Full Circle

Today was the last day of school. Whew. It has been a good year, good students, but it is time for a rest. I was honored this year that two former students sent me graduation invitations. I am always humbled that the kids remember me so many years later to send one to me because after graduating three times myself and getting married, I can tell you that invitations ain't cheap! And those kids are worrying about college odds and ends and who knows what else. To remember me during this time is a big deal. And they may realize it, and they may not. It is a sign that I actually made a difference. It is a sign that someone in that sea of little adolescent faces was listening. Heily has asked me to her AVID ceremony tomorrow to give her the medal she will wear over her graduation robe on Sunday. I am the teacher she believes made the biggest difference in her education. Way back in 6th grade. I remember her as the sweetest, most determined to succeed young woman I had ever met. You could see it in her eyes. 97 was not good enough if 98 could be had. Cody and his three best buds, three brothers, have come back often for big bear hugs over the years. And they lift me p literally off the ground and spiritually with their huge grins and their plans for the future. Tyler Junior College, TCU, and Texas Tech. A framed, signed poster from TCU hangs in my classroom. These boys were in the classes that wrote to the players that got us the poster. Now, one of the boys starts summer classes at TCU next week. And the one favor I will ask is a new signed poster to hang next to my first one. Students like these make look forward to what may be next year. Thank you, my darlings.

Downloading Excuses

Working out has not been an option for a few weeks.  My heel has hurt so badly; it felt like Thor had hit the bottom of it with his hammer.  I ignored it for as long as I could, but eventually I went back to the doctor. 

Thanks to some stretching and some steroids, the pain is almost gone.  I will shortly have to be seen in a bathing suit in public, so I need to get back on my treadmill.  Like yesterday.

I decided that I would need to walk at a higher elevation instead of running.  I have a bad feeling about running any time soon. 

And as walking will take longer, I am likely to get bored.  To try to stave off the boredom, I decided to download a tv show on my iPad as my Kindle Fire was charging. 

That sounds easier than it actually was.  On the iPad, the download was taking forever.  So I stopped that download and decided to give the laptop a try.

It has been awhile since I had been on this iTunes account. 

First there were updates to download for iTunes.  After 10 minutes ticked by, I decided I could live without the updates for tonight.  I just wanted to download something to watch while I walk!

Then I could not remember my password.  After satisfying the password moderator (you must have a capital letter, number, 8 characters long, first born child--you get the idea),I reset the password, only to have to reset security questions as well. 

I finally get to the iTunes store and pick the new pilot for that cop show starting on USA.  I click on it, and it says the download will take over an hour. 

Seriously?!  I just wanted something to keep me entertained while I walk!  While I decided what the new course of action would be, I did a few planks.  (Mine don't last very long, but I made the effort.)

So here I sit describing my cyber download adventure and an hour has gone by.  The hour I had planned to walk on the treadmill.  Sigh. 

Technology has failed me tonight (mostly) and the dependence I have on technology has definitely not escaped me.  I don't know whether to just embrace the addiction or to feel slightly ashamed and go get on the treadmill now, and suck it up with the music on my iPod. 

Probably just go fold some laundry and hope I can find a swim suit that forgives A LOT of sins this weekend.

Mother's Day

It's Mother's Day.  Happy Mother's Day to those of you lucky enough to have started your families.

It's a bit of a difficult day for me, to be honest.  It's never really bothered me before, but as Brian and I are finally, finally in a place to start a family and it hasn't been as easy as falling off a log, so to speak, I am a little emotional about it.

Oh yes, I have my dogs and my cat.  And they are quite child-like at times, but I have found as I age (more rapidly than I would like), even brilliant dogs and cats are not quite the same thing as a child of your own.

I try to stay positive.  These things do take time.  God has a plan.  I am still young (my ovaries are laughing even as I type).  I have 100 children every day at school, many of whom stay in touch and believe that I have made a significant difference in their lives.  We can always adopt.

