn't fit.

So, that's when I accepted an invitation from my friend to go to choir practice with her. And that's why, when I felt God leading me, I left my church. And took my kids with me. I left my life-long religion. And decided to walk with Jesus and accept the fact that I do not have to earn my way to heaven. That Jesus' death provided that for me. That I could stop feeling like I'd never measure up, because I no longer had to measure up.

I miss it terribly, sometimes. Oddly, not the church here in Arizona; the one in Michigan. I miss my friend, who, like me, eventually got married and had kids and we lost touch. I miss Park of the Pines. I miss the roller raft and the dock and the swings, but I especially miss the campfire.

What's New

Hello, there, and thanks for stopping by! I haven't written in awhile (again). I must get better. But, on to what's new...

My son successfully finished the school year and (I think, though I still don't have a report card) he passed 4th grade. What a year!

My daughter also did very well. She cried the entire night of the last day of school because her beloved teacher for 2nd grade, Ms. Richter, is leaving to move back to Iowa. She is a fantastic teacher and taught both of my kids. We will miss her dearly.

My husband has taken a week off and is hiking Pariah Canyon in Utah. He's probably actually sleeping as I type, but during the day he and two of his lifelong friends are hiking.

I got an A in Math 213, Math for Elementary Educators. I'm a happy camper. Now there's one week down, four to go in Math 214, Math for Elementary Educators and I'm done with math!! Woo-hoo!

I'm shamelessly stealing from Tori and making this day Time Travel Tuesday...Tori blogged about her first date with her husband; I'll post about my first actual date to "mix it up."

Let's travel back to October, 1982. I'm a sophomore in high school and only 15 instead of the 16 years old my dad would have preferred for my first car date...especially with an older guy. But, older guy's dad and my dad worked together, so he relented.

It was (I believe) a homecoming dance. My date's name was Jim. I was kind of freaked, yet excited, because here was a guy 2 years older than me asking me out (okay, I know...no big deal now, but in high school it is a big deal. At least in my world). I was on the phone with his sister Jackie, who was a good friend of mine, and he started teasing me through her, as big brothers are wont to do. He accused me of chasing David, a guy I'd hung around with a lot (though not dated...egad! My father would have a fit!!) in 8th grade. I said, through the ever patient and kind Jackie, that I had not chased David, rather David had chased me. Then Jim got on the phone, and said something about why didn't I chase him, and would I like to go to the homecoming dance with him.

I can't remember how I got permission to go, but I did. Then I got lectured non-stop from that day until the dance about proper date behavior. The guy must come to the door; I was not allowed to go out with some jerk who honked his horn in the driveway and expected me to show up. I must be home on time, and he should walk me to the door...etc, etc. Yes, dad. Geeeeeeeesh!

The day of the dance I was babysitting, and I remember being worried that the people I was working for wouldn't be home in time...but they were. I went home and got ready. I wore a
mid-calf length denim skirt and a long-sleeved baby blue cowl neck (the really droopy version of the turtleneck where only the neck part droops; there is still ample coverage because the shirt itself [not the neck] doesn't droop).

Our class had recently gotten the class rings we ordered, and I remember loving the fact that my ring (with a fake-esque sapphire stone) coordinated with my outfit. Jim came to pick me up and we were both nervous the whole ride to the school, which was 12 miles away. At least I was nervous. He said, "don't you hate first dates? It's so hard to know what to talk about." This, at least I hope, loosened me up a little bit. He may not have been nervous at all, come to think about it. He may have just wanted me to feel at ease.

I don't remember much about the dance except for the fact that he held my hand while we were taking breaks from dancing. His class ring (also with a fake-esque sapphire stone, by the way) started cutting into my finger, and I asked him if he'd move it to his other hand. He did. I guess we danced, but I don't remember much about it.

This I remember, because it was so goofy and funny. After the dance, he took me to the local pizza place (it was a small town and had only one pizza place). We laughed and talked and had a good time. Eventually there were only two pieces of pizza left, and he asked if I wanted another one. I said maybe a small one. He took one and left one for me. But the pizza was on one of those metal stands in the middle of the table, and I really couldn't see "my" slice very well. I picked it up, and it had to be at least 1/3 of the pizza! I was embarrassed for a second, but then he laughed at me and I started laughing. It was funny. I didn't finish it.

He drove me home, and I thanked him for the evening and reached for the door handle. He called my name, and when I turned to look at him, he kissed me. It was a soft, nice, but not too fast kiss. Then, he walked me to the door, and said he'd had a very good time. He gave me a peck-type kiss at the door. Then he went home.

We ended up "going together," if anyone reading this remembers that term. He wrote me sweet notes which I saved for years but have now lost, he bought me a beautiful opal ring that I still have, and bought me a beautiful heart-shaped box of candy for Valentines day with a nice card. I kept his notes in the candy box, and am really still a little bummed that I lost them. He eventually wanted me to sleep with him but I wouldn't, and near the end of the school year, which was his senior year, he broke up with me. The next morning at 6:30 I was outside feeding and watering the dogs (we were early risers, having to catch the bus to school by 7:15) when my mom said the phone was for me. He said he'd been an idiot, he loved me, and wanted to get back together. We did, but in time he still wanted to sleep with me and I still wouldn't, and the school year was almost over, so we broke up for good.

Of course, I ended up with the man of my dreams, to whom I've been married for 18 years. He's way cool. I'll tell you more about our first date another day, because I must, after all, get my beauty sleep!

Hysterical Fear-mongers

Good evening from the "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore" desk.

Have you ever encountered an idea that had been generally accepted by everyone, and you realized you'd gone along with others in being accepting of it, only to realize that it made no sense whatsoever? I have. It's the famed "zero-tolerance" policy that pops up now and again. It's WAY out of hand.

I suppose zero tolerance policies have their place in the world. I have zero tolerance for my kids running into the street, in front of an oncoming car. I don't, however, have a zero tolerance policy for my kids' running. They can run (safely) all they want. Running is not the problem. The street is not the problem. The car is not the problem. The problem is slightly more difficult than that to discern, but it can be done, with some thought...the fact that they don't see the oncoming car is the problem.

Schools (a staff member of which I may someday be) are famous for zero tolerance policies. There is zero tolerance for drugs on campus. It sounds good, right? Drugs at school can't be good...or can they? 18-year-old Anne is old enough to vote, can legally get married, can choose to enter the armed forces and fight and die for her country, yet she can't bring Tylenol onto her high school campus to relieve her headache. 12-year-old Ashley can walk her little brother home from the bus stop, enter the house with her own key, start dinner for the family, and help little bro with his homework, but she can't bring aspirin to school for her sore knee (she's on the track team). Zero tolerance, after all.

Are kids getting all hopped up on Tylenol and aspirin? Nope. They're getting hopped up on crack, meth, coke, and other illegal drugs. But administrators adamantly cite the zero tolerance policy. I guess it's too difficult for them to discern the difference between meth and Tylenol, so Susan and Ashley are in for it. And, by the way, the kids getting hopped up on meth are still getting hopped up. They just know how to get around the rules. Too bad for the kids who just need an aspirin. And when we ask why meth and crack and pot are still in use at school? Well, my goodness! The administration is overworked! (yeah...what with all the tylenol they have to confiscate...)

You know, when I was in high school, I borrowed aspirin from a friend. Our lockers were right outside the principal's office, but it wasn't a big deal, because back then, hysterical fear-mongers were NOT allowed to run the country. People could actually use their brains and think! Imagine that!

And yes...there's a reason for my rant and rave tonight. Two weeks ago, my husband called me at work and said our son was serving an in-school suspension for making a paper sword. Apparently the principal had tried to call my cell phone, but it was out of charge. Oddly, I've repeatedly asked them to call my work phone during the day because my cell phone is in my purse. I have a headset at work and hear every call come in. But, they "forgot."

I spoke with the principal, who said my son was waving the sword in a threatening manner (I know...paper shouldn't be threatening, but we're dealing with hysterical fear-mongers here). Now I've been called to school RE.PEAT.ED.LY. this year to pick up my son when he's committed infractions like not stopping his swing in mid-air to avoid a collision with a student who purposely walked in front of him to cause trouble (as described to me by the principal); for coloring on another boy's shirt (who was also coloring on my son's shirt), for taking the insoles out of his own shoes, and various other times. And I. Have. Had.It.

