Crusher's newest tricks

He can now twist his head on top of my already-diminished bladder, causing a sharp and urgent need to pee. Right That Second.

Yesterday, David and I went for a walk.  It was 28 degrees or so.  I went to the bathroom first, then immediately put on boots, coat, hat, scarf, and gloves.

And had to pee again.  Not 2 minutes later.

David said, "Are you serious?"
I did not deign to answer except with my waddly hustle to the bathroom.  Or maybe I said, "Shut up," or "That's not nice," or some other witty response.

Week 35, day 4

The three of us at a Christmas party

My lovely cousin wrote me a message, asking how things were going.  As I typed, it hit me - I'm full term in 10 days.  He could come in 10 days and be healthy and fine.  If it were easier for me to stand, I'd go take a picture of the "nursery" to post.  Rolls of Christmas paper, a spilled box of ribbons, piles of papers (to file, pregnancy info, baby info, stuff I can't figure out what to do with, coupons, notebooks, cards I was supposed to send, magazines), piles of books, the clothes drying rack (with clean clothes drying - 10 points for me!), baby stuff in boxes, baby stuff out of boxes waiting to be cleaned and put away, a lamp (on the floor because there's no room anywhere else).  Alas!  The description will have to do, as I'm definitely too tired to get up and photograph the chaos.  I have my work cut out for me.  Preferably, before I go back to work.

New symptoms: 

• Can't breathe.  He's crushing my lungs.  We walked to the grocery store the other day and I had to stop to catch my breath.  It's one mile away.  At work, I have to catch my breath halfway up the stairs.  
• Braxton Hicks.  Go, uterus, go!  It's practicing away, which is extra fun with my lungs in the condition they're in.  More gasping for breath as the lungs get even squisheder.
• Itchy belly.  
• Poo problems.  No details (you're welcome).
• Can't sit, stand, or lie down comfortably for longer than 30 minutes.  I'm still grunting (in a most dignified fashion) every time I move.

Dealing with diabetes:

After the first two weeks, it got easier.  I don't cry when people offer me cookies anymore.  My numbers have evened out to what they are supposed to be the vast majority of the time.  Most of my cake cravings are gone.  That makes being noble easier.

I am frequently not noble.  Last week, I had the most divine french toast stuffed with berries and whipped cream cheese.  Felt sick all afternoon.  Worth it.  Christmas morning, I cheated by having a clementine with my sausage strata (I'm not supposed to have fruit before lunch).  My numbers were fine.  DEFINITELY worth it, and tempting me to cheat with fruit more regularly.

Best meals that kept my numbers good so far:

• Chicken Saltimbocca with Hearty Minestrone (no noodles).  Winning number: 95
• Turkey, gravy, sauteed green beans with maple pecans and orange essence, small serving of mashed potatoes, pan-roasted pear salad with balsamic glaze.  Soda water and cranberry juice mocktail.  Winning number: 112
• Baked salmon with lemony crust, steamed broccoli, blue potato.  Winning number: 97

My biggest breakthrough was noticing the stress pattern.  My blood sugar is crazy high when I'm stressed and low when I'm relaxed.  Even when I eat the same exact meal.  Then I get stressed out over being stressed out, exacerbating the problem and adding to the my-cortisol-is-hurting-my-baby guilt.  It's a good thing it's Christmas break.  I only have to work for 18 more days.

Official count: 32 days left.  Hurray for Crusher!

I might be 32 weeks pregnant?

That sounds right.  I think last week I was telling people I was 31 weeks pregnant, but it's getting more and more difficult to remember things like that.  Or any things.  Or walk up the stairs.

I'm also feeling a little brain-fogged after waking up after a nightmare SO ANGRY at David I couldn't get back to sleep (he wouldn't turn his music down in the dream, and I had to call my mom to tell her I had just given birth to a baby girl).  So I've been awake for a while.

Now I've forgotten what I was going to blog about.

I have a student who asks me a random pregnancy question every day.  Most of them are normal Can he hear?  Does he pee?  Do you feel him kick?  Yes, yes, yes.  But on Tuesday, he had the Best Question Ever.

If you throw up, could you throw up your baby?

I could have said, "Yes, it's really scary, but usually they just have you swallow the baby again and it's ok."  Or even, "You have zero understanding of female anatomy, huh?"

