Today was weird, all around. People saying weird things, weird things happening with our mail that made no sense. Heck, we even got weird mail...about 40 big cardboard tubes with advertising for a local hospital. Do they know how many immunizations they could have given children with the money they spent on that??
I recently applied for another position in our company, and so did my co-worker. Apparently she was offered the job and turned it down because it didn't pay any more than she was already making. Then I was called in and told I didn't have enough experience. Now, this was after I nearly backed out of interviewing for it, but was convinced to interview anyway by the guy doing the hiring. He knew my experience level and said that my attitude and past experience could carry me a long way. He said he could train me, blah, blah, yadda, yadda. But--nope.
See--weird.
I finished Math for Elementary Educators tonight. I have my next class in September, and don't go back to campus until October (my September class is one-on-one with an instructor, via e-mail). I welcome the break!!
There are, of course, good things. Since I don't have a new job, we can go on vacation this summer. I can also take time off around Christmas, which I couldn't if I had this job. Plus, I truly do have a break...I don't have to learn a new job, and I don't have school for a few months.
It's a little painful, but I know God has a plan, and that His plan is better than mine. So I think I'm going to suck it up and keep keeping on.
Happy Weird Tuesday!
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Monday, June 25, 2007
Just Another Manic Monday!
We celebrated our son's 10th birthday this past weekend by way of a camping trip with friends and family. We went to a campground near Blue Ridge Reservoir, about 30-40 miles northeast of Strawberry, Arizona.
It was a fun weekend. I left work Friday, picked up pop and water, picked up the dogs and the groceries from the house (well, most of them, anyway), and headed up "northeast." It was a winding drive up Hwy. 87, but my new ipod kept me company (they are really fun!). I arrived at camp a little after 10 p.m. and we stayed until Sunday afternoon. We hiked, ate too much, talked; there were some ham radio operators in the group and they did their thing, my husband enjoyed his new video camera, and I got to knit a little bit. My nephew had a blast on Saturday, and then vomited all night Saturday night...guess he had the flu.
When we left yesterday afternoon, I suddenly got VERY drowsy, which is not good when one is driving on a twisty, turny road with a daughter in the back seat. I prayed all the way to Payson, where we finally found a McDonald's (I know--yuck, but my daughter likes it and it was fast). I still had to fight to stay awake after we stopped, but it wasn't as bad.
We got home and one of the kids' friends (who was on the camping trip with us) came over to spend the night. The kids were all playing, and suddenly the friend came to me with big, crocodile tears. He said he wanted to go home. The kids were all really tired, actually, after a whole weekend up in the altitude running (literally) all weekend. So his mom came to get him, and before she did, I kept dozing off (while of course, thanking God that we had lived all the way down the mountains!!) waiting for her. And it was the kind of tired where I'd be listening to the TV, which was on, and somehow that would become part of my dream, but not in any way that made sense...I don't know if I'm making sense, actually. But it was weird.
Finally, friend's mom came, and huzbo and I went to bed. Where I continued to dream odd dreams. I woke up feeling fine this morning, and went to work. At about 1:00, I started getting cramps..BIG ones. Almost as bad as labor, but not quite. Then I started getting dizzy, and I got a big headache. Then I started feeling clammy. It was about 1:30, and I told my boss I thought I was getting the flu. She told me to go home, so I did. I was in real pain by the time I got here, and couldn't relieve it whether I was standing, sitting, or lying down. And no, I'm not pregnant. I finally laid down, and then kept dozing in and out, while needing to use the bathroom quite often (how's that for a euphamism?). My head was killing me, so I took two Excedrin Migraine, got a bag of ice, and put it at my feet (I'd heard if you get your feet cold, the blood will rush away from your head to warm your feet...uhhhmmmm, not exactly). Meanwhile, I watched a History Channel documentary about the Titanic, and what angle it was really at when it broke apart before sinking. Eventually I felt better, but it was a rough day! Guess I got the flu from my sweet nephew!
