These are in no way ordered or connected.
Sometimes, it's really, really, REALLY fucking frustrating being a teacher. Very few people respect us, we get very little feedback as to what we did for the year with the students actually made a difference, and well, we make shit for pay...and that's how I feel on a good day.
I always think it's cool when someone local is on a national program. Woody Paige is always on "Around the Horn" on ESPN and I feel a sense of pride that someone from Colorado was good enough to be on there. Also, I think I know enough about sports that I could be on ESPN...never mind the fact that I'm not nearly pretty enough and I'm most definitely not young enough.
Why is it easier for me to drink water out of a Camelbak than a regular cup or water bottle?
I'm very sad because FedEx was supposed to deliver my new phone to school...and I'm not there! Darn you for canceling school!!!
Although I always said that I would be a die-hard "real book" person until I die, I have to admit, I love reading ebooks on my iPad. It's way easier to read at night, so my booklight isn't blinding Babe all the time and well, it's pretty frelling cool.
Do you think the "official training bike of the Tour de France" is as awesome as it looks on the commercial? Is anything?
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Some of my FavOrIte Things...
Call it a wooby (heh, remember Mr. Mom?) a blankie, a binky, a woo-woo...whatever. A kid's relationship with their blanket is a very special thing. For me, it was a simple green blanket. (And everyone wonders where my obsession with the color came from...) My parents tell me that I would run the edges of it through my fingers overandover until I found "my suckin' spot". Then I would simultaneously suck my thumb, rub the spot on the blanket, and twirl my hair. (I have no idea how I did all three at the same time.) The blanket still bears evidence of numerous repairs.
For my brother, it was a couple of things--a small blue elephant and a big bunny rabbit. He wore that poor bunny rabbit out--to the point where the only thing he had left was a "cheek" of it that he would hold by his cheek when he sucked his fingers at night.
By the time sister came around, blankets and stuffed animals were no longer the wooby de rigueur...Fisher Price started making these mini-blankets with bunny heads on top. I do believe these were the early versions of the "blankie bears" (as Boo calls them) that are so popular today-you know, the fleecy, satiny squares of fabric with some stuffed animal head in the middle? My sister loved hers...
Which brings me to my kids. They were gifted with a million blankets, blankie-bears, and stuffed animals, and it's been interesting to see what they gravitated towards.
For Boo, it's a green Winnie-the-Pooh blanket...it's really soft on one side, satin on the other, and it has the Classic Pooh embroidered on the bottom. It was a random shower gift that I received, and while he does love some of the blankie-bears he has...he *still* returns to the blanket.
In Bay's case, she has blankie-bears that I got as presents, one that Boo picked out for her when I was pregnant with her, and a mini-blanket that I got as a gift that I thought for sure would be her "thing". Nope. Her blankies are the two, thick, satin-edged blankets that my mom and I picked up at Babies R Us a couple weeks before she was born...it was a total random buy.
We were in there getting a couple of things for Smidge's room (as we called her then) and we walked by the blankets. I'd noticed them before, and loved how thick and soft they were, so my mom grabbed a burgundy one, and I grabbed a lilac one and figured they'd be good to cover her while she was in her car seat, at least.
Without a doubt, it was the best purchase out of all of my pre-baby shopping sprees. To this day, she must have *both* blankets when she takes a nap or goes to bed. She has a preference for her burgundy one (but she calls it "pink") and will cover herself with it and snuggle the purple one.
Like I said, it just got me thinking...what about these particular blankets made them the one? What about the green Pooh blanket made it Boo's favorite? For that matter, why was my brother obsessed with the filthy, smelly, dismembered cheek of a giant stuffed rabbit that he got for Easter one year? (Sorry, Shawnski...I had to put that in there!) What makes something as simple as a blanket become a wooby, a woo-woo, or even a "blankie"?
I'm not sure, but I do know that there is hell to pay in our house if we can't find them.
For my brother, it was a couple of things--a small blue elephant and a big bunny rabbit. He wore that poor bunny rabbit out--to the point where the only thing he had left was a "cheek" of it that he would hold by his cheek when he sucked his fingers at night.