But I said with a straight face, "No, the uterus is not connected to the stomach."

Until all the kids around him started laughing.  Then I laughed to the point of tears.  It's ok.  He can take some mockery.  This is Star Wars boy.  The same boy who said, "But I thought Star Wars was filmed on other planets."

In diabetic world, I'm testing adding some unsweetened coco powder and stevia to my warm vanilla milk.  I'll let you know how it goes.  I miss hot chocolate.  And all chocolate.

Pregnancy Body

Two weeks ago, the very morning my third trimester started, my body changed.

My belly looks like a sportsball hidden in my shirt. That, combined with an achy pain down on my pelvic bone (preparing to separate! says the doctor), make me walk like I'm on a ship in stormy seas.  It's not quite a waddle, but it's definitely not a walk.  I feel like I'm rolling forward on uneven ground.  And I let out porcine grunts every time I get out of the car.  Or into the car.  Or stand up.  Or sit down.  Even more hilarious, when I'm lying on my side and want to change sides, I try to roll.  Sometimes I get stuck on my back in the middle.  So I try using my limbs to propel me the rest of the way by waving them in the air.  I feel like a beetle stuck on its back.  I don't usually hit David with the flailing bug-legs.  When I (accidentally) do, he very kindly gives me a little push to launch me to my destination.

There are still 10 weeks to go, folks!  It's only going to get more entertaining from here.

Probably the most disappointing pregnancy body development, I failed my glucose test.  For the laypeople, that's the blood sugar test in which they take a pregnant woman, make her FAST and go to the clinic that is not open early enough.  There, she has to chug a sweet syrup (think warm 7up before the carbonated water has been added - thick and painfully sweet) and get poked every hour for two hours.  All while not eating, drinking, or leaving the waiting room.  By the end, I had the shakes and the most severe case of the grumps in memory.  Ask David or Stephanie.  It was bad.

Anyway, I failed (or, rather, my pancreas was sabotaged by my overabundance of pregnancy hormones), and have gestational diabetes.

I cried for a few minutes hours to get used to the idea of a) being a diabetic and b) not being able to have carbs or sugar for the holidays.  Think about that last one for a while.  Turkey, but no stuffing, mashed potatoes, rolls, or pie.  No alcohol, obviously, but also no sparkling cider.

I was floored.  I've been pretty darn conscientious about what and how much I eat.  I've been exercising some.  The doc reassured me it's just genetics, and I only barely didn't pass the test (I was three points off the last blood draw).  Well, cussedy cusswords.

Now, I get to check my sugars four times a day and go on a diet that I think might drive me to the brink.  I still have a phone meeting with the dietician, and I have lots of questions.  Hopefully, I'll be able to post some fun holiday recipes that are diabetes friendly.  Also, I probably won't gain a gazillion pounds, for which I will be grateful when February rolls around.  And most importantly, Crusher will be healthier and under 13 pounds.  Hopefully.

Pregnancy Brain

I've been thinking about this post for a while, and recent events compel me to finish it and publish it.

My brain is dying slowly.

Think I'm being melodramatic?  Consider these happenings:

• I just tried to steam broccoli with no water in the pot.  That can melt the pot.  Thankfully, I was hungry enough to wonder why my water hadn't started boiling and looked.
• I turned up the south hill instead of down to drive to work.  The same work I've been driving to every day for five years.  I was late that day.
• I forget the names of my coworkers... some of whom I talk to every day.
• I forgot that the oven was hot after baking cupcakes and burned my arm.  I then forgot to take the cupcakes out of the oven.  It took a good long soak to wash the burnt cake off.

And these are just the things I remember.  I'll poll David to see if there are more later.

Fun and not-so-fun

It's fun being smack in the middle of the second trimester - I have a bump!  My hair is fantastic! I can wear stretchy pants every day and no one says anything!  

The things I really like:

Funny conversations with strangers

At Ross yesterday, we were looking at baby clothes when a complete stranger asked if I was pregnant. She then started a conversation about hospitals (I should change mine) and how she was in the hospital for five days because of a third degree episiotomy.  Which she then explained further.  I will spare you the details, both now and in the future, as my perinium is something I will not describe to anyone but my doctor.  You're welcome.

