September 27, 2010.
Record-breaking heat today, folks. The last three days we've had a nutty heatwave here in sunny So Cal. Today took it to the next level.
110 degrees.
Shoot me.
Sweat is pouring from my body. I want to spend the night in my classroom, which is air conditioned. This needs to end before I melt and die.
I went into the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life...to put to rout all that was not life; and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. ~Henry David Thoreau
Monday, September 27, 2010
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Shoes
It has been brought to my attention that it has been too long since last I blogged. Fair enough. But the reason is simple: my husband. He has found a new computer-based video game, gag, and so I can never be on the computer any more. Also, I've had some work drama that has left me not a little bit raw, so I haven't been feeling super positive and blog-y. Things got better within a couple of days after a very dark weekend, but this week was also Back to School night, blah blah blah, excuses excuses. Let's just say that I've had a lot going on, when I have free time I'm cleaning our nasty house or staring blankly at the television, or my husband is busy burning a hole in the keyboard with his sweaty, nerdy hands. And this is just what happens while Ben is asleep, during my usual writing time. His awake time is even more insane. But right now he's watching Toy Story and Matt is playing with his guitar, so I have a few minutes to tell you about what happens when your toddler is asked to be in a wedding.
Disclaimer: I love that Ben will be in a wedding. I'm a little nervous about what he might actually opt to do rather than or during the walking down the aisle part. I'm picturing him running down the aisle screaming "mommy" and looking for me, refusing to do it, making me do it with him, or crawling down the aisle roaring like a dinosaur. Whatever he chooses will a) mortify me, and b) crack me (and probably everyone else) up. Jon and Rachel, we love you, and we are so grateful and honored that you want Ben to be a part of your big day. That said, it has inspired not a little bit of drama in our lives.
We just found out two weeks ago that he was going to be in it and what he needed to wear. The wedding is next weekend. So we spent the better part of that weekend hunting down dress shoes, a white shirt, black slacks, and a black tie (are you picturing him wearing this? I could cry it's so dang cute). The dress shoes and white shirt were easy enough. But believe it or not, 2T black slacks and a black toddler tie are not that easy to find. In Orange County, home to materialism that is so rampant that there is a retail store on every corner. Sure, had we gone into Bloomingdale's or Baby Gucci we would have had no problems. Except that a) I am a teacher. I haven't been paid since June. Money's tight at the end of every September, and b) there is no Baby Gucci. I've been to fancy stores before (like Bloomindales--because for people like me those stores are pretty fancy) and I rarely see either maternity clothes or kids clothes. I'm thinking rich people pay other people to give birth to and raise their children for them. Anyway, even if there was a Baby Gucci we would never have been able to afford it. And even if we could, I'm not going to spend $100 on 2T slacks that will be covered in dirt and cake and wedding food sauce before he even starts down the aisle and never be worn again. So we bought a cheap white shirt from H&M and a complete pants-shirt-tie-vest set from Ross because it was the only pair of 2T dress pants in the county after carting Ben around every store in every mall for three hours. Needless to say, this was not his favorite day. Even though we started off at the farm to try to compensate (more about the farm another time). We knew we'd be able to find dress shoes, and after two days of shopping we a) didn't have the energy to look and b) were out of money. So we'd wait until Matt got paid to find the tie and the shoes.
I went to the mall with my friend later in the week and I actually found dress shoes on sale for cheaper than the two other pairs I had found at two other stores AND a black toddler clip-on tie. I had enough dough for the tie, even though it meant I couldn't buy lunch or anything else for the rest of the week. But it was worth it because I was so filled with the glory of triumph that I couldn't leave the store without the tie (and it was actually a lot cheaper than I thought it would be). But I couldn't get the shoes. An added bonus: they had Chuck Taylors on sale as well. It just so happens that Ben's feet have outgrown his tennis shoes, but since it's been hot all summer we haven't gotten new ones. He hates the fake Chucks from Payless, and the ones that I found were actually cheaper than the fakies. Score! Matt was going to get paid soon, and they would still be on sale then, so I left the shoes.
Last night I went back to the mall with Ben to get the shoes. I have to bring him with me to buy shoes because his feet are a different size every day, and he doesn't wear the same size in every shoe. Why can't that be standardized? I have the same problem with jeans for myself. I have different self-esteem based on the brand of jeans that I'm wearing at any given moment because they're all different sizes.
