Oh, sweet irony

I started my college career studying business.  A third into my sophomore year, I abruptly left class to change my major to English.  (I didn't like the politics involved.)  Twenty years later, I am running a business with my husband, and I left teaching English because I didn't like the politics involved.

The Social Media Black Hole

I went down the rabbit hole of social media tonight.  It started so innocently, checking Facebook, which lead to Instagram, which lead to Twitter, which lead to more Facebook, which landed me on Google+.  (Does anybody even use Google+?)  I've spent more time in all of these time-sucks as a result of the business, since this is the new direction of marketing.  I stop and wonder about the direction we are going as a society.  We make "connections".  As an introvert who is notoriously horrible at meeting people and making friends, one would think I would revel in this type of detached attachment.  Part of me likes hearing from old friends.  Part of me still feels as awkward, self-conscious, insecure, and isolated as I did in junior high/high school.  (Why haven't people sought me out?  Why am I always the seeker?  How much do I reveal?  Why do I still feel like a dork?)  I do check people's posts all the time, and I don't know why.  What I mostly see is polarization and extremism.  Polite debate has been drown out by all-caps screaming.  No one is listening and everyone is yelling.  The anonymity emboldens people to be, for lack of a better term, dicks.  Some of this behavior is spilling over into real life.  Hopefully, we can all remember our manners when not in front a screen.  I promise to remember this, too.  And to put down the screen periodically.  Or at least at family functions.  And at the dinner table.

Many of my connections have unplugged from one site or another.  The sites where they remain involve a much smaller, selective circle of connections.  Maybe we *should* all join Google+ to avoid the bullshit that wears us down.  Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go look at pictures of baby hedgehogs.

The end

This quarter is the first after many, many years that I do not have a teaching appointment.  I am/was so low on the totem pole that I wasn't given any classes.  I am still torn about how I should feel.  I wish the end of my teaching career would have happened on my own terms.  (Officially, it isn't over,  but I have a feeling that I won't return. I'm still on some list somewhere. )  The loss of medical benefits and a steady,  albeit tiny,  paycheck is stressful. The freedom to focus my energy on our own business is awesome.  Now I really need to work on my time management skills. Or find a personal assistant. So much to do;  so little time.  

Mmmm... ducklings

Me:  We're going to Bruno's.
Flynn:  YES!  Schnitzel!   Mommy,  what are those things I always take off your plate?  Ducklings?
Me: Dumplings.
Flynn: Yum.  Dumplings.
Me: Ducklings on your plate would make for a very different meal.
All:  Quack quack quack!

Brain capacity

Me: So, Drake, what's the name of your new technology teacher?
Drake: I have no idea.
Me: How come?
Drake: Well, there's so much information *crammed* up in there, and when you get so much up in there,  eventually it goes *POP* and something comes out.

Why am I crying?

Drake, Flynn, and I have starting a massive house cleaning effort, in the hopes of starting a fresh school year with a fresh house.  We started today in Drake's room.  A baggie full of change was found among the other piles of stuff.  I asked him to put the change in this piggie bank.  The banks the boys have are divided into four sections: save, spend, donate, and invest.  Here's how the conversation went...

Me: Drake, please put your change in your bank.
[sound of clanking coins]
Drake: I need to get the Donate section higher.
Me: I would put it in Invest.  Since you are already talking about going college, you should start saving now.
Drake: But , Mommy, the poor people really, really need it!

END SCENE

Wolfgang

Wolfgang, the wolf puppet, has come out of hibernation.  He was put away when Drake was diagnosed with dust mite allergies.  I brought him out today, after a short stint in the freezer to kill off any remaining mites.  The boys were instantly in love with him.  They sat on the couch with him, feeding him puppet food and stroking his fur.  Flynn read two stories to him.  Wolfie fell asleep during the second, and Drake woke him to hear the end of the story.  Flynn then started taking pictures of Wolfie; afterward, he let Wolfie take some pictures.  It is very difficult for a wolf puppet to manipulate a camera.