I was serious about my hair

It never falls out and doesn't get greasy.  I washed my hair on Tuesday and it looked fantastic all week. I only washed it on Saturday because the idea of it was grossing me out.  The actual hair looked great!

  

Feeling Crusher move

Followed closely by...

David feeling Crusher move

Hearing Crusher's heartbeat with an app on my phone

Having an excuse to look at baby things

And when I cry looking at cute things, people think I'm cute and not weird.  At least that's what they say.

The things I miss:

• Soft cheese, especially a nice herbed chevre.  Or maybe blue cheese on salad.  Feta... mmm... feta.... Cotija too.  Goshdarnit.
• Turkey sandwiches (especially this summer, when it was a serious craving)
• Cold beer on a hot day

If I could get rid of one symptom of pregnancy, it would be:

1st trimester:  nausea

2nd trimester:  round ligament pain

I could also do without swollen feet and acne.  My body's taking the pregnancy "glow" a step too far with that.

Additional Notes:

This afternoon, David picked up a 17.5 pound weight and handed it to me, saying, "No wonder you're tired!  You've been carrying this around all day."  That makes me feel a lot better about coming straight home and crashing on the couch.  Especially since most of those pounds are right smack in my belly.

Speaking of my belly, I noticed today at work that all my coworkers say hi, glance at my face, then drop their eyes straight to the belly where they stay for the remainder of the conversation.  Hello!  My eyes are up here!

bump!

At 19 weeks, 4 days

At 22 weeks, 6 days

The little boy in the bump!

First Days

The first day of school was a minor disaster.  My computer refused to turn on even though it worked fine the day before and the week before that.  I called the tech guys, and was on the phone on hold as my 1st period class was wandering in.  At 7:54, while I'm still on the phone, the mom of my student with autism walks in to chat.  Class starts at 8.  She's talking to me.  The tech guy is talking to me.  I'm trying to make sure the students know where to sit and what to get out.  I have nightmares like this.

I have to chastise two students for being on their phones and threaten to take them away if I see them again.  I choose to ignore the eye-rolls for now.

I have to have a stern conversation culminating in this speech with another student:  Tomorrow, when you walk in the door, you either need a schedule change for me to sign or a behavior change.  Your attitude today was completely unacceptable and will not work in this classroom.

And, in a get-to-know-you session, my freshmen homeroom largely had a good time.  Except for the guy who sat on top of the chair back with his ipod blaring.  When I asked him to sit on the seat and remove his ipod, he said in his best I'm-a-freshman-smartass voice, "What if I don't?"  ... And, I admit it, I laughed at him.  To his face.  And replied, "Then you go to the office for defiance.  That's a really stupid thing to get in trouble for on the first day."  Thankfully, he was smart enough to see the sense in that and complied.

Troubling, but not a behavioral problem, is the other freshman wonder who told the class that his fun facts about himself are his love for grape-flavored food and his HATRED of cops (Caps his).  He then told us about a couple of run-ins with the police.  All before the tender age of 14.  All things he could have prevented.  And this week, I had them dream about their ideal futures.  His stopped at 16 with getting a driver's license and "pimping out" a short bus to ride with his friends.  Everyone else wrote about exotic adventures, having families, dream jobs.  The only thing this kid could muster for a job was professional thief.  I tried to talk to him.  I doubt I got through.

But after the first day, we settled into a groove.  My defiant kids stopped eye-rolling and started participating and (gasp) laughing at most of my jokes.  My excited kids are still excited.  The beginning of the year is a good time.

Summer's End

Things I'm trying to soak up before summer's gone:

• Drinking coffee on the deck
• Eating dinner with David outside and lingering through sunset
• Lemonade
• Playing on, in, and around large bodies of water
• Wavy, tousled hair looks great with sunglasses
• Lazy loungy days
• Honeybees
• Staying warm in one layer
• The fullness of all the leaves on the trees hanging over the street
• Lack of crabby teenagers and crabby parents
• Having time to cook anything I want
• Fresh herbs outside to use in any meal I want without paying for them
• Reading a whole book in a day
• Peaches and berries

On being taken over by Progesterone Aliens

I mentioned in my last post that my appetite has been acting like a pubescent boy.  I eat.  Thirty minutes later, I am ravenous again.  I eat and eat and eat all day long.  Surprisingly, my weight gain is not out of control (yet).  Granted, I don't fit into 85% of my clothes already, but I'm pretty sure it's mostly baby belly.  This is fine.  It's a little problematic when I have to go out in public in something other than yoga pants, but most of the time I feel happy about my bump.