I said to the principal that I had been perfectly willing to come to school because I am a supportive parent. I want my child to behave. I want him to learn. I support the teachers. But frankly, I also have a job, one which I cannot quit in order to sit next to my son all day every day, to ensure he does what he is supposed to do. I just can't. At some point there has to be some classroom management. And I suggested that when he is sent to the office from now on, that the principal not reward him by playing chess with him. Hell, I'd go to the office at every opportunity too, if the principal played games with me!

I have since been calling the school every day to see how my son is doing. And about a week ago, I spoke with Ms. Clarkson* again. The principal wasn't available, and she wondered the reason for my call. I told her I had questions about the paper sword incident. Ms. Clarkson* told me she had been the one to take the sword away. Jackpot!! I asked her what my son had been saying as he waved the sword. She said he wasn't really waving it and wasn't saying anything. She went on to say that "we made the sword, and put a staple in the end to hold it together." She later "saw him walking down the hall with it, but didn't take it away." Then, she saw him in the classroom pointing it at someone, and THEN she decided it was inappropriate. After "we" had made it and let him walk around with it, suddenly, ZAP! Zero tolerance. Or maybe 0.25 tolerance. Or 0.95.

Weapons in school...bad, right? But, wait! What kind? What context? Wait...do we have to...oh my gosh...THINK? In a school? Use our brains?? Say it isn't so! Oh, the humanity!

Real weapons (actual guns, swords, knives, numchuks, daggers, cannons, catapults, AK-47s)...BAD. A table knife left in a pocket from a Boy Scout campout? Not great, but no reason to clear the campus. Jack knives? Probably not great either, but again, this is NOT a crisis. Take it away, move on with your day, and TEACH THE KIDS. A paper weapon (even a paper howitzer)? Ummm...let's see...we let them use scissors, right? And pencils? Pencils are hard. You could hurt someone with a pencil. Oh, crap!! Maybe we should ban them??

No. Paper is not threatening (okay, unless it's a court summons or something). There should be no zero tolerance measures taken against paper.

Hysterical fear-mongers: try crocheting. It's relaxing.


*=names changed to protect the author from lawsuits by hysterical fear-mongers.

Math

I had class tonight. I take one class that lasts five weeks, and then start another class. This one is Math for Elementary Educators. I know I've discussed before my comfort level with and skills in math. It's not my favorite subject.

But as I'm going through this class, things seem different about math. I try to figure out much more than I would have dared before taking algebra. I trust myself a little more, and don't whine as much.

The teacher seems to be confused a lot of the time. He doesn't seem to (though he might) know what a lot of the answers are. And in seeing this every week, I've come to the realization that being "good" at math doesn't mean that one knows the answers to all the questions. It means that a person is willing to look for the answers.

All my life, until recently, I assumed I wasn't good at math. And I can do a lot of it, surprisingly. And I hear people all around me every day say that they aren't good at math. What they mean is (and what I meant was) that the answers don't just come naturally to them, and they do to some people. But really, that has no bearing on whether or not a person is good at math. Just being interested enough and committed enough to try and solve the problem makes one good at math.

Who's a Baaaaaaaad Blogger?

Me. Well, at least, I'm not terribly consistent. Sorry for the lack of posts.

I've been thinking (uh-oh!!!) and it seems to me that I'm not being myself when I post. I'm kind of trying to present a "good" image, and folks, I'm not always good. But when I don't share that, and just try and show the shiny, happy moments of my life, well, then, blogging starts to turn into something like a chore. Which it isn't...or shouldn't be. So I may post something you don't like. Or that shocks you. I want this to be therapeutic, fun, creative. Not stifling. So. Now you know.

I spent the weekend with my friend, who had a baby 8 weeks ago and who had thyroid cancer. They removed the thyroid, the cancer's gone, but so is her energy. In addition to the 8 week old baby, she has a two year old son, and, though her hubby is trying, he's getting worn out, too. So I went to play Mary Poppins.

I haven't woken up with a fussy, hungry baby for almost 8 years, so I thought I'd be out of practice. I was sleeping on an air mattress on the floor, and the baby (Elizabeth) was in her playpen right above my head. She went to sleep at 8:00, and we went about 9:30. I kept waking up, about every hour, to make sure she was still breathing. She didn't wake up until 3:00! Seven hours was pretty impressive, I thought! I did wake up when she did, and we went to the kitchen to make her bottle. She watched, so patiently, as I added water (I'd put the formula in the night before) and shook it up. Then she quietly ate, and was in a very good mood. About 4 a.m. she went back to sleep, and then her brother heard us and started crying. I went to his room, and he said, "poop! poop!" So I picked him up and changed his diaper. There was no poop. He just wanted the attention. But he got a fresh diaper and some snuggles, and then he said, "Bed! Bed!" and I heartily agreed! I put him in and he went right back to sleep.

I guess I haven't forgotten how to take care of an infant, even though my youngest is 8! I came home very tired, but happy for the experience.

Did I mention we finally got a new bed?? It. Is. FABULOUS!!!! I'm sleeping so much better, and I hurt so much less in the morning. It's really stunning how much of a difference a good nights' sleep makes!

Actually, I'm a little drowsy now...I think I'll head to bed. G'night, and thanks for reading!

Well, it's been an eventful week here at WWJ central. No sooner did we get the leak in our wall fixed and have the adjuster out, than our air conditioner quit. Completely. Ka-put. Done. Dead. Doornail.

$8,000 later, the contractors are here putting the finishing touches on our shiny new air conditioner. I didn't really have $8,000.00. Not. Even. Close. So, while I'm grateful that our credit cleared and we can finance this new mess, I'm a little bummed by now.

I hate to be a whiner, but for today, I give up. I need a good cry and some ice cream, preferably Blue Bell (I know Tori will appreciate that). Probably Blue Bell Chocolate, but their homemade Vanilla is really, REALLY good, too. Especially with Magic Shell on top. And maraschino cherry juice. LOTS of maraschino cherry juice.

Hoping for a better tomorrow, I remain,

Your Friend,

Pitiful

Got an Oar?

Yeah, well. The best laid plans...don't always lay down right. Remember how I said that the water I found in our hallway looked to be residual, I was to dry it up, and if it didn't come back, all was well? All's NOT well.

We had a broken pipe. The kind plumber came out to fix it, and $400 later, that's taken care of. I'm thankful we got our tax return deposit in our bank account on Friday; it will really help. Now, however, the "restoration" starts. I've been crawling on my hands and knees for hours on my son's bedroom floor, picking up toys, clothes (mostly sodden), books (many sodden), and paper (wet paper-yuck!!). Do you know how many K'Nex and Lincoln Logs and Legos and Magnetix and McDonald's cheap plastic crap fit into a 9-year-old boy's bedroom? Yeah...I didn't really count. Lots. LOTS. I can tell you that.

And now, at 11:04 p.m. Mountain Standard Time (ok, can we please, please, as a country, just pick a friggin' time??), we (yay! my husband is home from work!) are starting on our daughter's room. Do you know how many My Pretty Ponies, Barbies, Polly-who-the-hell-thought shoes measuring less than 1/8 inch in length were a good idea-Pockets, Care Bears, Princesses, dress-up clothes, and McDonald's cheap plastic crap fit into an 8-year-old girl's room? I'm probably not gonna count, in the interest of my own sanity.

But, on a good note, the city finally picked up the dead puppy! Woo-Friggin'-Hoo!!!!

:-)

What a Day!

Wow. WOW. What a day!

First, I joined the walkers at work, so I'll be walking from 11:00 a.m. until 11:30 every day. I went today and did everything the others did, with the exception of one floor of the parking garage (they walked up the stairs to the 7th floor, I made it to the 6th. I still rock for trying). I felt great afterward, like I probably wouldn't die of heart failure if I took the stairs up to ground level from the basement of the parking garage, where I park daily.

I picked up my kids after work, went home, and found my new neighbor standing in front of my house. She looked poised to get in my car as I parked, but she didn't. I said "hi, can I help you?" in a friendly manner, because I've never met her-only her daughter. She told me that some jerk in a car hit a puppy and drove off. The puppy died, and he came back later on a bike, picked up the dead puppy, and PUT HER IN THE LAWN CHAIR ON OUR FRONT PORCH!! So my 8 year old and 10 year old were welcomed home by a dead puppy. This sweet neighbor called Animal Control, and they were supposed to come get the puppy. As of 8:30 this evening, they hadn't.

