It's Going To Be a Great Weekend

Last night, we made a last minute change of plans and decided to go out to eat.  This is the first weekend of the school year in which we have not had company and have not been sick.  Just the three of us!

When we got home it was dusk and the whole ride home Toph kept asking if we could play baseball in the backyard.  We got out of the car and didn't even go inside to put our stuff down.  We picked up the ball, glove and bat and got down to business.

My child is going to be a great athlete, and right now he shows a particular interest in baseball.  Don't you dare put the tee in front of him to practice t-ball, no no.  You must pitch it to him so he can hit it "real high."  We pitch underhanded to him and more times than not, he knocks that ball pretty far.

We had been playing for about 15 minutes when he stepped right out of his shoe.  We sat in the middle of the grass to put his shoe back on, giggling together.  Out of the blue, he leans down and lays a kiss on my shoe.

I was like, "Dude, did you just kiss my shoe?"  You know the tone, trying to sound halfway disgusted because we don't kiss shoes. But it was really quite cute.

In response he says, "My love you mommy."

*my eyes well with tears*

I respond, "I love you too, buddy."

He says, "Can you pitch the ball, mommy?"

And I did.  Heart full, we played baseball until it got dark.

That was the start of our weekend.  It's going to be a great one.

The Time I Didn't Put My Car in Park

Yesterday, I woke up with a million things to do.  I got ready and had to go back in the house to grab a forgotten item three times.  My head was in a million places and none of them were the present.

I pulled up into school, slowed down into the parking spot and started rustling all my things together.  Purse, coffee, school work.

I forgot one thing.  To put my car in park.

My colleagues watched as my car slowly inched toward the curb, then began to hop the curb, all with me being completely oblivious.  I looked up with my purse over my shoulder and momentarily wonder why my car won't shut off.  I realize it's still in drive, and that it's MOVING!

I thrust it into park and looked up to see my wide eyed friend Amy staring at me.  I gave her a sheepish grin as she said, "What are you doing?  Are you okay?"

I was okay.  My mind was just not on the task at hand...much like an earlier incident, this one occurring seven years ago during my first year of teaching.

First year teachers have it rough.  They are in charge of 20 something children yet they have really not developed their personal style of teaching or classroom management.  These 20 something children are fully aware of their novice approach and smell it, like fear.

My first year was rough; mostly because I had no idea what I was doing.  One morning, I got to school, halfway dreading the day and halfway sobbing because I really didn't want to be there.  My arrivals were always early because it seemed like my workload never went away (it never goes away).

I was the first one in the parking lot that day and much like yesterday's incident, my mind was not on the immediate task at hand, which was putting the car in gear.

I simply hopped out, and marched my merry way through the doors of Vogel Elementary.

A few minutes later, a sweet first grade teacher stopped by to ask me why I decided to park down by the trees today.  Aghast, I told her I did NOT park by the trees.  I peeked out the window and much to my surprise, there was my silver Cavalier down by the trees.

I had not put the car in gear, rather left it in neutral, and after getting out, my car simply rolled down the slightly inclined parking lot, hopped a curb, and kept rolling until it stopped in the schoolyard, next to some newly planted trees.

First, horror.  Then, mortification.  Finally, relief.  Those feelings washed over me as I moved my car back to my parking spot and put it in gear as well as lifting the emergency break as high as it could go.

At any rate, I'm batting 1000.  Both incidents could have put me on the news and both turned out to be rather minor.  I'm on a roll, folks.

A Letter to my Frenemy, August

Dear August,

We meet again. Doesn't seem like too long ago I sat down to write you last year's letter. Truly, I sat down to write you two years ago and it doesn't seem like that long ago either.

Time. When I was younger it seemed like it was dragging. Now that I have my own young one, time evades me like grains of sand slipping through my grasping fingers.

I realize the tone of my last two letters could best be described as annoyed. You'll be happy to know I come to you this year and I am not annoyed by your arrival.