Until I start having a fit of pubescentesque emotional out-of-controlledness.  I know there are two made up words in that sentence and I don't care.  I've been suffering from three major kinds of breakdowns.

1.  The Sentimental Melt   I cried three times at church last Sunday.  There was a cute baby with a proud dad.  I saw the unborn baby of a pregnant friend move in her stomach.  And I forget the reason for the last cry.  I think someone came and gave me a hug.  There's no stopping it.  The tears flow without permission and occasionally without reason.

2.  The Bouts of Sensitive Crazy   I felt too weak to finish the workout with David, so I started crying, ate some cheese while sitting on the dark stairwell, and felt like the biggest failure in the world.  I fell asleep on the couch, so I burst into angry tears and stomped up the stairs because I didn't just go to bed when I wanted to.  I accidentally made more rice noodles than I needed for the Pad See Ew, so I suffered a pre-dinner emotional slump.  The list goes on.

3.  The Toddler Temper Tantrum   Last Thursday, poor David had a root canal and I was his chauffeur. While I was taking him home, traffic was probably normal, but it felt like everyone was conspiring to cut me off and slam on their brakes.  We stopped at Zips to get David (and Crusher) a milkshake.  I decided to order a cheeseburger because I had to rush off to a work meeting for which I was about to be late.  There were pickles on my burger.  Pickles are gross.  At the first red light, I opened up the burger to pick off the ickies.  But the light turned green, and I spilled burger sauce all over trying to put it down and drive.  So I yelled, "I just want to eat my cheeseburger!"  There was an expletive in there.  I'll let you fill in the blank for yourselves. And when we got home, I was still so angry I bumped the curb trying to park, burst into tears, and slammed the door.  Hard.  Poor drugged-up David was in the car with a swollen, painful face, and here I am acting like a 13-year old girl who just got her phone confiscated in the middle of her first text conversation with her crush.

Somebody give that man a medal!

Food!

We arrived home from vacation late Saturday night (more on that later), and I was delighted to see my new Cook's Illustrated.  This is the single best cooking resource I have ever used, and I read cookbooks for fun and relaxation.  It's delicious science, and I love it.  This current issue has a recipe for Pad See Ew, my favorite Thai dish.  When I saw it, I cried with happiness (see post regarding 1st trimester woes).

And then I had an epiphany:  I could read about food again without making a frantic run for the bathroom!

The last Cook's issue, I tried to read a little article explaining the most efficient way to shuck corn and failed.  The idea of dealing with or (shudder) eating corn made my stomach turn and I had to put away the magazine unread.  Corn, for heaven's sake.  The mildest of foods.  David pointed out that within 15 minutes of the shucking revulsion incident, I was reading to him in detail about the process of dissecting and preserving Einstein's brain, a topic which didn't bother my sensitive tummy at all.  I don't consider human brain to be food.  No problem.  Dissect away!

So I spent a blissful morning reading my recipes and planning to make Pad See Ew, Saag Paneer, and French apple cake - hopefully this week.  Yum.  Then I got hungry and had to eat second breakfast.  After second breakfast, I went to the grocery store where I made about 47 impulse purchases because I was hungry again.  At noon, I ate lunch.  At 12:56, I ate second lunch because I was famished.  At 3:00, I ate a quarter of a cantaloupe and iced coffee.  At 5:15, cheese and crackers.  There was a cookie in there somewhere.  Dinner's at 7.  It's 5:34, and I'm not sure I can wait that long.  My normal-sized stomach has been replaced with that of a pubescent male.  I am pretty sure I will always be hungry.  After not gaining any weight 1st trimester, I guess it's time to grow a belly.

Names: how to be cruel to your children forever

I've been looking at lists of baby names recently and decided this game is hard.  I want a name that is meaningful, difficult to mock, goes with my last name without sounding stupid, and is unique but not weird.  That's a lot to think about.  Mostly, we've come up with joke lists of names we'd never actually name our children (Crusher came from one of these lists).  Hercules, Vader, Jezebel, Hammer, Mousse, Influenza, etc.  You try!  See, it's a fun game!

