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.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Thursday, July 21, 2011
How Am I Supposed to Live Without You?
I try to not do blog posts that piggyback on each other...I like to believe myself to be delightfully random and quirky. However, I just can't NOT write this one.
My mother-fucking knee is seriously jacked up. Like, seriously. I went into my surgery last week with cartilage, albeit gnarly cartilage, in my knee and I came out with it all sucked out. Turns out I dislocated my kneecap last February and it sheared all of it off, hence all the crunchy sounds when I walked. Oh, I had a small meniscus tear too, but that was secondary to the other crap.
So, my doc fixed the tear, took all the shit that was floating around my knee out, and stitched me up, and promised my husband that he and I (the doc...) would have spend some quality-time together in a month or so.
Side note: My knee-guy? Hot. Really, really hot. Anyone watch Bones? He looks like a skinnier "Wendell". Pair that with the fact that he's smart and athletic. H.O.T.
So, while he said that my knee was "better" it wasn't "fixed" and "walking up and down stairs, as well as down inclines would be really, really painful." Um. My classroom is on the second floor of the building. Yeah, something tells me I'm going to want to fix it sooner rather than later.
My surgery will resurface my knee with plastic and metal and I should be better. Yay. I'll post info when I get it.
However, everyone keeps telling me that I need to give soccer up. It sucks because despite the fact that The Beautiful Game and I have had a very spotty and tumultuous relationship the past few years--having kids and fucking up an ankle that requires 4 surgeries will do that--however, I was getting back into it, then THE KNEE happened.
I do other sports. I swim. I bike. I do yoga. I play volleyball. I enjoy all of those things, but nothing compares to the feeling I get from kicking someone's ass on the field.
How am I going to move past it? I was able to get through my (long) absences from the sport because the possibility of coming back was always there, but that door might be irrevocably closed. What do I do? I've known A TON of people that have had to quit completely, and they do so and never look back...I just never thought I'd be one of them.
Am I still me if I no longer play?
My mother-fucking knee is seriously jacked up. Like, seriously. I went into my surgery last week with cartilage, albeit gnarly cartilage, in my knee and I came out with it all sucked out. Turns out I dislocated my kneecap last February and it sheared all of it off, hence all the crunchy sounds when I walked. Oh, I had a small meniscus tear too, but that was secondary to the other crap.
So, my doc fixed the tear, took all the shit that was floating around my knee out, and stitched me up, and promised my husband that he and I (the doc...) would have spend some quality-time together in a month or so.
Side note: My knee-guy? Hot. Really, really hot. Anyone watch Bones? He looks like a skinnier "Wendell". Pair that with the fact that he's smart and athletic. H.O.T.
So, while he said that my knee was "better" it wasn't "fixed" and "walking up and down stairs, as well as down inclines would be really, really painful." Um. My classroom is on the second floor of the building. Yeah, something tells me I'm going to want to fix it sooner rather than later.
My surgery will resurface my knee with plastic and metal and I should be better. Yay. I'll post info when I get it.
However, everyone keeps telling me that I need to give soccer up. It sucks because despite the fact that The Beautiful Game and I have had a very spotty and tumultuous relationship the past few years--having kids and fucking up an ankle that requires 4 surgeries will do that--however, I was getting back into it, then THE KNEE happened.
I do other sports. I swim. I bike. I do yoga. I play volleyball. I enjoy all of those things, but nothing compares to the feeling I get from kicking someone's ass on the field.
How am I going to move past it? I was able to get through my (long) absences from the sport because the possibility of coming back was always there, but that door might be irrevocably closed. What do I do? I've known A TON of people that have had to quit completely, and they do so and never look back...I just never thought I'd be one of them.
Am I still me if I no longer play?
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Dearest Soccer...
I miss you.
I really, really do. Watching the Women's World Cup does nothing but pour salt in the open wound that is my fucked up knee and the impending surgery. (Which is this coming Friday...I'm a bit skeered...what if it's more that just "gnarly stuff" like the doc thinks?)
