One of my biggest chuckles last year occurred during a rainy day recess.  In fact, when the memory popped up today, it brought a smile to my face in the midst of a fairly stressful day. 

On a deeper level, it says something about the level of hyper-vigilance we have given our children.  But for today, I’ll just enjoy the memory of panic turned to laughter.

Rainy Day Recess, Early 2007
Third Grade Classroom
Picture Magnetix, Legos, cartooning, and paper airplane design...with a healthy dose of Connect Four and Clue

Two boys ask to use the bathroom and head off to the, uh, head.

Play continues until the two return, breathless and wide-eyed. 

“Mrs. R!  Mrs. R!  You haveta come in the bathroom and see something!” They held the door to the hallway open, waiting to usher me through.

I have to admit, this was concerning, so I followed, trying to figure out what happened.  Usually, bathroom issues have to do with younger boys peeing on the walls or a toilet overflow.  Sometimes a little daredevil may try, with the encouragement of a friend to straddle the toilet using the hand-rail and the toilet paper dispenser.  But usually, the kids tell me exactly what is happening, and this time they were insisting they SHOW me.  In a scared way.

8-year-old boys who are frightened by what they have seen in a bathroom can give even a veteran teacher pause.

As we arrived at the bathroom, I did the knock and warn to let anyone know I was coming in..

And then the boys showed me what was making them hyperventilate.  Right near the ceiling, above the urinals.

“A HIDDEN CAMERA!  MRS. R!  SOMEONE’S TRYING TO VIDEOTAPE US GOING TO THE BAAAAATHHHRRROOOOM!”

Blink.  Blink.  What was that thing?

And then, I started to laugh.

My principal is a clean-freak.  In her desire to keep our bathroom’s ship-shape, she’d had the janitors install an automatic deodorizing spray dispenser.  It had a plastic box (not unlike a soap dispenser) with a small round hole for the mist to spray every few minutes.  Above the urinal.

It’s a rite of modern parenthood to go through a phase which involves back-to-back “Bounce House” parties.  At least in our little corner of the world.  It was, therefore, not all that surprising when Ryan picked up Maddie at daycare to hear, “I want to go to the Bouncy Day Party.”

“Bouncy Day Party?  Where is it?”

“Here at school.  I want it today.  Can I go to the Bouncy Day Party?”

“Who’s having the Bouncy Day Party?”

“School!  School’s having the Bouncy Day Party.”

Ryan started shuffling through the daycare file, trying to locate an errant invitation, hoping that it wasn’t a case of Maddie hearing about a party she wasn’t invited to…

“Okay, Maddie, can you tell Daddy anything else about the Bouncy Day Party?”

“You know, the party with hearts and candies and cards.  Bouncy Day.”

Heh.  When Mars parents pre-school Venutians they can have a failure to communicate.

The New York Times has come out with its endorsements for both parties’ candidates.

They have endorsed, in a thoughtful editorial, Hillary Clinton, as the Democratic candidate, while their choice from the Republican side is McCain.

Now, while all my experience, having gestated and been born into the Watergate era, has been to believe that no political candidate is one to salivate over, I must say that this is exciting.

Instead of voting for the lesser of two evils, this time I may actually have the chance to vote for the “greater of two mehs”.  A historic election indeed.

In the past, it may have irked me that our dryer broke this week, forcing me to go to the laundromat tomorrow.  Since I’m not buying a new dryer until payday, we have a ton of laundry to do, quarter-style.

Now, of course, I think, “HEY!  I can go and read for a few hours!”

Too bad they don’t have those sleeping tubes you used to be able to rent in Tokyo train stations.  A nap sounds even better!

In my quest to move toward changing careers, I am going to go to my second appointment with a career counselor in two weeks.

The original thought was that we’d be creating a business plan.  Now I’m looking to create an 18 month “transition plan”.

WHAT?  Yes, I realize I always say “NO MORE!”—followed by a meek, “One more year...”

To quote an often misused (in this case highly appropriate) line from Brokeback Mountain, I often feel as if teaching and I have the sort of relationship where I stare it in the eyes and say, “I wish I could quit you.”

I can’t.  This year, it makes sense to go back one more time, because Maddie will be in Pre-K.  A year until Kindergarten, and I’m not certain that my self-employment plan would cover the outrageous cost of childcare in our area (all the full-time centers and the decent home daycares are running about $900 a month.  My plan would take months of work to become financially viable.  So there are two main benefits to staying another year: an excellent (free) daycare program AND the chance to do a tiny amount of work to build contacts and a portfolio.  It will also be my third year in that curriculum, and so I am starting to get more comfortable with the system at my school.  I am finding some great lesson ideas and that helps a lot.