Anyhow, Fridays Matt works late so Ben and I have a date. So I took Ben to dinner at the Rainforest Cafe for the first time. I kinda hate that place, but he LOVED it. He talked all night long about how he had a "fun dinner with the animals." After dinner we went to Sears to try on shoes. Ben was very excited about this. For some reason he loves shoe shopping. I think it's because of all the boxes. While I'm scrambling to find his size, within 30 seconds he's dismantled the entire girls' shoe section. The shoes are scattered everywhere and he's lining up the boxes. It happens every time. Last night was no exception. I'm trying to move quickly, finding his size. The dress shoes (Ben calls them boots) were fast, but the Chucks were a different story. The high tops were mixed in with the low tops, the sizes were a jumble, and in the 60 seconds it took me to find his style and size he'd rearranged the entire kids section and was currently showing his favorite pair to some people two aisles over. I dragged him back to the bench, tried on the 7s (his supposed size), and they were huge. Back to the pile for me, back to the set-up for him. 60 seconds later he'd created his very own Toy Story/Dora shoe display, with a couple of sparkly flats thrown in. This went on and on. I frantically look for a shoe, he runs off and plays show-and-tell with some very amused shoe shoppers. Finally I find the right size and style of both shoes. We went to the counter to make our purchase. He put the boxes on the counter then started to reorganize the shopping baskets. Then he took his new box of shoes, put them in one of the baskets, and headed for the door. While the sales ladies giggled, I chased him down (he's getting very fast), commended him on his excellent idea, but told him we weren't allowed to take the baskets. Eventually we got the two boxes of shoes in the bag and headed in the right direction (after a few false starts). This took us past the lingerie section, which he gleefully skipped through, fanning his hand through the sexy panties and nighties.
BUT WE HAVE SHOES.
Disclaimer: I love that Ben will be in a wedding. I'm a little nervous about what he might actually opt to do rather than or during the walking down the aisle part. I'm picturing him running down the aisle screaming "mommy" and looking for me, refusing to do it, making me do it with him, or crawling down the aisle roaring like a dinosaur. Whatever he chooses will a) mortify me, and b) crack me (and probably everyone else) up. Jon and Rachel, we love you, and we are so grateful and honored that you want Ben to be a part of your big day. That said, it has inspired not a little bit of drama in our lives.
We just found out two weeks ago that he was going to be in it and what he needed to wear. The wedding is next weekend. So we spent the better part of that weekend hunting down dress shoes, a white shirt, black slacks, and a black tie (are you picturing him wearing this? I could cry it's so dang cute). The dress shoes and white shirt were easy enough. But believe it or not, 2T black slacks and a black toddler tie are not that easy to find. In Orange County, home to materialism that is so rampant that there is a retail store on every corner. Sure, had we gone into Bloomingdale's or Baby Gucci we would have had no problems. Except that a) I am a teacher. I haven't been paid since June. Money's tight at the end of every September, and b) there is no Baby Gucci. I've been to fancy stores before (like Bloomindales--because for people like me those stores are pretty fancy) and I rarely see either maternity clothes or kids clothes. I'm thinking rich people pay other people to give birth to and raise their children for them. Anyway, even if there was a Baby Gucci we would never have been able to afford it. And even if we could, I'm not going to spend $100 on 2T slacks that will be covered in dirt and cake and wedding food sauce before he even starts down the aisle and never be worn again. So we bought a cheap white shirt from H&M and a complete pants-shirt-tie-vest set from Ross because it was the only pair of 2T dress pants in the county after carting Ben around every store in every mall for three hours. Needless to say, this was not his favorite day. Even though we started off at the farm to try to compensate (more about the farm another time). We knew we'd be able to find dress shoes, and after two days of shopping we a) didn't have the energy to look and b) were out of money. So we'd wait until Matt got paid to find the tie and the shoes.