I talk about you with Babe. I coached you for Boo. I am still friends with all of your devotees on Facebook. But, sometimes it's just too hard.
I miss knocking some guy over because he thinks that he's "the man"...and there's no way he could get beat by "just a girl". I miss the team camradarie...post-game beers and talking shit about the other team. I miss the feeling of making a huge cross, from back to front field...feeling the power that my legs could bring.
I have to admit, I've been cheating on you a bit. At first it was with Turbo Fire. It was something that I could do at school and at most, it only took an hour. Then, after the knee debacle, I re-discovered mountain biking and swimming. While they give me some satisfaction, it's not like the rough-and-tumble, sweat-drenched loving you would give me several days a week.
But.
<sigh>
You're no good for me...at least right now. You need to remember that I've put my body through hell for you, and I need to do what I can to get healthy so perhaps...someday...we can be together again.
Much love and devotion,
Me
I really, really do. Watching the Women's World Cup does nothing but pour salt in the open wound that is my fucked up knee and the impending surgery. (Which is this coming Friday...I'm a bit skeered...what if it's more that just "gnarly stuff" like the doc thinks?)
I talk about you with Babe. I coached you for Boo. I am still friends with all of your devotees on Facebook. But, sometimes it's just too hard.
I miss knocking some guy over because he thinks that he's "the man"...and there's no way he could get beat by "just a girl". I miss the team camradarie...post-game beers and talking shit about the other team. I miss the feeling of making a huge cross, from back to front field...feeling the power that my legs could bring.
I have to admit, I've been cheating on you a bit. At first it was with Turbo Fire. It was something that I could do at school and at most, it only took an hour. Then, after the knee debacle, I re-discovered mountain biking and swimming. While they give me some satisfaction, it's not like the rough-and-tumble, sweat-drenched loving you would give me several days a week.
But.
<sigh>
You're no good for me...at least right now. You need to remember that I've put my body through hell for you, and I need to do what I can to get healthy so perhaps...someday...we can be together again.
Much love and devotion,
Me
Monday, May 9, 2011
10 Things: That Oog Me Out
Hey, a shout out to my 2 new followers. (I don't know who you are yet, since I haven't looked.) Sorry I've been slacking on the blog...spring is a busy-ass time of year, don'tcha know. On with the list...
1. Having the window open at night when it's windy outside. I have the weirdest dreams and I feel like I can't breathe properly. Also, the tree outside the bedroom window rustles all night and it bugs the shit out of me.
2. Movies/TV shows that have someone see someone else (usually something scary) in the mirror behind them. Ack!!!
3. Extreme body modification. Don't get me wrong...I have some tats and some piercings...and if I worked in a different field, I'd probably have more, but the full-face tattoos or the dinner-plate sized ear stretching seems crazy to me. I also think to myself, "What do you do for money???"
4. Hairy spiders. Little spiders don't bother me. Big spiders don't bother me. But spiders...WITH HAIR? *shudder*
5. Seeing horrible injuries during a sports game. With my awesome history of ankle injuries, watching the slow-mo replay of some dude twisting his ankle makes me want to vomit.
6. Reality shows. Don't get we wrong. I watch Jersey Shore. I even enjoy it--okay, I enjoy watching them make fools out of themselves, but they make more money in a red-carpet appearance than I will 10 years of working, so I suppose I'm the fool. However, watching the TeenMomHordersCelebrityRehab debacle just makes me sad. Are these peoples' live any better after being in the "spotlight"? Probably not.
7. Little kids in beauty pageants. Do I really need to explain?
8. Sushi (or, Sashimi, rather...) I know that I *should* like it...all the cool kids do, after all, but I just can't get over the fact that I'm eating raw fish. Blech.
9. The smell of raw chicken. Ugh. I'm also not a fan of cutting it when it's thawed...too slippery.
10. Close talkers. It's like, "Yo, find your space!"
So, if you don't want to see me get all freaked out, avoid the above.
1. Having the window open at night when it's windy outside. I have the weirdest dreams and I feel like I can't breathe properly. Also, the tree outside the bedroom window rustles all night and it bugs the shit out of me.
