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!

I've Got Them Under My Skin. Kind of Like Chiggers.

So Wanderlust tagged me for a meme about Seven Things That Get Under My Skin (but not in the Frank Sinatra sort of way) and it's honestly more about narrowing down the list than coming up with ideas. Especially today because OMG I was hanging on to my temper with a death grip at one point this afternoon, I kid you not. It was one of those moments where I had to shut my mouth and just breathe, then decide NOT to address the issue that was standing there in the room like the biggest frickin' pachyderm ever described by Rudyard Kipling (Oh Best Beloveds) and instead move on while talking in a very very very calm and soft voice. This served to send every student in the room into a stock-still nervous hush because they could tell the slightest slip might send me over the edge and they apparently wanted to survive the day.

Smartest thing they did all hour.

Anywho, here are my grumpy seven things that are currently getting under my skin (and I'm keeping a smallish scope here, people, because it could get ugly otherwise.)

--1--

Politicians. Pretty much all the time and everywhere, but especially (right now) the Michigan ones who have apparently decided that their budget woes can be solved by screwing all the public servants and state employees, especially the teachers, police officers, and firefighters. BECAUSE THEY CAN.

--2--

Lazy students. Like mine today. The ones who've had a week to work on a project WITH class time to do so and chose today--the Due Day--to come up and tell me they weren't done and needed more time. Or the ones who had a presentation but had obviously invested as little effort as possible. It's a good thing this year is almost over, both for my blood pressure and their continued existence.

--3--

The smokers whining about the changed law here in Michigan. Especially the ones who believe that second-hand smoke is a myth. I KID YOU NOT. Makes me want to grab their little cancer sticks and shove them in a different orifice so they can enjoy a special kind of smoking experience.

--4--

The legal system. Especially the way it's been designed to make it as difficult as possible, if not practically impossible, to do anything without resorting to lawyers. It's a self-propagating, parasitic process that sucks us "regular" people dry. As Arby commented to me last week, judges are just lawyers in a referee outfit. And as Shakespeare wisely humorously wrote in Henry VI: The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers.*

--5--

Bureaucratic nonsense--especially bureaucratic nonsense that costs money. The district hired a firm to run an audit of all the dependents carried on health insurance by district employees. You know, to make sure we're not lying bastards or whatever it is they think we are. I never received my audit in the mail, or it got misplaced (you know, what with the whole weird living situation thing), so here I get an email today about it, and I have to come up with all this paperwork proving the existence of my dependents. It needs to be postmarked by May 31st. WHICH IS MEMORIAL DAY. /headdesk

So I'm scrambling to get that together and mailed by Friday at the latest.

And how is this audit being funded? Oh, don't worry. It's not being paid for up front by the district. No, it will be paid out of the premium savings made through the audit.

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

--6--

Telling a certain someone that he needs to get a certain task accomplished for OVER A MONTH only to discover, yet again, that it was not accomplished. And knowing full well, all the time, that eventually I will have to give in and just do it my own damn self, give him the receipt, and have him pay for it this time because I paid for it last time. Just like almost every one of these kinds of tasks we share. Passive aggressive, much? Also see: insanity.

--7--

KIDS WHO WILL NOT GO TO SLEEP even though it's getting insanely late and they'll be super grouchy in the morning when I have to get them up to go to school. I mean, at least they're being quiet. But the morning's gonna be a bitch.


There you go. I think I may have used up my grump allotment for the day. But WHOO does it feel good to get it out!

I'm now tagging:

DraftQueen at The Drafts Folder
Beth at BurkinaMom in France
Aunt Becky at Mommy Wants Vodka
MaryMac at Pajamas and Coffee
Nicola at Some Mothers Do Ave Em
Melissa at Rock and Drool

And since the whining gets to even me, let's relax a bit and listen to something much nicer.

