It's Nine O'Clock On A Friday

It's 9:11 on a Friday night, and I'm sitting in bed catching up on blogs before drifting off to sleep in a bit.

I know. MY LIFE, IT IS A PARTY.

Seriously, I'm pretty happy to be where I am. This week has felt twice as long as it actually was due to a jam-packed schedule. MTL's been raising his eyebrows every time I whip out my agenda. There isn't much white space left. My scribbles have scribbles. I'm exhausted.

The end of the year, work-wise, is always jam-packed. This one, more so than many. I had the normal tasks such as writing, administering, and grading exams; finalizing grades; packing up the room; changing my voice mail; cleaning out both virtual and physical mailboxes; filing all the crazy paperwork that materializes in June; and checking out for the summer.  Then there were the usual functions: graduation, the end-of-year staff picnic, the end-of-year English Department party.

It was the goodbyes that got to me this year. I didn't fully realize until a few weeks before the end of the year just how many seniors I had connected with over the last few years. At graduation, the staff members create a little honor guard as the students exit the arena. This year, I had students piling up waiting for their turn to high-five, fist-bump, and/or hug me.

I even told two of My Boys that just ONCE, just for that moment, I was their Boi.

Brandon may have fist-pumped the air. I know he was telling everyone in range that I'd finally said it.

I said goodbye and good luck to a lot of special kids this year. I know my Facebook Friend count went way up that day. And if I wanted to, I could skip buying groceries on weekends for the next couple of months and just live off graduation party food.

This job comes with those farewells every year. I've gotten more used to them. The harder ones are when coworkers, friends with whom I interact and collaborate daily and monthly and yearly, say goodbye too.

Three of my closest coworker friends were on the bottom of the district seniority list. They all were laid off on Tuesday. I don't think it's sunk in for me yet: next year they will not be there. I lost my mentee C., and losing him is losing a friend, a wonderful collaborator, and a little brother all at once.

Okay, writing that made it a little more real. THIS SUCKS.

Then on Wednesday I went to a small retirement party for the first real friend I ever made at my school. He was a father figure, the first one to really get to know me, the person who told other coworkers I was worth getting to know. Every time I saw him, he had a hug and a smile and an encouraging word to give.

Dammit. I'm getting teary now.

Since then? I've been diving into sorting and purging and packing all the crap that piled up in the house over six years, because I'll be moving at the end of July.

I'll write more about that later. It is now 9:33 and I'm ready for bed.

What's awesome? I get to sleep in. For REAL.

'Night, all!

Jam On It

I have a confession to make.

I may have mentioned it before. It's entirely possible. I have lost track of how many little pieces of shame I've posted here for your amusement judgment absolution.

But it's that time again. So it's time for my confession.

Forgive me, Dear Readers, for I have committed the sin of mindless mass media mastication.

It's true.

I'm addicted to "So You Think You Can Dance."

*ducks head in shame*

But really, what's not to love?!?! All the DANCING! The HOOPLA!! The FABULOSITY!!! The HOT TAMALE TRAINS!!!!

(I know. You won't get that last one unless you actually watch the show. And the third one is totally made up. So sue me.)

Anyhow, Season 7 just started and I had a backlog of recorded shows on the DVR. Yesterday I parked myself in front of the TV and plowed through over 200 pages of student essays in a matter of an afternoon, all while semi-watching seven hours' worth of SYTYCD auditions/Vegas week. They were perfect company for the daunting task: music and background noise without the distraction of a plot, with the added bonus of an occasional really fascinating performance to give me a break from the endless words words words words words.

At one point The Widget was cuddled up next to me, and a very talented break dancer performed his audition. I heard a little gasp from my snuggler. He leaned forward, eyes riveted to the screen, then pointed and turned to me.

Wow! Look at him! he lisped. Oh COOL!!!

(If you can imagine this said in just about the sweetest, squeakiest voice possible, you might get an idea of how adorable he is, by the way. MTL says it's because he's such a sweet little guy that it comes through in his voice. /melt)

Then The Widget crawled forward on the bed and turned a somersault.

