Sunday, July 25, 2010

Canning and Cracked Jars

So today was a canning day. I LOVE to can things from the garden. It probably ups my nerd factor that one of my favorite sounds is the "melody" that's heard when jars are sealing after coming out of the canner! Seriously, there was a time when NPR had this special where you could record sounds and send them in, and they would run some of them each week...I considered doing that with the canning jars, but was never quick enough to get them with the recorder.

Today on the agenda were pickled red beets with onions, dill beans, and horseradish. The beets went off without a hitch as did the beans, but when it came to horseradish, well that was a different story. I'd heard all the horror stories about canning horseradish, wear a mask, cover your eyes, open the windows....because when you grind up horseradish, it is HOT! Well, I just thought it couldn't be that bad, right? And you know what, it wasn't that bad. The roots needed scrubbed, then peeled with a vegetable peeler, which was an interesting task. After that they were chopped up, then ground in the food processor. Once they were appropriately ground, they were transferred to a bowl, where vinegar and salt were added. At this point the smell of horseradish was PRETTY strong! I had to breathe through my mouth because breathing through the nose resulted in a sinus clearing burning feeling.

After the vinegar and salt were added, I spooned the lovely white horseradish into half pint jars and prepared to put it in the canner. Of course as with any canning adventure, the jars and lids and flats had been sterilized, don't want to take any chances when doing home canning! I slid the jars down into the boiling water and heard a little pop! Oh, no....that sounded like a jar breaking! And you know what, it was....

I pulled the offending jar out and dumped its contents out...what had been four jars was down to three. This year has been the year of breaking jars for me. I think that I've been re-using the jars so much that they have gotten old and weak, and now they aren't quite as durable as they used to be. There is no way of knowing when they will break, so it's kind of a crap shoot. I know the sound well, though and can usually get them out of the canner before all their contents float away.

After dumping offending jar number one, I came into the kitchen and heard it AGAIN! Yep, another jar breaking, another dumping, and hopefully that would be the end of it. So, luckily the other two jars made it through the process, and I have two jars of horseradish for all my hard work. If you know me, you probably realize that two jars of horseradish just doesn't seem sufficient. I mean we use it for potato salad, and in some sandwich spreads we make, and there's always the need for it in Bloody Marys....can't have one without horseradish! So, I decided that I'd go out and dig up some more.

Digging it today was a great idea, because the ground is saturated from the last two days of rain. I brought it in and washed it, but couldn't face the idea of starting all over today, so it's sitting in a bucket ready for work tomorrow. That means tomorrow is blackberry jam and horseradish day. But for now, I think I'll just have a Bloody Mary!

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Too Much Information (TMI)

From now on, just know that I'm using false names for everyone but me and my pets...so I'm not going to do the "I'll call them..." thing anymore. I decided to do this because I'm pretty sure that I won't sue myself, and the pets...well, they can't afford food, let alone a lawyer!

Yesterday, as I was leaving the gym to drive home, I got behind a white car, small type, think it was a Chevy...anyway we were stopped at the stoplight, and I looked at her bumper sticker. The bumper sticker read, (and I'm not kidding here) "The reason I'm speeding" (was on the first line it a little larger font) and the second line read. "Is because I have to poop." I kinda chuckled and thought both of my 20 something kids, Felicity and her brother Tater Tot, would LOVE that bumper sticker.

This got me to thinking about all the things I know about people that I really have either no desire to know, or probably just don't need to know. I'm sure all of you have been in a conversation with someone and thought, "Why would they TELL me this?" but you continued to listen politely, nod your head in the right places, and mutter mmmmhmmmm appropriately. Like the time I was working in an office setting and one of my co-workers told me that she was going home, because she (and I totally quote here) "has a vaginal yeast infection." Now, at this office, we used to post, beside our initials, what we were doing when we weren't in the office. For example if we were working at home, it would be WAH (love that acronym), it pretty much depended on the individual, just how much information was on that board, but it was in a very conspicuous place, so pretty much everyone knew everyone's business.

In this instance, I looked at her and said, "So what would be the acronym for that?" TOTALLY kidding...she stood there for a moment and said CCI...I thought for awhile and said, yeah, put that up there, see what people say...Now, you think about it, she had a yeast infection which causes what? Yes, Itching, where? in the crotch area, and it's chronic...CCI....She chose instead to put, "Home sick with vaginal yeast infection," and I'm not making that up. Someone decided that was TMI and erased all but the "home sick," part. I'm sorry if this is TMI for you, but I did warn you in the Blog title.