Feeding Wolfie some puppet food

Flynn later read him a bedtime story and left books to read.  According to Drake, Wolfie is a Pre-Level 1 reader.  I'd say that's pretty impressive for a puppet.

Here's Wolfie, all tucked in and ready for bed.  Notice the food dish, books, and camera (to take any picture).

I hope those two stay sweet and imaginative.

Pink and blue

Flynn and I survived our first Princess Party today.  The guest of honour was Rapunzel, and he was very charming to her.  Totally cracked her up by telling her that he doesn't drink any grown up drinks like alcohol or root beer.  Flynn was way out of his element, being one of the few boys there and no one else was running around like crazy people.  I was out of my element because all the other parents knew each other.

I understand little girls are really into princesses.  (I'm not going to lie.  I had the Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty books on record.  I listened to them all the time.)  The girls wore their princess dresses and there was lots of twirling.  What surprised me were the gifts.  Flynn's gift was the only game.  Everything else was something crafty or princess or crafty princess.  (There was one LEGO set.  Princess, of course.)  At all the other parties we've attended or I've worked, board games are a staple.  But, those parties were all for boys.  Am I reading too much into this?  Girls still play board games, right?  Have we as a society gone overboard on the gender roles that girls aren't supposed to be competitive? Aren't we currently complaining that there aren't enough girls in certain areas of study?  So, why are we only buying them crafty things as gifts?  And, shouldn't more crafty items be given to boys, too? 

I don't know what I'm talking about any more.  I'm surrounded by so many boys all the time that maybe I've lost some perspective.

Keeping calm

I've been in crisis/survival mode for a while now.  I just need to make it through this week.  I just need to make it past this event.  I just need to.  I just need to. 

The problem with this approach to life and work is thus. There's always going to be something.  There's always a new deadline.  There's always some new form of stress.  I have been sick from the first of October because I am in this perpetual state of panic and stress.  With the business becoming more successful, more deadlines and commitments and organization will be required.  The boys are getting older, and with their maturity comes more commitments and homework and appointments.  The to-do lists are never going to be completed.  Emergencies are going to disrupt life at the most inconvenient time. 

And then, Tuesday happened.

I hadn't slept, worried about my dermatology appointment, and plagued by bad dreams about the business when I did manage to sleep.  My sitter fell through for a work appointment.  My emotions were already so raw; I fought back tears during Morning Care.  (The kindergartners didn't need to see me blubbering.)  I tried not to cry while talking to my mother, who called me and graciously volunteered to be my sitter replacement.  I tried not to cry during my appointment. (I'm trying not to cry as I write this.)  I did cry during the biopsy, but that was because of the local.  (Why does the numbing agent hurt so damn much?) The suspicious spot is on the back of my left leg, a spot that hasn't seen daylight in years.  How did it end up there?  I was blase during the other biopsies; those locations made sense.   This one doesn't.   Where is the next one going to crop up?  How many more will sprout in sunless areas like mushrooms? Will this one be cancerous, too? I spent the rest of the day in physical pain.  I barely made it through my class.  I concluded class early to make the long and painful walk to my car.  I winced every time I engaged the clutch, driving the Mustang to pick up the boys from school.  I didn't sleep again, a combination of pain, stress, and bad dreams.

I took some time to myself on Wednesday, to process current events.   Like I stated before, this shit is still going to happen, whether I'm prepared or not.  It's never going away.  It's time for me to stop thinking in constant crisis mode.  I need to look long range.  I need to prepare earlier.  My lifetime of procrastination has bitten me in the ass too many times.   It's time for me to grow up and take charge of my outlook and circumstances.  I'm going to be 40 in two months, for God's sake.  Because even when I was in pain, I had to little boys curled up on my bed with me, keeping me company, and a husband taking care of business by taking on a teaching role solo (when he isn't comfortable doing so).  I'm pretty damn lucky, and it's time for me to keep calm.