You see, August, I have a two year old. Truly, he's almost two and a half. He remains the light of my life, my treasure, my prize, but he's almost two and a half. I'm going to say this to you August and I would prefer it if you kept this little secret: my son is no longer a baby. He needs more out of life than mama and daddy.

So, your arrival means he'll be getting more than us. He'll be getting daily buddies, circle time, ABC time (did you know he knows some letters? I didn't) and lots of songs. He'll be going back to day care which is just what he needs. While I still feel little pangs to be so near the end of our beautiful summer, I realize that everything in life has it's season. We are blessed enough to have a season of together time every year. Turn, turn, turn.

Here's another thing, August. This year you bring with you my 30th birthday. 30. Thirty. Three decades. While I realize that this number in no way indicates that I'm old, it does give me the perfect opportunity to reflect on how truly blessed I am, having made it to thirty with a healthy, beautiful child, a great, hardworking husband, a roof over my head, a job I love and family who loves me. I am determined to make 30 the year I give more back. Serve more, as I have been served. To show my gratitude, rather than just state it.

I've realized, August, that you're my January. You're the beginning of a new year for me, every year. Now that I know that, I will welcome you each year a little more warmly.

Here's to you, August. Thank you for arriving so promptly every year for the past thirty years (actually, exactly thirty years ago I think my mom was pretty miserable at this point, but that's another story). If I could, I would give you a hug.

Love
gin

Four Years

Four years.

One thousand, four hundred sixty days.

Thirty five thousand, forty hours.

That's how long we've been married on this day.

One day not too long ago, I was driving to work and I saw an elderly couple out in their front yard, each doing yardwork.  The old white haired man was trimming the shrubs that bordered their little porch, and the little white haired woman was watering the grass.

I thought, That's the goal.  That's what I want.

I want to be the little old lady watering the lawn with my husband.  After the kids are gone, work is finished and life gets a little slower, I want Matt there with me at my side.  I want to live this life with him and see it through it's every phase.  Lucky me; we said those vows and we're in it to win it.  One day, that will be us.  My husband.  My partner. My rock.

Four years of marriage.  They have flown, they have been eventful, they have been fulfilling.

I can't wait for the next four, the next eight, the next sixteen.

Happy anniversary, MGK.  I la la love you, don't mean maybe.

Things My Two Year Old Says

Toph is at an age where he is talking up a storm and his dialect?  Definitely that of a two year old.  I listen to him speak and just want him to speak that way forever.  I can understand him perfectly, but after spending lots of time with new people on our vacation last week, I realized that not everyone is privy to this two year old dialect.

Here is a glossary for you:

my: I
ex.  My play, mama. (I want to play, mama.)

Memmy:  Merry
ex.  Memmy pooped, Mama. (Merry pooped, Mama.) <-------Coincidentally, I know a lot about the cat's bowel movements thanks to Toph.

hungy:  hungry.
ex.  My hungy, Mama.  (I'm hungry, Mama.)

froggies:  kittens
ex.  Let's go check the froggies! (Let's go check the kittens!) <------When our cat first had the kittens, he assured me those were not baby cats but baby frogs.

PB:  TV
ex.  My watch PB, Mama. (I want to watch TV, Mama.)

happitter:  helicopter
ex.  My see happitter, mama! (I see a helicopter, Mama!)

motodoodoo:  motorcycle
ex.  My hear motodoodoo! (I hear a motorcycle!)

big mosher:  big monster
ex.  BIG MOSHER!! (Big monster!) <-------Usually said in reference to the whale in Finding Nemo.

oushide:  outside
ex. My play oushide. (I want to play outside.)

peese:  please
ex. My go oushide peese. (I want to go outside very badly and know you like for me to use the word please.)

tacopeesa:  taco pizza
ex. My eat tacopeesa shuppertime. (I would like taco pizza for supper.) <--------The child's favorite foods are tacos and pizza.

shuppertime:  supper
(See above.)  <-------The cutest thing is that every time he hears the oven timer he yells, "Shuppertime!"