I went to the mailbox (past the dead puppy) to get the mail, only to find that the city is bitching and moaning about the height of the weeds in the alley. So, I went out back and cut the weeds down with the weed eater. I finally thought of what to do with the dog, so I got a box, and kind of dumped her into it. I set her, in the box, out on the curb, because my kids wouldn't even come out front to water the flowers with me. I sprayed the lawn chair with 50/50 bleach and water, and let it sit while I watered the flowers, then sprayed the chair off to rinse it.

Then I came in the house, we had dinner and did evening stuff, and as I put the kids to bed, I noticed water oozing out under my son's bedroom carpet. We had our outdoor faucet, directly in front of his room, fixed yesterday, and the plumber (who actually answered his phone at 9:30 p.m.) thinks it's "residual water" from the leak our outdoor faucet had. So, I dried it up as best I could, and if it doesn't come back, all is well.

I'm really tired of this whole adult, parent, homeowner, grownup thing.

Help!

In 1993, my husband and I bought our first house. In 1993, waterbeds were still big fun, so we got a "big waterbed that we bought with the bread we had saved for a couple of years." [Thanks, Billy Joel, for use of the lyrics!] And it was a fabulous, comfy, warm, awesome place to sleep for about 10 years. And then, we noticed that we hurt all over every morning. It was difficult to launch ourselves and our children from the bed in the morning. Yes, we let our babies sleep in the waterbed with us-their mother was far less nervous for their safety when they were snuggled up against her. It's one of the reasons we got a king-sized bed...but I digress.

About three years ago, the above comfy, wonderful waterbed lost its touch. So, thinking that cheaper was at least okay, if not better, we got an adjustable air mattress. It's one of those like an Aerobed, but it's not the brand name. There was a remote that pumped up or deflated the bed at the touch of a button. And then...

The mattress started to leak. Quite a bit. We'd have to wake up at least once, usually twice during the night to inflate the bed. The pump was so loud, we both couldn't help but wake up. I started having daily back and neck aches. So, we bought another stupid air mattress, this one without its own pump, but with two twin mattresses that attach with a zipper, so we have one king sized bed with dual adjustability. We got that mattress fairly well adjusted. And then...

We got our taxes done. Since I'm in school full-time, we'll get a fair chunk of change back when the government processes our tax return. So, now we can afford an actual, piece-of-furniture, non-air mattress, honest-to-God BED!! As soon as we get our tax return. And there are all kinds of beds out there. My husband is extremely low maintenance in almost every aspect of life, but has a little lower back pain now that he's 40. I have back pain quite easily, and said pain can also gather in my left shoulder/neck area, meet up with friends, and give me twisting, horrible pain like crazy until I want to throw up. Thus, we can't have your joe-average, cheap, hard, $200 mattress, I don't think. So, my request for help refers to this...

What kind of bed do you think we should get? All I know is that we would like to stick with the King size, having had a queen air mattress. Any and all replies will be much appreciated! Please respond in the comments. And as always, have a nice day!

Lilacs

I got a lilac at work yesterday. I work in an anesthesia practice (the doctors who make you feel no pain during surgery) and I walked back into our surgery scheduling area. One of the ladies had these purple flowers on her desk. As I got closer I could see they were lilacs! She very graciously shared one with me. Lilacs don't grow in Phoenix, so I haven't seen one in quite some time. But this person has a friend in northern Arizona who has a lilac bush, and gave her some when she visited.

I love lilacs. I always have. They are a strong reminder of my childhood in Michigan, where they grew almost wild. Every spring, for a few precious weeks, they bloomed around our neighborhood. If I rode my bike up to Torch River Drive, near Adam Wayne's house, I could sit under huge lilac bushes and just smell the wonderful scent, and be in the cool shade of the leafy bushes and flowers. Lilacs don't really feel like roses, or other flowers. They're cool to the touch, and almost damp. The individual, plus-sign shaped purple blossoms come in so many different shades of purple, some dark and some lighter, but you can't see the variations unless you look closely. There are also white lilacs, and darker purples, but these are my favorite.

I sat at my desk yesterday and today, and every once in awhile I'd pick up the red plastic Solo cup that held my precious flower. I'd hold it to my face and just inhale. The smell brought back my childhood, for a little while. I'd remember eagerly waiting for the lilacs to bloom every spring, seeing them and all their beauty from my vantage point on the school bus, and smelling them on the little bush in our yard and the larger bushes in our neighbors', the Jenckes' yard.

It brought back what seems a simpler time, of neighborhoods and friends and school. Of bike rides and summer jobs and youth group meetings. Of sitting on "the wall" eating ice cream cones with my best friend, Rhonda. I feel sad that today's kids and young adults won't ever know what it was like there, at that time. What listening to Madonna and Toni Basil and Duran Duran and Def Leppard, while dreaming of being married to my boyfriend, was like. But then, when I was living in that time, people older than me talked about simpler times, too; and they probably lament that I didn't get to listen to the Beach Boys, Janis Joplin, and Jan and Dean sing. History always looks better, I think, because our minds romanticize what really was, smooth out the bad patches, and change it into a sepia-toned, happy memory that wants to pull us from where we really are now, back into it. But we can't go back. Only forward. And the lilacs will bloom next spring, too.

It's Monday!

I was looking for something for my boss today, a picture of a sniffling child (he’s a doctor) and came across something really disturbing on the internet (I know…what a shock…something disturbing on the internet. Who’d have thought?). It was a story of how this person, when he/she was a child (I don’t know which, didn’t read enough) had a father who burned all of his/her toys because he was angry. I am still really upset. I feel so badly for this kid, who by now has grown up enough to blog about it. It makes me want to cry.

This is yet another unwelcome aspect of depression…I seem to feel others' pain so very, VERY deeply. I mean, I understand this had nothing to do with me at all; I don’t even know who it was directed at. I don’t know if the father bought more toys, or felt bad, or anything. I just know I want to cry, and if I give in to this feeling and let it fester, I will begin thinking that I can’t possibly live on the Earth any more, because it’s too horrible here. So of course, I’m praying and listening to happy music and blogging here at work, which is frowned upon, in order to stay sane. We live in a crazy world, where horrible things happen.

Now, this all happened before I heard about yet another person with easy access to a gun went ballistic on a campus and killed 30-some people today. Which didn’t affect me nearly as much as the burned toys story. What in the world is up with that? But more importantly, why can people so easily acquire guns? Seriously. How is it necessary for everyone to have access to a firearm?

Happy Easter!

So, how was your Easter? Ours was good. This is my son, Ben, coloring eggs with my Dad.

And this is my daughter, Julie.

We were at my parents' house last night and today for Easter. We had a great time, and great food. Too much food. But great, nonetheless. This is mom and dad. They're coloring eggs, too. Mom is awake, but the flash on my camera is bright.

Did you celebrate Easter? What did you do?

Algebra

Tiffany reminded me that I hadn't posted the good news...I'm done with Algebra!! Forever!! The dragon that kept me from finishing my degree for 20 years has been slayed. Woo-hoo!!! I got a B- for the first class, and a B for the second. I'm not a dang bit ashamed, either. I did each class in 5 weeks, as opposed to the 15 "normal" universities give you. Plus, I learned how to do a lot of it, so that counts for something (counts...algebra...ha!)

I will happily take my B- and my B and dance in happy circles around the voices in my head that told me I couldn't do it. With God's help, I certainly did pass!

Farkle

1)Get six dice.
2)Roll them.
3)Ones count as 100 points, fives count as 50 points.
4)When you roll, you must keep at least a one or a five for each roll, but you may "give back" any others and roll them again, if you choose.
5) You must roll a score of 500 to get "on the board" the first time; after that no minimum score is required.
5)You can roll until you decide you're done...but...6)On any roll, if you get NO ones or fives, you've Farkled (which equals no points, even if you have saved other dice with ones or fives).
7)On the first roll of each turn, if you get NO ones or fives, you have a Grand Farkle. Which doesn't help any, it's still a score of 0. It's just more fun to say.

Timing

Timing really is everything.