The final day of his sixth year

I'm not incredibly crafty.  I find Pinterest ridiculous, and Martha Stewart can go straight to hell.  I try to work within my own limitations.  I took a cake decorating class before Drake was born so I would be able to provide something only moderately lame on birthdays instead of outright pathetic.  I try my very best to fulfill birthday requests.  I've done the pink guitar cake, the paw print cake, and store bought cupcakes.  This year, Drake wanted robot cake pops (again).  Although incredibly busy with three jobs and the massive cleaning/purging project of the weekend, I knew I could do it, especially since I had made them before.

 

Pre- and post-coating

Everything with this project was cursed.  I don't know what happened.  Everything about it went to absolute shit.  Did I not use enough frosting?  Did I wait too long before coating?  Did I not make the proper sacrifice to the baking gods? I had formed the cake rectangles for the robot heads last night and placed them in the fridge.  Today, when I went to coat, they completely fell apart.  The sticks wouldn't stay in the heads since the cake wouldn't stay together.  Oh, and I didn't have enough sticks, either.  Cake was getting mixed in with the candy melts, making it lumpy.  My frustration was epic.  I went and knocked on Drake's door, telling him what went wrong, and hoping he wouldn't be too disappointed with my request to just make cake balls.  "Sure, Mommy.  That's fine."  I gave him a peace offering of including decorations, to make amends for my failure.  He added sprinkles to the lumpy yellow blobs.  Oh, and I ran out of candy melts half way through, so I had to go back to the store.  Unfortunately, I forgot to put the uncoated ones back into the fridge.  Those fell apart more while coating on the fresh batch of melts.

They look liked Deviled eggs without the whites.

 

In the end, he's not going to remember that I messed up (I think- who knows?). Hopefully, he'll take away that I love him and I try out of love for him*.  Enjoy your final day being six.

 

*I hope all the Pinterest-obsessed moms out there remember that.  They aren't going to remember that the labels you made for the water bottles match the plates and napkins that match the banner and all the other décor.  Did they have fun?  Were you there?  Did they feel loved?  Isn't that all that really matters?  Now, if you'll excuse me, we have more Harry Potter to read.  He just won the Quidditch Cup.

Super Bowl Blog- Seahawks Edition

I live-blogged the Super Bowl a couple of years ago.  I thought I would do it again this year, mostly because the Seahawks are playing.  I've never lived in a town where the local team actually made it to the big game.  I'm already wiped out. Today was the joint birthday party for the boys: 28 kids.  (I think.  Some showed up last minute without an RSVP, and brought a sibling. It was a big blur.)  I'm already in my jammies and got my drink on.  The added challenge of the day- typing on the tablet.  I would live tweet this, but I have no followers. Let's go, already!

3:17- How much longer is the damn pre-game?  At least Metallica is playing.  Ooo, Kurt Russell.

3:23- Anthem.  An opera singer?  At least it was "AND the rockets".  No extra h's.

3:27- Tim just lost mind.  First Daytona 500 ad.  Nice coat, Joe.

3:32- James Franco makes a great Rob Riggle.

Kickoff- Wait, what just happened? 

No, seriously, what just happened?  A safety on the first play?  Holy s#!t, Batman.

3:38-  Drake is asking good questions about football.  We watch so little in this house, and most of the kids in his school watch religiously.

3:45- The boys don't talk at all during the commercials.  Thanks...

3:47-  Seahawks 5 Broncos 0

Lost some time.  Brother called. If you've ever wanted to run naked down Meridian, now is your chance.  No one is out there.
Tim is teaching the boys boy things, like enjoying Funyuns and what 1st and 10 means.

4:04- When can I switch over to the Puppy Bowl?

4:06- Bud Light, please don't ever put Ahnold in shorty shorts again.

4:08 Seahawks 8 Broncos 0

4:12 Seahawk interception.  Flynn:  We have 8!  Yeah!

This is more challenging than I thought.  Flynn is clamoring for my attention.  And I'm hungry. 