Spoiled Reader

Have you ever read a book in which a beloved character dies?

I'm sure you have; I can think of many characters I've loved that I've had to say goodbye to.  Albus Dumbledore, Boromir, Primrose Everdeen, Seymour Glass, and countless others.

In order to move a terrific plot forward, authors must do away with characters.  It pains me, but it's true.  If a plot is too neatly wrapped up and the author comes away with no blood on his hands (ahem, Stephenie Meyer), I consider that poor writing.

That being said, I find that the book I just read took the whole "blood on his hands" thing a little too far.  So far, in fact, I put the book down with 100 pages left and vowed not to finish it.  Then I got mad and said I would finish it, but not continue with the series.  Then, I finished the book and said I would continue the series, but only if the author did away with no more of my favorite characters.  If he did, I was out.

What book caused this crazy bargaining with myself?  (Get ready for spoilers if you haven't already read it.)

Game of Thrones.


This is an excellent book; its wide array of characters keep you on your toes and Martin weaves a fabulous, bloody tale.  There were certain characters that stood out for me and I loved immediately.  Jon Snow, Tyrion Lannister, Arya Stark, Daenarys Targaryen and...Ned Stark.

I loved Ned Stark from the beginning.  His honor, his sense of duty, his love for his children...all of it.  His chapters were my favorite.

Then, the author had him killed and he didn't even let me, the reader, say goodbye.  You see, he led the reader to believe that Ned would be okay.  All my prior knowledge of plot told me that Ned would make it through the book alive.  Forever changed?  Yes.  Scarred and injured? Yes.  But dead?  No.  That thought didn't even cross my mind.

Kill the protagonist in the first book of the series?  Madness.  And yet, Martin did it.  He did it and I was angry and I put the book down and found that whereas I cried over Albus Dumbledore, I could not cry over Stark. I imagine it was the storytelling and the disbelief I felt at what had just happened.  I even toyed with the thought that maybe he wasn't dead, and then read the part about Sansa visiting his head on the spike.

I put the book down and said, "That's it.  I'm done with this book."  That night, I became worried about my other favorite characters and knew I wouldn't be okay until I knew they were okay (I am such a weirdo).

Therefore, I finished the book and found no such loose ends tied up.  I don't know if my favorites will be okay, therefore, I will continue reading.  Plus, I really want to know how the whole Others storyline plays out.  A medieval fantasy with zombies?  That is RICH!

I told myself I would not read any more if any of my aforementioned favorites die.  I am spoiled, after all, and I want my protagonists to live.  Spoiled rotten, I tell ya.

So, do you think I'll stick to it?  If Arya, Jon, Tyrion or Daenarys die in the upcoming books (and don't tell me if they do), will I put the series down and curse George RR Martin?  Or will I soldier on with a sense of duty akin to Ned Stark?

And, I need to start reading more books that condition me to be not so spoiled.  Which ones would you recommend?

A Plea for Clean Air

As many of you know, I am a teacher.  More specifically, I am a bilingual teacher.  A bilingual teacher in an inner city school.  A bilingual teacher in an inner city school that is close to 60 years old.

I love it here.  My job has its challenges but that's what I like about it.  It's not always easy, but it always makes me think and examine and I am convinced the constant thinking is what keeps me smart. (Kind of smart, at any rate.)

Here's the thing: because my school is so old, it has chalkboards. 

The chalkboards create dust and when you couple that with the perpetual construction that is always outside our window, my room gets very dusty.

This dust is not good for anyone's lungs and not only that, but chalkboards are a thing of the past.  I started thinking what I could do to change it.  I can't fix the construction but I have some control over the chalkboards.

That's when I wrote this:

Click here to see my Donor's Choose project.

I'm writing today to see if you will help cover the last $50. Fifty more dollars and my students can have a dry erase board...a more colorful classroom, less dust to breathe in and, let's face it...a board that many children around the country already have.

If not me, peruse the site.  There are so many worthy projects; choose one and give.  It feels pretty darn good.