E-Tickets

I am an unusually good driver! Seriously, I have NEVER had a speeding ticket in my life! I have never had a ticket, period! I've had a warning or two, been stopped for headlight outages, and have probably broken a few traffic laws, but the point here is that I have NEVER been ticketed!

But yesterday in the mail, that all changed. Yes, just outside of Cedar Rapids, Iowa, a camera caught me in Jazzman's car, doing 70 in a 55! At least that's what they SAY I was doing. This was on the 18th of December at about 4:30 in the afternoon, and since I don't remember exactly what I was doing almost two weeks ago, other than driving to Iowa, I have no idea if it's true that I was going 70 in a 55. I mean seriously, it's their word against mine. O.K., O.K., they have a photo of my car, taken by the camera in one of those "Target Traffic Areas," but there is no photo of the speedometer, no radar picture, it's just their lousy camera against me.

There have been times, in the past, when I thought all the hoopla about those cameras in cities was just silliness. I mean, just go the speed limit, make sure you are stopped at the stop light, and do what you're supposed to do, then if the camera catches you, it's all good. Well, I might have changed my mind on this matter. You see, it's all well and good to issue a ticket, especially one that will cost me 75 smackeroonies, without having to face the person to whom the ticket is being issued. This is just the chicken's way out...wimpy police officers would not ticket me if they had to stop me, look into my very tired face, see that I'd been driving for 10 hours, and was just SO excited to see my son, whom I had not seen for three whole months! No seriously good cop would ever think of ticketing a grandmother, on her way to see the wonderful granddaughter who she hasn't seen for 6 months. And, there is absolutely no way a highway patrol person would shine his (or her) flashlight into my car and say, "You know you were speeding ma'am?" Because they could see the contrition on my face, and know that it would be silly to issue a ticket to me, because I'd already learned my lesson.

BUT.....when you're dealing with a camera, that sends a picture to a computer, who then looks up the license plate of the car, and send a ticket to your home, well that's just not fair! The camera and computer do not see the tiredness in my face, or see my contrition, they just objectively see me going 70 in a 55. Who want objectiveness in the public traffic arena? Certainly not me!

You see, for all of my life, every time I've been stopped, the contrite feeling, the panic of feeling as if I might get hauled off to jail, the tired look, and the tears have given each police person pause, and resulted in a warning or a kind word, sometimes even a hug, just to make me feel better. I count on that, and hoped to do so for another 10 years or so, when the aging thing would kick in and people would let me off because I reminded them of their grandmother.

I've gone through lots of different feelings, sadness at losing my perfect record (even though this will not go on my record, it will go on Jazzman's because it was his car), anger at not knowing for over a week that I was caught speeding and wondering if I'll get more of those E-tickets from the return trip through Cedar Rapids, and unhappiness over spending $75 to right this wrong, when I just returned from vacation and don't have the extra cash to spend.

Oh progress....Jazzman said that it's very expensive for a police officer to make a traffic stop, and this is a way to save money. I wondered aloud why we don't just forget about police officers and do all our traffic stops this way. I told him there were lots of other people speeding too, which made it much harder to not speed myself. I explained that I only speed a little bit, and only on long trips, so that should make things even out, and I should not be ticket worthy. I raged at the system, at the silliness of it all, and at the cost.

But, in the end, the truth is, I was speeding, I got caught, and it's going to cost me....and I'm just not happy about that!

Wieners and other things

Yeah...you got that title right....what do you do when a first grade boy walks into the room in the morning and says, "Ms. Nerdy Mimi...my wiener hurts." Well, the first thing you do is NOT ask, "Oh, let me see." and you definitely DON'T ask.."Can I kiss it make it feel better." What you do say is, "Honey, your wiener is a private issue..." about which time you're interrupted so the child can say, "Yeah, it is about my privates, and they are an issue." So, you quietly write a note that said child has "wiener pain," and send him to the office.

And that's how to start a day in first grade...Seriously! As you're busy recovering from that experience and trying to get the rest of the class off the focus of wieners, kid number two comes and up and says, "Remember yesterday, when I had the diarrhea?" To which of course I answer, "Yes, and you went home to take care of that." Two then says, "Well, I need to tell you that when you have the diarrhea, it REALLY, REALLY..STINKS!" At which point you say, "Don't you need to get things taken care of so you can go to your special movement session?" Hoping that this will distract him and make him think of something other than stinky moments of yesterday.

Now, you breathe a sigh and start looking at notes from home, whose riding on which bus and who is getting a ride home, who has homework to turn in and who does not, who feels good, and who has to use the restroom...well, you kinda get the picture of morning in first grade. This feels really comfortable by now, so it's not like it's the least bit stressful, that is until tiny little R stands up, raises her hand and says, "I have balls and I brought them to show today." Now R is a girl, so you're pretty sure she really didn't but by this time your'e really not sure.

R continues to reach in her bag and pull out three glass ornaments, that are in the shape of, you guessed it, balls. She then says, "See, red, gold, and green balls...can you believe it?"

I just have to say, at this point...I'll believe anything!

Scaring My Sister

This is going to be a pretty short post, but it made me laugh so hard, I had to share it with my adoring followers...yeah, all how many of you?

Anyway, today at the very end of the school day, I look up and see G all hunched over and coming my way with a very, very, very small piece of paper between his thumbs and forefingers. He's obviously got something he wants to show me, because while hunching over carefully to protect his treasure his GPS is definitely directed my way.

G arrives at my feet and says, "LOOOOOKKKK!!!! MS. NERDY MIMI!!!!!!!!!" (yeah, in a voice that could break the sound barrier)..."you can use this to SCARE your SISTER!" I look at him, confused and say, "what????"

G takes a deep breath, rolls his eyes as if I am deaf and dumb too, and says, "Do you HAVE a sister?" To which I reply, "Yes, and most of the time I like them."

G laughs and says, "Well, then you need to take this bug (very small, about the size of a head of a pin) and keep it for when you see her, then you can use it to SCARE her."

Me..."OH....that is SO COOL! And YOU GOT IT." I took the bug, admired it's fantastic beauty in spite of it's small size and fantasized about putting it in the bottom of my sister's (one or other) water glass after Christmas dinner....or just planting on top of her pile of mashed potatoes when she wasn't looking....maybe scratching her head a little and going, "This was in your hair..."

O.K. maybe I got carried away, but G was happy and I was smiling, it IS fun after all, to scare your sister...just ask Tator Tot and Felicity....they have SO many stories to tell.

I'm going back to first grade, I'm pretty sure I belong there.

Piles of (no other way to say it) Snot!

So, Friday I was walking from the front of the room back to my small work station. Unlike most teachers, I don't have desk. I find it to be too likely a place to pile things, so I put my computer on a small cart, and sit in a bar stool type chair when I have any split seconds to work there. It's not like I have to worry about sitting long, because it seems that my constant attention is needed throughout the school day, and if I don't see a hand up, there will be a hand tapping my leg to get my attention.

Anyway, back to walking....to the work station...looked down...saw something on the floor that looked an awful lot like a pile of snot, or perhaps we should call it a puddle of snot....sort of slimy, greenish in tint, and downright gross!