When I was teaching 8th grade, kids would come up to me and say, "Ms. Nerdy Mimi, I have to go poop." I was always shocked that they thought I cared about which bodily function was going to take them out of my room, but it seemed to be something they needed to tell me. My first thought was to say, "Congratulations!" and send them on their way. Once I did this a few times, which I thought would be a deterrent, because a sarcasm laden Congrats would deter me...it occurred to me that this bodily function statement was increasing. Finally I told them all, "If you need to leave the room to go somewhere, tell me where you need to go, not what you're going to do, If I need to know what you're going to do, I'll ask." That seemed to clear things up for them, and basically solved the problem.

It's equally "interesting" when someone has a colonoscopy, which by the way I've had, and I'll just tell you that it's not fun, and the preparation part is even worse. But, if you've never had one, you'll just be amazed at how graphic people will get in their talking about this. The preparation part involves cleaning out one's colon so it's squeaky clean, so the Doctor can put a tube in there and see what's going on. If you don't know where the colon is, look it up, because the tube does not go in your throat....nope, other end for sure. So, it's so fun to sit across from someone at the lunch table who tells you all about their preparation experience, which almost always involves toilet stories and intestinal cramps...and then how they felt about the procedure itself. Yeah, not a fun lunch, just gotta hope you didn't bring chili to eat that day!

I'll close with the pregnancy TMI. There are those that get pregnant, gain weight and have a baby in 9 months. They share little bits and pieces of the pregnancy, like, " I heard the baby's heartbeat today," or "I had an ultrasound, wanna see pics?" Those are the kind of people who you don't mind hearing from. The ones who tell every little blow by blow, the weight gain, the medication, the testing, the examinations, the dilation, the birth canal...well, you get the point. Some of those things you just don't need to imagine.

So, when you're telling your story, and believe me, I've probably done the TMI thing in my life too, just remember, the person across the table may be just trying not to picture you sitting on the toilet while you're colon becomes squeaky clean.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

The exercising cult, or not, depending on how you look at it!

So...I am a Crossfitter. For those of you who've never heard of it, you should probably Google it and read about it, because when I explain it, you're going to think I'm nuts. Well, O.K. I probably am nuts, and if you know me you already had that figured out. I work out at the best gym ever called Crossfit Spirit in Hinkley, Ohio. They have a website too www.crossfitspirit.com where you can find out more about this Crossfit thing.

Now the gym is about 45 minutes from my house, so my commitment to working out is pretty significant. Drive time, gas money, not to mention the gym cost...yeah it all figures in there. But, the trainer at this gym is just great, and she's my friend as well as my trainer, let's call her Muscles. I know her because her son, who I'll call Stan, was in my class in 8th grade, and we stayed connected after he left. Stan is a teenager (no kidding captain obvious) and he is not above doing the teenage thing with his mother. This includes saying, "Yes mother..." repeatedly when he is annoyed with what she's telling him. Muscles is very patient, and she kinda laughs this off, but I always feel compelled to remind Stan to "be nice to his mom," when I leave the gym each day. I tell Muscles that this will improve over time, when he's around 23, she'll have the guy she raised back and they will have a great relationship again.

Anyway, back to Crossfit. Crossfit is a whole body workout that involves exercise which makes you sweat, coupled with weight training, squats, dead lifts, pull ups, push ups, jumping on boxes and a bunch of other things. It's sort of like torture, except you do it to yourself. So I suppose it might be considered sadism. Yeah, that's what it is, sadism. The thing is that it's very competitive, which always works for me. We always keep track of our times, we go against each other, and we really push each other. It's not kill or be killed competitive, but compete against yourself and try to do better competitive.

The workouts or WOD (which doesn't stand for Wrinkly Old Dudes, Felicity) Workout of the Day, are given names, like Helen, Mary, Josh, stuff like that. So each one is timed and we keep track of our times and they go up on a chart on the wall. It's cool to see your name up there with a good time, and to know that you're "gettin' 'er done" in the gym. The workouts, while you're doing them, make you feel as if you're going to die, or that you want to die, but the motto on the wall says something like, "you can rest when you die." So you just keep going and hoping that you'll make it through to the end.

When we're done we collapse on the floor (or go outside to vomit) and we leave a sweat imprint of ourselves, which we call "Sweat angels." I'm very proud of my sweat angel, because it means I really kicked butt in the workout.

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This is MY sweat angel after a particularly tough workout!