2. Movies/TV shows that have someone see someone else (usually something scary) in the mirror behind them. Ack!!!
3. Extreme body modification. Don't get me wrong...I have some tats and some piercings...and if I worked in a different field, I'd probably have more, but the full-face tattoos or the dinner-plate sized ear stretching seems crazy to me. I also think to myself, "What do you do for money???"
4. Hairy spiders. Little spiders don't bother me. Big spiders don't bother me. But spiders...WITH HAIR? *shudder*
5. Seeing horrible injuries during a sports game. With my awesome history of ankle injuries, watching the slow-mo replay of some dude twisting his ankle makes me want to vomit.
6. Reality shows. Don't get we wrong. I watch Jersey Shore. I even enjoy it--okay, I enjoy watching them make fools out of themselves, but they make more money in a red-carpet appearance than I will 10 years of working, so I suppose I'm the fool. However, watching the TeenMomHordersCelebrityRehab debacle just makes me sad. Are these peoples' live any better after being in the "spotlight"? Probably not.
7. Little kids in beauty pageants. Do I really need to explain?
8. Sushi (or, Sashimi, rather...) I know that I *should* like it...all the cool kids do, after all, but I just can't get over the fact that I'm eating raw fish. Blech.
9. The smell of raw chicken. Ugh. I'm also not a fan of cutting it when it's thawed...too slippery.
10. Close talkers. It's like, "Yo, find your space!"
So, if you don't want to see me get all freaked out, avoid the above.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Not My Kid!!
Remember those after-school (or "family viewing time") specials that they showed in the late-80's? They dealt with sex...drugs...most likely some rock-n-roll. Anyway, one was called, "Not My Kid!" and it focused on a kid that was in the wrong crowd, but her parents didn't want to believe it, hence the name.
This became a HUGE joke in my family...one of the sibs or I would do something and everyone else would shout, "Not my kid!" Huh, I wonder if the Bro, Sis, and Parental Units remember this...
I've found myself wanting to say this, nay, SHOUT this at the top of my lungs these days. Where you ask?
Soccer practice.
I'm coaching Boo's U5 team, so all the boys are already 5 or just turning 5 and Boo, FSM love him, is...um...not the best player on the team. After watching his dad, older sister, older brother, aunt, and me play countless games, one would think that he would pick up on some things. But, no. At our first practice, he kept trying to stop the ball with his hands. At the first game, he was the only kid to consistently go the wrong way. Granted, every player went the wrong way at least once, but Boo...every time he got the ball. At practice, he whines, cries if he trips, and moves at a snail's pace with the ball while the other boys are zooming around him like rockets shooting across the sky. As a self-proclaimed "jock" it's sometimes painful to watch, especially when he'll get mad or frustrated during a game and he runs over to me for a hug.
However, he is having fun. He almost got his first goal last week, on his birthday, and while he's not the fastest, toughest, or most skilled player on the team...he is the sweetest. He constantly has a smile on his face and when his teammates score, he gives them the biggest high-fives.
Going through this, I see what my dad must have gone through when he was coaching all three of us in our various sports...holy shit, it's a miracle he didn't kill us! It also reminds me that no matter how badly we want our kids to be "just like us" they are their own little people, and their strengths, as well as their weaknesses, are their own--and I'll love them fiercely and unconditionally regardless of what they do.
Unless one of them becomes a serial killer...I don't think I'd be cool with that.
This became a HUGE joke in my family...one of the sibs or I would do something and everyone else would shout, "Not my kid!" Huh, I wonder if the Bro, Sis, and Parental Units remember this...
I've found myself wanting to say this, nay, SHOUT this at the top of my lungs these days. Where you ask?
Soccer practice.