I went to the mall with my friend later in the week and I actually found dress shoes on sale for cheaper than the two other pairs I had found at two other stores AND a black toddler clip-on tie. I had enough dough for the tie, even though it meant I couldn't buy lunch or anything else for the rest of the week. But it was worth it because I was so filled with the glory of triumph that I couldn't leave the store without the tie (and it was actually a lot cheaper than I thought it would be). But I couldn't get the shoes. An added bonus: they had Chuck Taylors on sale as well. It just so happens that Ben's feet have outgrown his tennis shoes, but since it's been hot all summer we haven't gotten new ones. He hates the fake Chucks from Payless, and the ones that I found were actually cheaper than the fakies. Score! Matt was going to get paid soon, and they would still be on sale then, so I left the shoes.
Last night I went back to the mall with Ben to get the shoes. I have to bring him with me to buy shoes because his feet are a different size every day, and he doesn't wear the same size in every shoe. Why can't that be standardized? I have the same problem with jeans for myself. I have different self-esteem based on the brand of jeans that I'm wearing at any given moment because they're all different sizes.
Anyhow, Fridays Matt works late so Ben and I have a date. So I took Ben to dinner at the Rainforest Cafe for the first time. I kinda hate that place, but he LOVED it. He talked all night long about how he had a "fun dinner with the animals." After dinner we went to Sears to try on shoes. Ben was very excited about this. For some reason he loves shoe shopping. I think it's because of all the boxes. While I'm scrambling to find his size, within 30 seconds he's dismantled the entire girls' shoe section. The shoes are scattered everywhere and he's lining up the boxes. It happens every time. Last night was no exception. I'm trying to move quickly, finding his size. The dress shoes (Ben calls them boots) were fast, but the Chucks were a different story. The high tops were mixed in with the low tops, the sizes were a jumble, and in the 60 seconds it took me to find his style and size he'd rearranged the entire kids section and was currently showing his favorite pair to some people two aisles over. I dragged him back to the bench, tried on the 7s (his supposed size), and they were huge. Back to the pile for me, back to the set-up for him. 60 seconds later he'd created his very own Toy Story/Dora shoe display, with a couple of sparkly flats thrown in. This went on and on. I frantically look for a shoe, he runs off and plays show-and-tell with some very amused shoe shoppers. Finally I find the right size and style of both shoes. We went to the counter to make our purchase. He put the boxes on the counter then started to reorganize the shopping baskets. Then he took his new box of shoes, put them in one of the baskets, and headed for the door. While the sales ladies giggled, I chased him down (he's getting very fast), commended him on his excellent idea, but told him we weren't allowed to take the baskets. Eventually we got the two boxes of shoes in the bag and headed in the right direction (after a few false starts). This took us past the lingerie section, which he gleefully skipped through, fanning his hand through the sexy panties and nighties.
BUT WE HAVE SHOES.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
I Miss You, Mommy
My job is exhausting. It is emotionally, physically, and mentally exhausting. Much like motherhood, teaching is just one of those careers that can really take it out of you. Yesterday I had a full day of teaching, then I had to drive 40 minutes for a two-hour training and drive 40 minutes back. It was an 11-hour day. I got home just 15 minutes before B’s bedtime, and when I walked in the door he said, “Hi Mommy! I miss you!” Heartbreaking. My BTSA schedule this year will have me at 18 after-school meetings in ten months. Half of these meetings will bring me home after B is in bed, which means I will not see him for 24 hours, and when I do see him it’s for 10 minutes while I get him dressed and drop him off. The cherry on top? I do not get paid for any of it. And every minute of it is required. How this is supposed to encourage and equip teachers is beyond me. Mostly it makes me want to quit and be a ballerina. But I don’t. Why? The following reasons:
- GATE kids. They’re overachievers and I love them. They do everything I ask and more, often with higher quality than I was expecting. And I have lots of them this year. They’re brilliant and nervous and fast, and they are often polite and kind and helpful.
- Rock Bands. It’s a new project that I’m trying this year. The students form a rock band with their classmates and create a blog chronicling their world tour. It’s a geography study, but they’re so busy being clever and creative and writing songs about both Justin Bieber and Antarctica that everyone’s learning (including me) without any effort. They are loving it, and so am I.
- My Student. Let's call him Buddy. He always has to get a drink of water, he never brings his work, he’s super smart but puts forth little effort, he never stops talking, he drives me insane, and he’s one of the sweetest and funniest kids I’ve ever met. He makes me sigh and laugh and pull my hair out and want to come to work.