Muscles is very motivational. First she's a couple of years older than me and she looks terrific! Her arms are so strong and have these awesome muscles that when she does pull ups, I feel like a total wimp. But she never is displaying her strength, rather she is encouraging us to do more and better. Muscles and her husband, who I'll refer to as Strongman, own and run this gym. It's a new venture for them and I really hope they succeed, because I am getting stronger every day, and it's because of Crossfit Spirit.

Jazzman, who doesn't believe in working out...for example when someone asked if we were runners or bike riders, he said, "She's the runner/rider, I'm the smoker." He doesn't need to exercise to stay thin because he's pretty much a beanpole anyway, and he eats whatever he wants. Jazzman's idea of exercise is to throw the ball for the dog to fetch every night and then take a couple of walks around the yard. Now, I'm NOT putting him down for this, to each his own, but I wanted you to see why Jazzman has a different view of Crossfit.

Jazzman calls my gym time Cultfit, and he thinks I'm nuts for what I do. I tell him about my workouts and he just rolls his eyes. Of course once that ab six pack starts showing up, I'm sure he'll be very impressed, or when I can bench press him repeatedly, well that's going to knock his socks off. So, I go to Crossfit, and the Jazzman indulges me, and we continue to co-exist in a peaceful world where I think exercise is essential to life, and he thinks Coffee is God.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

That would be embarrassing...

Recently my daughter, who I'll call Felicity and her daughter, Peanut, came to visit us in Ohio. They live in Kansas, and had to take a flight out of the Denver airport. The flight was scheduled to come in at about midnight, so I set my phone alarm (new phone, seriously worried that it wouldn't go off) and took a pillow and blanket to the couch, so I could get some shut eye (that's what they call sleep in Kansas) before I had to drive the hour to the airport to pick them up. I was sleeping soundly when my phone "went off," but rather than it being my alarm it was my daughter, who was incredibly alarmed because her flight had been cancelled. Let's just say that Felicity doesn't handle stress well, and there are some very good reasons for this...but when she's really stressed, it's just not pretty.

Of course Felicity knew that she would have to manage this, because she had her little precious Peanut with her, and she had to keep it together. So began the next few hours of calling, checking, finding out, checking again, waiting in line (for Felicity and Peanut, not me), and more calling. Finally a new flight was booked, but no hotel vouchers given, so Felicity and Peanut were destined for a night in the airport. Now, Felicity's friend, who I'll call Boytoy, drove back to the airport, picked her and little Peanut up, and they found a hotel nearby, so they could get a little sleep. And they did get a little sleep, very little. The next morning, bright and early, they were back at the airport, but the airline, which appropriately enough starts with an F, had messed up and only transferred one ticket. Uh-oh, more line waiting, more calling, talking through things, then running (not me, Felicity and Peanut) through the airport, only to miss their flight.

Yeah, it might have been the last straw, but Felicity must have looked appropriately pathetic, so the airline personnel worked with her and got her another flight, which arrived at the "wrong" airport, but earlier than the flight that was missed. After picking the two tired girls up, we had to drive to the "other" airport to try to find their luggage, and ended up in line to make a baggage claim.

By this time the girls (and I) were tired, and we needed food. So we headed out, stopped at Dairy Queen, mostly because Peanut said she "needed" ice cream. Prior to stopping, I said that I had to go to the bathroom quite badly and if we didn't stop soon I was going to "pee my pants." To which Peanut said, "Mimi, please don't, that would be embarrassing!" And let me tell you, it was really hard not to embarrass myself after that comment.

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Cutting...

Well, today has been a day of cutting, seriously...all kinds of cutting! No, I'm not talking about the self mutilation kind of cutting that some of you younger people might be familiar with. No, this is REAL cutting.

The day started with the book club and berry picking, you'll remember I mentioned earlier (that is if you read my blog periodically) that I was going out to do this. I started about 9:30, was joined by Mio, who owns the property where the berries live, and then later was joined by three more of the book club girls. I dressed appropriately, long sleeves, long pants, long socks, and washable shoes. I waded in and out of many patches of poison ivy, fearless picker that I am. I did my best not to touch my face with my right hand, because it was the uncovered, picking the berries, hand. It was hot, and humid (it is Ohio, and it is mid July), and the sun was really strong. There was a nice breeze that would surprise me occasionally by offering me a promise of coolness in my future.