I look around, and see that no one is blowing his/her nose nearby, and I can't remember who the last sneezer was, so I say, "UH....boys and girls, did anyone sneeze back here just now?" J raises his hand and said, "Yeah, I did, and some of it feel on the floor." Me, "Did you think about wiping it up?" J..."NO, are you kidding that is just gwoss (he doesn't pronounce his r's)." Me, "But it's O.K. for me to wipe it up, even though it came out of your nose?" J.."Sure, youw'e a grwownup, it's not supposed to gwoss you out."

So, the issue here was that it was his snot, he was willing to admit that, and that he'd left it on the floor without telling anyone, because he was sure a grownup would clean it up. Being that I'm the only grownup in the room at this time, I would be the one to do that....at least to his way of thinking.

By the time we got to this point the crowd was beginning to gather. I told them not to get too close and step in it, that would make it worse, and that it really wasn't all that interesting anyway. Here's the conversation that followed.."J, how did that much stuff come out of your nose and you didn't get it in a kleenex?" J..."The kleenex was alweady full." Everyone else..."Ewwww." J...."Well, I had a lot in thewe, it's not like I planned to blow snot on the floow." Everyone else..."Ewwwww."

Me, stepping in..."here, take one of these Oxy wipes and clean it up." J.."I didn't get it all, can I have another one." Tiny Girl.."Wait, don't throw that away, I didn't get to see it." J..."Here, it's kinda gwoss." TG..."Oh...coooooool, and it's green!" Me..."Here's the other wipe, J, just clean it up." TG.."J, can I do it?" J..."sure TG!" Me..."No, it's your snot, you're cleaning it up." TG, "I only wish I had that much snot..."

Floor cleaned....complaints of "Man..I didn't' get to see it," abound. J has a clean nose, I have a clean floor, and TG is working on snot manufacturing as I write! I will never be the same again!

What is Mean Anyway?

I've been pondering the mean question for awhile...I mean it's not like I don't recognize mean people or even (as the bumper sticker points out) know that "mean people suck." I know how to be mean and people have been mean to me, but when this Nerdy Mimi is teaching first grade, mean takes on a whole new meaning!

This week we were discussing mean as it relates to being truthful. Example, "Why is it mean when I'm just telling the truth, her breath is REALLY BAD!" I think about it a minute and respond, "Well, you could, just maybe, move back a step or two, then you wouldn't smell her breath, which would make it so that you don't have to tell her it's really bad." Little Blonde Girl says, "Oh, so just pretend that I don't notice or get out of range, so that I can't smell the sewer?" What do you respond to that? Well, me with all my wisdom, decided that sarcasm would work and simply said, "Now you've got it!" Which made Blondie happy, but affirmed for Little Red Head that her breath really was unpleasant. So she kept her blowing on the palm of her hand and trying to see if it really smelled all that bad. After a couple of tries, Red head says, "You know Ms. NM, Blondie is right, it is pretty much sewer-ish." Now one would think that would be it, but of course Blondie was affirmed in a serious way and said, "Yeah, and how is it mean that I said it, but now that she realizes what I said was true, it seems I did her a favor?"

I swear, these are first graders....I have NO idea who is raising them, but I think it might be Jon Stewart/Glenn Beck/Spongebob Squarepants, because their logic defies...you got it...logic!

Next day, same Blondie....Little Freckled Boy says, "Blondie is mean, she's just mean and she doesn't even care if she's mean." Blondie, "LFB I DO care if I'm mean, but how is it mean to tell you the truth?" LFB, "You called me stupid, that's mean." Blondie, "Well you ARE stupid..."

I begin intervening, explaining that no one is really stupid, and we really should not call each other names. I explain the idea that Blondie truly knows the "truth" about who is smart and who is not is just not possible, so it would be best to keep those sorts of judgements out of their friendship. Blondie responds by saying, "Well, I won't say it any more, but you can't consider this a friendship, after all I don't make friend with stupid people."

Here is where I sigh, looks heavenward, take a deep breath, pat them both on the head and says, "Hey, let's get out our craft sticks and do some math." At least popsicle sticks don't talk back....and math is always logical, just ask my math teacher father and sister. Who knew that someday, rather than converse about levels of stupidity, I'd call on math to ease my crisis.

The Big Red Dog: A Eulogy

Raymond was a big red dog, arriving in our lives on the 11th of June, 2009. He was a slight 76 pounds, multi-colored, long eared, amber-eyed dog who had been on the road most of his life. He was wild, not house-broken and pretty much out of control...and I fell in LOVE!

I spoiled him rotten, spent untold amounts of money getting his teeth fixed, modifying his diet, buying toys for him to chew through and basically putting life on hold to make the world a better place for Raymond. You see, on the way home in the truck, this big dog leaned his head over the seat, placed it on my shoulder, and proceeded to sigh and snore the rest of the way home. Who could NOT fall in love (I just might have a weak spot for snoring men who sigh....since I live with one of those of the human persuasion.).

When we arrived home, he had his run of the yard and house, pee'ing on anything and everything, including the other dog at home. He was incorrigible, jumping on me, on the door, knocking us down...he was WILD...and we were...you guessed it....In LOVE! You might wonder how you can fall in love with a critter like this, and I can tell you there is no cerebral explanation. It was just that he enriched out lives, he made for some really interesting conversations..."Did you watch him eat that poop?" "Yeah....do you think he's always going to do that, or will he stop when he knows he's always going to have food?" (answer: Always going to do that).

We had been without our old (and wonderfully incorrigible) black lab Penny, when Raymond came into our lives. We wanted a big dog, a male, and one to keep our little Trudy company (she's a lab too). We wanted a younger dog, that would be around awhile, and one that needed us as much as we needed him. We got everything we asked for, except time.

He gave us "walkies" each night before dinner, walking around the yard in the twilight, laughing about the antics of the critters. We got "crazy man dog," when Raymie would run around as if there were stray wires in his brain, no purpose or path, just crazy running. We got snoring at night by the bed, and howling in his sleep. We got skunked once, and we worried about getting skunked again. I got a dog with velvet ears, who would lay his head on the bed at night and let me rub them until he could no longer sit up, then groan off to his snoring sleep. We got multiple trips to the vet, who always said, "He's some dog!" and we got Life in our life....He embraced us so easily, it was only natural we'd return the hugs.

Our little granddaughter, Peanut, got a HUGE dog that loved her very much, but would put his mouth on all her stuff so that she eventually had to tell him..."Raymie....I am NOT a toy!!!" But she also got someone to lay her head on and share a book with...who would listen and idolize her and not correct her reading.

Raymond died yesterday....heart failure...and he went really fast. We had no idea he was sick, but when I woke up at 3:00 a.m. and went to see him, it was pretty obvious something way wrong. We called the vet, rushed him in, but he died soon after we got him there. My heart was broken, and spent forever second guessing if I should have noticed something sooner....and have now realized that there was really nothing I could have done.

I couldn't have loved him more, spoiled him more, treated him better, or found him more wonderful. I couldn't have laughed at him more, bragged about him more, and been more proud of how much better he had gotten over the last year. I couldn't have wished for a better or worse dog, and I know he'll never be replaced.