I took the kids to their usual children's choir practice tonight, and as we were coming home, turning the corner onto our street, I went by my husband's grandpa's house. I had noticed the police car with blinking lights, but thought it odd that the car the policeman had apparently pulled over was behind his car...hmm...

Rounding the corner, I saw a ginormous tow truck in grandpa's driveway, with a car on it. At this point my mind started to race...was it his car, broken? Judy's (my MIL) car...nope, it was black. As I went around the tow truck, which was sticking out into the street, I saw a big hole in his house, right through and under the front window. Now when we came through it was dark, but my husband had been there taking pictures...here's what happened.

Someone had driven right through grandpa's yard, through the posts on his front porch, and into his living room!

Now, here's where timing comes in...God's timing. Grandpa, happily, was in the kitchen. So, while was was shocked to hear the big crash and breaking glass, he wasn't run over. His chair, where he sits to read most of the day, was about 3 feet past where the car stopped. Everything in the living room was, of course, moved about 4 feet...the other recliner, the organ, and of course, the window itself.

Grandpa had been married to grandma for 50 years when, in 1987, she developed colon cancer and passed away 7 months later. Her little bric-a-brac that had been in the window (she collected little glass things...elephants and eggs and such) was on the floor, but unharmed. And the little window hanging you see in the picture is perfectly okay, too.

The driver, when interviewed by the policeman (who looked about 13, but did a great job), said he had been driving 25 miles an hour. HA!!! Sure. Right. NOT. I don't buy that. I still don't know how you can come around a corner (and these are city block corners, not rural, rolling hills corners) and drive into a house with your car in that position. And the really weird thing is, right next to the window, to the right, is the driveway. He missed grandpa's car by inches, too.

Well, that was grandpa's evening. As for me, like I said, I took the kids to choir practice and then played Farkle with our regular group of Farkle players, other choir parents, while the kids practiced. Farkle is fun...I'll post how to play later.

As for you, I hope you have a great day/night.

No Banners here

Well, this was not a banner day. I did get some needed things done...like my paper for art class. Well, it's not 100% done, but I'd say at least 80%, and it's easy. I also got my nails done...all of them. So I'm all set for looking decent at work for the next month. I laid around and watched movies. I got groceries, put them away, and did dishes. But all day, I felt kind of "empty."

I also had a mini-argument with my husband, which probably contributed to the emptiness. I got totally frustrated with a situation, and told him so in a phone message. It's a whole big mess I don't want to get into here, but there it was. I don't feel sorry that I said what I did, really. I wasn't mean, I didn't say anything that wasn't true. I didn't intentionally say hurtful things (though he may be hurt). I said what I felt, what I wanted, and what I needed. Then I called back and apologized for telling him these things. And I am sorry, if I hurt him.

But I don't feel better, or worse, for having communicated what I felt, or for apologizing. I'm stuck in the middle. I know God loves me when I'm stuck in the middle, but I don't feel like I'm all that much to write home about.

Does anyone else watch happy, goofy, chick-flick movies when they're having a bummer day, or is that just me?

In Case You're Interested...

The words to the hymn, as best I can remember, are:

Walking with Jesus
Walking every day
Walking all the way

Walking with Jesus
Walking with Jesus alone
Walking in the sunshine
Walking in the shadows
Walking every day
Walking all the way

Walking in the sunshine
Walking in the shadows
Walking with Jesus alone.

Maybe it was more of a campfire song than a hymn. I don't know. I went to a lot of great campfires at Park of the Pines camp in Michigan...did a lot of singing. Singing is a great way to worship, and an awesome way to feel closer to God. I remember that our campfire leader, Ann Doty, would plan the campfires every day, and would take "requests" for entries in the schedule for that night. The campfire circle was right next to Lake Charlevoix, and boaters would often get as close as they could to the shore so they could hear us singing. We were across the lake from...what was the name of that place? It was a venue for Rock Concerts...Castle Farms! (Thanks, Google.) Anyway, sometimes we would have to sing a little louder to drown out whatever was going on there. But we did. And as we sang, the waves lapped on the shore and you could hear the water slap against the roller raft that was out past the buoys. Back then, I assumed the only valid spiritual experience was seeing a vision of God (I was a teenager, for cryin' out loud...whaddaya want??), and often during campfire time, I'd look up, over the lake, hoping to see him there. I didn't see Him in the clouds. I cherish my memories of Park of the Pines. Some of my most peaceful, happy, safe times in childhood were there. Whether or not the church I attended at the time was "right," I know for a fact that I was closest to God when I was there.

This was all years ago, before I knew the truth about God: that He loves me just as I am. Oh, He wants me to follow His ways and spend time with Him, and if I follow His plan I know that I'll be happier and better off, because He knows what's best; but He loves me in this moment, at this time, no matter what, no chanages required.

Walking with Jesus

Yes, I know. This used to be "The Start of Something Big." Well, I changed it. For one thing, it 's not the start anymore. I'm a year into my degree program already. I've made a bunch of progress. For another, I've felt that I need to rename this and take my focus in a different direction. As well as academics, I'm learning a whole lot about my walk with Jesus, as well. I wanted a place to share that. So, for my one-and-a-half readers, I hope you won't be too confused. I think you'll find it intereesting.

My Salome Nature, if you're out there, I hope you're doing well. I haven't heard from you in awhile. Toofakind414, I know you're still out there. Maybe you'll drop by here once in awhile.

Anyway, on to the new topic. Walking with Jesus. It's what I choose to do, and it's been the best thing I've done in my life. What does it mean, you ask? Well, I don't have to drink any Kool-Aid or eat "enhanced" pudding and wait for the spaceship to come. It's a personal choice I've made to accept what God has provided for me-salvation through His son Jesus Christ.

Some wonderful friends prayed for me for six years before I realized that my view of what God wanted from me was incorrect. The hard thing to accept about Christianity is that God loves us-just as we are, this minute. He loves us when we follow Him and when we don't. Much like a parent loves his or her children even after they color on the wall with markers, He loves us no matter what we do, whether or not we deserve it. In fact, we DON'T deserve it. We simply CANNOT deserve it-nothing we humans can do can measure up to God's standards-BUT THAT'S OKAY!! Do you know why it's okay? It's because Jesus came to earth in order to die for the sins of all mankind. He didn't have to, but He did, because He loves us.

There's a lot more I could write about this, and I will another time. I'm happy to have gotten this far on the subject tonight. On another subject, school is going well. I'm done with college algebra, and I know that God got me through it. I had a good teacher and a great team. I was blessed. I'm in Humanities class now, and I went into it kicking and screaming. See, I've taken an art class before (which is basically what this is). I took said class in 1986 at Graceland College in Iowa, and my professor was Lester Wight. I've remembered this because his name is kind of cool-he went by Les Wight, which of course sounds like Less White. Good name for an art teacher, eh? But, to return to the subject; I'm paying ridiculous money to complete my degree at University of Phoenix, because with the kids and the husband and the job and breathing and sleeping and such, I thought it wise to get done fast. I did not want to spend ridiculous money on art class. No offense to artists, I was just hoping for, you know, a necessary class. Which technically this is; I needed another humanities credit, but still...art? (And, by the way, people who are 39 years old do NOT, in my humble opinion, need humanities credits. If you're that sheltered by that time, something is seriously wrong). But I digress. I'm in the class. And you know what? It's COOL! I'm seeing beautiful art and learning about it. After algebra, which caused me to pull out more hair than I'm comfortable discussing here, it's actually kind of nice to be in a 100-level class again...I can do this! I can write! I can look at pictures and sound reasonably intelligent! It's not a bad gig, as it turns out.

As for walking with Jesus, it's been a good walk lately.

Fun With Parts of Language

Old Mother Hubbard went to the helmet
To get her curved lion a bone.
When she got there, the camera was flat
And so her soft dog had none.

Jack and Jill went up the necklace
to fetch a/an pitcher of water.
Jack fell down and broke his shelf,
And Jill came tumbling after.

There was a little girl
and she had a little curl
Right in the middle of her bottle.
And when she was crunchy,
she was very, very savory,
And when she was bad, she was sparkly.

There was a pink woman
who slid in a shoe.
She had so many elk
She didn't know what to do.

You, too, can have this fun. Try it now at: http://us.penguingroup.com/static/packages/us/yreaders/madlibs/fun.html

Have fun!