Today, I started reading other people's comments about name lists.  Here are some of their suggestions from the literary list:

Piggy
Ariel (for a boy)
Cullen
Jekyl
Gandalf
Peeta
Stark
Bufffy
Swayzee
Xena
Cloud
Squall

And one I'm considering telling people just for kicks:  Sloane


I can't judge, really, because they might be joking.  They might be 13 years old.  They might want their children to be mocked to build character.  But seriously, people!  For your children's sake!

Pregnant, part 1

Now that my first trimester is almost over (oh please, oh please, be over soon), I feel the need to write a venting post about the woes of the first 13 weeks to be published when everyone knows about little Crusher.

*Crusher is the name for our firstborn.  At first it was a joke, but after referring fondly to my forming fetus as Crusher for the last 9 weeks, it's grown on me.  I think I like it.  It doesn't even sound like a joke anymore.

A couple weeks ago, I was reading the symptoms of the first trimester out loud to my roommate, Stephanie.  As I put that sentence into words, I realize I owe her an apology.  That's boring and lame.  I should talk about more interesting things.  Sorry, Steph!  As I was suffering from all but two on the list, here is a list of those symptoms and how I (mostly) coped (but not without some whining).

Fatigue:  I slept.  And slept and slept and slept.  Last night, I went to bed at around 10 and woke up this morning at 9:24.  I frequently take naps for three hours at a time, wake up, eat dinner, and go back to bed for the night.  When I was working, I came home from work, ate a snack, and napped as long as I could.  If I didn't take naps, I fell asleep anyway.  In an upright sitting position at small group during prayers, for example (sorry, small group!).  I never liked naps.  I still don't like them, really.  They make me feel groggy and grumpy.  But they happen whether I like them or not, so I might as well be in bed instead of getting a terrible neck cramp for which I cannot take ibprofun on the couch, at the table, in a chair, or on the floor.  I didn't know a person could be this tired.  Making a placenta will do this, apparently.

Nausea:  Morning sickness, yes. But the nausea is the Absolute Worst in the evening and right before bed.  This, unfortunately, is generally the time to hang out with people and talk to them.  Magic pills from the doctor help, but I feel funny about taking pills (yes, I lean toward Unreasonably Safe Behaviors).  I take it when I have to interact with people during a peak queasy period.  Otherwise, I try to be a good listener and questions that will have long answers.  I can listen, I just don't want to talk.  How IS your little brother?  He just got out of jail, right?  What's your dissertation about again?  Tell me about your boss.  How did the monthlong visit with your in-laws go?

Excess saliva:  I'm not actually sure what to do about this.  Don't wear white while giving in to a cheetos craving.  That's really the only thing I learned.

Gas:  David and I developed a system for this years ago.  If I fart in public, he apologizes.  If he does, I say, "Excuse me!"  Most of the time I get the short end of the stick, but I anticipate an evening of the score shortly.

Food aversions and cravings:  I used to love food.  Everything about it!  I loved thinking about menus, grocery shopping, cooking, and eating.  I hope that comes back.  It's a big joy I took for granted.  I don't really like food anymore.  Except saltines and yogurt.  I like those still.  Vegetables have developed a strong bitter flavor and all taste the same.  I eat two bites of chicken and feel suddenly full (or nauseated).  I can't even be in the same room as eggs or garlic.  Now, a girl can't live a happy life on saltines and bland pasta.  So here's hoping I can eat again soon and like it.

Headaches:  Use headaches as an excuse to go to bed early (see Fatigue), watch your favorite TV show on Netflix, or eat ice cream.  Ice cream is a little known home remedy for headaches and many other symptoms on this list.

Clothes feeling snugger:  Summertime is the best time for this.  I pretty much just wear yoga pants or dresses.  Every day.

Mood swings - I am going to cry at some point every day.  Recognize this fact.  Stop wearing mascara. Cry happily whenever I want to.  That puppy is so cute - sob!  There's a baby shoe on the sidewalk, poor baby! - sniffle.  I can't have gorgonzola on my salad - tear sliding quietly down my cheek.  I just want to like food again - wail!

Worry:  Am I even pregnant?  Is Crusher ok?  I've been waiting to hear a heartbeat for about 10 weeks now, which feels like an eternity.  I only have to wait two more days.  In the meantime, here is my first baby bump picture:

11 weeks, 5 days

Welcoming Someone New!