We picked for about an hour and half, and then headed in to Mio's barn, where we drank iced tea and water, and changed clothes. It was then that I first learned about the cutting! You see, while I thought my clothes were protecting me, they were only fooling me into believing that I was invincible amongst the thorns! I had cuts in places I wasn't even sure were operational any more, and when water and soap were applied they started to sting! I quickly washed off, changed, and tried to stop saying "ouch, ouch ouch, ouch..." long enough to hold a decent conversation. I finished my ice water, gathered up the gallon of berries I'd picked and headed out, with a HUGE thanks and a promise to be back in a few days to pick some more.

That's when the second cut occurred...you see, I'd been hankering for a new hairdo. It happened when I saw a girl at the local greenhouse with really cute hair. It was short and kind of wispy, and was just...well....cute! If I'd have thought of it, I'd have taken her picture with my phone, but I have a hard time remembering that my phone is not "just a phone," so there was no photo. Then I scoured the internet to find a cut that was similar, and found a couple, so scheduled with my favorite hairdresser, who I'll call Lizzie. I really like Lizzie, and she always does a great job with my hair. I think she's adorable too, and have recommended that my handsome single son go get his hair cut there and ask her out...(no luck on that front yet). Anyway, when I got to the shop, I looked through one of their haircut books and found that perfect photo. I took it to Lizzy and said, that I "want it short and I want bangs..., like this." I think she was worried, but I know my mind when it comes to haircuts and I was not to be put off.

Lizzie started clipping and clipping, she did this razor thing with the scissors and used some funky scissors that had teeth in them too. She dried and styles and viola! the new cute do for me! I liked it...so then I came home and washed out the style, then re-did it myself, and you know what...???? I LOVE it! It's a cute little bob with bangs to the side, and it's versatile because my wacky curls can just be left to wonder around, or I can straighten it and go sleek.

Enter the third (and hopefully final) cut of the day. Came home, did the hair, went out to look at the garden and realized that I needed to trim the trumpet vine near the garden. It was hot, so I didn't want to mow and get really sweaty after a shower, but I thought the vine trimming would be fairly innocuous. Well, did I get that wrong! I was snipping through the vines, moving at nearly the speed of light, when I felt a pinch on my left thumb. I kept on going 'cause it didn't hurt and I wanted to finish. It wasn't until I saw blood running down my arm that I realized I might be hurt, oh, and it might be bad! I headed into the house, looking at my thumb where blood just kept pumping away, kinda like that Deep water Horizon oil spill before the cap, only decidedly more scarlet.

When I got inside I called Jazzman to assist me, and proceeded to wash the offending digit, finding out that I'd sliced through my thumb near the nail and fully into the nail bed about half way across. While it hadn't really hurt, now that the cold water and alcohol were applied, it was a different story! I couldn't get the blood to stop, so we finally applied a tight bandage. Since I still had work to finish, I put on a surgical glove and headed out to get that vine trimmed. After I was done, had dumped all the clippings in the compost bins, and was heading inside, I realized that the thumb and part of the palm of my "glove" were filled with blood.

What does that mean to me? Well, it means that I'm done for the day. No more outside work! Time to start some laundry, read the paper, and get a glass of wine. There will be no more cutting on me today, unless of course my knife slips while I chop vegetables for dinner.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Mending Fences

Just a few days ago, on one of the hottest days of the year, my significant other, who I'll call Jazzman, decided it was time to work on our gates. In order to understand any of this story, I have to give you some history about our gates. When Jazzman and I moved in together, I brought along two teenagers, and two large dogs, along with the other assorted detritus that we drag around in our lives. The teenagers got new rooms in the basement, thanks to a very quick remodel. The dogs, however had no fence and had to be taken out on a leash whenever and outing was needed. We made do with a makeshift fence and electric wires for awhile, but plans were in the works to build a big fence around the entire back yard/garage area so the dogs and the people could socialize together when we were outside. This would also mean that we could open the door and let the dogs out, rather than walking them to an enclosure on a leash.

When the day came to build the fence (after much research and planning...Jazzman is a serious research and planning kinda guy), we had help digging the fence posts and we made a high tensile wire fence around the back of our property. Now the dogs were afraid of wire fencing and we strung the wire close enough together to keep them in, and other neighborhood dogs out. In addition, this was a great way to fence in the yard, but keep the beautiful woods behind the property in view. The fence really is, nearly invisible. Of course this type of fence isn't going to give us much "street cred" in the front, so Jazzman decided to build a stick build cedar fence.

