I should be grading/setting up my gradebook/emailing grades for any of the 3 different courses that I'm currently teaching. Oddly, and sadly, enough, my motivation hasn't joined the party yet this semester, which is all of a week old. I don't normally struggle with this fudge-muddled mind, but it's been hitting me hard lately. And I joined a new Bible study this week all about the book of Daniel, but the word around the room is that each daily lesson for the week takes about 45 minutes. And my less than stellar motivation to do anything of substance didn't just giggle self-mockingly at me but downright chortled uproariously. Yeah. Right. I'm doing that right now??? Pish posh. (It also doesn't help that the woman on the video that corresponds with the study, the leader of it, is very SHOUT-y. Not my style. We need a break, and our relationship is only 45 minutes long at this point.)
I'm in the doldrums, friends. Here's the real deal. Our continuing where-are-we-going-to-be-where-do-we-want-to-be-where-should-we-be? saga has no end in site. And I'm downright tired of it, resentful even. Apathetic almost. Remember when I blindsided the owners of a cute as a button Cape Cod just across the street from us and was all like "Yeah, I want your house. Please sell it to me"? Wheels were finally set in motion to the point of realtor intervention today, and I found out that it's actually out of our price range, and pretty convincingly so. We're apparently no good at figuring real estate value in the local market, which has been evident time and time again, and I was really under no grand illusions that this would be any different. But still. How could we be so wrong about it again? It's a little bit bummer-worthy cause this house has such a good vibe for me, like some serious mojo. So I'm sad to see this fish slip away, but it's also one big question mark that has been answered. It might be the catalyst, actually, for the next decision at hand. The safe choice may not be feasible after all, which means that the scary choice may be the only one left. And the absolute biggest bummer of all that's been dragging me down is my unequivocal realization of what a big scaredy chicken of change I am. Some days there isn't enough chocolate...but that's mostly because the littlest sprout in all of her 1-year old cunning has found my stash. And knows what it is. And eats it. She gets it (and me); I love her.
Friday, January 17, 2014
Saturday, January 11, 2014
My lotion is potion
How do you like that title?!? It's the best I could come up with on 2 seconds notice.
Literally, this is all going to be about my lotion, the miracle that it is. Feel free to join me in a little love fest over it for a brief moment. It won't be long.
Lesson #1:
It pays to ask questions at the doctor's office. Case in point--at our little bean's 18-month well-baby check-up, I randomly asked how doctors and nurses keep their hands from being all dried and cracked during these wicked winter months. When my 20s hit, my hands began a yearly revolt against all things dry air. I would always have this chapped, reddish demarcation between my always covered forearms and my rarely covered hands. My knuckles and the thick skin around my fingernails would bleed. It was uncomfortable from November-April. No lotion worked. None. Then, I struck up a conversation with someone in the know, who glanced at my hands, and quickly responded (after first answering my question by pointing at a bottle of lotion...that part wasn't helpful) "Oh, I can help you with that."
Lesson #2:
Medicated lotion is the be-all and end-all in my day-to-day life now. It is the best $20-some that my flex health account has ever spent money on for me. I use it twice a day and nothing else. That's right, home-skillets. Nothing else. No more Jergens. No more Aquaphor. No more St. Ives. I could go on cause my list of lotions tried is purty extensive. I love it like none other.
Lesson #3:
My medicated lotion has a weak acid in it (which I don't really get as it seems that an acid would work against my end goal), and it will find any minute cut in your hand. However, this is how I know that it's working. The first time I used it--egads. Burn, baby, burn. Two days later (yeah, yeah...two days!!), barely a burn at all. Three days out and ever since--nothin'! This stuff is incredible (imagine me exclaiming that in Spanish since that's what it sounded like in my mind when I wrote that short sentence).
There you go. My life has come to this: hand lotion. Bring on the hot, hot water whenever I want. Jealous, much?
I feel like you might feel this post a bit lacking in anything interesting. Here's a freebie. She wasn't asleep when I took this picture, though here eyes are closed. It's pretty much hilarious watching her get horsey rides around the house.