- Middle School-ers. This is seriously the worst age. These kids are nuts—they are selfish and entitled and egocentric and apathetic and absolutely hysterical. They make me laugh with their attempts at socializing, their terrible dancing, their awkwardness, their dramatic public break-ups, and the way that they are different human beings every day. I can’t imaging working with any other age group.
- My school. It’s amazing. The staff is extraordinarily supportive and loving, and we’re a big crazy family. Today I’m wearing a fat headband, an I heart NY t-shirt, a striped sweater-vest, a plaid skirt, and jellies because it’s MisMatch dress-up day. It’s stupid and funny and my feet are killing me.
And a million other reasons.
Now I need to go because I have no meetings today and I have no idea why I’m staying after and writing this when I could go home and be with my munchkin. Maybe we can be dinosaurs today…
Zen
I’m taking a brief break during my lunch from my mountain of grading…
It’s been a crazy couple of weeks in some ways, and in some ways it really hasn’t. My whole Zen philosophy this year will be a challenge, but it will be good for me. It already has been. Ben lost his mind every morning that first week when I left. The last couple of years I actually hadn’t cried on that first day. Oddly enough, I cried the third or fourth day. I think I didn’t cry because it took a few days to sink in that it wasn’t temporary—that I really did have to leave him five days a week for the next ten months. The first couple of days I was nervous and excited and busy entering the year, and I think it didn’t hit me to grieve until the dust had settled. This year there wasn’t much dust. I felt prepared, I felt comfortable. After a couple of years of the transition, I obviously am keenly aware of the permanency of the separation. So that first day, I cried. I handed Ben off to Brandi, Ben was wailing, and the tears began to fall before he was even out of my arms. I ran out of the house, trying to hold in the sobs until I was at least half-way out the door. I cried all the way to work.
Once there, I was, predictably, fine. Eighteen or so hours of meetings and a few fleeting moments in my classroom later, and I could tell my Zen was taking a beating. It wasn’t because the work was unpleasant. Far from it—I love my job, I love my staff, and I love organizing things. It was just a lot. I didn’t have nearly the time I needed to get a lot of prep done, and knowing the students would be there first thing in the morning when I felt half-prepared gave me more than one moment of panic. But then it happened—the moment I’d been waiting for. The moment to be Zen. And I did it. I took a deep breath, exhaled, and smiled. Whatever. A half a dozen things weren’t done and it was after 3:00. Oh well. I’ll do it later. This is a Christmas Miracle, folks. I’m fairly certain I’ve never had that thought a day in my life. My first year of teaching I was at work until 5:00 every day because I seriously could not leave with one item left on my To-Do list. But not this year. This year I wanted to be Zen. And I am.
The secret to my success? God. Nothing short of God. And my own good choices. Because what I did that first morning changed the game. I woke up extra early (please don’t die of shock) and spent some time with God before my day got started. I read my Bible, I prayed. I wrote a couple of perfect-for-the-day verses from my morning reading on sticky notes and put them on my work computer to memorize and mediate upon throughout the day.
I have done this every morning for the last thirteen days. And I started doing a little yoga. I read, I pray, I pick a verse or two, and I meditate on it as I do some stretching. And then there are those verses from the first day…my mantra, my refuge.
This is going to be a challenging year for me as far as work-load. I’ve got six academic classes, three different preps, and no prep period or elective to grade, plan, and do the thousand administrative tasks I need to do on a daily basis. I don’t want to be here from 6am-6pm, and I want to try to maintain my rule of never bringing work home. To be honest, I’m not really sure how I’m going to do it at all, much less do it with little to no stress. But I’ve got a few little tricks up my sleeve. I’ve got my verses, and I make myself a little To-Do sticky note each morning. My mom always told me that the only way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time. So I’m going to eat my elephant of a job one bite at a time. I won’t leave every day with zero papers to grade and no planning/prep to do. But I can do a little. So far I have spent every recess and lunch in the copy room or at my desk. I’m going to have to figure out a way to make that end; but for now, it’s the only prep time I get. But I’ll find a way to get my time back. I mean, how can I achieve Zen if I never stop working? I’ll get there. I’m slowly finding my pace, my rhythm. And I promise not to freak out on the way.