Wherever he is now...they better be ready, because he IS the center of the universe and YOU will not forget it!

R.I.P Raymond, you were on helluva Big Red Dog!!!

Time off in the middle of the week

Today I had the day "off" because Jazzman had cataract surgery. I had a sub, for whom I spent untold hours writing up detailed plans for the day, so she doesn't get completely overwhelmed, like I was the first four weeks of school. I'll find out tomorrow how that went, I don't expect great things.

I feel like I have to over plan for the sub, in case they find a way to get through the massive amounts of material that I can't even do in a day, and have extra time. There is nothing worse than extra (unfilled) time when you're a sub. You don't usually have the resources to quickly pull that proverbial rabbit out of a hat, and create a new activity out of the blue.....so having lots of material to fall back on is the kindest thing to do. In addition, it holds down the possibility of the chaos factor creeping in to the picture and adding more damage control to my tomorrow.

I thought that I'd be uber productive today, pick the garden, bake, mow, get lots of work done, since it's sort of an unintended vacation. Jazzman doesn't really need anything other than transportation and meals, so my day is pretty free. Of course I didn't get much done, mostly because I went back to bed at 10 and slept until 1...so those three hours were pretty much spent in dreamland.

I WAS busy in dreamland, though, I coached a winning football game, gave the dogs a bath, and went camping with my granddaughter. I fought off one monster on the campgrounds and killed a very large snake with my bare hands. If one can count the amount of productivity that one does while dreaming, I'd be the most productive person on the planet!

Of course my garden still needs to be picked, the yard still needs to be mowed, and the house could use a good scrub down....instead, I've decided to dedicate this day to personal pursuits of happiness. Blogging, reading recipes (yeah, my blog is nerdy mimi for a reason) and basically taking it easy.

Tomorrow, on my way to work at 6:00 a.m., I'm sure I'll be thinking, "Now, why didn't I do more yesterday, while I had the time?" But for now, I'm just going to continue my personal pursuit of nothingness. After all, I've been told that tomorrow's another day.

Air quotes and other signs of the time

The other day, someone in my little first grade class said something that was really kind of mean. I've been really working with them on not being so mean to each other, since it seems they can be just vicious! Example: One little girl has chickens and she talks about them all the time, one little boy likes to hunt, and is not above saying, "and when I'm out hunting, I just might shoot your chickens." Ouch...for real! Of course this puts them into what I'd call a "pissing match," where she tells him that she'll call the cops, and he says that he has a license to hunt, and she decides to "faint" dramatically, and cry hysterically until he apologizes. Seriously, Scarlett O'Hara has nothing on this little girl.

Anyway, someone said something mean. You know, like..."Yeah well you have bad breath." So I thought I'd try to step in and break things up before we got to fainting and crying. I said, oh...little girl, that was so "nice" (with air quotes, using my fingers) to say to her. This stopped everyone, because apparently they had no idea what the air quotes were for. Little boy said, "Why do you say that telling someone they have bad breath is nice?" Me: "Well, I said it like this....showing him "nice" with air quotes. Little boy said, "What is this (making air quotes).

At this point everyone was interested, so we had a little lesson in air quotes. I explained that if someone brings their dog over to your house, you have a lot of fun playing with the little dog, but then it goes home. Over dinner that night with your family, you talk about the dog, and your mom says, "You sure had fun playing with that "cute" (air quotes here) dog." But what she really mean is the dog is not cute at all, but you friend called it cute, so she's using the friend's words but expressing her opinion that the dog was not cute.

I thought this was a pretty good explanation and the kids seemed to understand. But the thing they just couldn't figure out was why air quotes are even necessary, because if mom thought the dog was ugly, why couldn't she just say ugly, without all the hand gestures. I told them that mom was using someone else's words that she didn't agree with, and when we use someone else's words we use quotes...or in this case air quotes.

Little girl in the front row said, "Yeah, well (air quotes here) that's really "smart." Yeah, I think they got it!

And one more thing...oh, and one more....

This week I was sent to my "encore" meeting, where I receive "training" about various things. So far, at these meeting they have gone over the various software things that are required for the inordinate amount of testing that must be done for first grade. These tests are intended (I think) to make sure that no teacher can slack off, and all the kids get moved along. They are also, probably unintentionally robbing me of the desire to teach. You see, there are 7 tests, for each of the 22 kids, which are one minute long. In that one minute, the kid demonstrates whether or not s/he is competent at a particular required skill. If during that one minute they are deemed not competent, then they are required to be "Progress Monitored." Which, as best as I can figure out right now, means that they are going to be continually tested to see if they're making progress.

This of course requires intervention, for which time is scheduled each day, where no active teaching goes on, only intervention with those students who need it. The rest of the students are to be doing activities that can be done independently and quietly. Now the intervention, to me, is pretty much what first grade is about. Taking them from where they are, and devising strategies to get them further along the path. I have some ideas about what that looks like, and some intervention strategies that just might work, but I never have time to implement them because there is this computer program that has interventions built in, plus additional interventions to use, so I'm compelled to use that as my intervention, rather than the intervention I would prefer. So, you see, the intervention is intervening on my intervention....Oh, the horror!

And then on Friday, during encore, we were introduced to "one other thing" that we must do, via a "test." and some type of computer generated intervention plan. This would be the "Behavior Module." I'm not sure what this really means, but I think I document behavior, put it in the computer, and the behavior plan is written for me, complete with teacher instructions about how to carry this out. So, you see, all that education that I got, the MS, the additional 30 hours....needless, the computer will tell me how to teach and as long as I follow what it says, don't vary from the 1's and 0's, I'm pretty sure I'll turn out excellent students.

I was told, seriously, "This program sees what is needed and you can print out a worksheet to address that issue, it requires no thought, just click and print." Wow...seriously? That's the kind of education I set out to provide?

As you can guess, I'm philosophically bent out of shape. I don't know how I'll bet bent back into shape, but I did ask for some training on the software, so if I can at least figure out how to use it, I can make an effort to fit it into my style of teaching. I'm not opposed to these kinds of helps, but I am opposed to thinking that there is a prescription that a computer could generate that will solve all of a child's learning and behavior needs. Geez, if it were that easy, we could just turn on the television, set them in front of it and....wait, didn't we already try that?

School Daze

There has been so much happening at school, that I decided to save it up and put it all into one, rather rambling post. Some of these are stories, some of them are observations, and some of them are just plain whining moments. Read on, if you're on board for any of those things.

First graders are incredibly resilient in some ways. They can be totally disappointed and mad at someone in one minute, and laughing hysterically with them the next. They can be best friends and enemies with the same kids in about 20 seconds. They can get their feelings hurt, but turn that around to an awesome moment. But the one thing they are not resilient about is boo-boos. I think this is probably my fault, because the mothering instinct kicked in, and I let it get out of control.