Literally, this is all going to be about my lotion, the miracle that it is. Feel free to join me in a little love fest over it for a brief moment. It won't be long.
Lesson #1:
It pays to ask questions at the doctor's office. Case in point--at our little bean's 18-month well-baby check-up, I randomly asked how doctors and nurses keep their hands from being all dried and cracked during these wicked winter months. When my 20s hit, my hands began a yearly revolt against all things dry air. I would always have this chapped, reddish demarcation between my always covered forearms and my rarely covered hands. My knuckles and the thick skin around my fingernails would bleed. It was uncomfortable from November-April. No lotion worked. None. Then, I struck up a conversation with someone in the know, who glanced at my hands, and quickly responded (after first answering my question by pointing at a bottle of lotion...that part wasn't helpful) "Oh, I can help you with that."
Lesson #2:
Medicated lotion is the be-all and end-all in my day-to-day life now. It is the best $20-some that my flex health account has ever spent money on for me. I use it twice a day and nothing else. That's right, home-skillets. Nothing else. No more Jergens. No more Aquaphor. No more St. Ives. I could go on cause my list of lotions tried is purty extensive. I love it like none other.
Lesson #3:
My medicated lotion has a weak acid in it (which I don't really get as it seems that an acid would work against my end goal), and it will find any minute cut in your hand. However, this is how I know that it's working. The first time I used it--egads. Burn, baby, burn. Two days later (yeah, yeah...two days!!), barely a burn at all. Three days out and ever since--nothin'! This stuff is incredible (imagine me exclaiming that in Spanish since that's what it sounded like in my mind when I wrote that short sentence).
There you go. My life has come to this: hand lotion. Bring on the hot, hot water whenever I want. Jealous, much?
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Nostalgia Lane
A box unearthed a few days ago stuffed with college shtuff. Since the boy and I went to the same institution, these boxes that get moved from various nooks to crannies around our house every few months are often a grab bag of memories. In this box, I unearthed a symbol of many laborious collegiate hours--my teaching portfolio.
This hulking piece of nonsense was so stuffed with every single piece of everything that I could unearth in my 4 years (of which only 2 1/2 were actually spent conjoined to the major) to prove that I was brilliant! passionate! spirited! enlightening! encouraging! and caring! that it literally weighs as much as our two cats combined, though not nearly so snuggly as they are. "Hulking piece of nonsense"--what?? I think education is a "hulking piece of nonsense"??? Oh no, no, my good friend. Education itself is most definitely not. The portfolio, however, which was intended to "prove" my ability to teach most definitely is. In fact, I believe that this specific torture device was only used for about 2 or 3 years, right around when I graduated. I haven't been up to date on my requirements to graduate from a 4-year institution with a major in education, but I believe that the specific portfolio requirements in place about a decade ago (ouch!) were quickly changed. Rightly so, dear state educators.
But this relic did invite me to take a loving stroll down Nostalgia Lane for a few moments because it has a handful of original essays that I wrote in my dearly beloved core classes--i.e. my other major. And these originals have the handwriting of some of my favorite English-y minds that I have had the privilege of learning from or with.
I glanced through the essay where I learned that it's okay to use "I" and, subsequently, how to do it correctly.
I found one of my favorite essays that I ever wrote whereupon I realized what is undoubtedly some intentional (and seriously clever) Dickensian wordplay.
I read through a couple of my first bungling writing attempts alongside some that show a couple of years of work and dedication to writing better. That's some sweetness to see overt progress.
Those were a fantastic 4 years, which I'm not claiming because of wearing 10-years-later blinders. I knew they were fantastic when I was there. It was a sweet, sweet time. Here's to my professors (even you, Dr. Oy Vey): it was fun times. Thanks.
This hulking piece of nonsense was so stuffed with every single piece of everything that I could unearth in my 4 years (of which only 2 1/2 were actually spent conjoined to the major) to prove that I was brilliant! passionate! spirited! enlightening! encouraging! and caring! that it literally weighs as much as our two cats combined, though not nearly so snuggly as they are. "Hulking piece of nonsense"--what?? I think education is a "hulking piece of nonsense"???