------------------------------------
*For the sake of legal protection, I state for the record that I am not, in fact, promoting or condoning violence toward anyone, no matter how scum-sucking or sharklike he or she may be. Ahem.

new

This poem was originally written back on March 19th, but I didn't feel comfortable posting it here until now. Credit my love for e. e. cummings and the influence of a muscle relaxant (my back was BROKE, peoples) for the slightly unusual style.


i screamed openmouthed in terrorwise
link    ed to you despite sp ac e

strung like pearls on rope  made of
lies
i am
not wondering where you are
closeor                          far
i sang my sorrowsong already and look over
there
is the note against the sky
a bird poised like music on linesofcommunication between
you
and me

i am exempt from your pain

tattooed my denial of despair on skinsmoothsilk
flash my hope at every
one who glances at my feet

theyve trod many a broken path and been worn down to
cracked and bleeding remnants of memory

been there before
been there again
wandering in circleslikestuck

and c   u   t the ties finally broke the chains
though bound by life we made
and now the screams have vanished and I sing
new
love like sweetness on the tongue after bitterhate
i am newtoo
and will not coat my heart in nacre to hide the wrong
with  in

no
i shine like diamonds

In Which I Have A Guest Blogger And Prove What An Awesome Hostess I Am. I Hardly Even Made Her Wipe Her Shoes Off Before She Came In.

So you know I've been all tongue-tied and whatnot over here, with the occasional exception, and I was whining a bit (no really, I whine sometimes) (I know, it's a shock) to DraftQueen and then begged her to rescue me with a guest post and LO AND BEHOLD here it is. 

Seriously, I big puffy heart that woman. Even though some silly little details like crazy and mysterious health issues (I mean really, who needs to breathe?) prevented her from coming here to Michigan this month. Le sigh. I forgive.

She has a companion piece going up over on her blog today, so feel free to go see what it says. I have a feeling it may be a little less PG-rated, though, mind you. Heehee.

************

I'm taking over this here blog.

I have permission, you see. TeacherMommy said I could invade her bloggy space and throw some content at you.

I didn't make any real promises as to what the content may be, however. Though I mentioned I'd try to keep it clean. If you have ever read my blog you know that it's a grammatically incorrect free-for-all onto which I spill whatever is on my mind.

My mind isn't G-rated.

Which isn't to say it's X rated.

You know, all the time. What I'm saying is I have a tendency to use "mature" language.

I'm trying to avoid X rated and mature language. Which is hard. Something I am completely capable of. I am, after all, a well educated woman.

If your definition of "well educated" is been in college since forever and still lacks a degree.

Sure, I have certificates in a few areas: birth and post partum doula; lactation consultant; phlebotomist, but I lack a "normal" degree.

I've been in college since January 1996. Yes, I know that was 14 years ago. I took some time off to do things like obtain those certificates and breed.

I think if they awarded degrees in switching majors, I'd have 2 with a minor in switching schools. I started as an early elementary education major; it lasted one semester. I had to do a practicum with actual kindergartners and I realized this was not a job I could do daily until I hit retirement age.

Or 25.

I can't remember the path I took to get to my current degree-in-progress but I can tell you the list of majors I have had is somewhat long. I think they include everything except math-based majors.

Math makes my head hurt.

Which was why I stopped being a business major. (Who knew there was all that math involved? Certainly not me.)

I was really good at the science related majors; better in the life sciences. I guess that's why I haven't ditched my dream of becoming a midwife, but please don't tell my fiance that. He is under the impression that once I finish my current plans I am going to stick with a job in the profession that corresponds with my current education.

I don't know why he would think that. My current job doesn't reflect my educational goals and it certainly could.

So what's my major?

I'm currently a US Government History major. And a Political Science Major. With a minor in life science and a minor in legal studies. My minors are finished, which is why they are tacked on there. (If you want to get all degree-technical, I'll be earning my Bachelors and my Masters in Political Science at the same time.

I jammed it all in there, baby. When I'm done with that, the plan is to get a JD.