It all started with a tooth falling out on the first day of school. I made a big deal of it, showed it around, and then wrapped it and ziploc bagged it, so it would make it home without incident. I had the tooth loser rinse out his mouth until the blood stopped, then gave him a sticker for being so brave. After that, at least once a day, someone has a sore tooth, loses a tooth, or a tooth starts to bleed, so I'm handing out stickers and rinsing out mouths, and wrapping up teeth right and left. They are in the prime age for tooth loss (well, other than the octogenarians who are losing them for other reasons) so it makes sense that I'll be on this job for most of the year.

Then there are those who fall at recess, get a little scratch, show it to me, and I think, "Well a bandaid will make it feel better, and we can move on." Sure, that's just how it works, however now, when anyone has any little scratch or bump, we need a bandaid. And I can tell you that I'll likely run out this week. Oh...My....Gosh...what WILL we do THEN??? I thought about buying some fancy bandaids for the rare occasion someone would need one, good thing I didn't follow through until after I realized the allure that getting a bandaid provides to the injured party.

There also ice packs. My tooth hurts, I need an ice pack, I have a headache, I need an ice pack, I fell on the playground, I need an ice pack, I have a bug bite, I need an icepack...you get the picture. Ice packs are very prestigious, 'cause if you have one, it's sure that you've been mightily injured and must be so very brave to stay in school, and not be on your way to the hospital for surgery....:>)

So that's it for the medical observations, I'm sure there will be more, but so far I've been lucky not to have any one throw up or have an accident, although one of my colleagues got to experience both of those in one day, last week.

Sometimes kids say the funniest things, they seem to have a knack for making me laugh, when I'm mostly not feeling like laughing. Last week, during math game time, one of the students was disturbed that it was "too loud." Here's how it went: "Ms. Crabtree, me and K were over there trying to play, but it's so loud that I can't even talk." Me: "Did you ask them to quiet down?" Him: "Yeah, but they didn't listen." Me: "What would be another solution?" Him: "I think you should yell QUIET really loud." Me: "Is that something I've done before?" Him: "No, that's why I'm thinkin' it would work this one time."

Pretty logical thinking, get me to do what he really wanted to do, so he was satisfied and it was quiet...well, at least it would be for about 10 seconds. We chose another route, that better fit my personality, but he said that he still wasn't satisfied, so I moved him to another area, and it seemed to soothe his jangled nerves.

Finally, there's the bathroom thing. I have to take the whole class to the bathroom, or they can go one at a time with a pass. This works fine for most of them, however there are a few who go to the bathroom because they don't want to do the work, because they don't like the subject matter, or because they just want to move around. So, I've taken to having them put their name up on a chart when they go, this way I can tell whose gone an inordinate amount of times, check with home to make sure they don't have medical issues, then remind them when I see them going too much. Who knew I'd also be the bathroom police. I mean when I posted about Jr. High kids and their leaving for whatever, I really never thought I'd need to hear, "I need to pee." But, here I am in first grade, asking them if they really have to go bad, or can they wait until the next break....geez potty police here I come!

Until next time, I'm just working on doing this better, finding humor in the small things, and trying to pick topics that are fun for the kids and have lots of experiential activities that work well for my little peanuts.....if I can manage to stay organized, and I have to do this again next year, it should be easier...maybe :>)

3 Minute Fiction Entry

NPR has this cool writing contest, called "3 Minute Fiction," where novice writers can submit entries for their contest. They usually have a theme, or words that must be used, and it's always interesting to see the stories that come out of the minds of all the writers who submit.

I've never submitted before, but this month's story starter got me hooked, and I did...I submitted a 3 minute story. The rules were, under 600 words, start with "Some people swore the house was haunted"...and end with "nothing was ever the same again."

So...following find my entry... a little melancholy, perhaps because I'm tired today....

My Ghosts:

Some people swore that the house was haunted, and I would agree that it was. I just let the rumors circulate because it kept people away. I wanted solitude, craved it, ached for it, and the house was the only place that I could truly get away from it all. A busy life, full of people, often afforded me no chance to reflect on the purpose of my life, on the richness with which I had been blessed, on the love that I’d shared.

This house was full of laughing ghosts who remembered all the summer evenings in the front yard chasing fireflies, or the winter months huddled around the fire making campfire popcorn, on days when school was cancelled. There were ghosts stomping through the kitchen with wet boots to show me the latest find from the creek out back, and ghosts who came to crawl in bed with me during those late summer thunderstorms. I often saw ghosts who sat at the table and smacked their lips waiting for the latest sweet from the oven. And on nearly every school evening there were ghosts doing homework, and listening to music, and tormenting their sister or brother.

While warming up soup I could feel a ghost sneaking up to hug and kiss me, and of course the same one who rolled over in bed at night and pushed up against me to let me know he was wanting. There was a ghost rolling a cigarette and smoking on the front porch, or perhaps tinkering with one of the broken down cars in the garage. The only ghost missing was the one that would hold me while I cried. I really wished that ghost would show up.

The house wasn’t always empty, as you can imagine, it had been filled with my wonderful family, the children, then teens, then young adults, and the love of my life, who came into our lives quite late, but changed us in ways we could never have imagined. This house, sitting here so near the road, was haunted with ghosts of times past. I could see them in the garden, on the swing, and riding their bicycles down the road. I could hear them singing, arguing, and saying “I love you.”

I often went into a dark room and hesitated to turn on the light, because I was sure, if I waited just a moment, the ghost would become real, and I wouldn’t be alone any longer. The solitude that I pushed so hard to get, would be broken by the one person who would make me want to talk, want to dance, want to laugh. And then, I’d flip the switch and for just one second the ghost would be sitting in his chair, taking a drink, and then…gone.

There may come a time when the kids, all grown up now with lives of their own, don’t seem so far away. It may be possible to believe that the ghosts won’t haunt me forever. Perhaps, even, a time when the pain of his death is lessened by years. But when he died, all quiet and softly in his sleep, on the most beautiful night of the year, it became very plain to me that nothing would ever be the same again

Dirty Days

As you all know, I am a first grade teacher. Left 8th grade and went to first, not by choice, but by force. I could stay angry or resentful, but the bottom line is that this is what I'm doing now, and it's in my best interest to try to enjoy it, and ethically sound to do my very best at teaching these little kids. I always knew, even when I was sad to be leaving 8th grade, that I would enjoy this job. I had NO idea how much work it would be, or how long my days would become, or that I'd spend a lot of time on weekends, working on being a good teacher....nope, NO idea!

That said, even though I am spending long hours (average 11 hour days) and time at this job, I often feel as if I'm still a step behind. Just today, I figured out how to find a way in the daily schedule to have a spelling and phonics lesson, and be able to teach grammar during reading time. Oh, my, so much to do, so little time! I've had tons of mentors helping me, advising me, and telling me what I should worry about, and what things I can let go. That's been tremendously helpful to me. It's because of this that I have "fun Fridays," at school. During this day we do a bunch of themed activities that go along with the Social Studies or Science theme of the week. They involve all subject areas, but are themed in a way to make them fun.