You name the platitude, I have heard it or said it over and over to myself, little mantras to get me through the next menstrual cycle.

I used to roll my eyes at the little dresses in the department stores.  I shivered at kids throwing fits in a restaurant.  And while I do still fear the tantrum, I wouldn't mind taking my turn at handling one.  And I can't wait to have a closet full of little pink dresses...or little football helmets or whatever in the spare room closet instead of the random crap that's in there now.

I am touched but ever so slightly bothered by the fact that I was included in Mother's Day twice today.  The intention was completely pure in both cases, but I felt like such a phony.

Our minister's daughter passed out a flower to all the women in the congregation at church today.  A simple, sweet gesture. But I am not a mother.  I don't have that honor, that responsibility.  Nor can I say that I ever will.  I appreciated not being left out, but I felt like an imposter.

Then at lunch, there was free cobbler for the moms.  The waitress brought a bowl to my mother and me without even batting an eye.  And while I really wanted the cobbler, I still felt like a phony, a little dishonest.  (Don't you worry, I ate it, and it was good.)

And I know that it's silly. I know if you are reading this right now, in your mind are the same platitudes I am thinking.  Have been thinking. 

Don't worry, some day you will earn that flower and cobbler plus some. 

And you have no idea how right I hope you are. But as each month brings only another bottle of Midol, it gets more difficult to be patient.  (Still not my best virtue, even with all we've been through.)

So, here's hoping by Father's Day things will be different.  We need a new adventure.

Smells Like Sunday

This Sunday I was called back to Bridgeport for the first time since Christmas.  It's Mother's Day and the church was dedicating a memorial sidewalk to my grandparents. 

I haven't dealt well with their passing, and the only explanation I have is that we are such a close family and they were so much a part of my life that no matter how old they got, I was sure they would always be there.

I have intended to go back to church, despite the drive, several times.  I just kept thinking about the last time I had gone to church before my grandfather's passing.  My grandmother was mentioned quite often in the service; my cousins were baptizing their little girl and most of the family was there.  I couldn't make it through the service without blubbering, and I REALLY hate crying in public--happy or sad tears.  I mean, REALLY hate it.

I was amazed by all the improvements in the church since last July at Grandpa's funeral.  There is a new kitchen, back entrance, and new floors throughout the Fellowship Hall.  The fund set up in my grandparents' name helped pay for all of it.  It's beautiful.

I took a deep breath and breathed in the smell of Sunday.  I love the way that church smells.  The smell of coffee permeates the building from the kitchen to the sanctuary.  Everyone smells their Sunday best and the perfumes and colognes dance invisibly to my nose in time with the reassuring smell of the pages of the Bibles and hymnals and the wax of the candles. 

First Presbyterian of Bridgeport has smelled that way for as long as I can remember and as I sat there, once again trying not to cry, I had to smile.  We don't have my grandparents' house anymore.  We have divided their things and each member of the family has their favorite item now in their homes to remind them.  Their things are scattered hither and yon, but they, Nonnie and Grandpa, are still very much in that church. Just as they were for 60 years of their earthly lives. 

They are in the songs of what we like to call "The Last Chance Choir." They are in the stained glass and the organ.  You fully expect to see them waiting for you with a cup of coffee and a cookie in the Fellowship Hall between Sunday School and worship service. 

I never realized how much of our history is linked to that little building.  We were all baptized there.  Family weddings were there.  And, like it or not, funerals were there.  And it will go on.  And they will be there, in the bricks of the sidewalk Nonnie would be so thrilled with (no more tromping through the grass from the back door to the front), in the bulletins, in the guestbooks. 

And I have to say that I hope I can get back to the smell of Sunday a little more often, so I can find what I have missed so much. 

Light

It was one helluva day at school, if you will pardon the potty mouth.