So there it is—I am Zen. So when on the second day half of my students didn’t turn their first tiny assignment in, Zen. Of course there are consequences for them—but no longer for me. I refuse to carry with me every single frustration, every single apparent failure of mine or theirs. Because it’s not worth it. And I refuse to spend my entire year not sleeping and constantly frustrated because I didn’t do something right, or they didn’t do something right, or someone doesn’t like the way I did this, or__________. Whatever. Things will get done. Do I have moments of panic when I think about the sheer volume of essays (four English classes!)? Yes. Do I have moments when I feel overwhelmed by six academic periods and no prep or elective time to grade/plan? Absolutely. Do I have an anxiety attack at the end of the day when I look at all the unorganized crap and unfinished tasks covering my desk? A little. Was I at least a little bit tempted to run screaming out of one class in particular today when several students didn’t have their book, several more didn’t have a paper we’ve been working on for a week, one didn’t have his backpack (or any of its contents), and one had his backpack but all of its contents were distributed among his various classes? Sure. But that’s okay—I feel the feeling, I take a deep breath, and I move on.
Sure, we’re only on our second full week of school. I’m sure I will face many more trying moments than a load of kids forgetting to bring their textbooks to class. And maybe when I get that hateful email or that disrespectful student gets all sassy-pants on me the Zen will be more challenging to maintain. But for now I’m going to relax in my small triumph. Because today I’m good. I love my students—they’re funny and weird and all those things that make my job so wonderful. I’m excited about the year. Ben is already loving his days with his caretakers, and I only cried the one time. We have two dates a week, and all kinds of cuddles and family time in between. We still have our together time, and I still have some me time. Maybe it’s a lot less time, but I drink it in all the more.
Zen, baby.
But I have to go now because seriously, I have so much freaking grading to do.
“He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end. I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live. That everyone may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil—this is the gift of God…So I know that there is nothing better for a man than to enjoy his work, because that is his lot. For who can bring him to see what will happen after him?” Ecc. 3:11-13, 22
It’s been a crazy couple of weeks in some ways, and in some ways it really hasn’t. My whole Zen philosophy this year will be a challenge, but it will be good for me. It already has been. Ben lost his mind every morning that first week when I left. The last couple of years I actually hadn’t cried on that first day. Oddly enough, I cried the third or fourth day. I think I didn’t cry because it took a few days to sink in that it wasn’t temporary—that I really did have to leave him five days a week for the next ten months. The first couple of days I was nervous and excited and busy entering the year, and I think it didn’t hit me to grieve until the dust had settled. This year there wasn’t much dust. I felt prepared, I felt comfortable. After a couple of years of the transition, I obviously am keenly aware of the permanency of the separation. So that first day, I cried. I handed Ben off to Brandi, Ben was wailing, and the tears began to fall before he was even out of my arms. I ran out of the house, trying to hold in the sobs until I was at least half-way out the door. I cried all the way to work.
Once there, I was, predictably, fine. Eighteen or so hours of meetings and a few fleeting moments in my classroom later, and I could tell my Zen was taking a beating. It wasn’t because the work was unpleasant. Far from it—I love my job, I love my staff, and I love organizing things. It was just a lot. I didn’t have nearly the time I needed to get a lot of prep done, and knowing the students would be there first thing in the morning when I felt half-prepared gave me more than one moment of panic. But then it happened—the moment I’d been waiting for. The moment to be Zen. And I did it. I took a deep breath, exhaled, and smiled. Whatever. A half a dozen things weren’t done and it was after 3:00. Oh well. I’ll do it later. This is a Christmas Miracle, folks. I’m fairly certain I’ve never had that thought a day in my life. My first year of teaching I was at work until 5:00 every day because I seriously could not leave with one item left on my To-Do list. But not this year. This year I wanted to be Zen. And I am.
The secret to my success? God. Nothing short of God. And my own good choices. Because what I did that first morning changed the game. I woke up extra early (please don’t die of shock) and spent some time with God before my day got started. I read my Bible, I prayed. I wrote a couple of perfect-for-the-day verses from my morning reading on sticky notes and put them on my work computer to memorize and mediate upon throughout the day.
I have done this every morning for the last thirteen days. And I started doing a little yoga. I read, I pray, I pick a verse or two, and I meditate on it as I do some stretching. And then there are those verses from the first day…my mantra, my refuge.