By the time sister came around, blankets and stuffed animals were no longer the wooby de rigueur...Fisher Price started making these mini-blankets with bunny heads on top. I do believe these were the early versions of the "blankie bears" (as Boo calls them) that are so popular today-you know, the fleecy, satiny squares of fabric with some stuffed animal head in the middle? My sister loved hers...
Which brings me to my kids. They were gifted with a million blankets, blankie-bears, and stuffed animals, and it's been interesting to see what they gravitated towards.
For Boo, it's a green Winnie-the-Pooh blanket...it's really soft on one side, satin on the other, and it has the Classic Pooh embroidered on the bottom. It was a random shower gift that I received, and while he does love some of the blankie-bears he has...he *still* returns to the blanket.
In Bay's case, she has blankie-bears that I got as presents, one that Boo picked out for her when I was pregnant with her, and a mini-blanket that I got as a gift that I thought for sure would be her "thing". Nope. Her blankies are the two, thick, satin-edged blankets that my mom and I picked up at Babies R Us a couple weeks before she was born...it was a total random buy.
We were in there getting a couple of things for Smidge's room (as we called her then) and we walked by the blankets. I'd noticed them before, and loved how thick and soft they were, so my mom grabbed a burgundy one, and I grabbed a lilac one and figured they'd be good to cover her while she was in her car seat, at least.
Without a doubt, it was the best purchase out of all of my pre-baby shopping sprees. To this day, she must have *both* blankets when she takes a nap or goes to bed. She has a preference for her burgundy one (but she calls it "pink") and will cover herself with it and snuggle the purple one.
Like I said, it just got me thinking...what about these particular blankets made them the one? What about the green Pooh blanket made it Boo's favorite? For that matter, why was my brother obsessed with the filthy, smelly, dismembered cheek of a giant stuffed rabbit that he got for Easter one year? (Sorry, Shawnski...I had to put that in there!) What makes something as simple as a blanket become a wooby, a woo-woo, or even a "blankie"?
I'm not sure, but I do know that there is hell to pay in our house if we can't find them.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Getting All Zen and Shit
Despite my crazy-ass schedule I'm trying to get some regular exercise in. I find that I'm a much more pleasant bitch to be around if I: A.) don't weigh a schmillion pounds B.) work some stress out. (Heh...ass schedule.)
I only logged 22 minutes of yoga the other day (89 calories, holla!) and was getting so fucking frustrated because I just couldn't get into it. My mind? Racing. Papers to grade, emails to respond to, grad school stuff to read, grades to enter, my desk is a disaster, I haven't seen my kids in two weeks (I have, but it's neither quanity nor quality), I think I'm fighting something and I feel like crap, and I'm TIRED.
So, I stopped. I was angry about it. Disappointed in myself that I couldn't even get through a 45 minute yoga practice. My self-talk sounded something like, "Why the hell are you so unorganized that you can't get all your shit done in a timely fashion? Why are you SO FUCKING LAZY?" I know, I know, I'm not very nice to myself sometimes.
One of my lovely friends mentioned that every bit of movement, every bit of stretching counts...
It also reminded me of something the lovely and bendy Katherine Budig said in one of her classes that I took via YogaGlo.com: "Be thankful for that fact that you are here today, doing yoga. It doesn't matter that the pose isn't "perfect", it's perfect because that's where your body wants to be, so for today, that is perfection." (I totally paraphrased here, but that's the gist of it.)
So, while my body may be gaining some weight from time to time, and I may limp a bit more, I may not heal as quickly, and I may be too unorganized in my brain to focus long enough to barely hold a decent Adho Mukha Svanasana...let alone a decent Bakasana...the fact that I'm there counts for something.
It's something I really should be thankful for, every, single, damn day. So nana-nana-boo-boo to you, stupid self.
I only logged 22 minutes of yoga the other day (89 calories, holla!) and was getting so fucking frustrated because I just couldn't get into it. My mind? Racing. Papers to grade, emails to respond to, grad school stuff to read, grades to enter, my desk is a disaster, I haven't seen my kids in two weeks (I have, but it's neither quanity nor quality), I think I'm fighting something and I feel like crap, and I'm TIRED.