I'm a masochist, that's why.

Currently, I work in a lab processing specialty genetic testing. You know, DNA. It's completely fascinating. (And for a few months minutes I considered switching my major. Which would mean I was at the wrong school. Because I do love my fiancé, I did not.)

I didn't say it made sense.

I never make sense.

I lost you, didn't I?

*Sigh*

O Man! Who Knows Thee Well Must Quit Thee With Disgust*

--1--

Yesterday when I picked the kidlets up from school, DramaBoy discovered a fuzzy little caterpillar on the sidewalk. He pounced on it immediately like it was his long lost best friend and let it run all over his hands.

It took all my motherly fortitude to respond to his delight with a Oh wow! That's so very cool! rather than squealing like the girly girl I can occasionally be. I then informed him that he could NOT take it into the car as a pet and that it would be happier in the bushes.

Apparently he now plans to check on his little buddy every time we enter and exit the building.

If he becomes an entomologist, I'm going to have to make him bathe in sanitizer before he ever steps foot in my house.

--2--

This morning I was checking in homework with my first hour junior class. One student checked his in. About five minutes later another student walked up with a paper to check in. I looked at it and immediately recognized it as the identical paper (not even a copy--THE SAME PAPER) that the first student had shown me, just with the second student's name on it. They both received zeros--the second student for trying to pass it off as his work, the first for collaborating in the attempted deception.

What pisses me off the most? They thought I'm stupid enough not to notice. Now that's just insulting.

--3--

Today is the unofficial Senior Skip Day.

It makes me angry every year.

Seniors get out two weeks earlier than everyone else. They have final exams next week. Final projects are coming due as we speak. What on earth makes anyone think it's okay to simply not attend school at this point in the year?

What makes it worse is the parents who readily excuse the absence.

When I tell my students that my own children will not be allowed to do this, nor be allowed to run off to Mexico or Florida or other such hedonistic destinations for Spring Break during high school, I'm treated as though I am violating an essential human right.

Today during my Myth class, which has a heavy contingent of seniors, students will be doing a participation-based activity. Those without hospital notes or court papers will receive a zero. Want to challenge that? Check the attendance policy.

Being a Righteous Bitch Teacher: I'm doin' it right.

--4--

MTL and I keep overhearing people who are upset about the recently enacted law here in Michigan that bans smoking in most public places. These people keep complaining about how the state is violating their personal rights and that the government has no right to try to make them quit smoking.

They don't get it. The government isn't trying to get them to quit. Cigarettes are still legal. They can still smoke. Just not where MY personal rights (and lungs) will be violated by their cigarette smoke.

They keep saying it will hurt the economy, too.

Oddly enough, the neighborhood bar where I had pizza last night was just as full of people as it usually is on a Thursday night.

Go figure.

--5--

Fifteen years ago as a high school senior I dated a junior boy very casually for a couple of weeks. Then we broke up, but stayed friends. I received a letter from him a few months after I started college. It was six pages of explicit horror, describing things I'd never even imagined, much less (in my naivete of the time) heard of before. He ended up getting in big trouble with the school administration because of it. It took me three years to stop shaking when I talked about the incident.

Two years ago when I began using Facebook, he tried to friend me. I ignored him. This morning I found an email in my inbox notifying me that he had friend requested me again.

What on God's green earth makes him think I want to have anything to do with him? I don't care whether we have 92 Facebook friends in common or not!

Guess who's getting blocked on Facebook today?

--6--

I should be legally divorced by now. I should have been divorced as of ten o'clock yesterday. The idiotic judge decided to make us jump through one more (unnecessary and ridiculous) legal hoop and therefore adjourned the trial date to June 8th. If I wanted to jump through hoops, I'd take a gymnastics class.

On the silvery side of things, The Ex and I haven't been this united in a very long time. Both of us just want to be DONE already. We were positively friendly in the wake of our joint disgust over the situation.