It's with that information that I can now begin to tell you about "Dirty Day" at school. You see, we'd been talking about soil. We'd been discussing what grows in soil, what we need soil for, how to conserve soil, how to protect the soil, what type of soil is best....well, you get the picture...lots of conversations about dirt. In one of our little educational videos there was a piece on composting. Now, if you know me at all, you have to know that this would be something that would just really be exciting to me. Talking to kids about mixing dirt and garbage to make really good dirt to grow things in...a serious winner in my book!

So, the plans for a Fun Friday and Dirt were well under way. The kids each brought in a ziploc bag of dirt from home, so that we could plant beans in their dirt and see which beans grew best. We compared their dirt, weighed their dirt, and then planted in their dirt. They made a little plant stake to put their name on, so we could tell whose plants were whose. They made a bean book, about the life cycle of a bean. But the biggest, and best part of the day was when we made our own compost bins.

Yeah, four big plastic containers with a little dirt in them, add garbage, carted in from their homes in ziplocs. "Hey, that's my garbage, I want to dump that in.." and then taking their hands and crunching it all together to create a lovely, muddy compost bin. Hand washing was a necessity, and also took longer than making the compost. Kids love to rub foaming soap on their very dirty hands and then show their friends just how "gross" this is!

My favorite part of the day was the dirt pudding trick that I pulled on the kids. I made dirt pudding (chocolate pudding, oreos, whipped cream and gummy worms) the night before and put it in a flower pot. I picked up the pot, so the kids couldn't see inside and said, "Hey, look, someone left us some dirt." Then I proceeded to take a spoon and eat "dirt." Their faces were so shocked, and disgusted, they couldn't even comment! I have to tell you, it was probably the best trick I've ever done.....still makes me laugh when I tell the story.

Of course I had to quickly tell them is wasn't real dirt, it was dirt pudding, and offer each of them a cup full to taste. They were all for that, well all but one little guy, who just couldn't seem to compute that the dirt everyone else was eating, really wasn't dirt. He said, "I have to put my head down, it's making me sick to see everyone eating that dirt."

I LOVE Fridays, they are more relaxed, and the kids leave for the week feeling really happy to have been in school. I leave exhausted and already thinking about next week, and next Friday and what I'm going to do to keep their interest. I think apples....and we'll just go from there.

The Car and Jazzman

I'm not sure if any of you can relate to this, but do try! You see, Jazzman is this really cool, creative, and kind person. He's so smart it's scary, and so patient that he makes me look like the Tasmanian Devil. He takes a long time to make a decision, but it's almost always the right one, and he NEVER rushed ANYTHING! Knowing that I'm pretty much a spaz on wheels, you might wonder how the two of us peacefully co-exist? Well, I'm going to try to demonstrate how that works in the following blog....but you have to remember, it's about cars, and Jazzman, together, with me, for six hours, traveling, and well....just hang in there!

This Labor Day I was planning to go in to school, spend the full day and get my sh...tuff, organized. I had a plan, get lesson plans done, figure out copies, re-do files and clean out those cabinets, so I can find things. Maybe even go looking for some other furniture in the storage room...when no one was around to scold me. Yeah...plan....A...but then on Sunday night, the Jazzman tells me he wants to travel to PA (That's Pennsylvania, for you non-Ohioans) and look at a car. He tells me that it's about a three hour drive (one way) and he will not buy the car on Monday, but if he decides to buy it, will make another trip back the following week, with me, so I can drive the "other" car home.

Now, one might think that six hours in a car to look at a car, and then come home to do it all over again, would not sound like my cup o' tea...However, it sounded SO much better than all day at school, that I immediately found myself figuring out how to make it work. Early morning lesson plans, stay late after school all week, then PA bound I could be! I LOVE to travel with Jazzman. It's not that it's so exciting, but we enjoy looking at the scenery, talking to each other, and occasionally listening to some good classical or jazz music. I like being with him in the car, smelling that tobacco smell (yeah, former smoker, love the smell of fresh tobacco) and just sitting there feeling that all is right with the world. It's probably the only time that I don't get antsy to move and DO something. So, to me, time in the car with the Jazzman is very relaxing. I should probably have him take me out for a spin each evening, so I could relax before bed time...just like a baby in a carseat...but I digress.

Anyway, the car buying thing is new. You see Jazzman has told me for the longest time how much he loves this car. And, I must admit that I love it too. It's comfortable, spunky, has a great classic look, and is a very nice car. Not to mention that he maintains it in tip top shape and it looks like someone detailed it, each and every day. He has told me many times that this is the car he will drive until he dies....which should be for a long time. Lately, however, it's been a car which needed a lot of maintenance, and that is expensive (German car=expensive), so he's decided that he's done pouring money into it, and now that it's really in good shape, it's a good time to get rid of it.

This means he's looking for another car. One that's zippy, dependable, a little less expensive to maintain, but still a really cool car. And he has it narrowed down to a few selections. This is where he spend his leisure time, looking for cars. He's a bonafide motor head! He LOVES cars. He reads Auto Week and can't wait for the next edition...needless to say, this is sort of a hobby, and it has paid off for me, since when I need a car, I put him "on it" and I always get a good deal. Hence the trip to PA, to look at a car. This promised to be just what he wanted, and we arrived to see it looking pretty sharp from it's place in the driveway.

Jazzman got out, spent about half an hour looking around, and then told the poor guy, who'd been pacing and being entertained by yours truly, that he found it to be in poor shape for what the guy wanted for it, and it was a "no go." I'm not sure if the guy was more disappointed than Jazzman, I'd say it was a close race. You see, Jazzman knows cars, and he looked in this car, up and down, underneath, and at each door, hinge, rug, window, sunroof, well you get the picture. While this was going on, I was kvetzing with dude who was selling it, asking about his army son (to whom the car belongs), talking about being a teacher, asking him about his golf game, you know doing all I could to keep him from pacing worriedly and watching Jazzman shake, rattle and roll things.

So, when the answer was "no," it was a sort of deflating moment. Of course it was at this time that Jazzman realized that he needed to use the facilities, and asked if we could do that before he left. Which of course placed me in the kitchen with the lady of the house, doing more schmoozing about their lovely house, and their son, and...well, you get it. Let's just say I was dying to get into the bathroom and get out of there.

We left their house and I programmed the GPS (who I named Rachel, and he calls Ethyl) and we headed home. I was just happy to have had a great scenic drive and great company, Jazzman was really disappointed, and kept saying, "darnit..." over and over. In the end, he didn't get his car, which made the day totally suck for him. I, however got a great drive with the Jazzman, on a beautiful day, and felt totally fulfilled. Now that I've written this, I'm not sure if this points out how we co-exist peacefully, or further confuses everyone about why we do...but trust me, it works...for whatever reason.

Rotating Groups and Bangle Bracelets

So, after yesterday I felt so successful that I decided I go "all the way" today and do small group activities. This will give the kids a chance to see how I want them to do their work, when I am working with a small group, and I can help them because today, I did not have my own small group. Yeah, a good idea after one day of school right? And, since I knew that we didn't get much done yesterday, I decided to just go for this today....just six stations and try to get all 21 kids through them.