So, I stopped. I was angry about it. Disappointed in myself that I couldn't even get through a 45 minute yoga practice. My self-talk sounded something like, "Why the hell are you so unorganized that you can't get all your shit done in a timely fashion? Why are you SO FUCKING LAZY?" I know, I know, I'm not very nice to myself sometimes.
One of my lovely friends mentioned that every bit of movement, every bit of stretching counts...
It also reminded me of something the lovely and bendy Katherine Budig said in one of her classes that I took via YogaGlo.com: "Be thankful for that fact that you are here today, doing yoga. It doesn't matter that the pose isn't "perfect", it's perfect because that's where your body wants to be, so for today, that is perfection." (I totally paraphrased here, but that's the gist of it.)
So, while my body may be gaining some weight from time to time, and I may limp a bit more, I may not heal as quickly, and I may be too unorganized in my brain to focus long enough to barely hold a decent Adho Mukha Svanasana...let alone a decent Bakasana...the fact that I'm there counts for something.
It's something I really should be thankful for, every, single, damn day. So nana-nana-boo-boo to you, stupid self.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Mom Always Liked You Better!
The Smothers Brothers...I was too young to watch them, but I do remember their tag line. In this case, I'm not talking about my own siblings, but my own little darlings.
I've heard parents of 2 or more kids talking about how from time to time, they like one of their children better...that they prefer the company of one of their children over the other one. Notice I didn't say, and never said that they LOVE one of their kids more--lest you think I'm some monster. I never thought it would happen to me. Not me! I love both of my children the same! They are both delicate and unique snowflakes that bring joy and light to my world.
Eh. Wrong.
Right now, I am having a really hard time being around Bay. She is still the funny, goofy, adorable, smart little girl that I love with every fiber of my being...but ZOMFSM, she is a challenge. She's headstrong and she's definitely hit her "threes". She needs to do everything herself, gets ragingly pissed-off when she can't do whatever it is that she's doing immediately, but then won't let me help her. However, if Babe attempts to step in and take over, she freaks the fuck out about that. Her tantrums are of epic proportions--we're talking throwing herself down, screaming at the top of her lungs, kicking, punching, biting-type tantrums. And, for the last couple weeks, she's been insisting that she sleep with her light on, which is fine, I guess, but I don't think she's sleeping all that well and the other night, she was up 5 times between midnight and 5, one of the times she asked for a fricking waffle. <insert WTF face>
Of course, I'm busy, and stressed, so I'm handling her behavior, um...not so well. I get pissed because she's being cranky and frankly, I don't want to deal with her.
Which, of course, leads me to my whole point. Boo? He's been frelling awesome lately--he started Kindergarten, which he adores, he's stopped freaking out when he gets in trouble, he doesn't fight (much) about homework, he even woke himself up last week and got himself completely dressed. It's like, "Who the hell is this kid?" So, of course I find myself enjoying hanging out with Boo...he can tell me what's bothering him, rather than dissolving into a pile of tears and shrieks; he is, for the most part, rational; he doesn't feel the need to argue with me every time I say something. It's just more pleasant.
What, you may be asking, is the whole point of this? Not sure. To assure others in the same boat that they're not alone? To seek reassurance that I'm not a horrible mother because I feel this way? Probably yes on both counts.
I just have to keep telling myself that we'll move past this stage, and about the same time Bay is over the threes, Boo will be hitting 7 and 8, in which he'll probably want nothing to do with his mom, and their roles will be reversed.
Which, of course, will be a completely different post.
I've heard parents of 2 or more kids talking about how from time to time, they like one of their children better...that they prefer the company of one of their children over the other one. Notice I didn't say, and never said that they LOVE one of their kids more--lest you think I'm some monster. I never thought it would happen to me. Not me! I love both of my children the same! They are both delicate and unique snowflakes that bring joy and light to my world.
Eh. Wrong.