Is that cool, Mama? he asked.

Yes, honey, it's very cool! I replied.

Mama! Watch this too! he demanded, and he lay on his back and attempted what I can only believe was one of the back-spin thingies (I know, I'm so technical) the performer was doing on screen.

Apparently a bed is not the best location for such stunts. He didn't get very far.

For the next half an hour, he wandered in and out of the room, saying Mama! Look at this one! and performing various somersaults and spins and moves that apparently were his idea of break dancing.

ADORABLE. TEH CUTE, peoples, TEH CUTE.

I just might have a little B Boy on my hands. Heck, he's cute enough that he'd probably bring in plenty of cash performing on street corners, technique or no technique.

Maybe I could buy a laptop of my very own AND get him some Bakugan!

It's not child labor if he's just having fun, right?

A Camping We Will Go

I'm off quite shortly to go some way up north with MTL and four out of our five combined children to go camping over Memorial Weekend.

I anticipate many adventures involving beginner's attempts to use a dutch oven, small children eating campfire S'mores, and lashes of sand in various crevices.

The kidlets have been in a tizzy of excitement for days. We are going on a Camp Out! DramaBoy tells everyone he sees, and you can hear the capital letters in his voice. The Widget, in turn, was quite devastated to discover he would have to attend school today before heading out on the adventure.

I'm not quite sure how he'll feel about the four hour (with traffic) car journey that lies ahead before we reach the Promised Land.

So until Tuesday, I'll be out of touch, out of reach, and (quite possibly) out of my mind.

Have a lovely weekend, all of you!

The Numbers Say I Win Mommy of the (Yester)Day

This weekend was crazy busy. And I mean CRAZY BUSY. There are times when I get a little taste of being SuperMom again, and this was one of them. When that occurs, I feel the need to pat myself on the back. Because I survived.

Besides, it doesn't happen that often these days. I'm far more often Lazy Bad Mommy than Productive Good Mommy, to tell the truth.

Sigh.

So here's the breakdown of my weekend:

Friday--ran around to multiple locations trying to find party supplies, especially the all-important Dinosaur Stuff. Limited success. The children's blessed grandmother had more success, because she is the Queen of Dollar Stores, and I ended up meeting her to get the DS she found. Then I scooped up the kids from school, picked up Lucky Duck Pizza, and headed home. My parents called all the way from West Africa just as we were pulling in, so the boys and I had a nice long chat with them. Then it was time for the kidlets to take a bath and watch tv until they fell asleep go to bed, and then I attempted to sort out stuff for the party. Around 9:30 I realized I had no eggs for the cupcakes. And that my cell phone was nowhere to be found. MTL came to the rescue shortly after 10 with eggs delivered to my door as well as a handy cell-phone-ringing service. My phone, it turns out, was nestling in the big bed along with my kidlets, nicely camouflaged in the matching comforter.

I finished my baking and got to bed around midnight.

Saturday--The party happened, and happened well, despite the nasty weather gods. The Widget then went off with his grandma for several hours, while I cleaned up and then took DramaBoy and MTL's daughter K to meet up with MTL and his other kids to see How To Train Your Dragon. In 3D. Which was awesome. DramaBoy dealt with it pretty well, but said he didn't really like it because HIS dragon was not in the movie. Remind me to tell DreamWorks that they really need to work his personal toys into their films from now on.

Then I picked up The Widget, where we were fed thank God because I was so tired by their blessed grandma, and we went home. To collapse.