Relief

Ah...Algebra Part I is over. I have a 2-week break until Algebra 2 starts. I think I passed. I couldn't get rid of the urge to giggle all through the final. Nerves, I guess. Or I'm nuts, one or the other (probably #2).

Saddam Hussein is dead

...and it still doesn't make the world a safer place. No, I'm no fan of Saddam Hussein, but he was not remotely responsible for 9/11, and his death will not prevent terrorism. Perhaps it will take the focus off the completely inept job the current administration is doing on their "War Against Terror," perhaps it exacted revenge for the Daddy President Bush, because he didn't finish the job in the late 1980's/early 1990's, but it won't solve anything. We've invaded Iraq and deposed Hussein, we've lost 2,000 American soldiers and countless innocent people. Where's Bin Laden?

Well, we don't know. We haven't seemed to put any effort into finding him. Who was he again, anyway? Oh, yeah...the terrorist who masterminded the 9/11 plot. Yeah. That's right. Thanks.

Crash (2004)

It occurred to me recently that some time ago, I'd posted very briefly about the movie Crash, which was made in 2004. First, there are two movies called Crash; the one to which I'm referring, and another which is very close to a porn movie. I'm speaking of the one made in 2004 with Matt Damon (or Dillon?), Sandra Bullock, and about a million other wonderful actors/actresses.

It is vitally important to the human race that you go out, rent this movie, and watch it. Why? Well, it's too complex to explain without your having seen the movie. I would never have looked at it, except I had to for a class in school. I wouldn't have looked at it because it's tagline didn't do that much for me (You think you know who you are...you have no idea), there was violence and burning cars and it wasn't a syrupy sweet, happy-ending type of movie. I always figure that if I'm going to shell out $10 for a movie ticket or $4 to rent one, that I want to be entertained. Violence and burning cars rarely entertain me. You can do the math from there. But I figured wrong, because this movie is so important that I'm going to buy it and harp on it and make my friends watch it, and I'm going to make my kids watch it just as soon as they're old enough to understand it.

Now, before you go, please prepare yourself. First, the movie has some light violence and harsh language, and a sex scene that's fairly graphic. I am a Christian...I'm not supposed to support, let alone like, movies with those attributes. And I didn't actually like it so much as I was completely awestruck by it. It's a work of art; I couldn't even verbalize the thoughts whirling through my head for a few days after seeing it. It's okay to watch it if you're a Christian. It's not okay to act like most of the people in the movie, but I think it's not only okay to watch if you're a Christian; it's valuable to watch if you're a Christian. It makes you think, and realize things about yourself that you never knew. It's okay to see things like this, that show what is wrong with the world. This shows what is wrong with the world. You'll know in the time it takes to watch this movie. Bingo. Think tanks have been working on it for years, but they just need to see the movie.

This is a powerful movie. I've read countless reviews that say that whatever movie is being reviewed is powerful; they're not. This is. This will (or may, depending on your level of cynicism) change you.

If you have seen it or after you do see it, if you want to comment here, that would be great.

I know the answer to -4(x-2)=6x-42

Two weeks in, I'm still in Algebra and damn near keeping up! I'm thrilled. It can be challenging but it's definitely do-able and I'm amazed that I've hung in this far. More and more makes sense each time I work on it, and though there are times I get confused (like now, at 12:34 a.m. on Sunday; generally if I walk away and get some sleep (hmm...what a concept!), I'll do well again in the morning. I thank God for His guidance in this class and His willingness to help me through it!

By the way, the answer is 5.

Gloria Gaynor

Algebra is going okay so far. Now, mind you, it's just been the first class, but Univ. of Phoenix partners with the ALEKS corp. (I have no idea what the acronym means at the moment) and ALEKS has a program to teach people math. I spent over 2 hours in it tonight and kept up much better than I thought I would. I finally quit when I started making too many stupid mistakes. I'll try again tomorrow night.

My husband and I are going to Vegas this weekend. No dreams of instant riches, just for fun and so I can see a friend who moved there. The kids will stay with my parents.

I'm tired. And sore everywhere. Work is busy. I'm going to pass Algebra! I will survive!

This is the BIG ONE! I'm comin', Elizabeth!

Yes, picture Fred Sanford clutching desperately at his chest, staggering around his cluttered living room, yelling the phrase "This is the big one, Elizabeth, I'm comin'!"

I start Algebra class tomorrow night at 6pm Mountain time. This is the class that, in part, kept me away from school for 20 years. I've been afraid of this class. I nearly failed Algebra in high school and that experience has had a lasting effect on me.

Happily, the learning team I had for my last class will all be a part of this class. Hopefully, we won't have much "team" work, but it's nice to know they'll be in class with me. I was comfortable in our last class, Composition. Grammar and stuff. Not so much in Algebra class. If God weren't going in with me, I'd run now!

I'll keep you posted.

Little Red Dog

It's been awhile. Sigh...I know. I wish I had some good excuse, but I don't. I've just been busy-and hasn't everyone? School is still on, and going well. I'm coming to terms with the fact that life is sometimes disappointing, but overall I'm more thankful than I have been in years, and not just because Thanksgiving is in 3 days. I find that if one makes the effort, one can find many things for which to be thankful every day, and that doing so is more than worth the effort. I've started e-mailing a couple of friends a list of things I'm thankful for on a regular basis (daily, if I can; though I haven't done so lately) and I notice a very marked increase in the level of my mood.

My husband and I recently (yesterday) celebrated our 18th wedding anniversary. Everyone says this, but I don't know where the years have gone. I still feel young, and have mostly kept my original hair color without any dye jobs (not in a couple years, anyway). I wish I'd accomplished more, but then, who doesn't?

We adopted a Little Red Dog. A friend found her lost, tried to find her home and couldn't, so we're the proud "people" of Rosie, the Queensland Heeler-type-dog. She's very sweet and loving. She's a runner, so we have to watch the front door, but she keeps coming back.

The election was good here; Arizona is a better place afterward and I hope, so is the United States.

Cherry Vanilla ice cream with that Magic Shell chocolate topping is good.

My friend, who is pregnant, is having a girl baby! We're all very happy. I'm giving her a shower. The party kind, not the wet kind.

I read the first 3 pages of the Algebra textbook for my next class, which starts next week. So far I'm not confused.

K. Bye!

I start tonight's post with a few housekeeping issues. First, why has it become necessary in our society to provide instructions for leaving a message? Answering machines and voice mail have been around for years with no apparent confusion. Now when I call someone and they don't answer, I'm instructed by the voice of the person I called to leave a message. After that, a computerized voice tells me to "press 5 to page this person now." Then, to "please record your message. When finished, you may simply hang up (well, DUH!) or press pound for more delivery options." By the time all this has gone on, I'm ready to simply hang up without taking the time to leave a message-I've already been on the phone forever listening to instructions! Okay, all you phone companies-we've been leaving messages for years! Stop complicating it!


And now, an update on "Elevator Etiquette." People-yes, you. I cannot stress strongly enough the importance of being ready to exit the elevator when you reach the GROUND FLOOR. It ain't goin' any lower, people...this is IT! Why must you hide in the corners nearest the exit door? I'm carrying a 30-pound tub of mail and walking from one end of the row of three elevators to the other to get to the open elevator...is that really too short a time to step out from the corner and exit the elevator?? They're just not that big! Get out! No, really, Get Out!!

And the final housekeeping item for the evening...stress. Yes, you know who you are. You thrive on stress and you're not happy until you can pass it along to others. We live in the richest country in the world. Most of us work in buildings without holes created by bombs...most of the time. Most of us have some loose change somewhere-in a car, our bedside table, couch cushions. Most of us have family or friends, TV, telephones, running water, bathrooms that work, streets that are comparatively safe. Yet executives, bosses, supervisors and Those In Charge insist that we all be stressed out. Today my boss asked me if I could clean out the storage room. It's a simple question, and of course I can clean out the storage room. I'm an able-bodied relatively young person who likes to organize things (well, at work anyway). What I can't do, though, is say to my boss, "okay, I'm cleaning out the storage room and these have been sitting here with the same dust pattern since I got here. They're never used. We are out of space. We need to get rid of them" because if I do, well then, of COURSE we can't get rid of them. Someone might need them. Someday. Somewhere. When last I checked, the laws of physics were still in effect and two objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time. If we can't get rid of anything, then I can't clean the storage room. It's simple.

