A Piece of Quiet

It was a Saturday evening. I had done the dumbest thing I have ever done in my teaching career and was paying the price for it. So I sat at my kitchen table, trying desperately to score a stack of about 150 position papers (almost all of which were plagiarized from the same three sources, I might add). I say "trying desperately" because I had NO desire whatsoever to be doing what I was doing.

I had been forced by the powers that be to inflict torture on myself via the aforementioned essay assignment. Foolishly, however, I made it into the semester final exam. Grades were due in just three days, and I had to grade them quickly.

First of all, grading essays is no picnic, regardless of the writing ability. But when you have to read essentially the same three essays 150 times -- and they weren't even that well written to begin with -- you get the strange, yet overwhelming desire to jab your red ink pen into your eye.

So there I sat at the kitchen table trying desperately to grade papers and to avoid my periodic involuntary attempts to put out my own eye. My two energetic and very boisterous children began to "play" in the living room about ten feet away from the table. This was more than I could handle. I stood up suddenly, slammed my hands down on the table and announced (or rather, bellowed), "I WANT PEACE - AND QUIET!!!"

My children were slightly taken aback at this outburst, but not really enough to move their game elsewhere. Instead, my son -- bless his heart -- sidled up to me slowly with his hand in his pocket. He pulled his hand out of his pocket wryly and handed me his fist. He said, "Mom, here is a piece of quiet. You can eat it... then, you can IGNORE us."

Laughing With Lou

Tonight my son and I had a "just me and him" night. Sis was at Grandma's, Baby was in bed, Dad was downstairs watching some kind of game; so me and Lou (a.k.a. LX) decided to watch "Robots" together. We popped some popcorn, grabbed some lemonade and headed upstairs to watch.

I don't know exactly why this happens, but every once in a great while I just need to laugh until I cry and can't breathe. The last time I did this was over a year ago -- August 22, 2007. I was pregnant, and it put me into labor (Hooray for a good laugh!). Usually these episodes come when I am home with my sisters and mother. I think it's stress reliever that can only happen when you're totally comfortable with whom you're with. Last time I was with my sister. This time I was with Lou.

I don't think Lou has ever seen me laugh so hard. We got to a certain part of the movie, and it just struck me so funny I started laughing. I laughed and laughed and laughed. My lungs hurt. I had tears streaming so furiously, they had made it all the way down my neck. I couldn't help myself... even after I didn't think it was funny anymore. I just kept laughing. I had to force myself to take deep breaths. It felt good.

My son loved it. He loves to make me laugh, and he had never experienced this joy to the extent he witnessed tonight. In fact, he thought it was so great, he kept wanting to go back to the part I thought was so funny. I actually had to threaten to leave the room to keep him from playing it over and over.

I love to laugh like that. Sometimes though (and I don't know if anyone else has experienced this), I end up crying. Not sure why, but after all that laughing, a sadness just sweeps over me, and I need to cry it out. Maybe it's because I spend a lot of time burying my disappointments and other stuff. Enough to make me think sometimes that I don't really emote anymore. I guess somehow my subconscious just knows when enough is enough, and it has to all come out at once. It starts with a good belly laugh that lasts and lasts until a person can hardly breathe... then the floodgates open, and ya just gotta cry. That's something I haven't done in a long time either. It'd feel good right about now.

Baby's First Birthday

It's difficult to believe that this time last year I was adjusting to a new born -- something we hadn't had in the house for five years -- and now, it's hard to imagine life with out the little guy!

Taz is a cheerful and busy little boy. He started walking at 10 1/2 months (considerably earlier than both my older children), and he has been a blur ever since. Taz loves to be around the family, so if he looks around and realizes he's alone, he makes sure the entire neighborhood knows it... talk about abilty to project his voice. He has lungs you wouldn't believe!

You would think after a full year of life, Taz could spread his meals further apart, but you would be wrong. Taz HAS to eat every four hours... and he HAS to eat a lot. He's quick about it though, because he insists on a constant intake (God forbid the feeder pauses between spoonfuls to eat his or her own dinner). You gotta keep shoveling, or Taz'll let you know your error (See above lung power).

The other kids positively adore their little brother and never cease to brag on him at any opportunity. If you've been the victim of this -- I gotta tell ya -- I'm not sorry. It saves me the trouble of bragging on him myself. (Both of my older children talk WAY MORE than I do -- a gift they obviously received from their father).

Anyway, Taz made it to one. We had a little family party for him. And can I just say, Taz likes cake. And not just the frosting either. He likes cake. The funny thing was watching him take his first taste. His big brown eyes just lit up, and he looked at me to see if I was going to take it away (he may have been a little bit surprised that I hadn't already done so -- Mommy doesn't let him have the good stuff very often, after all). Then he meticulously began excavating his way through the cake one handful at a time. Somehow he managed to keep the cake just on his face and hands. Seriously. No cake in his hair at all. I don't think I've ever witnessed such a feat. I don't think his dad can even do that.

One thing is for certain. Taz is one multi-talented, highly skilled little toddler... Alright, I can't resist a little bragging of my own.

First Day of School 2008

In spite of my apprehension about the start of a new school year, we (the kids and I) survived our first day. I tell you, it's amazing how easily you can get these kids up in the morning on the very first day of school. My daughter's first words were -- at 6:30 in the morning, no less -- "I'm not tired, Mom!" and she hopped cheerfully out of bed. She's easy to rouse in the morning (yes, even on the second and third days).

My son, on the other hand, has issues with morning. Especially if it's still dark outside. The first day, he got up relatively quickly and was quiet but cordial. On his second day, however, he was a grump. He climbed back up in his bed and told me, point-blank, "It's not time to get up. It's still night outside." He had a plethora of excuses and condemnations for kindergarten: There's no rest time; They don't have centers; It's too long. Basically, he was in no mood for school.

How can he possibly know -- after only one day -- there are NO CENTERS in kindergarten? Breakfast was another disappointment for him... the Honeycombs were stale. He wouldn't eat them. We ended up grabbing a package of peanut butter crackers on the way out the door. On top of his rough morning, he started off his school day by losing his backpack on the playground so was unable to give the teacher his milk money in time. His mind just couldn't focus and so he was "re-directed" several times throughout the day until he finally ended up by Mr. Sad Face. What a day!

When I picked him up at the end of the day, he was sitting quietly at a table spinning a BopIt. Poor kid!

Well, for better or worse, we made it through our first few days of school and are happy to be finally at the weekend. Next week will be better!

The Summer Ends

Well, the unthinkable has happened. I am back at work. Well, "back" is not the most accurate word to use, since it's a new job -- but it is work, nonetheless. I started Wednesday. I still have virtually nothing accomplished in my classroom. I can't put anything away, so it just sits there in boxes in the middle of my room, taunting me.

Starting back to school in the fall is almost always a stressful experience for me. This time I have the usual stress compounded, since I have to learn a new staff, new procedures, new students and a new curriculum. For the past 8 years I have had only one prep (for those of you who are unversed in the educational lingo of today, that means I taught only one lesson to six different groups of students). This year I start out with five preps -- all new to me, and therefore, I am starting from scratch with the curricula for all five courses. Add all that planning to back-to-back faculty meetings, an open house for parents and students, an unorganized and hopelessly cluttered classroom, and anything else I've probably repressed, and you come up with a delightful recipe for "Dear God... HELP!!!"

I suppose that's a good thing though. Don't want to get too stuck in my old ways, after all. I think I need a little shaking up just to refresh my spirit for teaching. Once I get settled in, things'll fall into place. If they don't, well, you'll probably hear me hollering from where you are.