Sunday--You'd think that after all the craziness of the weekend so far I would have stayed on the couch all day as is my modus operandi. But no. We didn't go to church because The Widget's sniffles had turned into a nasty cough and misery. Instead, I accomplished mighty deeds. No training dragons and saving the village, but nevertheless. In one day, I managed to do the following:

• went grocery shopping with 2 boys in tow (thank God for the car carts at Meijer)
• washed and dried 6 loads of laundry
• folded and put away 9 loads of laundry (there were already 3 loads of kids' clothes sitting in baskets)
• washed 1 load of dishes
• decluttered and tidied the kitchen, dining room, and master bedroom
• collected 4 garbage bags of trash from around the house
• collected 1 giant garbage bag of giveaway clothes (from going through the kids' clothes and some of mine)
• monitored 2 little boys as they put away their toys
• medicated and comforted 1 little boy with a cold
• cooked chicken and dumplings for dinner for 6 people
• drove to Grosse Point Woods and back to drop off the 1 little boy with a cold with his grandpa, who is watching him today so that I can go to work
• packed for my 2 days away from the house

Oh yes. I am that awesome.

Some days.

Today? I'm planning on getting through the work day, going to physical therapy, and collapsing.

TeacherMommy out.

I'm Pretty Sure Dinosaurs Don't Like Snow. Isn't That What Killed Them Off? Perhaps I Was Tempting Fate.

I don't know which weather deity I ticked off when I moved into this house, but for the last six years about three-fourths of the parties I plan (or are planned in honor of me) have been cursed with snow. As in massive snowstorms, many of them.

You'd think a birthday party planned for April 17th would escape the curse.

You'd be wrong.

I knew the weather was supposed to be a little chilly and windy today. I did not, however, cancel my reservation for the gazebo in the park nearby, because we're Michiganders, dagnabit, and temps in the low fifties are No Big Deal.

Ha.

I was a little worried when I was loading things into the car and spotted a few particles that looked suspiciously like random snowbits. It was only ten in the morning, though, and the temp was in the mid-forties. I had to be seeing things.

The kite-making went well. DramaBoy and The Widget were joined by MTL's youngest daughter K, and they all had fun decorating their own kites. Then we put them together with little rods and string and label stickers. Flying the kites was no problem, either. The Widget dropped his on the ground shortly after getting outside, and when he tugged at it, the wind caught it and UP IT WENT!!!

For being a newb at kite flying, he was pretty dang good. Mostly I just kept an eye on him to make sure he didn't get tugged into the parking lot.

But then the wind began to blow in earnest. And along came the snow. My friend M, who was driving with her husband and daughter to join us, said the temperature dropped nine degrees in ten minutes. When The Widget began crying because he was so cold, we decided to give up and head back to the house.

Thank God for the boys' father and grandmother, who scooted through the house cleaning like mad while I waited at the park to direct stragglers in the right direction. We somehow managed to put everything together and had a great party, sudden changes in plan notwithstanding. Since it was too cold for the kids to go outside, I didn't even have to worry about the horrendous state of the yard!

It all worked out. But I think I need to figure out what propitiations need to be made in order to rid myself of this curse. I know it's Michigan, but people are starting to talk.

And I LIKE parties.

Also: WEATHERPEOPLE SUCK. No one said anything about snow.

Gratuitous photo evidence, with captions:

The Widget has a very free-form artistic approach.

Two blondes with kites

(good name for a band)

Up, up, and away!

It's a wrapper! It's a plastic bag! No...it's a kite! (No, really.)

He had on three layers and STILL ended up shivering and crying. Sigh.

Dinosaur cupcakes! Brilliant brainchild of SoccerSister (and some others, but she beat them to the punch). They almost didn't happen. I thought I had eggs and discovered at 9:30 last night that I did not. MTL came to the rescue by dropping off some eggs and calling my phone, which had managed to get lost somewhere in the house. It was a fun night, let me tell you.

Rawr.

The spread. Again, kudos to my friends and family who gave me ideas for what to get. Also HUGE thanks to the boys' grandma, who used her magical shopping skillz to track down all the dinosaur Stuff that I could not seem to find ANYWHERE.

The Widget kept rolling his eyes while we sang to him. It was very teenager. I wish I could have captured it on camera.

But then he made up for it with a huge grin. The chocolate may have helped.

PRESENTS!!!! There were many dinosaurs. We have several dozen inhabiting the house now. Also: a happy Widget. And that, my friends, makes it all worthwhile.

The Older They Get, the Tougher Planning These Things Gets. What Was I Thinking???