Right now, I am having a really hard time being around Bay. She is still the funny, goofy, adorable, smart little girl that I love with every fiber of my being...but ZOMFSM, she is a challenge. She's headstrong and she's definitely hit her "threes". She needs to do everything herself, gets ragingly pissed-off when she can't do whatever it is that she's doing immediately, but then won't let me help her. However, if Babe attempts to step in and take over, she freaks the fuck out about that. Her tantrums are of epic proportions--we're talking throwing herself down, screaming at the top of her lungs, kicking, punching, biting-type tantrums. And, for the last couple weeks, she's been insisting that she sleep with her light on, which is fine, I guess, but I don't think she's sleeping all that well and the other night, she was up 5 times between midnight and 5, one of the times she asked for a fricking waffle. <insert WTF face>
Of course, I'm busy, and stressed, so I'm handling her behavior, um...not so well. I get pissed because she's being cranky and frankly, I don't want to deal with her.
Which, of course, leads me to my whole point. Boo? He's been frelling awesome lately--he started Kindergarten, which he adores, he's stopped freaking out when he gets in trouble, he doesn't fight (much) about homework, he even woke himself up last week and got himself completely dressed. It's like, "Who the hell is this kid?" So, of course I find myself enjoying hanging out with Boo...he can tell me what's bothering him, rather than dissolving into a pile of tears and shrieks; he is, for the most part, rational; he doesn't feel the need to argue with me every time I say something. It's just more pleasant.
What, you may be asking, is the whole point of this? Not sure. To assure others in the same boat that they're not alone? To seek reassurance that I'm not a horrible mother because I feel this way? Probably yes on both counts.
I just have to keep telling myself that we'll move past this stage, and about the same time Bay is over the threes, Boo will be hitting 7 and 8, in which he'll probably want nothing to do with his mom, and their roles will be reversed.
Which, of course, will be a completely different post.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Grrrl Power, What?
The few times in my young-adult life I actually imagined that I'd have kids (you know, when I wasn't spouting, "I take care of other people's kids all damn day, why would I want/need my own?") I figured I'd have a girl.
Being the former grungy, mosh pit-crashing, pierced, tatooed, Liz Phair/Alanis Morissette/Insert Other Angry Female Band and/or Singer-Songwriter Here-listening, knocking people over on the soccer field-playing chick that I am, I figure I'd teach my daughter all about "Girl Power". Not this "Spoil me and buy me things because I'm a spoiled bitch and I deserve it," crap that the media is spouting as acceptable behavior these days, but the "I'm Courtney Love and while I'm drugged to the gills and I'm not wearing any underwear, I'm still gonna wail on this guitar and blow your mind and if you don't like it, fuck you!" kind of way.
So, I grow up (I guess...) have a girl, and while she does keep up with the boys in terms of wreaking havoc on the neighborhood...
She. Loves. Pink.
And princesses, and ballerinas, and Barbie. FUCKING BARBIE!!! I think I owned one Barbie growing up and I most likely cut her hair and colored it with markers.
What the heck do I do with a little girl like this? Granted, I've gotten a bit more girly as I've gotten older--gone are the days of me wearing jeans and a t-shirt and calling it good. However, I'm still not the frilly, lacy, princessy mom that knows what to do with my little girl when she tells me that she wants to be a princess when she grows up.
Of course, this is still the girl that smacked the crap out of Boo this weekend with a wooden sword, and more often than not, she's picking up a random stick-shaped object, waves it around and tells me that she's "fighting bad guys". So, I guess I allow the pink-tinted dreams and hope that when she beats the crap out of some guy for pissing her off, she doesn't dent her tiara too badly.
Being the former grungy, mosh pit-crashing, pierced, tatooed, Liz Phair/Alanis Morissette/Insert Other Angry Female Band and/or Singer-Songwriter Here-listening, knocking people over on the soccer field-playing chick that I am, I figure I'd teach my daughter all about "Girl Power". Not this "Spoil me and buy me things because I'm a spoiled bitch and I deserve it," crap that the media is spouting as acceptable behavior these days, but the "I'm Courtney Love and while I'm drugged to the gills and I'm not wearing any underwear, I'm still gonna wail on this guitar and blow your mind and if you don't like it, fuck you!" kind of way.