But this relic did invite me to take a loving stroll down Nostalgia Lane for a few moments because it has a handful of original essays that I wrote in my dearly beloved core classes--i.e. my other major. And these originals have the handwriting of some of my favorite English-y minds that I have had the privilege of learning from or with.
I glanced through the essay where I learned that it's okay to use "I" and, subsequently, how to do it correctly.
I found one of my favorite essays that I ever wrote whereupon I realized what is undoubtedly some intentional (and seriously clever) Dickensian wordplay.
I read through a couple of my first bungling writing attempts alongside some that show a couple of years of work and dedication to writing better. That's some sweetness to see overt progress.
Those were a fantastic 4 years, which I'm not claiming because of wearing 10-years-later blinders. I knew they were fantastic when I was there. It was a sweet, sweet time. Here's to my professors (even you, Dr. Oy Vey): it was fun times. Thanks.
Friday, December 27, 2013
2014: The Year of the Books
Confession: we only made it about half way through the year before "Resolutions 2013" fell by the wayside, big time. Apparently, I'm on trend with how my recent spate of resolution-ing has gone; I don't think that I've yet succeeded from start to finish. Resolutions are a fairly recent tradition in my life and generally only concern me. And reading. As I think back over the last 3 or 4 years, reading has been numero uno on my to-do list almost every time. Including this year!
I'm on the ball this year--at least with one thing. I'm such a flustered chicken about many a thing in my day-to-day living that I'm going to throw this out there almost a week early and just let it sink in a little. As everyone is on tenterhooks as they read this, I'll suspend the suspense and let you all in on my resolution pact for 2014:
Read 12 books off of this list. My mental math tells me that this breaks down to 1 book per month. (I'm proving why my New Year's Resolutions never involve math; I'm obviously very gifted in this area.)
I came upon this list randomly a few days ago and thought that the idea for it is intriguing though the criteria used to judge the "most famous" books is sketchy at best. And to that end, I would feel slighted if I lived in/felt emotionally invested in West Virginia (Shiloh???) and Washington state. So here's my rules in this exploratory venture.
1. I can't read any book again that I have already read and count it in my 12 books. That's cheating. I've already read 20 of them at any given time in my life, so those are off limits. Yes, I count Shiloh as one of those that I've already read. No, I don't count Twilight. Nor will I ever. EVER.
2. I won't read Twilight.
3. There's a lot of horror-ish books on that list. That's not really my style, so I'm basically leaving those for others to enjoy for me.
That's about it. My list includes 12 random books that I haven't read and have likely not heard of. And I didn't research any of these before choosing them, so I really might end up with a horror or sci-fi albatross. My selection process is what you might call titular selection. And that's a real word.
January--The Saint of Lost Things by Christopher Castellani
February--To Have and Have Not by Ernest Hemingway (don't be so shocked...I haven't read everything that he's ever written)
March--Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe (again, it just never showed up on my syllabi)
April--A River Runs Through It by Norman Maclean
May--Drown by Junot Diaz
June--The Broom of the System by David Foster Wallace
July--The 19th Wife by David Ebershoff
August--The Laramie Project by Moises Kaufman (I have some preconceived ideas about this one; we'll see how they compare.)
September--Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates
October--Housekeeping by Marilynn Robinson
November--Paradise by Toni Morrison (I'm pretty sure that I've checked this out from the library once before but never read it.)
December--A Walk to Remember by Nicholas Sparks (I figure December with all it's busyness deserves an easy read...some book candy.)
Sometimes, I also need to work in a reading of The Prestige because of a book exchange idea that happened over the holidays. I haven't seen the movie, nor will I in all likelihood.
In other book news, I smashed my left ring finger in the book drop box at the library yesterday when I was unloading a whole stack of toddler books while wearing gloves, the knit kind (the slippery, no-grip kind). It turns out that really hurts. Really, really badly. Why that thing has a spring with that much force to keep the little slot shut (keeping raccoons out?) is beyond my comprehension. It also turns out that my 4-year old thinks that I am laughing when really I am crying big, fat, salty tears of pain.