I've always been of the opinion that children's birthday parties should be fairly simple and low-key, especially when the children in question are quite young. I've heard about the incredible extravaganzas that some people put on for their tots, complete with petting zoos ("We come to you! Added bonus: excellent excuse to replace your whole lawn afterward!"), inflatable bouncy thingies, clowns (Ack! Really, who thinks kids LIKE those creepy things?), cakes from specialty shops...In other words, people will spend the equivalent of a small wedding budget on a birthday party for a child who may, at most, have some hazy images imprinted on his/her mind for a while.

Ridiculous.

In the past, all my kidlets' parties have been held at the house. There have been a few snacks, a cake, some balloons and festive party plates, a few inexpensive favors for the young guests. The guests themselves have been limited to family members and a few close friends who also have young children. Fun was had by all. In a very low-key, inexpensive way.

The Widget, however, is having a party this Saturday, and I'm doing things just a touch differently.

First, the party will not be at the house. I have two reasons for this: (1) I really don't feel like cleaning up the house that much and there isn't all that much room on the main floor, and (2) I'd rather have the party at a neutral location, especially because DramaBoy keeps getting confused when his father and I happen to be at the house simultaneously. He's still working through the idea of our separation being a permanent thing.

So I have rented (yes! rented!) a small gazebo at a marvelous little city park nearby, one that has a built-in farm/petting zoo for the delight of our guests as well as a very nice playground that's safely enclosed and has plenty of seating and shade for adults. In addition, the Parks Department is holding a little kite-making and -flying event that morning for kids of all ages. What perfect timing. It's supposed to be in the mid-fifties that day, but shouldn't rain. Let's keep our fingers crossed on that one!

The second big difference is that I actually invited The Widget's little classmates from his Early Learners class at daycare. I decided that since this is happening out of doors and I don't have space issues, I could manage it. Also, I kind of delayed putting this thing together, so a number of The Widget's little friends who are the children of my friends can't come. The more the merrier, right? And even though I know not all of them will be able to come, there should be enough little people running around to keep my boylet happy.

Now I just have to figure out what I'm going to serve them all for a light picnic lunch, how to decorate cupcakes to reflect a kinda-sorta dinosaur theme, and try not to break my limited budget while still decorating that gazebo so it's festive.

Suggestions, anyone?

They Said...

They said it couldn't happen.

They said the district is too stingy to allow it to happen.

They said things would get cleaned up in time.

They said everything would be business as usual.

They were wrong.

Because...

...

...

...

...

SNOW DAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Time to go play. Enjoy your desk jobs, suckas!!!! This teacher is OUT!

Dancing Queen

I told my good friend E about doing Zumba (and yes, it has been over a week since I've done that--your point? I've been busy! Or lazy. It depends.) and she almost immediately said You need to come salsa dancing with me! I've been waiting to find someone who would go with me! and told me about this bar near her that has free salsa lessons on Wednesday and Thursday nights. Free = Good, so I got my beloved brother to come up last night and watch my babies while I sailed off to swing my hips like a Hot Tamale.

Both E and I are those annoying sorts of people who like to be on time and even early for things, so after eating her yummy salmon (mmm! Omega-3 fatty acids FTW*!) we drove on down to the bar, only to discover that we were there 40 minutes before the upper floor/dance area was even open. So we sat and talked for a bit, then finally went upstairs only to discover that we were an HOUR early for the dancing to even start. Being women and good friends, we were just fine with sitting on a couch and talking nonstop until people finally started drifting in fifty minutes later. However, the actual start time was duly noted for future reference.

And then we danced.

Oh, it was fun! There was a wide mix of ages and ethnicities and sizes, and women only mildly outnumbered the men. Fortunately for us, Wednesday nights turned out to be solo nights where we learned the basic steps in a line-dancing sort of way, with the teacher taking us through progressively more complicated steps and combinations, calling them out on the mic. It turns out that my limited Zumba experiences did, in fact, help me out a bit, so I think I picked the moves up fairly well. I messed up from time to time, but the teacher never had to come correct me personally.