So, I grow up (I guess...) have a girl, and while she does keep up with the boys in terms of wreaking havoc on the neighborhood...
She. Loves. Pink.
And princesses, and ballerinas, and Barbie. FUCKING BARBIE!!! I think I owned one Barbie growing up and I most likely cut her hair and colored it with markers.
What the heck do I do with a little girl like this? Granted, I've gotten a bit more girly as I've gotten older--gone are the days of me wearing jeans and a t-shirt and calling it good. However, I'm still not the frilly, lacy, princessy mom that knows what to do with my little girl when she tells me that she wants to be a princess when she grows up.
Of course, this is still the girl that smacked the crap out of Boo this weekend with a wooden sword, and more often than not, she's picking up a random stick-shaped object, waves it around and tells me that she's "fighting bad guys". So, I guess I allow the pink-tinted dreams and hope that when she beats the crap out of some guy for pissing her off, she doesn't dent her tiara too badly.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Feeding My Soul
Now, being the die-hard agnostic that I am, I'm not sure about the whole "we have a soul" thing, but I do know that there are things that I do that lift me up--kiss Babe, snuggle the kids, read a really, really, good book, and so on. On the flip side, there are definitely things that push me down--worrying about money, stress at work, blah, blah, blah...
It's no secret to those that know me that I definitely don't do a whole lot for myself. I mean, yeah, Babe and I take the kids to the grandparents' houses from time to time so we can go out of town for a quick trip or a night of getting crunk, but we're together when we do these things.
I don't do much for just me. (Neither does Babe...do stuff for himself, I mean. He does plenty for me!)
As I was unpacking my cabinets and boxes of crap that I tossed in there this past May in my mad dash to end the school year, I found this book that I bought a few years ago when I decided to teach "altered book making" for my *enrichment class.
The book was so inspiring and I couldn't wait to watch all these amazing pieces of art unfold...the students would rip, tear, cut, glue, and paint their little hearts out and they would be magically transformed by the wonders of art.
Um. Not so much. There were a couple of kids in the class that really embraced the concept, but for the most part, they wanted to hang out and talk with their friends while making a few half-hearted attempts at painting. Needless to say, I didn't teach that class again.
Anyway, I found the book and started flipping through it and I remembered why I bought it and why I was so excited to teach the class in the first place--it was something I wanted to do! The best part of my Master's program was that I got to create different kinds of art--I sang, I danced, I took pictures, I drew, I painted, and I wrote. Those two years were the most inspired my teaching had ever been...and I don't think I've been that motivated since.
My plan? Try to carve out some time for myself--yes, this is between planning, teaching, grading, parenting, cooking, cleaning, going to classes, studying, writing papers, exercising, and oh yeah, try to spend some quality time with Babe. But, I figure if I want it badly enough...and if it makes me a better me, then the time I take to create some art will be well worth it.
It's no secret to those that know me that I definitely don't do a whole lot for myself. I mean, yeah, Babe and I take the kids to the grandparents' houses from time to time so we can go out of town for a quick trip or a night of getting crunk, but we're together when we do these things.
I don't do much for just me. (Neither does Babe...do stuff for himself, I mean. He does plenty for me!)
As I was unpacking my cabinets and boxes of crap that I tossed in there this past May in my mad dash to end the school year, I found this book that I bought a few years ago when I decided to teach "altered book making" for my *enrichment class.
The book was so inspiring and I couldn't wait to watch all these amazing pieces of art unfold...the students would rip, tear, cut, glue, and paint their little hearts out and they would be magically transformed by the wonders of art.
Um. Not so much. There were a couple of kids in the class that really embraced the concept, but for the most part, they wanted to hang out and talk with their friends while making a few half-hearted attempts at painting. Needless to say, I didn't teach that class again.
Anyway, I found the book and started flipping through it and I remembered why I bought it and why I was so excited to teach the class in the first place--it was something I wanted to do! The best part of my Master's program was that I got to create different kinds of art--I sang, I danced, I took pictures, I drew, I painted, and I wrote. Those two years were the most inspired my teaching had ever been...and I don't think I've been that motivated since.