I explained the activities, sent them to their tables and got them started, re-did directions when necessary, set the time, and off they went. Some were more independent activities, some were pretty easy, some were more difficult, and some required group cooperations. I decided that they probably still want to impress me, so they'd be extra good and work hard together. I was right, they did still want to impress me, but it started to be a competition..."I did this better than she did this, didn't I?" I told them that it wasn't a competition, but that they needed to work together to get one really great result. That seemed to sink in, and they started doing more cooperative type work. It took guidance, but I could really see them trying.

When you tell a first grader they are doing a really great job and you're proud of them, it's like Fireworks over Manhattan on the Fourth of July AND New Year's all at once. The face lights up, they want to let their friends know, and they often fist bump in celebration. It's pretty cool to see . They don't seem to be jealous of each other, more just happy to see each other happy.

I have one student who just can't work with a group. Let's just say he has "issues" that I'm working to address, but he's truly just a group of one. This means that he does another activity than everyone else, all by himself. If it's an engaging activity, and I spend some time talking with him, it goes really well. He's learning and happy and productive. It's a challenge, but I think we're making headway.

Today he was trying so hard to be good, because he really liked my elastic (cheap) beaded bracelets. He wanted to wear one, and that would require following the rules (for like 5 minutes)....which he really wanted to do. So, he followed the rules, and got to wear the bracelet. When he broke the rules, the bracelet came back to me. We exchanged them several times and there were even times when he had both of them at the same time. A girl said, "Why are you wearing Ms. Crab's bracelet?" His answer, "'Cause I earned 'em by bein' good."

I came home, went through my jewelry box and took all my elastic beaded bracelets, plus the livestrong and buckstrong bracelets and put them in my bag for tomorrow. If he wants to work for bling....I'm there!

Tomorrow's Friday....Fun, Friday....a little movie, some educational games, and maybe, if things work out, a game of bingo! Oh, my, first grade.....keep reading, and don't forget, if you have any extra unused bling, send it my way.

Tooth Fairy and other First Grade Firsts!

Today was MY first day of first grade. All of the complaining, researching, reading and other anxiety producing activities prior to today, were just not necessary...IT.WAS. FABULOUS!!! I mean where else can you do a happy dance, lose a tooth, find a new friend, learn that the playground "rocks," and be given crabapples (because they match your name). Seriously...where else?

I got a few things accomplished today during school

1. I did not lose any children

2. I took attendance and lunch count

3. I laughed, the kids laughed

4. I read a story

5. I laughed, the kids laughed

6. I'm pretty sure they all semi-know what to do tomorrow

7. I learned that they want me to eat lunch with them

8. I learned that recess "rocks."

8.5. When you lose a tooth in first grade, everyone needs to see it.

9. I learned that getting ready for the bus takes 30 minutes, and even then it's a bit of a crap shoot.

10. I know that first graders don't get 2 syllable teacher names...they can handle only Ms. Crab...and I'm fine with that.

I'm pretty sure that I'll have lots more stories, and I'll do my best to post as the days go on...but right now, I'm going for adult conversation with the Jazzman, and a little drink to wind down my day.

Teaching...a gift...First graders...priceless!

The Trashed Mailbox

On Wednesday night, sometime during the night, when most normal people were sleeping, someone trashed our mailbox. I don't think they intended to do so, considering that they probably also trashed their vehicle at the same time, but nonetheless, they did. The mail box post, a 4x4 piece of solid wood, was broken off like a matchstick, and the mailbox lay on its side, a little bit the worse for wear.

Being the observant person I am, I didn't even notice this until Jazzman pointed it out. I drove by it twice, but failed to compute that it was lying on its side, battered and bruised. In order to do this, a person had to be going very fast and just slam into the box, which would have (I think) caused them to stop rather quickly. I suppose someone could have been driving a farm implement and knocked it over, since we do live on a country road and all sorts of dirt digging, plowing, and other large machines move up and down our road. Whatever the case may be, it was Thursday evening and "we" needed to fix the mailbox.

I was not going to get out the chains and truck and pull the post, nor was I in the mood to do any digging. It was evening, I was hot, and I just didn't feel like doing that kind of physical work. Jazzman, on the other hand, insisted that we "fix" the mailbox, so we could get our mail the next day. Now, our mailman is a really great guy, and he probably would have just put the mail on our porch, but Jazzman insisted the box needed to be upright for mail delivery.

I suggested putting it on a sawhorse, and setting it along side the old broken post. Jazzman felt that someone would steal the sawhorse, and/or perhaps the mailbox with it. Besides, he reminded me, there are about 27 screws in the mailbox to hold it on the post, and he wasn't in the mood to remove them.

So, he proposed a plan B, which, if I do say so myself, was pretty creative. We dragged an old trash can out to the post, placed the broken off post, with the mailbox on it, down in the trash can, then filled the can with rocks to hold it steady. This took about 20 minutes and was a great quick solution. Of course with this solution comes the "look" too. I mean most people have these lovely posts, and nice mailboxes, and here's ours....a trash can full of rocks. I have no idea what the neighbors will say, and I'm sure they wonder why we've done this, but for now...it works.

So, if you drive by and see the mailbox sticking out of a trash can, well you know you're in our neighborhood. We're nothing if not inventive!

Whattaweek!

Wow! It's been a hectic week! Getting ready for first grade is much more labor intensive than getting ready for 8th grade. I had NO IDEA how much work this was going to be...well, O.K., I had some idea, but certainly wasn't fully clued in.

For the last two weeks, I've been in my classroom all but two days (and weekends of course, even I will not go to school on weekends). I've cleaned, sorted, filed, arranged, re-arranged, computed, printed, hung, trashed, and laminated until there seems to be nothing left that needs to be done. Seriously, I never understood why the elementary teachers were always at school two weeks early, and stayed two weeks late, and worked nights and weekends, but I sure do get it now! It's amazing what needs to be done to prepare for 24 six year olds to enter my door on day one.

There are name tags, lunch choices, pin numbers (yep, even six year old have pin numbers), bus numbers, workbooks to label, Buckeye Bucks to make, schedules to put up, rules to post, bulletin boards to decorate, and countless other small tasks. I'm happy to report, however that most of my small tasks are done, with the exception of names on things, because I've yet to get an accurate class list. Class lists are an interesting thing at the elementary level. I guess, if you're going to have to be in a teacher's class for a whole year...one teacher, and you, for a whole year....you want to get someone you think you'll like. So, class lists are the ultimate in school secrecy.

Teachers will get their lists on Friday, nearly the same time as parents. This is because there are so many students coming and going, that the lists seem to be in a constant state of flux, so getting that final list takes until the midnight hour. So, on Friday, at 3:00, the lists will be posted on the school door. The parents will be lined up to see them, and there will be cheers and tears, and I'll be too busy writing names on things to pay attention. If we do get the lists early, it's "top secret" and we are not allowed to tell anyone about our class lists. Kinda like the, "If I tell you, I'll have to kill you," method of secrecy.

So, about that laminating.....yeah, it's amazing! I have laminated so much stuff that I'm pretty sure the laminating film would reach from home to school and back. That means, of course, that I've also had to cut out around all those laminated things, and then organize them in their particular places. I've got laminated name tags, locker tags, lunch pin tags, bus tags, and schedules. I've laminated letters, bulletin board pictures, cards, and just about anything that can be fit between the rollers of a laminator. All this in the hope that things will last all year, so I don't have to do this again this year!