But now it's after midnight, and officially Tuesday, and I have my last class for a few weeks tomorrow night. So I'd better haul my butt to bed. Because as scintillating as my Math for Elementary Educators class is, I still need to get through the day tomorrow. Thanks for reading this far, if you made it. I know I sound like an elderly person, complaining about ailments and such. But hey, if you can't blog about it, then what's the point, right?
Have a pleasant Tuesday!
It was a fun weekend. I left work Friday, picked up pop and water, picked up the dogs and the groceries from the house (well, most of them, anyway), and headed up "northeast." It was a winding drive up Hwy. 87, but my new ipod kept me company (they are really fun!). I arrived at camp a little after 10 p.m. and we stayed until Sunday afternoon. We hiked, ate too much, talked; there were some ham radio operators in the group and they did their thing, my husband enjoyed his new video camera, and I got to knit a little bit. My nephew had a blast on Saturday, and then vomited all night Saturday night...guess he had the flu.
When we left yesterday afternoon, I suddenly got VERY drowsy, which is not good when one is driving on a twisty, turny road with a daughter in the back seat. I prayed all the way to Payson, where we finally found a McDonald's (I know--yuck, but my daughter likes it and it was fast). I still had to fight to stay awake after we stopped, but it wasn't as bad.
We got home and one of the kids' friends (who was on the camping trip with us) came over to spend the night. The kids were all playing, and suddenly the friend came to me with big, crocodile tears. He said he wanted to go home. The kids were all really tired, actually, after a whole weekend up in the altitude running (literally) all weekend. So his mom came to get him, and before she did, I kept dozing off (while of course, thanking God that we had lived all the way down the mountains!!) waiting for her. And it was the kind of tired where I'd be listening to the TV, which was on, and somehow that would become part of my dream, but not in any way that made sense...I don't know if I'm making sense, actually. But it was weird.
Finally, friend's mom came, and huzbo and I went to bed. Where I continued to dream odd dreams. I woke up feeling fine this morning, and went to work. At about 1:00, I started getting cramps..BIG ones. Almost as bad as labor, but not quite. Then I started getting dizzy, and I got a big headache. Then I started feeling clammy. It was about 1:30, and I told my boss I thought I was getting the flu. She told me to go home, so I did. I was in real pain by the time I got here, and couldn't relieve it whether I was standing, sitting, or lying down. And no, I'm not pregnant. I finally laid down, and then kept dozing in and out, while needing to use the bathroom quite often (how's that for a euphamism?). My head was killing me, so I took two Excedrin Migraine, got a bag of ice, and put it at my feet (I'd heard if you get your feet cold, the blood will rush away from your head to warm your feet...uhhhmmmm, not exactly). Meanwhile, I watched a History Channel documentary about the Titanic, and what angle it was really at when it broke apart before sinking. Eventually I felt better, but it was a rough day! Guess I got the flu from my sweet nephew!
But now it's after midnight, and officially Tuesday, and I have my last class for a few weeks tomorrow night. So I'd better haul my butt to bed. Because as scintillating as my Math for Elementary Educators class is, I still need to get through the day tomorrow. Thanks for reading this far, if you made it. I know I sound like an elderly person, complaining about ailments and such. But hey, if you can't blog about it, then what's the point, right?
Have a pleasant Tuesday!
Thursday, June 21, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, June 18, 2007
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!
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!
Saturday, June 02, 2007
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.
"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.
-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.
Friday, June 01, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
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!
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!
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, May 14, 2007
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!
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!
Thursday, May 03, 2007
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
$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
Sunday, April 22, 2007
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!!!!
:-)
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!!!!
:-)
Friday, April 20, 2007
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.
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!
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!
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
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.
Monday, April 16, 2007
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?
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?
Sunday, April 08, 2007
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?
Thursday, March 29, 2007
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!
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!
Sunday, March 25, 2007
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.
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.
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