Michael Moore should never be President. He's too important doing what he is doing. The fact is, folks, we have too much fear-mongering in this country. Do you realize that many, many people in Canada do not lock the doors to their homes? Ever? I heard this tonight and was floored--I can't imagine a scenario like this. In a bunch of different countries the yearly death toll from guns is in the low hundreds-under 500 per year. Way under, usually. (yes, that's YEARLY, folks)In the United States it's over 11,000. Eleven Thousand. CNN and the news media have created a problem, and that is that they need viewers. They don't get viewers by covering happy stuff (which, by the way, happens all the time). They get viewers by covering murder, car chases, people running from police, bombings, killing, etc. Viewers equal ratings, which of course equal dollars. And it's all about the money here in the U. S. We need to realize that everybody is afraid, and we're all afraid of each other. If we just quit being afraid, lots of the nonsense will go away.

Canadians were appalled recently to hear that people in the United States don't automatically get health coverage. In Canada if you're sick, you go to the doctor. When asked why, the Canadians on the street said "because they're people, and everyone has the right to live." We don't care about people in this country any more. It makes me very sad. We've become a cold, hard, dollars-focused nation. To let people without insurance die is criminal, and since so many people are for the death penalty and believe in the right to life, well then, let's apply the death penalty to those who alllow this travesty to continue.

While we're at it, let's apply the punishment for any crime committed with a gun to the owner of the gun (unless it's stolen by an adult criminal). That way we won't have hordes of people calling for harsh punishment for a six-year-old who doesn't know any better, brings a gun to school and kills a fellow six-year-old. This has to stop. If you're too stupid to lock up your guns, you're too stupid to own one. Turn off the TV and get a clue, folks! It's 10:00-do you know where your firearm is?

I have been on a soapbox tonight...thank you for your patience. I recommend any Michael Moore movie or book to any person reading this. Trust me...try it. It's not illegal, not immoral, and might bring up new points you haven't yet thought of. Also, watch the movie "Crash." There were two-you want the one made in 2004 about people in L.A. I am a total movie-weenie and I can watch it. It's extremely well done. I will tell you now that there is harsh language, but it will change your life and how you look at people. I will probably mention it again; it's that important. And now, I leave you and take my children to look through a big telescope at beautifl things worlds away. Back on Sunday. Have a good weekend!

Okay...so maybe NOT the end...

Well. It's been a crappy week, I'm sorry to say. I've been off fighting demons (figuratively) and I felt another blog post coming on, so here I am. Lucky you.

In addition to being wife of one, mother of two, and conquerer of the Calphalon I have other facets. I don't believe in the war in Iraq, for one. I think the Bush family has been keeping secrets and knew before we went into Iraq that there were no WMDs. I think we're in a big mess now and I don't necessarily believe that we should pull out at this point. I do believe that some good has been done in this war. I know Saddam Hussein is a bad guy and I'm glad we captured him. Now, can we finally look for the real culprit of 9/11? You know, BIN LADEN?? You can't possibly convince me that the United States government couldn't find him if they wanted to.

That having been said, I am in full support of our troops. It's not their fault that they're being asked to fight under false pretenses. I pray for God's protection on each and every one of them, and I pray they will all be with their families again soon. I grieve for the 18 and 19 and 20-year-olds who haven't even begun to live, but who are now coming home in body bags. Their sacrifices should NEVER be forgotten, nor should that of their families.

I am a Christian. I am not perfect, though. I have depression. Sometimes very bad depression. Some days I cry mostly all day. Sometimes I actually do eat ice cream right out of the carton. Some days I have sexually immoral thoughts--several per day, or hour. Some days I think about driving my car into a light pole, or off an overpass because I feel like my husband and children would be so much better off without me. Some days I hate my husband because he's gone so much of the time. I have my days, people, and they're not all pretty. Sometimes I wonder if I can actually be a Christian because of all I've described above. But I do know one thing: I have had a close relationship with the Lord for years and years. He has never left me. I know He has big shoulders, but I've been afraid to test that theory because I don't want to disrespect God. But guess what? God can take it. God knows my mind and my thoughts and my bad habits and loves me anyway. He knows I don't support the war. He loves me anyway. God knows I think gays don't get a fair shake in today's world, especially in the Christian world. He loves me anyway. God knows that some days I hate being a parent, and yet He's still my parent and He loves me. God knows some days I wish I'd never gotten married, and yet I am part of his bride, the church, hoping against hope to be able to prepare myself for His return. He loves me. God knows I hate the thought of the Rapture, Armageddon, and all that. He knows it terrifies me and always has. But He has made plans for me, He will care for me, and He loves me even if I don't pretend to be brave and look forward to it. I am a MESS, people...and He loves me.

Well, that's me for tonight. There may be more another day. I don't know right now. Right now, I'm going to throw away my empty ice cream carton and chip container, crawl into bed and watch QVC. I may even buy something, if there's something I'm looking for featured tonight. And yes, even though I watch and sometimes buy from QVC, God STILL has room in His gi-normous heart for imperfect me.

I'm crazy now, just like the others...

It seems I've joined the rest of the world in publicly talking to myself. Yes, now I'll be one of those nuts who, while walking down the street, suddenly bursts into conversation. Yes, I've acquired a new toy. A bluetooth toy. I've been meaning to get a hands-free thingie so that when I talk on my phone while driving I'm not maniacally endangering the lives of others. I've been feeling guilty for years now, not having one.

And because I have kids and a husband who works nusto hours, being available should something come up is valuable. And the bluetooth came in a package with my phone, sort of, when we changed carriers and got new phones. And yes, if we were going to continue with cell phone service of any kind, we needed new phones. A full charge would last anywhere from 3 hours to a day and a half-not exactly reliable, if you know what I mean. Plus my husband couldn't use his at work, and, as I've mentioned, he works a lot, so it was a problem. His office is underground, as it's on the same level as the stage in the theater where he works, so if he wanted to call he'd have to tie up the office line. Not pretty.

So anyway, I have a bluetooth and will someday burst into conversation in the middle of the street, or in a store, and it will probably annoy some people. Most things annoy some people. My life is more convenient because of it, and safer while driving, and I can live with that.

Elevator Etiquette

Now, who'd have thought that there would be etiquette issues with using the elevator? But, sadly, there are.

1) When waiting for the elevator to arrive, I don't care how many times you push the button. Go nuts, really. Play a song...whatever tickles your fancy. However, please manage to be ready when the elevator arrives! Don't be talking with your friend, who is leaving via the door of the building, and then have to yell to "hold the elevator!" while you perambulate your plentiful posterior to the elevator door! I have a life!

2) Also when waiting for the elevator, don't assume you are the only person on the planet. You're not. I'm here, for one. Remember that sometimes, those other people are in the elevator, waiting to get out once the doors open. Please don't stand front and center of the door, blocking the way for everyone else! It's cloddish and rude.

3) When you are a passenger on the elevator, remember where you're going...you won't be in the tiny room forever! You have to leave! So, watch that numerical readout. When it gets to your desired floor (remember where you're going?) be ready to leave the elevator. Don't hide in a corner and then dash out at the last moment, getting in the way of everyone who is waiting to get on, assuming the car is empty. Wake up! You're here!

4) If your office has space on two adjoining floors and stairs connecting them, and if you're not handicapped, would it really hurt to use the stairs once in awhile? For instance, I only work on the 5th floor, hardly a towering height, but I have been on the elevator many times with people who get on at floor 2 and get off at floor 3, making the elevator stop twice on a very short journey. And they have stairs! In this case, if you use the elevator to get a mere one floor up or down, you've invoked the "Dorkavator" rule, which is that some people don't understand how stairs work. These particular people in my building work in a law office...it explains a lot about the American legal "system," doesn't it?

5) There are limits, people! Jamming yourself into an already crowded elevator, between 2 people who are obviously having a discussion, is not acceptable. Most of us learned this in kindergarten or shortly thereafter. There is no need to jam yourself in...simply wait for the next elevator. I promise, there will be another one.

Ahh...I feel much better.

Reflections...