This is going to be a challenging year for me as far as work-load. I’ve got six academic classes, three different preps, and no prep period or elective to grade, plan, and do the thousand administrative tasks I need to do on a daily basis. I don’t want to be here from 6am-6pm, and I want to try to maintain my rule of never bringing work home. To be honest, I’m not really sure how I’m going to do it at all, much less do it with little to no stress. But I’ve got a few little tricks up my sleeve. I’ve got my verses, and I make myself a little To-Do sticky note each morning. My mom always told me that the only way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time. So I’m going to eat my elephant of a job one bite at a time. I won’t leave every day with zero papers to grade and no planning/prep to do. But I can do a little. So far I have spent every recess and lunch in the copy room or at my desk. I’m going to have to figure out a way to make that end; but for now, it’s the only prep time I get. But I’ll find a way to get my time back. I mean, how can I achieve Zen if I never stop working? I’ll get there. I’m slowly finding my pace, my rhythm. And I promise not to freak out on the way.
So there it is—I am Zen. So when on the second day half of my students didn’t turn their first tiny assignment in, Zen. Of course there are consequences for them—but no longer for me. I refuse to carry with me every single frustration, every single apparent failure of mine or theirs. Because it’s not worth it. And I refuse to spend my entire year not sleeping and constantly frustrated because I didn’t do something right, or they didn’t do something right, or someone doesn’t like the way I did this, or__________. Whatever. Things will get done. Do I have moments of panic when I think about the sheer volume of essays (four English classes!)? Yes. Do I have moments when I feel overwhelmed by six academic periods and no prep or elective time to grade/plan? Absolutely. Do I have an anxiety attack at the end of the day when I look at all the unorganized crap and unfinished tasks covering my desk? A little. Was I at least a little bit tempted to run screaming out of one class in particular today when several students didn’t have their book, several more didn’t have a paper we’ve been working on for a week, one didn’t have his backpack (or any of its contents), and one had his backpack but all of its contents were distributed among his various classes? Sure. But that’s okay—I feel the feeling, I take a deep breath, and I move on.
Sure, we’re only on our second full week of school. I’m sure I will face many more trying moments than a load of kids forgetting to bring their textbooks to class. And maybe when I get that hateful email or that disrespectful student gets all sassy-pants on me the Zen will be more challenging to maintain. But for now I’m going to relax in my small triumph. Because today I’m good. I love my students—they’re funny and weird and all those things that make my job so wonderful. I’m excited about the year. Ben is already loving his days with his caretakers, and I only cried the one time. We have two dates a week, and all kinds of cuddles and family time in between. We still have our together time, and I still have some me time. Maybe it’s a lot less time, but I drink it in all the more.
Zen, baby.
But I have to go now because seriously, I have so much freaking grading to do.
“He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end. I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live. That everyone may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil—this is the gift of God…So I know that there is nothing better for a man than to enjoy his work, because that is his lot. For who can bring him to see what will happen after him?” Ecc. 3:11-13, 22
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Last Day Beach Day
What TO Do on the Last Day of Summer:
1. Something Fun
2. Something outside
3. Like the Beach
4. Suck the marrow out of those last few hours
What NOT to Do on the Last Day of Summer:
1. Pinch a nerve in your neck
2. Try to hit your To Do list anyway
Oops.
Alas, alack, I was in so much pain that day I was hard-pressed to enjoy any of it. We're talking more pain than labor. And lasting longer. Which is saying something when your labor was 25 hours long, four days if we're talking about when the contractions started.
At any rate, I was in loads of pain, but I did NOT want to spend my last day on the couch with a heating pad while Ben whined and terrorized the house because his invalid mother was about as fun as Gosford Park. I was determined to have fun, dang it. I would just sit on that beach and ignore the pain. What I did not account for was the driving. Without being able to turn my head. Oops. Or the fact that sitting sent waves of pain up my spine, standing took too much effort, and laying on sand is not comfortable. Oops. I also was not satisfied going to Newport, which is easy. No. It was the last day of summer, so I had to squeeze in some adventure. I was smart enough to not do something new, but I was not smart enough to realize that rock-climbing and walking up and down 120 steep stairs to and from Pirate's Cove was about as good an idea as Speed 2.