Now that I've been in my room a great deal, it's starting to feel more like it's really mine. I'm starting to make some decisions about things I want to do, and some routines I want to follow. I'm starting to feel confident enough to ask questions when I have no idea, and that's stopped making me feel inferior!

The only thing I've yet to do is set up my lesson plans. That's what Friday will be for. I will be planning for the first two weeks, laying out the materials and figuring out what I want to use. Since I have to teach all subjects, this will require a good bit more thought than when I just taught two, but I think I have a plan to make it work well.

You know, it's been a lot more work, but it's really stretched my brain, and I'm beginning to feel the creative juices starting to flow, so that I believe it's possible this first grade thing and I will get along just fine!

One Hot Mimi!

So, it's August, and it's Ohio, and the humidity and heat combined make the outside pretty darn hot! It's the first thing anyone says when they see you...."Dang, it's hot!" I mean today, it was about 91 degrees, with 86% humidity, and just thinking about going outside made me sweat. Of course today was my errand day, which meant a good bit of in and out of the car, so I had ample opportunity to sweat.

There was a time when I was a dainty young lady, and I didn't sweat. Heck, in High School I took salt pills, because I didn't sweat enough and it caused health issues when I was competing. But that is definitely NOT a problem any longer. I buy the anti-perspirant that uses a professional football player to endorse it! I mean, when I say sweat....well that's what I mean. So, I wear as few clothes as I can, and not make people want to throw up when they see me, and I just got my hair cut to try to help with this hot thing.

In my Jr. High teaching days, I had the hottest classroom in school! Literally, in August, when we went back to school it was usually about 86 degrees in my room by 10:00 a.m. and it never got any cooler, especially as the hot students packed the room. Of course, the kids always complained, and I had lots of fans, but finally I told them that, "Yes, this is the hottest room in school, and that makes me the hottest teacher." Which of course totally grossed them out, thinking about another meaning of hot, and that would not be possible for Ms. Nerdy Mimi to be the hottest teacher. As a matter of fact, one time a student said, "Uh, no, that would be Ms. Goody Two Shoes."

Now I much prefer hot over cold. I love the summer, will lay out in my lawn chair on these really hot days, and just bask in the heat. I take along my water, and make sure to take some breaks, but the heat is a good thing! I'm NOT complaining about the summer heat, you will never find me doing that.

It's just the sweating thing. I mean sometimes I'll be hot, out shopping and look down and my t-shirt is wet between my boobs. This is not to say, nor even slightly intimate that I have a large chest, much the opposite. So, why is it necessary for sweat to pool there? I mean isn't there some sort of biological law that prohibits old ladies from sweating and calling attention to their bust? And, then there's the sweat running down the back, and, well, you get where that goes...just think about your last anatomy lesson and you'll figure it out.

I always used to think this would stop eventually, you know I'd be in menopause for 10 years or so, and then it would go away...but no, there seems to be no light at the end of this very hot tunnel, or perhaps there is, and it's a heat lamp. Whatever, I'm going to take my sweaty self into the living room, dial up the air conditioner now....cool....yeah, I'm cool......

Dumpster Diving

This might be the strangest thing that's happened to me in a long time, and I can tell you (and you can probably guess) that lots of strange things happen to me. Most of them are of my own making, but this time I'm begging off...this is just strange and there's no way around it.

You might remember that I'm moving to first grade from my former 8th grade position? I know, it would be pretty hard to forget, since I'm constantly whining about it, right? Well, a few weeks ago I cleaned out the room I was moving into. It had about 40 years worth of accumulated stuff from the teacher who was there before and had retired. It was a two day job, about 8 hours each day. I threw away a LOT of things. I also packed up some things and offered them to the other staff. The room is clean and organized and I believe I can move my other stuff in and still have room for kids. Which is, after all what the classroom is for...kids!

So, last night, after the board meeting, another teacher from the first grade came up to me and said she needed to talk to me. She told me that, when she'd gotten my email about the things I had gotten rid of she, "got nervous, and called the custodian and told him not to throw away the trash." She went in the next day and went through my trash (she told me this, I'm not making it up) and pulled out things that, "I wasn't supposed to throw away."

She told me what she'd pulled out, and I explained that I had thrown them away because they were trashed, they were torn and not useful, and I could get those same materials on line via the Smartboard. "Oh," she explained, "You can't throw them away because they belong with the curriculum and they have to remain with the materials."

So, I have some things back, that I won't use, but can't throw away, and that are not useful, but can't be gotten rid of. And I have a dumpster diving co-worker who is, evidently, not afraid to interfere in my decision making process and force me to do things in a way she views as appropriate. I'm not sure what to make of this. When I tell people they are mortified that someone would do that. Some tell me I should tell her to stay out of my room, others think I should tell her off. I've decided that I'll pack away the things she thought I needed for the next person who she'll think needs them and save her any future dumpster diving.

Did I note that this year might be a challenge for me and my politically correctedness? Well, I'm pretty sure I just had my first test, and given that I smiled and thanked her, I'm giving myself an A+. It might be the only one I get all year, so I'm going to bask in it!

Cheese in your purse

O.K. I just had to blog about this topic, because it's one of those things that, in the moment, you don't realize it's weird, but then you walk away and you tell people and they have this look of utter amazement on their faces, and you realize maybe it was a little weird after all.

Last night was a Board of Education meeting, which I attended. I attend all of these meetings now, because this is where the decision to eliminate my job was made, and I think it's too important to miss out on those types of decisions. Sometimes the board meetings are entertaining, in that you wonder just exactly what people are thinking. Sometimes they are boring because the meetings is about mundane things and the members talk a lot and express their opinions. Sometimes they are exciting, like when someone in the public is worked up about something and wants to have a chance to have their say. Last night varied between boring and entertaining. But it was a long meeting, and I had cheese in my purse!

Yes, that's right, cheese in my purse. A sealed package of provolone cheese, which I had bought on the way in . You see I had to stop at the store, I knew we needed cheese for Jazzman's sandwich the next day, so I bought some. When I got to the meeting, I realized that I couldn't leave the cheese in the car or it would melt, so I stuffed it in my purse. I mean it was air conditioned inside, and I did set my purse on the air vent, so why wouldn't that work, right? And you know what, the cheese was just fine. The problem is when I mentioned to Goody Two Shoes that it was a good thing the meeting didn't go any longer 'cause I had cheese in my purse, when things sort of took a turn for the worse.

It seems that others around me heard this, and they wouldn't believe it. Because of that I had to show them..(I mean, if you have cheese in your purse, you've got to prove it, right?) and so I whipped out the cheese. This resulted in some pretty colossal teasing and disbelieving shakes of the head. I don't know what they would have done, but I'm guessing it's not putting the cheese in their purse!

The Orange Spatula

It's become clear to my legion of readers that I am the parent of two adult children. Sometimes I wonder just exactly how we managed to get to this stage in life, but it happened. They just kept growing, no matter what I did right and/or wrong, and somehow figured out how to move out on their own and have a life.