Hi, again. I've been re-reading past posts (ooh, I just LOVE alliteration, don't you?). In an attempt to do something besides complain about school, tonight I'm going to discuss something I'm learning about in school...the Constitution. Tonight I'm reading specifically about voting and voter turnout and voter rights. Very intersting. Here's a news flash for you...politicians lie a lot! Did you know that in other democracies, voter registration is automatic, meaning you are registered automatically as you pay taxes or register your car or whatever. It's just done...poof. No waiting period, no closing registration two weeks or more before the election. You're in. Simple as that. And, you vote on weekends in most other democracies, so everyone can play, not just those who can make it in either before or after work. A nice touch, I think. Many countries even vote on Sunday, or they actually declare a national holiday so everyone has the opportunity to vote. Amazing!

Did you know that in the way-behind-the-times-United States, only 6 states allow voters to register on voting day? Yep. You can walk in, register, and vote. Easy if you live in one of the six; not so easy if not. Here in Arizona, where I live, registration closes soemthing like 2 weeks before each election. You can register Motor-Voter, thanks to the U. S. Congress, but that's the only convenience. They keep the polls open until 7:00, which I thought was normal; but other states apparently let you vote longer.

And here's an idea for the news media. This one's mine. Quit the stupid polling, and report on the issues the candidates are running on! Okay! We don't care about the blue straw or the red straw! Tell us (or, better yet, let them tell us) their stand on a particular issue. All this polling just helps those too lazy to think on their own who is ahead in the polls, and who they should vote for if they want to be on the "winning team." Tell us the stats after the election if you want, but save voting day and the days before it for THE ISSUES.

By the way, the Supreme Court and the Judicial Branch of the government is quite interesting. To heck with your son or daughter growing up to be President, the real cake gig is the Supreme Court. Loads of responsibility, but very interesting work. Never a dull moment, I wouldn't think.

Some days I wish I had born British or Irish. I like the meter of the language as well as the accent. Oh, well. I'm also happy as a Midwesterner...

I miss my friend Rhonda and need to send her a card.

I was going to get my kids' pictures taken for school this past weekend (we do Sears; way more fun, cheaper, and better) but my daughter does indeed belong to my husband. She has a very practical way of doing things. Her bangs were in her face and irritating her, so she apparently grabbed them and lopped them off...right at the scalp. Nice touch! But hey, they're out of her face!

We got new cell phones over the weekend...those Razor ones. I must admit to having way too much fun with it. I have a camera phone! It's actually very nice to see my hubby and kids pics while I'm at work. Especially during a stressful moment.

We're getting a big storm here tonight. I keep praying the drought will be over. God knows best.

And now you know the contents of my brain this evening. I hope it's been a pleasant journey for you. Take care, and by all means, be careful out there!

Back to School

Well, the kids go back to school tomorrow. Did I get the whole house organized over the summer? No. It's just like it was on the last day of last school year. Did we take a genuine family vacation? Not really; we did do some camping. Did I save up our $1000 emergency fund as I had planned? Nope. $150.00. Woo-friggin'-hoo. After a day of near-constant interruption and being flung into volcanoes I have no idea how to solve, I left work 1/2 hour late to pick up the kids from grandma's house. Luckily, it's grandma's house. No big. But I had stressed all the way there, 40 minutes to cover six miles because of traffic. I seriously hate this city. Very much.

Then we went to Wal-Mart to get some fruit cups for the kids' school lunches, and some ink cartridges for my printer. I also found "The Dark Crystal," the Jim Henson movie from the 80's that they had seen part of, but not all of, and ice cream to bribe them to let me finish my paper for school. $70 later, we went to check out and waited in line. Several lines, actually. Only a very few "regular" registers were open; most of the open ones were those irritating self-check lanes. They never seem to work for me, and I always end up with a "helper" coming over to fix their dumb computer. We crept along like everyone else, and twenty minutes later we finally left the store. The schedule for the night was hopelessly behind at this point, and we drove through McDonald's for dinner. I just now got the kids to bed; it's 9:49 p.m. There goes that damn Mother of the Year award again!

Wow. Is this all there is? Just being behind and not meeting goals?

The sound of my head exploding

School is absolutely driving me nuts! I'm back in a study group with someone from a previous group I was in, and she seems pretty much bent on drumming up conflict. Maybe it was on purpose, maybe it was a mishap but last week, I was the only one whose stuff got put into a group paper that was due. I wrote what I was supposed to and sent it to the guy (also in our group) who was responsible for putting it together. He only put my stuff in because he said it flowed better. Maybe he and person #4 didn't write anything, and maybe they did. I don't know. We can't go back and change last week, and we can't endlessly worry that we might not get an "A" in every course. A "B" is acceptable, I would hope! I am totally exhausted and burned out and I have no desire to continue my education at the University of Phoenix. I am tired to death of learning teams. People either don't care at all whether they participate, or they have a freaking hissy fit if everything doesn't go their way...what a bunch of third graders! This girl wanted to be on my learning team next class...I doubt it! I can't take this again! I guess the only thing to do is ignore the frigging learning team and learn anyway, without them.

I don't know if I've mentioned this before on here, but I have depression. That is not helping this week, either, although I have been learning lots of new coping skills. I haven't seen my husband in a social setting in weeks and weeks, and tomorrow night we ARE going out for dinner, either with or without friends. I'm not feeling guilty every moment that I'm not slaving over the books. The whole point of U of P is supposed to be that they understand you have a life. Three more classes, then I think I'm out the door at U of P and will go to a regular university or college. Life is too short for this bull.

I think my tired eyes are going to go to bed now and maybe have the luxury of reading something for entertainment. Perhaps a novel...what a novel idea! (:-)

And I even screwed that up...It's Wednesday, for cryinoutloud!

Which, of course, I tried to fix, and now both posts below say Wednesday, making me look even crazier than I really am. What a fabulicious day!

It's a Monday...even though it's Wednesday!

I have had the kind of day today where I want to blow things up. I won't of course, so if you're reading, "President" Bush, I'm just kidding. I'm frustrated beyond bearing and so damn tired I feel like I can't go on.

I tried to break a plate, but it didn't...damn Corelle! This is a day when I want mounds of chocolate, mounds of ice cream, and some wine wouldn't hurt, too.

I think of women in my past who were an inspiration to me...my "grandma" (because she wasn't really my grandma, just a lady I grew up next door to) Hiatt, Mrs. Jenckes, Connie Brigham, my mother, my grandmother. Did they ever feel out of control? How can I learn to get as organized and calm as they were? No one in my generation of parents is...we're all desperately trying to hang on, trying not to implode. It's crazy. They were totally calm, or totally deceiving, one of the two.

My kids are currently sitting on the couch eating ice cream while I type this, which is a break from my homework. Is school worth them being alone in the next room? Am I a good mother if I let them eat and watch TV while I'm in here? Shouldn't I be filling their minds with wisdom or playing a game with them or cleaning up after them?

But alas, my homework waits.

Sigh...what can I say? I haven't had much to say lately. Tonight I have 2 papers to write, and I can't wait for this class to be over so that I can have a different "learning team." People just need to calm down. Our deadline is set; not everybody finishes assignments early. Get over it, people! Move on with your day!

We've been on the road somewhere every weekend this summer. I am tired. This weekend, my husband summarily announced on Friday night, he's going camping. He may leave Wednesday or Thursday, I don't know. Whatever. Bye.

Meanwhile, I have the aforementioned 2 papers to write, a presentation to prepare, a whole house to clean, and you know, I'd really just like to sit and watch a movie. I haven't had a chance to do that in months. Which is a pity, because we have Netflix.

As far as school goes, I feel like I'm just required to show up and pay. The teacher doesn't seem particularly interested in teaching; rather, he likes to have conversations with the class. This would be great, if we were in a social group.

I'd better start writing. It almost doesn't matter what I say, as long as I make page count.

I don't believe it!

I got another "A!" It was for my sociology class. I'm amazed. I just can't believe I did that well this time. I mean, all my papers were turned in on time and stuff, and our team stuff was done and in on time. But there was a test at the end of this one, and the instructor only gave us notes for the test at the very end. I'm amazed. But happy.

Sadly, I found out this week that my high-school history and government teacher died suddenly about a week ago. He was at a wedding and wasn't feeling well, went upstairs (wherever he was) and later, when his wife went to check on him, he was gone. He'd passed away. I graduated with his daughter, and she and I e-mailed quite a bit last year because she was planning our 20-year reunion last summer. It's so sad. He was always a fun kind of guy. My friends and I aren't old enough for this kind of thing to be hapening.