We had to evacuate the school during first lunch because of an incindiary incident in a stairwell close to my classroom.  My colleagues and I had just sat down to our lunch when the fire alarm went off.  We all waited just a beat, thinking that we would be told to stay put, that it was just a false alarm.  But the loud speaker message didn't come, and somehow we knew without being told to get to the kids immediately.

We took them outside to wait, and I have to admit, for having their social and feeding time interrupted, they were model citizens. 

The smoke and fire extinguisher residue lingered in the back hallway, so students were prohibited from using it for the rest of the day, but we were able to return to business as sort of usual. 

My brave colleagues who put out the fire were told they should go to the doctor to check their lungs.  That meant classes needed to be covered.  I cheerfully took the Texas History teacher's class and ran two classes in my room at once.

Just another day in paradise, right?  My carefully crafted lessons flew out the window.  We even went ahead with our scheduled meeting after school with a member of admin. 

At the end of the meeting, I found two boys harassing one of my sweet angel students.  Turns out, they called 911 from a classroom three times and hung up. She just witnessed them near the phone. They were begging her to tell the principals she was mistaken because the boys are in serious trouble now.  I went to bat for them with the principals because the boys swore on a stack (metaphorically) that they hadn't done it.  I got just a little egg on my face when I talked to the principal and found out that they had already admitted it IN WRITING.  Sigh.  And my poor angel girl was in tears because she didn't know what to do.  I will have a little more making up to her to do tomorrow.  Maybe I don't have kids yet because I cannot tell when the kids are lying like a rug.  I want to believe the best in all of them and they played me.  Big time.

On my way home, I got a text from a good friend who told me I would have a surprise waiting for me at home.  She couldn't have known how much I needed a pick me up today, and yet like so many times in my life, she let in the light I so desperately needed today.  The school's wall seemed to close in even closer today as the day ticked away.  Having dinner out with my handsome husband didn't hurt either. 

So, as a terribly stressful day ends, I bask in the light of friendship and love shining on me. And am in the process of finishing a well-deserved Shiner. 

I hope your light found you today.

Azalea's Misadventures

Azalea, our cat, who up to now has been most famous for the mischief she creates with our Christmas tree, has had quite a week.

We were dogsitting for a good friend last weekend when the unthinkable happened.  We found Azalea's head in the mouth of one of the visiting dogs.  Now, I don't believe for one minute he was trying to hurt her, but unfortunately he did.

Brian and I rushed her to the nearest emergency vet and waited for the worst.  I knew her jaw was probably broken because the right side of her mouth was drooping down.  I felt she would make it, but what concerned me was the road that it would take to get her there.

Well, we are on that road now.  A few thousand dollars in, two emergency vet clinics and a people dentist, as a matter of fact. 

I know.  You probably think we are crazy.  But these are our children.  In fact, Brian had no idea the effect she has had on him until she was hurt.  He was a mess.

She got to come home on Wednesday from her second procedure.  Her canines are fused and her jaw is wired.  Her mouth is open slightly so her tongue is sticking out most of the time.  It's kind of cute and pitiful and the same time.  She drools a lot and her fur isn't as perfectly groomed as the little princess usually keeps it. 

She took over our clothes hamper in our bathroom where we confined her for the first few days.  We put her little kitty bed in there and took the dirty clothes out.  She has been very happy.  We may never get the hamper back, even when she is well.

Giving her the medicines prescribed is a real adventure.  She needs an antibiotic and  pain meds every twelve hours.  Which means using a syringe to shoot the liquid in her mouth.  Know much about cats?  They don't take well to stuff being forced into their mouths.  Especially when it tastes disgusting.  I guess no one has thought of making a tuna flavor antibiotic.  Most of the liquid ends up on the lucky person holding her.  So dressing for work in the morning and then giving her the meds isn't the best idea I have had. 

This weekend she didn't eat as much as we'd like and she seemed pretty lethargic.  This afternoon we decided that she needed to be looked at, so we made the trek back over to Arlington to the vet. 