The lesson only lasted about 45 minutes, but E and I agreed that it was well worth it (what with being, you know, FREE) and that we would have to repeat the experience. So now we just need to figure out how to talk a couple of male people into coming along on a Thursday night so that we can learn partnering.

Anyone up for the job?

------------------------------------------------
*for the web-lingo impaired: FTW = "For The Win"

The Sad Saga of the Cake That Was Not To Be

I had planned a gorgeous cake, the brainchild of DramaBoy's request from three months ago and a brainstorming session with the ever-creative Joe. It was going to be 3-D, a masterpiece of chocolate cake and frosting and candies, a four-wheeler with cupcake wheels surging up over a rocky hill. I had all the ingredients, I had all the decorations, I had pictures printed and a plan in mind.

And then I got sick.

Enter Plan B, concocted with Joe's help over the phone, he in a deer blind and me huddled beneath the covers of my sickbed. Forget a full-force four-wheeler. Bake a sheet cake and decorate it like an off-roading race track. Run to the store in the morning (granted the antibiotics kicked in) (which they did) and get some Matchbox off-roaders. Cake and bonus gifts all in one swell foop!!

So when I did in fact feel well enough yesterday morning to rise from my bed, shower, run to the store, pick the kidlets up from their (sainted) grandmother, and head into birthday party preparations, I thought perhaps All Would Be Well. DramaBoy exhibited his egg-breaking skills while helping me mix the cake (Look! I didn't get any shells in there! Just the yellow and white stuff!) I popped it in the oven, set the timer, and collapsed on the couch with my boys to recharge my low batteries while watching The Backyardigans. Good times.

Some forty minutes later I took the baked cake and attempted to turn it out on a rack to cool.

It fractured into several pieces, a massive chunk stuck still in the pan.

Alas, sweet cake. What might have been.

So much for Plan B. I've rescued cakes before, but this was beyond the means of frosting and toothpicks.

On to Plan C. I called the boy's father and asked him to pick up a sheet cake at Meijer, one with a minimum of decoration, and bring it with him when he came to the house. The sooner, the better. DramaBoy confirmed my sad tale of caketastrophe when his father heard DB's mournful little voice over the phone saying, Mama! What happened to my cake? Why is it all broken?

Sad times.

The cake arrived with half-an-hour to spare before our first guests arrived. With the help of some licorice, a couple of suckers left over from Halloween, slivers cut from the broken cake, and the well-washed Matchbox cars I had purchased, I came up with something that, while not what I originally desired, Would Do.

The border was already there. 

We were lucky to find anything without all sorts of crap already in the center.

DramaBoy had a great party. He had three little friends over, he received all sorts of fun gifts, and the cake was deemed satisfactory.

This was, of course, the one time he decided NOT to smile.

So Plan C or no, he was happy. And therefore, so was I.

We're Crazy Party Animals, I Tell You. The Eighties Were a Cardboard Blur.

I grew up surrounded by my extended family on my mother's side, all of us out there in the wilds of West Africa. Sundays were always spent at Grandma and Grandpa's house. Holidays too. Since we had large groups of people, no TV, no movie theatre, no parks, no lots of things that people here take for granted, we played a lot of games.

One of the family favorites was, and is, a card game named "Maize." I have no idea where it came from or who made it up or anything: I've heard rumors it's known by other names and with some variations, but have never actually encountered them myself. Since my grandmother would not allow classic playing cards in her house (due to negative associations with gambling and such), we played with Rook cards instead, which worked fine. There are still four suits (colors) and fifteen cards (numbered 1 through 14, no face cards, with the "1" acting like an ace).

We played it on Sundays, on holidays, on vacations. We children could and did play it along with the adults. We were allowed to lay out our cards on chair seats when they became too much to hold, and the adults would politely ignore them. I remember playing it endlessly with my parents on a vacation by the beach, my younger sister running about in the sand and complaining that we were spending too much time playing "Mayonnaise." We have family jokes about my grandfather stabbing his hand into the air and saying Wait! with every card played and staring intently at his cards before allowing play to continue; about my grandmother (a nurse) constantly saying she was discharging cards instead of discarding them.