--7--

My tenth graders are reading Elie Wiesel's Night right now. It's an amazing book, well worth the prizes it has earned, but it's very difficult to read. Not in language, but in detail.

I struggle with stories of the Holocaust. Whether in movies or books, there is something about that horror of human history that stabs me to the core. I've been struggling not to weep during our discussions.

This morning we talked about what happened to the children. The infants flung into the air as target practice for Nazi guns. The babies ripped from their mothers' arms and bashed against walls, then discarded like broken dolls. The tiny bodies tossed into the furnaces of Bergen-Belsen, Auschwitz, Birkenau like so much cord wood.

My body revolts against the images in my mind. My lungs strain for air. My eyes well with tears. My voice hitches, halts, stumbles on.

My students are still, visages stone as they struggle to comprehend the inhumanity of Man.

My sorrows run pale and shallow in the face of the words I read.

---------------------
*Lord Byron, from "Inscription"

mea culpa

i find myself welling with anger
so easily
so quickly
the snap of a finger at a single word
no patience left
the well is dry

"i see stupid people"
he writes
and i can only agree
yet wonder if perhaps i see them
through a glass tinted darkly
my own shadows taint the light

the road has been long and weary
and although it draws to a close
uncertainty clouds the finish line
not in whether it was the right road to travel
but whether the end lies as close as it seems

so much could go wrong
still
concealed tripwires
unseen holes
camouflaged stones that may yet bruise my feet

i am worn
yet taut with strain
counting the hours
while knocking on wood
fearful still of Murphy and his thrice-cursed law

so find myself snapping
stretched thin and angry
throttling the words that threaten to erupt
from a throat raw with tension

forgive me
even though i know what i do
extend me grace
beyond what i have given you

and perhaps
tomorrow
perhaps
perhaps

If I Were...

I don't know where this meme began, but I love the poetry of it. I found it at Wanderlust, who is orange silk and rain. But of course.

If I were a month, I would be April, with budding shoots peeking through the melting crusts of snow.

If I were a day of the week, I would be Saturday, when errands must be run but the night brings play.

If I were a time of day, I would be the moment when all the craziness of the day is done and I can finally breathe.

If I were a planet, I would be Venus, whose thick mask conceals molten heat, who turns in opposition to her sister Earth.

If I were an animal, I would be a sleek jungle cat, resting in the shade of a tree one moment and racing in the hunt the next.

If I were a direction, I would be Around.

If I were a piece of furniture, I would be a smooth, lush suede armchair, perfect for a rainy day of reading and drinking hot chocolate.

If I were a liquid, I would be an Irish coffee.

If I were a gemstone, I would be an emerald, valued for its imperfections and rich with crystalline life.

If I were a tree, I would be a redbud, purple blossoms vivid against the darkness of their backdrop.

If I were a tool, I would be well-used and valuable.

If I were a flower, I would be a Bleeding Heart.

If I were a kind of weather, I would be a spring rainstorm.

If I were a musical instrument, I would be a flute played by master hands.

If I were a color, I would be the green of a mature tree brought to new life by spring rain.

If I were an emotion, I would be deeply felt.

If I were a fruit, I would be a dragonfruit.

If I were a sound, I would be unchecked laughter.

If I were an element, I would be Water in its many forms and faces.

If I were a car, I would be due for maintenance.

If I were a food, I would be dark chocolate and raspberries.

If I were a place, I would be a savannah springing to life after a long drought.

If I were a material, I would be raw silk and lace.

If I were a taste, I would be the sweet-tart burst with cinnamon edge of a grafted mango.

If I were a scent, I would be Moka Java.

If I were an object, I would be a well-thumbed book only half read.

If I were a body part, I would be the hollow between neck and collarbone.

If I were a pair of shoes, I would be slinky high heels with ankle straps.

If I were a facial expression, I would be newly discovered Joy.

What would you be?