This began with me staining all the cedar boards in a home made trough, and then drying them. After this process, he cut each one to a certain length and created an incredibly beautiful cedar fence for the front of the property. He had the idea to make cedar gates as well, and engineered these on two farm gates, so they look absolutely amazing! Just doing this didn't seem to be enough, however because when we came and went through these large gates in our cars, we had to get out and open the gate, then shut the gate. Jazzman wanted automation! So, he ordered some gate openers from somewhere in Europe, off the internet of course (Jazzman does NOT shop anywhere but on the Internet) and prepared to install them. He read the manuals, did all the wiring and managed to make the gates work most of the time.

About a year and half ago, the snow messed up one opener and the frozen ground did in the other one, so we stopped using the gates, and just park our cars in the driveway along the side of the house. We've talked about the idea that it would be nice to have use of the gates again, but with their scrambled "brains" it seems like we just never would. But...enter the Jazzman!

I noticed he was reading a manual pretty diligently and tinkering around with the human gates, and I started to notice he was looking kind of glassy eyed when he looked at the large gates. And then, one day, well on the hottest day of the summer I'm sure...he decided to try to level the gates. It seems he did pretty well with one, but the other one was giving him some trouble. I watched him drag a car jack out to the gate and proceed to bring boards and other things along to try to fix the gate. I was out sunning myself, but got too hot, so I came in the house. Jazzman came in shortly afterward, telling me he'd just "lost the gate." What he'd done was jack it up so far that it came off it's swinging hinges.

Imagine a large steel farm gate, covered with cedar boards, leaning out of a hole being held by a piece of cord. Then imagine the Jazzman and me, neither of whom is particularly strong, manhandling this gate back into place. It was a matter of using a lever, a fulcrum, my weight, a sheet to hold me up and balance in perfect place long enough so he could lower the jack and the gate would slide back on the hinges. And don't forget it was HOT! After what seemed like twelve hours of back and forth, lifting and hefting and moving and trying, I was totally ready to give up. I was balancing on a two-by-four, holding on to a sheet looped around the gate (because I couldn't find a rope in the garage, but I could find a sheet, and that's a story for another day), putting all my weight on the board, while using another board as a sort of teeter totter, to lift the gate. Lifting was easy, but holding still while the jack was lowered was another matter entirely. I wibbled and wobbled around so much I thought we'd never get it done, but just when I was ready to give it up, it slid right into place!

I looked at Jazzman and said, "Is it on?" To which he answered, "You bet your socks!" We did the high five, and then I said, "That was so easy....let's try it again." But you know what, Jazzman wasn't interested.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Berry Picking Protocol

I guess you know you're a bit of a throwback (someone who should have lived in an earlier time, not a fish that's too small) when you get excited about emails that tell you the black raspberries are ripe and it's time to come out to the barn and pick them! Well, that's exactly what happened! My friend, who I'll call Mio, put out an email to all the women in our book club, that her black raspberries are ready to pick. You probably wouldn't think of this as a book club activity, but then our book club is certainly NOT typical.

Last year we all put on our long sleeves, boots, and gloves and headed out on the hottest day of the year to pick berries. You might wonder why all the clothing for berry picking? Well, these are wild berries and they seem to partner well with poison ivy. I know this well, because the first time we picked, I didn't get all gussied up, and I got plenty of poison ivy, which resulted in my being placed on Prednisone, in order to stop the massive itch.

The dose of prednisone is pretty important to follow, but I misread the instructions, and rather than taking four pills for four days, I took four pills, four times on the first day. Now I'm a pretty energetic person anyway, and when I was loaded with steroids, there was a whole new level of energy! I cleaned the house, going so far as to get down on the floor with the vacuum hose and inch by inch vacuum the floors. If I had thought of it, I'm pretty sure I would have scrubbed with a toothbrush too. I hauled four truckloads of mulch and spread them, pulled all the weeds in the flower beds, mowed, and picked more berries, which I rapidly turned in to black raspberry jam. It was a very productive week! You know, it might not be a bad thing to overdose on steroids once a year, just to get all the stuff I don't want to do, done.

So, back to the berry picking. The rules are, we dress for the poison ivy, but bring other clothes to change into. We show up with buckets and we pick berries, and talk, catching up on the things we've been up to since we last saw each other. We all take our buckets inside, change clothes, drink some tea, and then we split the berries evenly among all the pickers. Sometimes I get extra, because the book club group knows that I'll make jam and they'll each get a couple of jars.

This Saturday, if you want to find me, come on out to the barn, but don't think you're going to just sit there and do nothing, wear your long sleeves and boots and gloves, bring your bucket, 'cause you'll be picking too!