We still play it these days. My brother and I just played a full game (seven hands) over two nights with our grandparents while up here on vacation. My grandparents are doing very well, but they are in their eighties and sometimes their memories won't cooperate, so we've had to remind them of the rules the last several times we've played. Grandma, exasperated, finally said Just write them down so I can look at them next time! the other night, and we thought this was reasonable.

So my brother typed up the rules, I nitpicked--er, edited--them, and voila! It's only taken forty or fifty years for someone to get around to that.

And because I'm generous and like to encourage social game-playing, I'm sharing the rules with you! They're written for both regular and Rook cards, and you can download the PDF file here.

You're welcome.

(Dark chocolate would be considered acceptable payment for services rendered.)

(I might even share with my brother.)

Because I'm a Crazy Party Animal, Peoples

So I have an exciting weekend ahead of me--well, at least once I get past the annoyance of actually having to teach those teenage brats of mine today. Oedipus Rex, here I come! Though getting to discuss subjects like incest and murder and pagan god worship in class and totally getting away with it is kinda fun, gotta admit.

This afternoon I will hie me home and DO SOME EXERCISE, DAMMIT, because I haven't done so for nearly a week and didn't do so for another week before that and another week and a half before that and I can feel the fat cells gleefully burgeoning beneath my skin, sneaking in their cellulite friends and plotting a takeover of my thighs. I refuse to purchase my wonderful new size 8 clothes and have my mommy alter all my work pants only to plump out of them in a matter of weeks! Discipline, TeacherMommy, discipline.

And then I'll shower, because I am not pretty after I work out, peoples (I hate the movies where women are glowing gorgeously after working out, with sweat artistically highlighting their assets and causing men to want to make them sweat more in a different sort of workout, because HELLO, HOLLYWOOD, that's not the way it works!). And then I'll take a change of clothes and drive out to see a dear friend of mine who I rarely see because we have kids and live too far apart to just pop over for a visit. I don't have the kidlets this weekend and her husband is being very good and taking a turn with her kidlets, so we get to have a Girls' Night Out! Actually OUT, not pretending-to-be-out-but-really-have-to-stay-in-because-the-kids-need-some-supervision sort of Girls' Night.

We are being ever so adventurous and sexy by attending (wait for it):

The Twilight DVD release party at Border's Books!!!

I know. We are such party animals. But get this--the party doesn't start until TEN O'CLOCK! And that means we might actually be out PAST MIDNIGHT! Considering that we're ancient thirty-something mommies, this is astonishing. I consider it on par with those wild parties I didn't attend back in college. Shocking. Even if there's more chance of root beer being served than actual beer (which I wouldn't drink because I don't like beer, but a nice glass of wine wouldn't go amiss. Red wine goes so well with books. Wait. This is for a movie. So maybe it should be Coke and popcorn?)

I digress. At any rate, I plan to crash at my Twilighter friend's house because I don't want to get pulled over by the cops for a suspected DUI because of fatigue-driven erratic weaving. This means I might get waffles or pancakes in the morning WITHOUT HAVING TO MAKE THEM because my friend and her husband are AWESOME hosts. I <3 them.

Then hopefully I'll work out again when I get back to the house. And then I plan some quality time with the taxes. Woohoo!

Hopefully another dear friend of mine will be available for some fun that evening, since we never get to hang out other than in the same pew at church these days. And Sunday I'll go to church and then go help a THIRD dear friend of mine face the horror of Swimsuit Shopping.

I don't know how to handle the social whirlwind that faces me! I haven't had the chance to see my girls like this in ages. I would have gotten to see my bestest of best friends this weekend if a nasty bacterium hadn't decided to assault her eyes and sinuses in a particularly horrific way. She's not much in a socializing mood and I don't dare catch what she has. I miss her.

And I also miss my kidlets. Hopefully the company of good friends will keep my mind off just how much.

The brats approach. Fare thee well!