Whoo, boy (eek, just typed in “Whoo goy!")!

Welcome to the new abode.  Looks a lot like the old one, no?  Only now the banner matches the URL.  Nifty, eh?

The standard setting for posts is now “public”, so you can change the Google Reader subscription if need be.

Back to our regularly scheduled programming.  What shall I post next? 

How about an intellectual discussion of my presidential litmus test...namely, their power to appoint judges to the Supreme Court?

No? 

Fine, I’ll try to come up with another post about when to burn the maternity bras or why my daughter now has a Barbie dog that poops. 

Take your shoes off and stay a while.  I have some leftover Kahlua cake in the fridge, but it won’t last much longer.

Aside from the annual tradition of me staying up to the wee hours of the mornin’ doing things like wrapping and preparing the strata, we decided this year to usher in bedtime on Christmas eve with storytime by the fireplace. 

Matt set out an arrangement fit for a king.  To wit: cookies, milk, one baby carrot per reindeer—the original thought was two, but we realized that other houses would also be feeding Santa’s drivers, so we settled for one as a token gesture.  Also, my ever-generous son decided that since Santa always gives so much, he’d give Santa a gift.  There’s a drawing of all eight reindeer, which is captioned in the urgent manner of an eight-year-old with an adorable lack of punctuation, “Have this Santa Claus”.  Next to it sits a pipe cleaner and bead creation which sparkles in the light of the Christmas tree. “Give this to Mrs. Claus,” the note implores.

Lest you think we were snuggling away in seasonal bliss, our little family of four, all in new pajamas so tomorrow’s pictures turn out merry and bright, I should tell you about my daughter’s ladylike sound effects during the reading of ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas.  How did she know, deep in her gut, that the best time to...how shall I put this...let ‘er rip...would be immediately after we had settled in for the story?  I’m serious.  “...Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.” Biiirrrrrriiiiippp!

Mostly, however, I’m happy to report that we are enjoying one magical year when Maddie fully buys into the Santa story, and Matt is right there with her.  As I kissed my son good night, he popped up in bed and said, “Ohh!  Make sure Dad moves the black thingie.”

“What black thingie?”

“In front of the fireplace.  You know the thingie that blocks the fire and keeps Maddie from getting burned.”

We may not have another Christmas quite like it.  As Ryan said, maybe next year, Matt will carry on the the magic as an accomplice for his younger sister.  For now, I’ll settle for a reasonable bedtime.

Maddie is very good at analogies.  Her whole world is about relating one experience to another, so tonight’s bible story was no exception.

In an effort to tell her the story of Christmas, the religious version, I told her the story tonight at bedtime.

In the midst of relaying to her that Mary and Joseph were traveling and looking for a place to stay, I threw in the detail of a donkey ride.

“Like in SHREK!  Shrek has a donkey!  Was it the same donkey?”

Because I’m currently preparing to switch domain names in an effort to keep curious parents with Googling superpowers separated...all posts are restricted to registered members.

Those who would like to read may log-in and catch up on the chronicles of Madeline, Matt, and all the whole crew.  Of course, now would be a good time to see our Lil’ Miss in her winter musical extravaganza.  ‘Tis a pity she spread the Holiday Cheer over six different songs, because if she had condensed the nose-picking, dress lifting, mosh-pit dancing, stomping, and Jumping Bean action, not to mention shouting of the lyrics (all done in a red velvet dress and blond pigtails), I could retire off the earnings from AFV. 

All I can say is, thank the lord for coordinating velvet underpants…

One of the best things I’ve done this year is bring my iPod to school.  I have certain songs on a playlist to motivate, help them concentrate, or make them laugh. 

The computer teacher recently switched the kids over to some freakishly bad word processing program which I don’t know how to use, and since it’s a piece of crap, I’m not going to waste an hour of my life learning it.  When I couldn’t print their reports, I spent 25 minutes feeling like an i-jit as they waited for their research projects to come out…

Finally, frustrated, I brought them back to the class, and they were a bit quiet.  I think it was the first time all year they’d seen me frustrated.  (With a small class, it’s easy to nip situations in the bud with merely an eyebrow waggle and a pointed look).  I took a deep breath and popped on the iPod to play the Hamster Dance song.  We did a quick conga like through the desks and all was right with the world.  I’m proud to say that I initiated them into the conga world.  They may not remember their research about Ponce de Leon, but dammit, they’ll remember THAT.

Can’t get enough of that rice-flour sweetness. 

Please excuse me while I gain five pounds.

After a rough morning with Maddie, I had the most delightful afternoon.  Followed by an evening of uploading archived photos to Flickr.  It’s nice to have travel memories...and memories of special family events.

However, I have progress reports that are due tomorrow.  It is now 10:30 P.M.  *Sigh*

I had an appointment in Sacramento today, and although it has a reputation of being a less than beautiful, vibrant city, there are amazing sections. 

Knowing my daughter still naps, I timed my appointment so that I could eat lunch at Selland’s and then head to Corti Brothers for the fine Italian lasagna noodles I can’t find in town.  My apologies that the Corti Brothers’ site is about as visually offensive as can be...But you simply MUST shop there if you are ever in town.  Unless you’re my sister, the only American woman who doesn’t like Italian food. 