We discussed what might be wrong with her on the way over.  One thing that had occurred to me was that she no longer liked the food we gave her because of the shortcut I tried.  I injected her medicine into the food I wanted to feed her.  No muss, no fuss.  Maybe.

Miss SmartyPants could smell the medicine and decided she didn't want to eat what she was offered.  She was hungry, just not for food that smells like antibiotic.

She acted like a champ at the vet, even sitting curled up on my lap, purring up a storm once she confirmed there was no viable exit from the exam room. 

Our dear friend gave us some canned food her angel kitty didn't need anymore, and as soon as we got home, we served up some of that, sans medicine.

Let me tell you what! She ate (licked) like she had never seen food before!  She had a half a can before she decided it was time to get her appearance in order. 

So, I have learned my lesson.  Medicine will no longer be dispensed in Princess Purrrfect's food.  And we will syringe smaller amounts of said awful-nasty-stuff at a time into her mouth, to make sure she gets the proper dose.

Live and spend a fortune learning how to care for your "children." 

My Grass Got Kicked

If anyone tells you that they enjoy push-mowing their lawn, you should immediately demand some of the crack they are smoking. Or ask for the name of their landscaper.

Y'all, let me tell you something. I would rather do just about anything than push-mow a lawn EVER again.  I mowed our front and back lawns this morning as a gift to my sweet husband, but I think I will still to baking cookies and making sweet tea for him to enjoy after HE mows from now on.

Long story short, I am off school today and the lawns need to be mowed.  House needs to be cleaned too, but my thought process was--mow in the morning while it's relatively cool, clean in the afternoon in the air conditioning.  Seemed like a good idea at the time.

Heard that one before? 

I dutifully cleaned up all the dog business in the yard, a pre-mowing ritual at our house.  Then I dragged the little red mower out of the shed and put it in position.  I pulled back the little handle, and pulled the cord with all my might, but nothing happened.  Ok.

I repeated the process.  Nothing.  Ok.  I checked the gas.  Plenty.  I repeated the process.  Nothing.  Ok, little red mower.  I have two degrees and wrangle 7th graders for a living.  You will not outsmart me.

Well, the mowing was supposed to be a surprise for Brian, but do I want to surprise him more than I want to accomplish the task? Not today, my friends, so I called him to ask how to start the darn thing.

"Well, did you choke it?" he asked after he picked himself up off the floor from the shock of my intention to mow the grass.  "Uh, choke, you say?  What is the choking you speak of?"  I replied. 

Apparently there is a little red button on the front of the mower that "primes" the machine after it's been sitting.  Ah hah.  Push one, two, three.  Repeat the starting ritual, and voila!  A live lawn mower! 

I proceeded to mow the top tier of our lawn with little trouble, but there are places that will benefit from the attention of the weed eater.  The May flies were taking off the grass by the thousands as I rolled along, and I discovered one shouldn't have their mouth hanging open while mowing the grass, struggling for breath the hard way.  Oh well, a little extra protein never hurt anyone. 

My next challenge was the bottom tier of the yard.  Narrow and down about 5 steps.  I wrestled the mower down there and chopped down the enormous, gnarly weeds.  But the grass was a little too dewy still and it bunched up under the mower and trapped the blade.  I did discover this after turning off the mower.  I still have all my digits, but they are a bit stained from the kelly green wet mess I had to extract from under the mower.  Grrr.

Next was the front yard.  In the hot morning March sun.  Neighbors I have never seen before are waving as they drive by as if to say, "Howdy!  Bout dang time you did something about this lawn, lady! Making the neighborhood look bad!" 

I'm also not real good with the grass boundary with the neighbors, so those lines look a little like I was drinking a Stella while walking along. Unfortunately, I am not that coordinated or I might have tried.  (I miss the riding mower.  There was a cup holder on it.  Sigh.) 

But, the grass is mowed.  You can't say it isn't.  I haven't attempted the weed eater yet, but something tells me that Brian will have to do that.  I have some cookies to bake.

My grass is kicked.