4:23 Seahawks 15 Broncos 0. Drake: We're kicking Bronco butt!

Snack time.  Boys seem to have lost some interest.  Flynn is doing acrobatics.  Drake is sliding down the wall.  (Don't ask.)

4:39 Seattle interception and TD.  Boys barely looked up from their new books while Tim and I cheered.  22-0 Sea.

4:43 Stephen Colbert is the best spokesperson ever.  He makes a fantastic pistachio.
Another turnover by Denver?  That ball popped out like a greased pig.  Nope. No turnover.   Mmmm... turnovers...

4:50 Puppy Bowl!

4:52 Back to the game. I'm sorry.  The mouth guards look like large pacifiers.  (Clarification.  I'm not sorry we are back to the game.)

4:56 The Fritos go on the sub?  It's good to know your (stoned) audience.

Wait, it's halftime?  Watching the kitty halftime show on the Puppy Bowl.  Flynn is loving it.  Kittehs!

Sorry , actually football game.  You don't have the same appeal as puppies in the 5-7 year old boy demographic.  Touchdown!  Go, puppies, go!  Oops, penalty.  Intentional growling.

Ugh.  Flipped back just in time for the RHCP.  Never been a fan. The scary porn stache isn't helping.  Totally digging Bruno Mars.

5:33 Touchdown.  Another score on the first play of a half.  29-0.  Drake:  Wow!  They might get 30!

Boys are splayed out on the floor.  Drake is watching the game in earnest.  Flynn is mad because his dinner choices are leftovers.
Go, GoldieBlox!  Well done.  And kudos to Quiet Riot for stepping up and letting the small company use its song.

5:48 Flynn is bored.  "Go, Huskies, go, Huskies!"
6:03  Now I'm getting bored.
6:04 Never mind.  Another touchdown.  36-0. 

6:13. 36-8.  Good solid drive, Denver.  Probably should have done that earlier. 

6:24 Now the Seahawks are just piling it on.  Whoo-hoo!  43-8.

6:30- Full House reunion!

6:54.  Game over!  Well, almost. 2nd Gatorade dump.  There it is!  43-8 final.  This town is going to lose its schmidt. 

Bed time.  Night all.

Parenting win

Scene: in the car.  We just left Starbucks, driving to the Y.  Very foggy winter morning.

Drake: When is it spring?
Me: March, I think.
Drake: What if someone had a parade in March?
Me: You mean, have a march in March?
Drake: [giggles].  Yeah.  And what if there was a place called March?
Me: Then they could have a march in March in March.
Drake: [snort-  hot chocolate out the nose]

End scene

Note to future self

It is January, 2014.  Drake turns 7 next month.  We are on chapter 15 in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.  While he knows the stories are just stories, he is pretty sure an owl will arrive on his eleventh birthday, bearing his letter of acceptance into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

Here's what you need to do.
Step 1: Find a stuffed owl.
Step 2: Find some old fashioned paper and green ink.
Step 3: Write a letter to Drake, telling him we are going on a trip to Universal Studios Florida to go to the Harry Potter experience.
Step 4: Place letter in the beak of stuffed owl.
Step 5: Leave owl on breakfast table on the morning of his eleventh birthday.

You have four years.  Make it work.

Office Hours

It is no secret that I despise holding office hours.  It not because I am evil or that I don't care.  It's that no one uses them.  Well, I take that back.  MY students don't use them.  Even when students would benefit from coming in and chatting with me, rarely does a student come in.  I wondered, informally, if it was the generation, too proud to ask for help, or that the students just didn't care enough to be bothered by it.  I am wrong on both counts.

I sit in a communal office for all of the adjunct faculty.  This is where we hold our office hours, grade, and have mail delivered.  My colleagues in this room have students come to see them all the time.  All. The. Time.   What is the difference from their students and my students?  Subject matter.  Students are coming in to ask questions of their math, science, and foreign language instructors.  The other English teachers and I?  Tumbleweeds.