We're welcoming Baby Sloan sometime late January!

All photos taken by the lovely and talented Stephanie Hendricks.

Class pet

After a dramatic and rather discouraging day, I was feeling a little down. Until a kid in the back raises his hand and asks, "Why are there worms on my desk?"

A little background

Four years ago, I shared my classroom with another teacher during my prep. The other teacher had a teacher's desk and chair brought in and put in the back corner, opposite my desk, so he could have a place to work and store his papers and supplies. This year, one of my most disruptive students asked if he could sit there. Of course I said yes. The naughty kid confining himself to the back corner by himself? A dream come true. So he set himself up in the back, with a framed baby portrait of himself, a lamp, and some kitten posters.

And a dixie cup full of mealworms he stole from a science class.

They are ugly and squirmy and gigantic. I usually like bugs, and I love worms... but these... look like alien parasites. I shuddered and gagged a little and itched all over for no reason. And decided they could keep them. They're not hurting anyone (yet...), and they're not too distracting (yet). So the student who found them made them a scenic view and gave them a bigger cup. I'm hoping they turn into beetles soon. The beetles are way cuter than the aliens, although they're growing on me (oh, eew.  Not literally.  Now I'm itchy again).

We did have to have a discussion about pet responsibility.  He must change their sawdust soon, as it smells like bug poo already.  And he has to feed them.  I found a little box of Wheaties, and I've been sneaking them pieces of my mid-morning fruit.  Please enjoy the pictures of our new little friends, Kid Swagg and Sir Swaggs-a-lot. 

Are you smarter than a high schooler?

This week is vocabulary week in Spanish 1 and 2! We started new chapters after spring break (photos to follow... eventually), so I've been trying to load their little brains with some Spanish words. The hitch in this endeavor occurs when I define a Spanish word with an English word they don't know. The last five days, I have taught them five words in their native language that were brand spanking new! See if you can define the following:

1. Enamored
2. Incendiary
3. Refuge
4. Artisan
5. Tine

And for extra credit, use the following phrase in context: A pitter pat

The first winner may win a limerick!**

**If I'm in as silly a mood then as I am now and have the time to sit down for 20 minutes, neither of which are guaranteed.

Arch-Nemesis

Yesterday afternoon, I was sitting on the couch minding my own business, when suddenly there was a buzzing sound in the window behind me. I assumed it was one of those big, fat spring flies that gets in the house, concusses against the window in a futile escape attempt and dies. I didn't even look to see it. I just kept pinning. Pretty garden pictures, make your own limoncello, DIY wasp trap, mini soup-can cakes.

Today, I heard it again, and turned around to see. It was not a fly. It was a yellow jacket.

Yellow jackets are one of the few bugs that scare me. I hate them. I rolled up a magazine to smoosh it on the window, but it kept moving into the blinds. I didn't want to squish it in the blinds, because they are awful to clean. So I remembered the DIY wasp trap and made a makeshift one out of a wine bottle.

The dang yellow jacket has been sitting on the outside of the trap for the last three hours.

Which leads me to believe that it is, in fact, not a yellow jacket, but a tracker jacker sent to make me crazy and then kill me mercilessly. So I named him Jack. And we taunt one another while I wait for him to crawl into the darn wine bottle filled with delicious wasp-enticing juice and he waits for me to slowly go insane. He might be winning.

My Secret's Out

Last week a student's cell phone rang in class.

No big deal. Say you're sorry, ignore the caller, and let it go to voice mail. Right?

Or alternatively, answer because it's your Gram-Gram.

Then your Spanish teacher yells at you for a while until she feels you are sufficiently chastened. She uses words like professional, respect, and dumb-dumb head.

All of a sudden, another student stands up and points at her! He says, "Mrs. S! What did you do? You just got mad, but you didn't get mad! You are a robot."

That's right, my little friend. I am.

And you'd better be thankful I'm so self-differentiated, or else all y'all would be rocketing through the trapdoor in the floor into a lake of hungry piranhas after being smacked upside the head with your mobile telephone device.

Lies!

I try not to lie. At all. This last week has been truly tempting. Read the stories and decide for yourself if you'd do the same in my place.

Student: Mr. N said you're turning 42. You look really young!
Me: Um, thanks.