I struggle to this day with being overwhelmed by the amount of work which needs to be done outside of school.  Yet some things are getting easier, and I am starting to break out of the routine and develop signature projects and units.  One more year won’t hurt.  And in the meantime, I have something to look forward to doing.  A goal. 

Then you probably won’t be ordering these pans any time soon.

What to say?

Nothing starts the day better than chicken eggs shaped like a semi-automatic handgun. 

6:40 PM yesterday:

Maddie, looking down at my watch, which draped over her wrist, whispered to herself --

“Mmmhmmm...it’s not p.j. time.  [shakes head] Oh yes, it’s plaaaaay time.”

We have power, as of 8 PM yesterday.  Not political. Not super-human.  Good, ol’ fashioned fossil-fuel based electricity.

My parents and sister, both in town for a belated holiday celebration, spent most of the time at the hotel, as my father and sister are both sick.  I return to work tomorrow, so we are going to make do now with dinners together and perhaps they’ll pick up the kids early from childcare if my folks recover soon.  (And they, tellingly, prefer to be at the hotel rather than our hectic house.  They love the three-year-old...but prefer a bit of privacy and the ability to have a conversation uninterrupted by discussions of video games and gas).

I will say this: I have completed 36 hours of watching my independent study DVDs and doing the concurrent assignments.  I’m down to 24 hours, plus 10 additional assignments.  All to be completed by the end of the month.  If my husband still loves me at the end of the month, I will be impressed.  And I must say that I not only have a dent in my finger from all the notes/writing completed in the past week, my thumb is numb.  Numb.

However, those of you who know me well enough to have found me here should know that there is something new in my life...About to be hatched as of this summer.  It involves the career counselor I visited last week.  It also involves two words I never thought would be associated with me in any way, shape, or form.  Even writing it feels slippery and foreign:

Business Plan.

I was an art history major.  What would I have to know about a “business plan”?  When I mentioned this to my M.B.A. sister-in-law, the marketing muckity-muck that she is...she laughed at the thought I could not formulate one on my own. 

“Who writes the most extensive lists of anyone I know?  Who details a travel plan for the next decade, tied into the kids’ ages and interests?  Who figures out the kids’ schedules?  Meal plans?  Helloooo, LESSON PLANS every week in two forms?”

When she says it like that, it almost makes it seem reasonable.

Dude, 65 miles-per-hour winds!  I half expect to see the Miss Elmira Gulch blow by on her bicycle with Toto in her basket, but she’d be soaking wet.

I’m fortunate that my parents, who arrived yesterday for our holiday visit, have a hotel room not far away, complete with electricity, because I’m still desperately trying to finish this independent coursework.  It requires watching 3 hours of DVDs per session, so I’m watching from my laptop in their room.  I’m sure it’s what they envisioned when they came down here...hanging out with their daughter and listening to information about Hmong culture.

Landscapers installed our new lawn yesterday, which is good, because the neighbor whose yard backs into ours can see the new sod.  What with our back fence blowing over.  Yay!

Minus the inconvenience, we’re all okay.  I’m not sure my sister will be able to fly in today, however, which sucks.  My guess she’s currently in Houston.  The airport can’t handle the wind level, although it seems to be slowing a bit.

All I can say is that I’m glad we redid the roof and our drainage system this Fall. 

Currently taking an independent study course to keep current on credentialing requirements.  I’m on a tight deadline, so I’m cranking my way through the DVDs and writing assignments during my “vacation”.  Currently, it is 12:27 A.M. and I am stopping because I have a dent in my thumb from writing, and there’s numbness down the right side of my arm from the notes: MY GOD, THE NOTES!  One disadvantage to independent study is the need to “prove” you watched the lectures, so there’s an insane amount of writing to be done, both in notes and response to the information presented.

But I would like to say this: My son learned the word “cowpat” today from a British book that was using it as the equivalent, I suppose, for “cow pattie” (or does it end with a -y?). 

He laughed so hard I was afraid he tinkled on the bed.  It was almost as good of a laugh as when my husband noticed that my daughter’s Barbie came with a dog that poops magnetic pellets which you subsequently FEED to the dog as a treat.  It was actually heartwarming to know that a creative turn of phrase can bring him joy.  Also, I’m not having a difficult time getting him to read out loud, now that there’s the possibility of more little gems popping up.  Or should I say, “pooping up”?

[Yes, I realize that there is no sequitor anywhere near this post, but it’s 12:32 AM and I have a dent in my finger, so I’m cutting myself some slack.]