Next week I start "People and the Environment" class. I'm still waiting for my textbook to arrive. Hopefully it will get here before class starts. One can always hope.

Another one Bites the Dust

Another class has ended. I'm 10 weeks into a 2.5-3 year program. I think I did okay. Probably about a B in this class, but it's still passing. I'm happy. It was sociology. Quite an interesting topic, really. I learned a lot. Next up is Environmental Science. I took Environmental Biology my first go-round at college, but they swear this is different. I hope it is.

My kids have been in Disneyland with their grandma since last Saturday, and they're driving home tonight (actually, grandma is driving. They're 7 and 9). My son, who loves to travel and gives me a complex about being a bad mother because he likes to be away so much, said that he didn't miss home much. Thanks, kid! :-) Actually, my mother and I were also the same way-we love to be going somewhere. He comes by it honestly. My daughter is more excited about coming home and wants to see me. She's a sweetie.

While our kids were away and my husband was working this past weekend, I went to Kingman, AZ for the weekend. I did absolutely nothing. Well, I watched endless TV, my friend (who moved to Las Vegas last fall and met me there) and I talked endlessly and went out to dinner. We did visit a scrapbooking store and I got a few cute things. Totally restful, and a lovely drive.

My husband and I got a call from the place we bought our last car this week, also. They want to buy it back (right!). It's just a 2005 Malibu; but they swear they need them (they're lying. You know how I can tell? Their lips are moving.). But, the kids being gone and us having not much to do, we went to see them. Tony (hubby) found a neat VW station wagon he was interested in for $12,000-ish. We got to the dealership, and they love our Malibu. It's in really good condition (of course, I shouldn't type that because now, I'll get in a wreck), not a scratch on it, low miles, the works. I've never cared for the color; sand metallic I think they call it. But they "need" that color because it wasn't overproduced. Whatever. Before we went the guy said he'd give us $18k for it. We get there, and I think they originally offered us $13k. And the VW suddenly cost $16k instead of 12. Hmmm. No dice, we said. They came back with $15k for our trade. Nope, said we. We want $18k and the VW was listed at $12k on the internet. The funniest thing was that they tried to get us to sign this scrap of paper saying we would buy the VW if we could get $18 for our trade. We refused to sign it. For once, we didn't get walked on buy a car salesman. They kept offering us ridiculously bad deals, and we kept turning them down. We left in the car we came with. They're still calling us. It felt good to stand up for ourselves. It may sound dumb, but it was kind of cool.

I seem to be fighting migraines all this week. It's a bummer. I missed an hour of work Monday because of one; I left early. Of course, this being America, I made it up the next day being as busy as I was. This job is never slow, which is a good thing, really. I can't stand being bored at work. If I've gotta be there, I need something to do! I certainly have that.

Well, it's 10:19 here on the west coast of the dust bowl, so I need to get some sleep. I hope y'all have a pleasant evening! :-))

Uh-Oh.

I'm "over the hump" in my second class at the University of Phoenix, and I've hit the "blahs." I don't much care for being there, I don't feel like I'm learning anything important, and I don't like the learning team I'm on. Well, I like the people involved, but I don't like that we're not meeting and talking about anything. I kind of thought that we'd learn together, and we haven't. But it's not tragically bad or anything. Just annoyingly "blah."

Work has suddenly gotten kind of bad. Lots of grumpiness in general and it's hard to keep my spirits up there, which is not like this place at all. Maybe it was just a bad few days.

Tomorrow I'll study, and do laundry and iron, and maybe it will all get better.

The kids are making shirts (well, painting on shirts that we bought at the store) for their dad (my husband), their grandpa and their great grandpa. Sunday's the big day with all the dads, so that will be fun. I have to find a reasonably good seafood place where my husband will love the food and my parents will go. This should be interesting.

Sorry I'm not more fun today.

Grades are in...

I finally got the grade for my course today...an A! Although I had talked myself into being okay if it wasn't, and although I'd rationalized that this was just GEN300, not a"core" course and it was okay to get a B or C, I was certainly very happy to see that "A" just sitting there, waiting for me. It's a happy day! :-)

I placed into MAT208 in my placement exam for math. There was a 109, so I feel as though I'm at least a little bright. Not much, especially in math, mind you, but I may be okay.

I'm done teaching music at my kids' charter school for the year, and unless something really wild happens, I won't go back. It's full-time at the office, baby! It's okay. Having three giant things to do at once was a little tiring after awhile (office job, teaching, going to school) when added to being married, being a mom, breathing and sleeping. Which I've also grown attached to, by the way. I start a Sociology class tomorrow night, for which a 1050-1400 word paper is due. I have almost 200 words written so far! Woo-hoo! But seriously. Ahem. I'd better get to work.

I finished my first 3-credit hour class tonight! I think I may have an "A" in the class. Everything went well enough, and even if it's a C I'm fine with it. Our "learning team" has different classes next session, which starts 5/31, so we won't be together. But it was fun. I can't believe that I can actually do this. I'm so tired I'm about to fall over, but it's working. I feel weepy most of the time, but it's happening. Right now, I think I can make it through and become a teacher.

Communicate, dammit! We're married!

I don't even know what to call this post. It's been such a shitty day. I'm so freaking out right now that I can't even think straight. First, my co-worker hands me a couple of her projects yesterday so I can help her. Then, because she's so bogged down, she feels like she can't get anything done and avoids all of it (by her own admission). I'm WAY behind on my stuff, but I'm trying to be helpful. It's a new position and I don't want to blow it. Then, I have to teach 4 classes of students who would rather be on summer vacation, while I'm so backed up at work that it's not even funny. I called my husband on the way to teach and on the way back to the office to see if he could pick up the kids, but I couldn't get hold of him. I went back to work after this, only to find that my co-worker could tell I was stressed out, so she gave the mail to someone else to do; someone who loves doing it. Rather than the gratitude I should feel, I feel incredibly guilty and am worried about my position. But the day ends. Of course it ends late, and I'm all set to be late picking up the kids at daycare. I call my husband, whom I haven't been able to reach all day, but again, his phone goes right to voicemail. I'm beyond pissed at this point. I rush to daycare and get there 15 minutes late. The kids have "Movie Night" tonight, so it's over-processed McDonald's again (for at least the 2nd time this week) for dinner, since by now we have 15 minutes to get back to the school and they need dinner. Then I finally make it home for an hour or two of peace. My husband's car is here...cool! Time together! I thought he was working. But I get into the house and he's not here. At this point because I haven't been able to reach him all day, I have no idea what's going on. If he were at work, he'd have his car. But here it is. I call his mom, she hasn't heard from him. I call my mom, same thing. I call a few friends, no luck. I call his office emergency phone since it's after hours. They say that a truck he was supposed to deliver this morning didn't make it to where it needed to be. They'll check to see if anyone knows where he is, and call me back. By now, I've checked every room in the house, the front yard, the back yard, and the trunk of his car (okay, maybe I'm a little irrational by this point), and I'm about a minute from calling the police. I'm on the phone with his mother who agrees it's about time to call the police, when his work calls back. He's fine. He's with a co-worker, who drove him to their gig today because she got a new car. I burst into tears at the poor woman on the phone, who is very gracious, and then call and blubber to his mom and my mom.

I am truly glad he's okay, but I'm very angry now. I'm trying to decide whether or not to just leave the house for the night and go to a motel. I'm shaking, I want to vomit, and I can't believe this day. I need ice cream! Of course he is happily watching the Suns game, oblivious to my anger.

ALEKS

Hi, everyone. Long time no blog. School has been busy, and so has work. I'm making good progress in both areas, but I'm having difficulty managing my time properly. I suppose I'll learn more as I go.

Tonight is the night. I have to take the ALEKS math assessment. I have never been great at math. Which is to say, I've always been terrified of math. But math is just numbers. There are still only four basic processes: adding, subtracting, multiplying and dividing. The rest is just details. And it's just an assessment; if I blow it, it's not like they'll throw me out of school or anything. It's just an assessment, and it's just math. It's not rocket surgery.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Need I say more?

Suns 121, Lakers 90. Wow! What a series. Go Suns!!

I'm not usually much of a basketball fan, but that was truly cool!