My plan? Try to carve out some time for myself--yes, this is between planning, teaching, grading, parenting, cooking, cleaning, going to classes, studying, writing papers, exercising, and oh yeah, try to spend some quality time with Babe. But, I figure if I want it badly enough...and if it makes me a better me, then the time I take to create some art will be well worth it.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
It's the End of the World As We Know It...
I love it when t.v. shows use the same gimmick when they're naming their episodes...like Friends using "The one with the..." or The Mentalist using a shade of red somewhere in the title, as a shout-out to the uber-villain "Red John". There's a show (or two or three...I'm not sure) that uses song titles--Grey's Anatomy perhaps? (I quit watching that depression-fest a couple of seasons ago.)
Although I'm not using a tool such as the "reoccurring themed title" for my posts, if I were...well, this R.E.M. opus would have been at the top of my list to use. I have an idea for another post entitled "Losing My Religion" which has totally different connotations for me than you might think. Man, I really loved R.E.M. in high school and college...they lost me there for a bit, as did U2. While I think Bono is a great guy and and get hot for The Edge, I just can't get into their music the way I used to.
I digress.
You're shocked. I know.
So, the whole part of this post is to lament the end of my summer break. But, once I start thinking about it...I'm actually excited to go back, just like I am every year. (Why yes, I am a glutton for punishment.)
Summer, for me, isn't really a break. I spend the majority of my time doing...well...shit that I needed to do all school year long, but I didn't have the time for. Like what, you ask? Um. Like laundry. Cleaning the house. Cleaning out the closets. Giving crap to the Goodwill. Getting rid of size NB diapers (Bay is TWO!). Potty training Bay. Teaching Boo how to ride a bike (okay, I totally give that one to Babe...he did it, not me.) Blah, blah, blah, I'm doing those things that other people seem to find the time for in the normal course of their lives.
I don't know why I can't get stuff done during the school year, but I can't. I do know that Babe and I are both famous for burning the candle at both ends, so I'm sure that has something to do with it. I also know that if I'm faced with the choice of spending time with the kids at the pool or grading papers--well, the papers will lose. Every. Single. Time.
I'm also excited about the beginning of a new school year. It's time to meet new families, new kids, try new things in my classroom...but really, I'm just excited that I have an excuse to leave the piles of laundry in the laundry room for days on end.
Although I'm not using a tool such as the "reoccurring themed title" for my posts, if I were...well, this R.E.M. opus would have been at the top of my list to use. I have an idea for another post entitled "Losing My Religion" which has totally different connotations for me than you might think. Man, I really loved R.E.M. in high school and college...they lost me there for a bit, as did U2. While I think Bono is a great guy and and get hot for The Edge, I just can't get into their music the way I used to.
I digress.
You're shocked. I know.
So, the whole part of this post is to lament the end of my summer break. But, once I start thinking about it...I'm actually excited to go back, just like I am every year. (Why yes, I am a glutton for punishment.)
Summer, for me, isn't really a break. I spend the majority of my time doing...well...shit that I needed to do all school year long, but I didn't have the time for. Like what, you ask? Um. Like laundry. Cleaning the house. Cleaning out the closets. Giving crap to the Goodwill. Getting rid of size NB diapers (Bay is TWO!). Potty training Bay. Teaching Boo how to ride a bike (okay, I totally give that one to Babe...he did it, not me.) Blah, blah, blah, I'm doing those things that other people seem to find the time for in the normal course of their lives.
I don't know why I can't get stuff done during the school year, but I can't. I do know that Babe and I are both famous for burning the candle at both ends, so I'm sure that has something to do with it. I also know that if I'm faced with the choice of spending time with the kids at the pool or grading papers--well, the papers will lose. Every. Single. Time.
I'm also excited about the beginning of a new school year. It's time to meet new families, new kids, try new things in my classroom...but really, I'm just excited that I have an excuse to leave the piles of laundry in the laundry room for days on end.
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