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

You know, it's probably kinda nerdy to make your blog title Nerdy Mimi, and maybe that's all that's needed to prove that I am a bonifide nerd, but I thought I'd do a little to explain why I use that title, and why I wear it proudly!

You see, I listen to NPR, and that make me a nerd, or at least that's what my teacher friends, who are younger than me always say, "Yeah, Crabby, so you heard it on NPR, right? You're such a nerd!" And they say it with such kindness and sweetness, that it's hard to feel upset. You see there was a time when being labeled a nerd would have bothered me, but for some reason I've come to realize that it's O.K. Because being a nerd sort of means that I'm different, that I stand out from the crowd, that I walk to the beat of my own drum, and that....well you get the point, I'm a Nerd!

I think some of this started when I mentioned at lunch one day at work that I make my own pop. I mean it's really not rocket science or anything, I have this machine, it has a Co2 bottle, I fill the 1 liter bottles with water, add some pop syrup and viola! homemade pop. Since I'm a confirmed popaholic, and not one on a 12 step program, I thought this was an economical way to feed my habit and to save the earth from a zillion more of those plastic 20 ounce bottles. PLUS the place I get the syrup from has this great diet orange soda that I LOVE! Anyway, this lead into a discussion around me about all the things I do, such as grow my own food, make my own bread, make treats for my dogs, and they even decided that I must churn my own butter! It was all good fun, this teasing and supposing, so that when it was all said and done, they'd decided I'd been born in the wrong century and should have been a pioneer woman.

Now, I could probably do without a lot of life's luxuries, and could and do live fairly simply. Until recently we didn't have a television, and now that we do, it's mostly used to play movies when the kids or granddaughter comes over. We don't have cable or satellite or that kind of stuff. "Well, geez, what do you do?" seems to be the next question people ask... I tell them I'm so busy churning butter, that I don't have time to watch television.



Why Blog Anyway?

So, I convinced my daughter to start her own blog, and since then I've been thinking that surely the world needs another blogger, particularly in the 40-50 age range, with lots of friends who fondly (or at least I think it's fondly) call her a nerd. I mean who wouldn't want to rush out and sign up for this amazingly eloquent blog full of life changing stories and incredible moments of literary genius?

Well, if you're hoping to get all of those, you may be on the wrong blog, because I have no idea whether or not what I want to write about is interesting, nor do I particularly care if people read it, because writing is cathartic for me, and if I'm going to write, I may as well publish it somewhere in the event some editor is out there scanning blogs and finds mine to be ever so fascinating that s/he signs me to a 5 book deal with a 6 figure advance. Oh, yeah, and I have a lively imagination as well.

My life has just undergone a significant change. Yeah, I know when you're this age often people talk about those life changing things, but this isn't a mid-life crisis, or even a change of my making or choosing. This change was forced on me by the powers that be at my workplace. I happen to be a teacher, who has, for the last four years, poured my heart and soul into teaching 8th grade Language Arts and Social Studies. I LOVE it, LOVE the kids, and LOVE the place I work. Screeeeeeeeeeeecccchhhh! Two days before the end of the school year the brakes were applied to my LOVE fest...

"So, Mary, your job is being eliminated." "You'll be reassigned to Early Intervention Kindergarten, but if you want, you can write a letter telling us you'd prefer first grade and we'll do that."

Sucking in air, blinking (a LOT) trying not to cry, feeling sweaty....and thinking did he just F'ing say First Grade? Those are the kids who I have to teach to read, right? Those are the kids who don't "get" school yet because they've never had a full day of school all at once...right? And isn't that in another building, not here, where all my friends are? You mean........oh, wow, he just said First Grade!

I kept it together so well, I didn't even cry until after he left the room and I saw one of my co-workers in the hallway, then I started crying and I don't think I stopped for about 10 hours. Contacts the next day at school were NOT an option!

So, after grieving, and putting my fantastically understanding significant other through a night of crying torture..."And, they won't get my jokes," and "They won't even know how nerdy I am."
"They won't care if my outfit is cute, or whether I send them postcards, because they can't even read!" Yeah, it went on for some time...but I finally got over the crying part. I'm not sure about that grieving yet, maybe once I'm finally IN the new room and school has started, when it becomes real...well then I'll probably have to decide to stop whining about it, because even first graders know a whiner when they see one.

A summer that was supposed to have been relaxing became one of research, reading, cleaning, packing and moving, and now I'm ramping up for the school year, figuring out what bulletin boards I'll put up, how I'll decorate my new room, and trying to stay out of trouble, while doing an excellent job.

And you know what, I will....but of course you'll read all about that in future posts.