But Ben had a whole heap of fun. So we're going to chalk this one up to taking one for the team. Also, by looking at the pictures, it looks like a fun little beach outing.
When we got home, kinda early, I assumed my spot on the couch with a heating pad. Eventually I put Ben down for his nap. I tried to take a nap myself, but it hurt so bad I was in tears. Eventually I retreated to the couch and watched Teen Mom. I also made Matt come home a few minutes early, make dinner, and play with Ben while I alternated ice and heat.
I party hard.
Update: It still hurts. But it's more of a dull roar at this point. I'm thinking this will just be the "thorn in my flesh." Maybe there's actually a thorn in there. Oops.
1. Something Fun
2. Something outside
3. Like the Beach
4. Suck the marrow out of those last few hours
What NOT to Do on the Last Day of Summer:
1. Pinch a nerve in your neck
2. Try to hit your To Do list anyway
Oops.
Alas, alack, I was in so much pain that day I was hard-pressed to enjoy any of it. We're talking more pain than labor. And lasting longer. Which is saying something when your labor was 25 hours long, four days if we're talking about when the contractions started.
At any rate, I was in loads of pain, but I did NOT want to spend my last day on the couch with a heating pad while Ben whined and terrorized the house because his invalid mother was about as fun as Gosford Park. I was determined to have fun, dang it. I would just sit on that beach and ignore the pain. What I did not account for was the driving. Without being able to turn my head. Oops. Or the fact that sitting sent waves of pain up my spine, standing took too much effort, and laying on sand is not comfortable. Oops. I also was not satisfied going to Newport, which is easy. No. It was the last day of summer, so I had to squeeze in some adventure. I was smart enough to not do something new, but I was not smart enough to realize that rock-climbing and walking up and down 120 steep stairs to and from Pirate's Cove was about as good an idea as Speed 2.
But Ben had a whole heap of fun. So we're going to chalk this one up to taking one for the team. Also, by looking at the pictures, it looks like a fun little beach outing.
When we got home, kinda early, I assumed my spot on the couch with a heating pad. Eventually I put Ben down for his nap. I tried to take a nap myself, but it hurt so bad I was in tears. Eventually I retreated to the couch and watched Teen Mom. I also made Matt come home a few minutes early, make dinner, and play with Ben while I alternated ice and heat.
I party hard.
Update: It still hurts. But it's more of a dull roar at this point. I'm thinking this will just be the "thorn in my flesh." Maybe there's actually a thorn in there. Oops.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Stealing Toys from Target
So, I mentioned in my last post Ben's obsession with Handy Manny. He insists on taking his new toolbox wherever we go. Well, we went to Target today to get him some big boy cups (no more sippies!). He was pitching a fit because we made him leave the toolbox in the car (I don't want them thinking we're stealing it, thank you very much). So Matt walked around with him for a bit while I got the cups. I found the boys a few minutes later in the Handy Manny toy section (shocker). And that's when Matt saw it: a talking Handy Manny complete with toolbox and tools (which Manny recognizes if you put in his hand) for $1.24. I refused to believe it. No clearance sticker or anything, just looked like it was regularly priced at $1.24. Matt double checked on the price scanner--sure enough, $1.24. We slipped it in the cart for a Christmas present, feeling like we were stealing. I mean, seriously, $1.24? You can't buy gum for $1.24. We bought it; sure enough, $1.24. The checker looked it up and said it was "self-clearance," and that's why it wasn't marked as clearance. I don't even know what that means--did Manny put himself on sale? That seems unlikely, even though he can talk. Unfortunately Ben noticed it somewhere along the line, and we lost the Christmas present idea. But heck--$1.24. Seriously, folks. Now our boy is in Handy Heaven.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Handy Benny
Benjamin is currently obsessed with Handy Manny. There is a certain toolbox he has been loath to separate himself from at the Disney store, which a certain daddy bought for him today. Now he spends all of his time fixing things.
I love him.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
The First Day
Today is my first day back at work. Not the first day of school--that happens tomorrow. But my first day back. Staff meetings, class rosters, putting up posters, writing names in textbooks, straightening the desks, making copies...my one chunk of prep time that ought to cover the next 178 days.