I Has a Bucket

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

Apparently the thing to do these days is to have a Bucket List. You know, the things you want to do/accomplish before you kick the bucket. Shuffle off the mortal coil. Run down the curtain. Sleep with the fishes. Pay Charon's fare. Buy the farm. Check out. Dance the last dance. Give up the ghost. DIE.

(You want some other euphemisms? Check out this list. Boy, we'll do just about anything not to say the actual word, won't we?)

I haven't thought about my Bucket List much. I mean, I've said there are things I want to do "someday," but my comment about riding a motorcycle a while back? That's the first time I can remember specifically thinking about doing something before I /whisper/ die.

It's just not the way I generally think. But I'm getting older, yo, and what with my bones creaking and popping and my body acting in general as though it's a goodish bit older than I actually am, I've started thinking about the kinds of things I'd like to do before Death gets in the way. Or even, really, General Physical Infirmity, because that may come sooner than I'd like. Let's be realistic, peoples.

And it turns out a slew of my students already have Bucket Lists, which makes me wonder if it's just the influence of media or if by some miracle more of them have a concept of mortality than generally is the case. Mind you, some of the items on their lists might make mortality more of a reality than a concept, but it's a step.

Anywho, I figured I might as well do my own Bucket List. So here you go--the list of things I'd like to do before I push up daisies*:

1. Ride a real motorcycle. Possibly even drive it. Because I'm a Total Badass like that.
2. Visit Australia and New Zealand. Lauren, I still have an open invitation to crash with you, right?
3. Tour the ancient monuments and places from mythology in Greece. I've only been obsessed since I was seven.
4. Publish some of my writing. And no, blogging doesn't count. Any agents out there?
5. Learn how to do some real ballroom dancing. This may need to be sooner rather than later, as I have a feeling artificial joints, walkers, and/or wheelchairs might make things difficult.
6. Win a teaching award. Because I'm modest like that, yo.
7. .....

Ack. This is where my mind goes blank. I mean, there are things I'd LIKE to do. Travel around Europe more. Visit all fifty states. Learn how to make a chocolate souffle. But they're not the sorts of things that make me feel like my life will have been incomplete if I die before they're accomplished, you know?

Does this mean I'm insufficiently ambitious? Does this mean I'm a loser?

Does this mean my bucket is undersized?!?

Cuz I hear that sometimes size DOES matter.

---------

What about you? What's on YOUR bucket list?

---------------------------------------------
*Except I've decided to be cremated instead** and have my ashes scattered because the idea of my preserved remains sticking around in a lead-lined box is just creepy, people, and I don't feel like going through the rigamarole of arranging for a burial au naturel, a la pine box. Plus apparently the level of preservatives present in our food is rendering postmortem preservation pretty much unnecessary these days, and that's even more icky. Just sayin'.

**And yes, I totally get the irony of my not having a Bucket List but knowing what I want done with my body after death. I also know which hymns*** and scripture verses**** I want read at my memorial. I said I'm a planner, people!!!

***"It Is Well With My Soul" and "Amazing Grace". And no, I don't care if that's totally predictable and cliche. They're still my favorites and the lyrics mean a lot to me. So there.

****Psalm 23 (King James Version) and Psalm 51 (New Living Translation). What I said.

In Which I Am Both Cheap and Shiny. Kind of Like Your Uncle Bob's Suit. You Know, the One He's Worn For Years? Yeah. It Just Means I'm Worth Keeping Around, Right? Right?!?!

MTL: It's like I won the lottery with you, except I didn't have to enter.

TM: Well, you did kind of spend thirty dollars for a ticket.*

MTL: True. Best thirty bucks I ever spent. Now that I think about it, the ticket was kind of expensive when the prize is so cheap.

--Silence--

MTL: Um. That didn't come out right.

TM: Would you like to clarify that one for me?

MTL: What I meant was, you see, that you're so low-maintenance.

TM: Ah. Okay. I won't hit you then.