I'm on the ball this year--at least with one thing. I'm such a flustered chicken about many a thing in my day-to-day living that I'm going to throw this out there almost a week early and just let it sink in a little. As everyone is on tenterhooks as they read this, I'll suspend the suspense and let you all in on my resolution pact for 2014:
Read 12 books off of this list. My mental math tells me that this breaks down to 1 book per month. (I'm proving why my New Year's Resolutions never involve math; I'm obviously very gifted in this area.)
I came upon this list randomly a few days ago and thought that the idea for it is intriguing though the criteria used to judge the "most famous" books is sketchy at best. And to that end, I would feel slighted if I lived in/felt emotionally invested in West Virginia (Shiloh???) and Washington state. So here's my rules in this exploratory venture.
1. I can't read any book again that I have already read and count it in my 12 books. That's cheating. I've already read 20 of them at any given time in my life, so those are off limits. Yes, I count Shiloh as one of those that I've already read. No, I don't count Twilight. Nor will I ever. EVER.
2. I won't read Twilight.
3. There's a lot of horror-ish books on that list. That's not really my style, so I'm basically leaving those for others to enjoy for me.
That's about it. My list includes 12 random books that I haven't read and have likely not heard of. And I didn't research any of these before choosing them, so I really might end up with a horror or sci-fi albatross. My selection process is what you might call titular selection. And that's a real word.
January--The Saint of Lost Things by Christopher Castellani
February--To Have and Have Not by Ernest Hemingway (don't be so shocked...I haven't read everything that he's ever written)
March--Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe (again, it just never showed up on my syllabi)
April--A River Runs Through It by Norman Maclean
May--Drown by Junot Diaz
June--The Broom of the System by David Foster Wallace
July--The 19th Wife by David Ebershoff
August--The Laramie Project by Moises Kaufman (I have some preconceived ideas about this one; we'll see how they compare.)
September--Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates
October--Housekeeping by Marilynn Robinson
November--Paradise by Toni Morrison (I'm pretty sure that I've checked this out from the library once before but never read it.)
December--A Walk to Remember by Nicholas Sparks (I figure December with all it's busyness deserves an easy read...some book candy.)
Sometimes, I also need to work in a reading of The Prestige because of a book exchange idea that happened over the holidays. I haven't seen the movie, nor will I in all likelihood.
In other book news, I smashed my left ring finger in the book drop box at the library yesterday when I was unloading a whole stack of toddler books while wearing gloves, the knit kind (the slippery, no-grip kind). It turns out that really hurts. Really, really badly. Why that thing has a spring with that much force to keep the little slot shut (keeping raccoons out?) is beyond my comprehension. It also turns out that my 4-year old thinks that I am laughing when really I am crying big, fat, salty tears of pain.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
Oh, what a difference 1 year will make
Christmas program 2013 demonstrates one very important thing about my child: she is not going to be the most introverted kid forever. Despite conditions that would otherwise have sent her into a tailspin merely 1 year ago, she sang, performed, and stood still unflinchingly while sandwiched between two classmates.
We had seats way at the back of the sanctuary, so it's pretty amazing that we even got this shot, but this is as good as it gets. Mine is in the middle with the striped sweater. And look! She's performing the hand motions for the super cute Christmas song! By the end of the program, the cutie in green had really crammed in on her space, but it didn't seem to faze her much. That, my friends, is progress. It's also why we really wanted her to experience pre-school cause social skills have not always been easy with this one. She's the apple; I admit to being the tree on this one.
Just for a point of comparison, this was exactly 1 year ago. Notice the shading of the eyes in the classic feline move--if I can't see you, then you can't see me.