Me: Leche is the word for milk. You can't tell if it's masculine or feminine just by looking at it, but it's logical. Therefore it is...
Student: Feminine!
Me: Good! It's feminine, so use la for the.
Student B: Wait - why is that logical?
Me: because only females produce milk.
Student B: Male cows don't produce milk?

Now at this point, if I were a good person, I would have just said, "Actually, all cows are feminine. Male ones are called bulls. Female mammals are the ones who produce milk." But the lie (stolen from a devious coworker who regularly tells his students this) slipped on out:

Me: Yeah, the milk of male cows is poisonous. You can't drink it at all.
Student B: What?? I had no idea!

So ultimately, this is a story of how I lied to innocent children. And during Lent too. And liked it.

Lent

Lent has been on my mind for a few weeks now. Easter is my very favorite.

   Love's redeeming work is done, Alleluia!   Fought the fight, the battle won, Alleluia!   Death in vain forbids him rise, Alleluia!   Christ has opened paradise, Alleluia!

My Lenten activities have never been really successful (if you can call spiritual exercises successes and failures). I usually last a couple days and give up, then am so buried in my overwhelming sense of guilt and hopelessness that I stop trying. Which ultimately makes me pretty grateful for Jesus' grace. But I suppose it doesn't work unless I start out with a plan in the first place. After all, how can I be crippled by shame unless my expectations are a little bit higher than normal?

I did a little research. (Stop shaking your head. You're not really surprised. Think about whose blog this is). I loved the Lenten videos at Relevant magazine, which I recommend watching. Spokane folk will recognize a familiar face, and I teared up listening to Jonathan talk about using our gifts to invest in the freedom of His people instead of their exploitation. Pretty amazing stuff. I also looked at some of the older ideas for preparing to celebrate Easter. I had considered giving up meat, sugar, alcohol, negative self-talk, and all of them at once. I think I'm deciding on a combination to help me with moderation (not one of my current strengths). Here are my ideas:

Prayer

Practice Liturgy of the Hours
Avoid guilt so that I associate prayer with joy and peace, not shame
Memorize, starting with my hero Donne.


Sacrifice

Learn, examine, and control my material excesses.
Start with abstinence from certain foods, and change as I discover where the excess really lies.

Charity

Reflect on the unique collection of my gifts and resources
Give them away (at least in a small way every week)

I'm pretty excited about it, actually. And on a side note, I think I might always schedule my February dentist appointments for Ash Wednesday. Sitting in a chair and having a dental sadist take off layers of skin with a pointy metal object and wonder why you're bleeding seems a good sort of appropriate for the first day of Lent. Somber. Painful.

Superheroes!

Celebrating David's birthday was an extra-fun blast this year. Mostly because our Super Fun Friends were willing to dress up for a Superhero themed party! Good times were had by all:

February Foolishness

This week, after a long couple weeks of feeling depressed and secretly looking at other career options (State Line, anyone?), I finally found a solution... at least a temporary one.

In spite of the insanity, attitude, and apathy, I will keep a log of all the kind and genuinely funny things my precious students say and do.

So I will forget about having to keep that darn 5th period after class on Monday because they were naughty and I will remember 4th period begging to sing along to David Bisbal. I will remember the kid who said, "You look nice today, Mrs. S." Even though I thought he was talking to the guy's afro in front of him and the whole class had a good giggle at my expense. I will fondly laugh to myself about my class's crush on Seth the IT guy with enormous biceps (comically enormous). They threaten to break my computer/projector/smartboard on purpose in order to call him in. They like my shoes - the blue ones and the beige ruffly ones and the sparkly toms. And they laugh at my jokes, even when they're just being polite.

Thanks, good kids! You make it worth the headache.

On Being a Good Learner or How I Suck at Skiing and Ski Anyway

A few weeks ago, we were invited to a surprise birthday party that included a Suprise! We're-Taking-You-Skiing at 7 am. David is an avid and talented skier. He's been skiing since he was three, was a ski instructor for a time, and now races down seemingly impossible slopes (or undefined slopes, for all you mathy types). He signed us up right away.

At that point in time, I had been skiing twice the winter before last.

That's all.