Every year is different. Every class roster, set of parents, and round of staff changes is different. Every year brings its own set of joys and challenges, and there really is no way of predicting them. Every year has worked me over for different reasons. The last three years emotionally and physically kicked my ass, between taking over someone else's classes halfway through the year, being pregnant, having a newborn, having a sick kid, watching my friend die, and a host of unpublishable-because-they-would-make-someone-mad issues. To be honest, while some trimesters are better than others, I don't think I've really had a good year. What I'm taking from this revelation is that much like most of my life, I cannot get through a month unscathed. Challenges and pain and frustration are going to happen. So I need to be patient with others, patient with myself, compassionate towards both, and forgiving of both. I need to grow some thicker skin, stop overthinking and worrying that any given lesson or action is imperfect and subsequently dire, and relax. This will be a difficult year to attain those goals--but maybe that's why I feel compelled to make them. Because perhaps this year I will need them the most.
And so, once again, I pray. Because at this point, the characteristics I desire for myself are not going to just spring up naturally, and if I try to put a load of effort into relaxing more and just letting things be, well...obviously I will have failed.
So, in all honestly, just to lay it all out on the table in the hopes that voicing it will be a step in a better direction, these are things I'm afraid of:
1. Ben getting sick again. A lot. Again.
2. Too much BTSA
3. Ben's babysitter falling through
4. Mean people
Because today is a transition day, because I have a hard time with change, and because I'm trying to not fall apart at the thought of dropping Ben off and the fear of failing before I start, it's time for my patented:
List of Things I'm Looking Forward To:
1. Meeting my new kiddos. I love a good fresh start--for all of us.
2. Ben (eventually) getting through the transition and enjoying his new year with new people that he already loves
3. Matt having Friday mornings off with Ben. I can't tell you how excited I am about Matt getting a little piece of what I get on breaks and every third weekend when he's playing at church. And I'm also excited about my Friday evenings with Ben as Matt works late. A tiny piece of summer every week.
That's all I can do for now. It's my shortest list ever, I know. But right now my goal is to just get through the next couple of weeks without succumbing to the fear and separation anxiety.
Every year is different. Every class roster, set of parents, and round of staff changes is different. Every year brings its own set of joys and challenges, and there really is no way of predicting them. Every year has worked me over for different reasons. The last three years emotionally and physically kicked my ass, between taking over someone else's classes halfway through the year, being pregnant, having a newborn, having a sick kid, watching my friend die, and a host of unpublishable-because-they-would-make-someone-mad issues. To be honest, while some trimesters are better than others, I don't think I've really had a good year. What I'm taking from this revelation is that much like most of my life, I cannot get through a month unscathed. Challenges and pain and frustration are going to happen. So I need to be patient with others, patient with myself, compassionate towards both, and forgiving of both. I need to grow some thicker skin, stop overthinking and worrying that any given lesson or action is imperfect and subsequently dire, and relax. This will be a difficult year to attain those goals--but maybe that's why I feel compelled to make them. Because perhaps this year I will need them the most.
And so, once again, I pray. Because at this point, the characteristics I desire for myself are not going to just spring up naturally, and if I try to put a load of effort into relaxing more and just letting things be, well...obviously I will have failed.
So, in all honestly, just to lay it all out on the table in the hopes that voicing it will be a step in a better direction, these are things I'm afraid of:
1. Ben getting sick again. A lot. Again.
2. Too much BTSA
3. Ben's babysitter falling through
4. Mean people
Because today is a transition day, because I have a hard time with change, and because I'm trying to not fall apart at the thought of dropping Ben off and the fear of failing before I start, it's time for my patented:
List of Things I'm Looking Forward To:
1. Meeting my new kiddos. I love a good fresh start--for all of us.
2. Ben (eventually) getting through the transition and enjoying his new year with new people that he already loves
3. Matt having Friday mornings off with Ben. I can't tell you how excited I am about Matt getting a little piece of what I get on breaks and every third weekend when he's playing at church. And I'm also excited about my Friday evenings with Ben as Matt works late. A tiny piece of summer every week.
That's all I can do for now. It's my shortest list ever, I know. But right now my goal is to just get through the next couple of weeks without succumbing to the fear and separation anxiety.
And so I pray.