Busy, stressful day for the little one. The best stress relief is, of course, dragging an assortment of sleeping bag, blankets, clothes hamper, pillow, and stuffed animals out to the living room in order to make a nest on top of the vent. This is, by the way, normal for her, other than the falling asleep part. Is it just my kid that does this? Makes a nest for herself on top of floor vents? I like her imagination; I think we'll keep her. At least a little longer. Plus, she whispered "I love you" to me while eating lunch with some friends after the program today. Unprompted. To me--the one to whom she regularly tells is second fiddle to Daddy because "You use a cup to rinse my hair in the bathtub and Daddy doesn't." It must have been because I slipped her half of a breadstick.
Just for a point of comparison, this was exactly 1 year ago. Notice the shading of the eyes in the classic feline move--if I can't see you, then you can't see me.
Busy, stressful day for the little one. The best stress relief is, of course, dragging an assortment of sleeping bag, blankets, clothes hamper, pillow, and stuffed animals out to the living room in order to make a nest on top of the vent. This is, by the way, normal for her, other than the falling asleep part. Is it just my kid that does this? Makes a nest for herself on top of floor vents? I like her imagination; I think we'll keep her. At least a little longer. Plus, she whispered "I love you" to me while eating lunch with some friends after the program today. Unprompted. To me--the one to whom she regularly tells is second fiddle to Daddy because "You use a cup to rinse my hair in the bathtub and Daddy doesn't." It must have been because I slipped her half of a breadstick.
Monday, December 16, 2013
Hot chocolate, Advent & squirrels: a holiday hodgepodge
Don't I just sound like a jolly elf? I feel fairly jolly, not because it's Christmas-y time, but because Meijer finally put the Starbucks salted caramel hot chocolate on sale, and I just enjoyed my first cup from the batch. Granted, I only "saved" something like $.48, but I was stubbornly waiting it out for that crack stuff to go on sale, and by jingles, it did. It also added to one of my largest single-day grocery bills to date. Sign of the times--I didn't even flinch. Ah well, what is money anyway when there is a perfect little box of salted caramel hot chocolate mix waiting for me at the bottom of that bag of groceries? Retirement...saltaed caramel hot chocolate??? It's a toss-up.
Well, it's been all Advent-y up in this house. We haven't done...anything...special for Advent before, other than the occasional Advent service when schedules have permitted. But this year, I felt like doing something since the resident 4-year old is down on the whole Christmas story now, and it just seemed like a good time. But I'm not really that excited about buying a cheap chocolate deal and going that route. Instead, I rather came up with my own hyrbid, and pats on my back, it's been going pretty well. I ended up buying a box of 40 blank cards on sale, and they're glittery, so there's the sweetness factor for my girl, who likes a little sparkle in her life in a brief nod to girly stuff. Then, I came up with a list of 25 activities/treats and assigned each card to a different thing. This was calculated according to the foreseeable schedule as well as it wouldn't work well to have "Take Daddy on a Christmas date!" on a night that I was teaching. Finally, I cut red & green strips out of construction paper and wrote a different Christmas/winter joke on each one. Admittedly, they often have to be explained to her, but she loves 'em. She has become a big fan of the comics in the paper, so this is right in her happy zone. Every day, we add to the paper chain on the Christmas tree as part of the Advent-y-ness, and, the girls get a special treat. Today: make paper snowflakes. We did this last year with much good times, and this is my kind of crafty craft that I enjoy: little prep, no special equipment, not very time consuming, and still sweet & cute. As one last acknowledgment of the 4-year-old-ness, each day's card is hidden by "the Christmas mouse," which is basically how I'm dodging saying that it's from Santa. She knows it's me, and she's willing to play along with it. Not that she needs it, but it's been even more incentive to get up at 6 am on the nose to come scout out the day's Advent card.