So the idea of skiing with a group of experienced skiers made me stressed out for about three weeks, up to and including the actual day. They were all very nice about it, even when I was crying (thanks, Scot and Erika!), and swearing (again... Scott and Erika). After the crying and in the middle of the swearing, I had a minor epiphany. This is what my class is like for a lot of my students.

The mountain is scary. The slope is too steep. I'm the only one who can't do it. I'm a stupid loser face. The toddlers can get off the rope tow on the bunny slope, and I fall on my face. Awesome. Everyone has to wait for me. They're bored and wish I weren't here. I shouldn't have come. I hope it's at least funny when I fall. Nope... no one's laughing.

And my students don't even get the researched benefits of swearing when they're super frustrated. Sorry, kids!

But it made me think about how to be an effective encourager when trying feels like a waste of time. And I don't have lots of really insightful wisdom, but I think me being in that place will make me more empathetic. And, for me, having people there who were pointing out the little things I do well (I'm good at getting off the chair lift. I have reasonably good form. I kept going.) helped immeasurably.

And maybe if I keep practicing, I'll actually be kinda good someday.

Bringing out Rebellion

Sometimes I wonder what it would take to make me break rules. Today, I found out. Five inches of snow and counting. After a truly terrifying drive home (cough cough... before I was supposed to leave work cough cough), my guilty conscience is mostly appeased by the safe arrival home. Multiple close calls, a couple of jerk truck drivers (if you pass me, get all the way in the other lane, please. Two halves of a lane does not equal one whole lane), and half-a-dozen near sliding off the road situations, and I only feel a little bit guilty.

But now, I'm going to do my grading. That's the same work I would be doing at work. But with tea and sweatpants.

Estamos de Vacaciones

I've read somewhere that the anticipation before a vacation is just as good as the actual vacation, but I think I disagree. Anticipation doesn't have enough sunshine to compete, and heaven knows I love my Vitamin D. We left for Puerto Vallarta the day before school got out for Christmas break (ha ha, suckers!), and arrived right about sunset to our resort. We took approximately 897 sunset pictures, so I'll only post one or two. (Ok, ok, in reality, we only have 52 sunset photos, but you still don't have to sit through them all). The resort was awesome.

The view from our balcony.

The all-inclusive resort atmosphere took a little getting used to, though. We met up with one of David's classmates and her husband, who are both a kick in the pants and super extroverted. They had been making random friends for a week already, and kindly welcomed us into their pool-side gang, which already consisted of Canadians and other United Statesians from across the country. Most of the conversation revolved around the crazy antics of a couple from Yellow Knife, Northwest Territories, some of which were amusing, but all of them made me sad. Drunkenness and promiscuity usually do. Especially when the girlfriend was telling stories about the man-whorish behavior of her boyfriend, who just sat there smiling and bobbing his head and looking at her boobs (which, in his defense, was hard not to notice as there were sparkly piercings from clavicle to cleavage). David and I both also overheard a number of semi-racist comments that made us stop and frown. Nothing really overt, but enough to make me want to stop and pull strangers aside. To say things like, "Actually, you are covered in oil and sand and spilled beer. I think you're dirtier." Or, "There are Mexicans in Mexico, turns out. If you don't like them, why did you come here?" I stopped really listening after a while and people watched. And figured out if I switched to glasses of Pepsi, no one tried to bring me more shots because it looked like I was already drinking and I could stop covertly pouring out the shots behind me. After a day, we got tired of the pool and wandered out to the beach. And swam, boogie boarded, went for walks, got massages at sunset for super cheap, and read.

Puerto Vallarta was our honeymoon destination three and-a-half years ago, so one day we took the bus downtown to wander around the neighborhood we stayed in. The city was decked the
halls out, and we had a romantic dinner on the beach at a restaurant we liked before. We walked along the touristy boulevard for a while, and found some fun photo scenes:












David making friends with a stranger on the street.

The hotel had some entertainment, which we didn't take advantage of until our last day. It was Caribbean Beach Party (or something like that), so all the poor entertainment employees dressed up for Carnaval (see below... I think I need to get me some lime green bikini chaps), and gave us a dance lesson. That sucked us in. We love to dance. Then they switched to a dance competition, which we won (t-shirts in the wrong size for both of us, but the pride of knowing we won!).

Take note of the bartender on the left dancing the merengue with a giant tray of drinks.

Anyone want to join us for another vacation? I'm ready to go back.