It’s not so much the noodles, it’s the memory of the best lasagna recipe I’ve ever followed, which is on the back of the package.  Normally, Google would have fetched that info for me post-haste, but I couldn’t remember the name of the company...which turned out to be Delverde, an Italian import.  I’ve been trying to link to the official Italian website, which has English text but somehow isn’t working for me.  Urrgh.  E-mail me if you’re interested in the recipe.  It takes more effort than I usually put forth, but I remember it, years later, as worth every minute. 

Come to think of it, I know what I’m cooking on Christmas Eve!

I’m off to the library to pick up a book about my new favorite photographer, Minor White.  He’s not “new”—actually, he’s dead, but oh I could just stare at his abstract nature photographs for hours.

After you finish, THAT will be the moment you are asked to be the spokesperson for your school when the news van comes to report on a health scare on campus.

I’d set my mind to ending my recess games with the kids.  After all, it’s really only special if it happens sparingly.  However, one of my students has not been able to play the past two days, and I promised that the next time she stayed after school, I’d be sure to join in the game.  Sure enough, she came to my desk and said, “I’m staying this afternoon.  You’re playing, right?”

Sweaty, wiped out, and feeling old (okay, actually, this has been pretty fun), I crawled back into my room, only to have another teacher enter and declare: “You’ve been recruited!”

I’ll leave the school’s health scare details out, for privacy reasons, but needless to say, I was on the news.  How I wish I’d brought my lipstick to school!  Next time, boys and girls, Mrs. R will teach a lesson about why you should not only wear clean panties, but also a fresh coat of Bobbi Brown lipstick essentials.  Even Zac Efron knows better. 

Used up 4 seconds of my 15 minutes of fame.  Over something that is interesting, but not so newsworthy— other than it’s good ratings to freak out the parents of small children.  DEADLY DISEASE (with no one really at risk...but they COULD BE...unless you know the facts)...but STILL!!  STAY TUNED!  DETAILS ABOUT HORRIBLE RISKS OF BEING ALIVE!  BEING ALIVE EXPOSES YOU TO DEATH!  NEWS AT ELEVEN!  (First, watch this commercial...and another four).

Must say, not to0 happy with the camera angle, nor the fact I’m not smiling.  Oh, well...I still look good enough to lure a man or two with my feminine wiles.  ‘Tis a pity none of them have teeth. 

***My husband doesn’t count: He’s contractually obligated to find me attractive.  It’s right in the pre-nup after, “The wife shall retain all rights to the thermostat settings,” but before the “No TV in the bedroom” clause.

"Mrs. R, do you have yard duty this recess?” she asked as the others were heading toward their cubbies.

I grinned.  “Now why do you ask, Ashley*?”

The students’ eyes turned toward me, all of them knowing the significance of me NOT having yard duty.

It started last week.  Lunch duty.  Three of the faculty members monitoring the yard and negotiating property disputes: “I had the ball, but I put it down to go to the bathroom, and then HE took it and won’t give it back!”

For the past several weeks, my little third graders have engaged in the most spirited game of tag, but unlike any classes in the history of my career, these games of tag are marked solely with laughter and shrieks of delight.  No pouting.  No pushing too hard.  Our very own holiday miracle.  Last Monday, I startled them by standing on base (a little bridge) and making a bolt for it.  But, alas, I was on duty, so my job was not to play, but to supervise.  It was a brief but delightful two minutes.

Since then, they have been asking, “Will you play tag with us again?” as I wander around the play structure.  “I can’t; I’m on duty.” And their faces drop a smidge in response.

“Will you play when you’re NOT on duty?” The smiles return, having found a solution so easily.

“Sure.  Soon.”

As usual, once the day started, it whipped by.  There we stood as hands reached for afternoon snacks or put homework binders away.  And me?  I decided that sometimes my job as a teacher isn’t just about test scores and designing projects that integrate content standards in relevant ways.  No, sometimes my job is to show my kids that I enjoy them...as people.  That I see them as people, not just work.  Though I know I’m not their friend, it doesn’t mean that every so often, I can’t set aside my paperwork and let them set the agenda.  At recess, anyway.

After negotiating the fact that, as I am old and decrepit, I need to have a base (the bridge is often base, but they occasionally will declare, mid-game, “No base!”, which simply won’t work for me), I promised that I’d meet them on the playground in 2 minutes.  I’d learned the hard way after letting my former students try to teach me how to double-dutch (thanks, “Jump In!), that my post-baby bladder needs to be empty prior to running and jumping with any intensity.  Darn Kegels. 

You should know, that despite the fact it took me a good fifteen minutes to fully recover, the game was just what this teacher needed.  It’s a little like parenting, after all.  Sometimes our kids just want to have that time with you, off the schedule.  Off the agenda.  And sometimes, they want to hunt you down and wear you out...all the while giggling ecstatically at your flailing ways laugh with you.

I waffle all the time about whether I’m cut out for the teaching profession, oh me with the sensitive skin and workaholism.  But out there, torn between running back to home base and making that long pass around the play structure, it was fun to look “It” in the eye and make a break for it.