Now comes the part about squirrels. This is an special shout-out to the J-Dug-dog, who has completely ruined my concept of the furry rodents. I cannot divorce my mind of the connection between "Jessica" and "squirrels." It is now impossible. Because of this, I think of you often, which is to say every time I see a squirrel. But it's not all about Jessica here. Oh, no. This is a shake of the finger to Jimmy our backyard squirrel (I'm convinced we only have one, hence why I'm fairly confident in my naming.). He is a wiley coot who occasionally comes to scavenge the bird food offerings. Judging by his girth, I'd say that he knows all of the sweet spots. The little brown beastie even chose to bury a nut in our backyard, as I watched him. That was amusing. Merely a few days later, he devoured THREE of our homemade bird food ornaments (Advent activity!) that I had just put out the night before. These were the size of big Christmas cookies, as we used cookie cutters to make them all cute and whatnot. And, each one was just about an inch thick, so that's a good amount of bird food right there in each one. And he pillaged them all. In about 15 minutes, they were gone, the little devil. Since we only have one squirrely friend, I wasn't too terribly upset. But I still wanted to shake my curmudgeony fist at him and chase away the whippersnapper. I might just go and dig up his precious little nut if he keeps up this kind of bullying behavior. Does the Christmas spirit extend to squirrels? Yeah. Yeah, it does. Enjoy your birdseed offerings, Jimmy.
Well, it's been all Advent-y up in this house. We haven't done...anything...special for Advent before, other than the occasional Advent service when schedules have permitted. But this year, I felt like doing something since the resident 4-year old is down on the whole Christmas story now, and it just seemed like a good time. But I'm not really that excited about buying a cheap chocolate deal and going that route. Instead, I rather came up with my own hyrbid, and pats on my back, it's been going pretty well. I ended up buying a box of 40 blank cards on sale, and they're glittery, so there's the sweetness factor for my girl, who likes a little sparkle in her life in a brief nod to girly stuff. Then, I came up with a list of 25 activities/treats and assigned each card to a different thing. This was calculated according to the foreseeable schedule as well as it wouldn't work well to have "Take Daddy on a Christmas date!" on a night that I was teaching. Finally, I cut red & green strips out of construction paper and wrote a different Christmas/winter joke on each one. Admittedly, they often have to be explained to her, but she loves 'em. She has become a big fan of the comics in the paper, so this is right in her happy zone. Every day, we add to the paper chain on the Christmas tree as part of the Advent-y-ness, and, the girls get a special treat. Today: make paper snowflakes. We did this last year with much good times, and this is my kind of crafty craft that I enjoy: little prep, no special equipment, not very time consuming, and still sweet & cute. As one last acknowledgment of the 4-year-old-ness, each day's card is hidden by "the Christmas mouse," which is basically how I'm dodging saying that it's from Santa. She knows it's me, and she's willing to play along with it. Not that she needs it, but it's been even more incentive to get up at 6 am on the nose to come scout out the day's Advent card.
Now comes the part about squirrels. This is an special shout-out to the J-Dug-dog, who has completely ruined my concept of the furry rodents. I cannot divorce my mind of the connection between "Jessica" and "squirrels." It is now impossible. Because of this, I think of you often, which is to say every time I see a squirrel. But it's not all about Jessica here. Oh, no. This is a shake of the finger to Jimmy our backyard squirrel (I'm convinced we only have one, hence why I'm fairly confident in my naming.). He is a wiley coot who occasionally comes to scavenge the bird food offerings. Judging by his girth, I'd say that he knows all of the sweet spots. The little brown beastie even chose to bury a nut in our backyard, as I watched him. That was amusing. Merely a few days later, he devoured THREE of our homemade bird food ornaments (Advent activity!) that I had just put out the night before. These were the size of big Christmas cookies, as we used cookie cutters to make them all cute and whatnot. And, each one was just about an inch thick, so that's a good amount of bird food right there in each one. And he pillaged them all. In about 15 minutes, they were gone, the little devil. Since we only have one squirrely friend, I wasn't too terribly upset. But I still wanted to shake my curmudgeony fist at him and chase away the whippersnapper. I might just go and dig up his precious little nut if he keeps up this kind of bullying behavior. Does the Christmas spirit extend to squirrels? Yeah. Yeah, it does. Enjoy your birdseed offerings, Jimmy.
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Bed Bug
And with any photo shoot with this child, we get the "serious" pictures out of the way first before we devolve to the absolutely necessary round of silly (how 'bout 'dem striped leggings?)...
...scary...
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...and I don't know what. Yoga?
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