I was not the perfect parent. I was not even close to the perfect parent. I loved (still do) my kids endlessly, but I had the patience of a fly, coupled with two week PMS. I wasn't very self aware, and while I wanted to do the right thing, sometimes I was just selfish and didn't do it very well. I know that I did a lot of cool things with the kids, and I did try to make sure they were relatively well adjusted, given that I was NOT!

I raised my kids as a single mom, their whole life. Their dad and I divorced when they were very young, and though I remarried, the second husband was as much a kid as they were, so I really just added another child, and did not get a parenting partner. So, while I was married for ten years in the middle of their lives, I was still a single parent. I often had to remind Stu that he was a grown up, and that he needed to act like one. That never went over very well, perhaps that's why Stu wigged out and had to go.

Anyway, I so easily get off topic, gotta work on that.....

Parenting. There is no magic formula, and what works for one person may be totally un-doable for another. I have friends that I think are just the best parents, they seem so relaxed and able to take things in stride. One of them is Goody Two Shoes. She's this awesome young mom, who is so patient and seems so downright, down-to-earth, that I feel as if I wanted my kids to be raised by her. Her little Betty is adorable and reflects that calm and peaceful parenting she does. Suffice it to say, I was NOT a calm mother. I'm NOT calm now....I probably should not even appear in a blog post with the word calm...

So when Felicity and Tater Tot were little, they were a real handful. They are only 18 months apart, and it was almost like having twins. My mom always said that "one kids takes all your time, so two can't take more"....right, Mom, sure! These two little bundles of fun and energy always kept me on my toes. The truth is I had no idea how to raise kids. There wasn't an internet to go to and ask, "What do I do when Tater Tot cuts his butt on the ladder outside," so I could make an informed decision. Seriously, it was fly by the seat of your pants time all the time.

I can remember camping, and needing to go to the bathroom, sneaking off in the woods, with my pants at half mast, while Tater Tot shone a flashlight on me to "help out." Or the time when Felicity decided to practice being a mermaid by opening a can of paint in the basement and swimming around. I remember chicken pox in the summer time, filling an old washtub with water and baking soda, and promising the kids ice cream if they's just stop itching! I can remember countless baseball and softball games, yelling for those two (sorry guys, but not totally athletic kids) and helping them feel better after a particularly tough game. There were times when we were so busy that Tater Tot had to put his football uniform on in the backseat of the car (picture that?) while we drove to practice, and then I had to run Felicity to gymnastics. After that, we ate lunch from a cooler on our way home, while the kids worked on homework. Yeah...those.....were.....the.....days......(not that I'd want to do them over).

So what really brought me down memory lane is one of the things that my kids and I have very different memories of. That's the Orange Spatula. Here again, let me point out that I was doing my best, but sometimes it wasn't that good. You see, I didn't like to spank my kids, but sometimes I felt it was necessary (I grew out of that pretty quickly and don't advocate for that now). I found that most of the time I wanted to spank was when I was angry, and that just wasn't a good thing. So, I devised a way to settle down and think about it prior to spanking (or not). So, I had this old orange spatula (pancake turner) that was plastic. I kept it in a drawer in the kitchen (or in my purse for travel purposes) and when I felt the need to spank, I'd walk to the drawer and think about what it was that had been done and whether it was worth a spanking. If it was, my intent was to use the spatula, and lightly administer the punishment.

Here's where the difference of opinion occurs. I swear that I have never spanked my kids with a spatula! I felt, by the time I got to the drawer, I'd gotten over the anger, and could use another means of discipline which would be more effective. I really felt proud of myself for overcoming the spanking. Now that's not to say that I didn't say, on more than one occasions, "Don't make me get the orange spatula out." Which was a great deterrent to future "crime."

My kids will tell you (and they will, just ask them) that they were beaten often and very sternly with said spatula. They say they hid it so I couldn't find it when we moved. They say they specifically remember me spanking them with that spatula and it was the worst time of their lives. Of course they do this with a smile on their faces, and the story become embellished more and more as the years go by.

I suppose, if one were to be objective, it's possible that I did use that implement on them once or twice. I guarantee there were no welts, broken bones, or fractured spirits. In the end they will always believe I was the maniacal, spatula wielding, crazed, PMS Mom, who through some sort of miracle has transformed herself into their friend and advisor...sans spatula.

First Grade Angst

O.K. for about a week now, I've been working really hard on getting over my fear of 1st grade! Yep, that's right, I can handle those hormone driven teenagers just fine, but put me in a room with 5 and 6 year olds and I feel a finger of fear run down my back. What does one DO with 1st graders? They don't really get the rules, because they haven't "done" full day school before. Telling them to read the directions won't do, because they can't read yet. You see, I'm supposed to teach them that skill. They've never eaten lunch at school, so they don't know about buying lunch, the choices they have, and whether they want milk if they packed their lunch. To be frank, I've don't know about this stuff either, because I've never taught in this school. So, the idea that I'll be in charge is sort of like the blind leading the blind!

I mean in 8th grade the kids came well aware of the routine. They'd been in Jr. High for a year, they know the building and the routine, it's easy. They have to be told the rules, and those have to be followed, but other than that, piece of cake. When 8th graders don't feel good, they know enough to make it to the bathroom before they are sick, and I've never had an 8th grader have a potty accident (thankfully). 8th graders go to the office with money and notes, and stuff like that, and they have the lunch routine down just fine.

So, when thinking about 1st grade, I get a little overwhelmed. I did work in the building where I'm moving before, so I know the lay of the land and a lot of the staff. When I met with a couple of teachers to find out more about what I needed to prepare for, they told me I'd have to go with the kids to lunch because the trays are too high, and they'll pull them down on their heads. What???? The lunchroom is not appropriate for the kids it serves? Hmmmmm, maybe I'll have to raise a fuss about this...but wait, not so fast!

You see, this year I have to behave myself. I'm working for a new boss, and there are different rules in this game. I have to follow the schedule, give all the assessments, file all the important stuff and keep track of these things so I make sure they get done. I can't go around tilting at windmills and raising a ruckus about every little injustice, or I'll never be able to keep up.

I suppose grading papers will be easier, I mean these kids aren't going to write an 8 page research paper, but what kind of grades do they get? They get some sort of grade, right, but not the typical A, B, C grade system. See, there's another thing I don't know.

If I just wrote about all the things I don't know, well the list would probably go on forever, but there are some things I do know, and those are going to make the year a great year. You see, I do know that these kids will want to have fun learning. They will want to make me happy, and work hard to please me. They will be excited about EVERYTHING, and I'm pretty sure they'll think I'm beautiful! I know that I have some very cool ideas about things I want to do with these kids. I believe that I have done enough research and reading to handle the developmental issues these kids face, and I'm pretty sure that mom and Mimi training will come in right handy. I imagine that there will be times when I forget that I didn't want to take this job, and find myself fitting right in. So, perhaps what I don't know isn't as important as I thought. I guess I'll just put on my new shoes and go to school.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.