I'm coaching Boo's U5 team, so all the boys are already 5 or just turning 5 and Boo, FSM love him, is...um...not the best player on the team. After watching his dad, older sister, older brother, aunt, and me play countless games, one would think that he would pick up on some things. But, no. At our first practice, he kept trying to stop the ball with his hands. At the first game, he was the only kid to consistently go the wrong way. Granted, every player went the wrong way at least once, but Boo...every time he got the ball. At practice, he whines, cries if he trips, and moves at a snail's pace with the ball while the other boys are zooming around him like rockets shooting across the sky. As a self-proclaimed "jock" it's sometimes painful to watch, especially when he'll get mad or frustrated during a game and he runs over to me for a hug.
However, he is having fun. He almost got his first goal last week, on his birthday, and while he's not the fastest, toughest, or most skilled player on the team...he is the sweetest. He constantly has a smile on his face and when his teammates score, he gives them the biggest high-fives.
Going through this, I see what my dad must have gone through when he was coaching all three of us in our various sports...holy shit, it's a miracle he didn't kill us! It also reminds me that no matter how badly we want our kids to be "just like us" they are their own little people, and their strengths, as well as their weaknesses, are their own--and I'll love them fiercely and unconditionally regardless of what they do.
Unless one of them becomes a serial killer...I don't think I'd be cool with that.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
It Shouldn't Bug...
But it does, damn it!!!!!
(I'm talking about the inability for people on the interwebz to use a fucking apostrophe appropriately.)
I joke with my students, every year, when we're covering the 3 different ways to use these little gems, that "Apostrophe Abuse" is my biggest pet peeve in.the.world. I even show them this site and they all laugh and laugh and laugh.
Then, I'm perusing various internet sites where people blog, post, tweet, update, etc. and the sheer and utter lack of knowledge about this particular punctuation mark bugs the ever-loving shit out of me!!!!!!11ZOMGELEVENTY!
I understand, it's the internet, and due to text-speak, the English language has been compressed, recycled, and pretty much mangled into something that vaguely resembles its original form. (And by "original" I mean the language that I use and love...I don't want any language nerds yelling at me.) I should just let it go. Hell, this is the second post I've made about this same topic...obviously I think about it a great deal. I teach this stuff, I should.
The internet--for all of its speed and information--allows for anonymity to facilitate stupidity...and that's just sad.
(I'm talking about the inability for people on the interwebz to use a fucking apostrophe appropriately.)
I joke with my students, every year, when we're covering the 3 different ways to use these little gems, that "Apostrophe Abuse" is my biggest pet peeve in.the.world. I even show them this site and they all laugh and laugh and laugh.
Then, I'm perusing various internet sites where people blog, post, tweet, update, etc. and the sheer and utter lack of knowledge about this particular punctuation mark bugs the ever-loving shit out of me!!!!!!11ZOMGELEVENTY!
I understand, it's the internet, and due to text-speak, the English language has been compressed, recycled, and pretty much mangled into something that vaguely resembles its original form. (And by "original" I mean the language that I use and love...I don't want any language nerds yelling at me.) I should just let it go. Hell, this is the second post I've made about this same topic...obviously I think about it a great deal. I teach this stuff, I should.
The internet--for all of its speed and information--allows for anonymity to facilitate stupidity...and that's just sad.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Just Another Manic Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday...
ZOMG, I hate getting up for work. Well, it's not the getting up part that bugs, it's the getupshowergetreadypacklunchgetkidsupoutthedoorredlightredlightdropkidsoffrushtoworkwaitinahugeasslineofcarsbecausethestudentsareincapableofridingthebusorwalking.
It makes my mornings a bit stressful.
I try to get up earlier, but it seems like the earlier I got to bed, the harder it is to wake up and going to bed late...well, it has the effect you would expect it to. I guess I'm just destined to rush around all morning and have chest pains whilst screaming at the asshat that is driving 5 miles per hour under the speed limit while I get ready to educate the masses.
^That^ or switch jobs. LOL.
It makes my mornings a bit stressful.
I try to get up earlier, but it seems like the earlier I got to bed, the harder it is to wake up and going to bed late...well, it has the effect you would expect it to. I guess I'm just destined to rush around all morning and have chest pains whilst screaming at the asshat that is driving 5 miles per hour under the speed limit while I get ready to educate the masses.
^That^ or switch jobs. LOL.
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