Why won't students ask for help when it comes to their own language?  ENGL 101 is a prerequisite for just about everything in college.  Upper division courses require a C or better in it, no matter the content area of said upper division class.  If ENGL 101 is so damn important throughout all of college, why won't the students seek assistance like they do for other subjects?  I don't understand, and I wish I did.  My hypothesis is that they feel, since they speak the language, that they know it and think they don't need help as a result.  I can testify that many do need help, especially regarding the elevation of their work to college standards.  I wish I could convince some of them to pop in and see me.

Maybe I'll take an nap during my office hours instead.

How Mythbusters got my kids to wash their hands

Boys are gross.  There are no two ways about it.  They are.  I've seen Flynn lick gum off the sidewalk.  They'll eat stuff off the floor.  Trying to get them to wash hands after going to the bathroom is an uphill battle.  Or, it was, until "Mythbusters".  We watch the show as a family.  They enjoy when stuff gets blown up, but they are fascinated by the show even when nothing explodes.  One episode was about bathroom myths: hand washing and stall selection.  (Since the episode, I now use the first stall.  It's the cleanest.)  The amount of germs on hands after bathroom use was tested with no washing, water only, and soap and water.  They proved only soap and water gets rid of the germs.  I have since used this information to my advantage.

Scene:  a flush is heard.  Two seconds later, the door opens, and Flynn bounds out.
Me: Flynn, did you wash your hands?
Flynn: Yes.
Me: With soap?
Flynn: Yes.
Me: If the Mythbusters came in with a black light, would they find bacteria colonies or clean hands?
Flynn: [hangs head] Bacteria colonies. [stomps back to bathroom]

So, thank you, Mythbusters.  Thank you for making my house a little less germy.

Style intervention

Someone needs to call Tim Gunn on my behalf.  I seriously need a style intervention. 

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror at school the other day.  I swear I was starting at a reflection of my mother.  Don't get me wrong.  My mother is a lovely woman and dresses nicely.  I was unaware that my style has morphed into hers.  I'm about to turn 40, not 60.  Tim (my Tim, not Tim Gunn) asked me if I didn't want to look like my mother, then what did I want to look like.  And here's why I need the big Gunn.

I was to be comfortable and neat and not look like a slob.  I don't want to look frumpy any more, but I don't want to be a fashionista.  I would rather be timeless than timely.  I need to look somewhat professional, but not in a suit or a skirt.  Oh, and I'm cheap.  How do I accomplish all this?  Clearly, I am not able to do this on my own.  I'll accept help from any basic cable style guru at this point. 

The Flynnster

When I wrote a check today, I wrote the year as "2009".  Because five years ago you entered our lives.

You are fiercely independent.  I'm certain the only thing preventing you from going to the taco truck alone when you were three was the height of the gate latch.

You are your own person.  You can rock a fuzzy boa and backward pants like no other.

You are inquisitive.  I didn't know one person could ask so many questions.

You bring such joy, especially when you throw your head back and laugh like Snoopy.

Thanks for being my kid.

Critical Thinking

Studies are starting to come out about the dangers of overdosing on standardized testing.  I'm pretty confident the result is the lack of critical thinking skills.  Case in point: a student in my "Writing About Literature" class wrote a post for help because she couldn't find on which page Oedipus started.

...

Seriously.

Table of Contents ring a bell?

...

Anyone...?

I'm so glad one of her classmates responded.  I don't think I could have responded without being condescending and snarky.  Oh, and I told the class the chapter number of the play.  *smh*

Fortunately, there is hope somewhere out there.  I have met some really imaginative kids lately.  Today during before-school care, C (who I think is in 3rd grade), came in carrying The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes.   He then approached the other teacher and I, wondering if we had any mysteries to solves.  He asked for clues, which he wrote down in his notebook.  Mr. M (the other teacher) made up a mystery for the boy.  C asked really good questions about the "mystery".  It's so refreshing to see a young person thinking and analyzing.  I'm certain he will be able to find the starting page of Oedipus.