He's lucky he's so dang cute. And that I get him and knew it was just a brain-mouth disconnect. Besides, he's pretty much right. I am low-maintenance. I like it that way. For that matter, most men I know like it that way. In real women, at least.

My hair? I wash it in the mornings with Pantene. I towel-dry it vigorously. Then I run a brush through it and go. No blow dryer, no product, no hair irons.

My clothes? Yeah, I like to look good, but I tend to keep things pretty simple. Nothing too overwrought or complicated to grab and go.

My morning routine? I've been known to get showered, get dressed, get the boylets dressed, grab our stuff, and be out the door in twenty-five minutes. That's under pressure, granted, but still.

So yeah, I'm low-maintenance.

However, I'm very rarely seen out of the house without some makeup on.

It's nothing much, mind you. Powder, blusher, eyeliner, mascara. Perhaps a little eyeshadow. I can whip it on in a few minutes. But I wear it every day.

We all have our insecurities about our appearance. We all have our security blankets. Mine happens to sit around in a little pink bag. See, I'm as critical about myself as the next person. I scowl at my brownie muffin tops. I suck in my squishy belly. I peer at my complexion in the mirror, sighing over the scars and lines and certain other aspects that I'm not going to admit to in writing. Then I pull out my makeup bag and brush on a subtle veneer.

So when Jodie over at Mummy Mayhem challenged bloggers to post their naked faces on their blogs, sans makeup, sans primping, sans anything but woman au naturel, I was more than a little nervous. But her argument about how critical we women are about our bodies was a good one, and her challenge to bloggers to link up along with her has received a wonderful response. And then the amazing Wanderlust joined in with her own post, and when I whined in a comment about not having a good camera, she sent me a lovely and encouraging and totally guilt-trippy email more or less commanding me to Do It Anyway and so...

Here's the picture I just took of myself after my nightly ablutions, squeaky clean face and all (I swear it's fuzzy because of the crappy cell phone camera, not from any retouching):

And as proof that sometimes this happens without planning, this photo is from about three months ago on a day when I overslept my alarm, didn't even have time to shower (thus the hat for hair control purposes), and got nowhere near my little pink bag:

I've exposed a good bit of my heart and mind and soul on this blog. I suppose it only makes sense for me to expose my face as well.

Do you hide behind that sexy camera angle or PhotoShop magic or whatnot on your blog? Then head over and take the challenge too. I dare ya.

--------------------------------------------
*That's a story for another time. It probably sounds worse than it is.** But that could just be my gutter brain working.

**which isn't bad, trust me on that one. Get your own brain out of the gutter! Arby, I'm looking at you.

There Are Things That Make Me Sad: These Are Not Some of Them*

What's been making TeacherMommy giggle this week? Glad you asked.

A "letter of appreciation" from a former student for Teacher Appreciation Week:

Dear Ms. TeacherMommy,

U made me learn how 2 right bettr. eye din't thenk u wood help me 2 right as good as eye do now!

U R

AWESUM!

Sincerely, Steve H. :)

------------

A letter from daycare I found sitting on the dining room table when I returned to the house last night, obviously left there via the ex for my enjoyment information:

Dear Mr. or Mrs. TeacherMommy,

Today DramaBoy did not choose good choice at naptime, so we are sitting down and talking about what he chose to do instead. DramaBoy has told me that at naptime we are supposed to be quiet and stay on our cots. DramaBoy told me instead he was playing around and not listening to the teacher. I have asked DramaBoy if tomorrow he will make better choices and listen to the teacher when she tells him to be quieter and he says he will try but might need me to sit by him, to which I agreed. If he makes good choices tomorrow at the end of naptime we will draw nice pictures and write a good letter.

Thank you,
Ms. D-------

(The kicker? DramaBoy wrote his name at the bottom too. IT'S HIS FIRST BEHAVIORAL CONTRACT, PEOPLES.)

------------

From the car on the way to school/work this morning:

DramaBoy: Mama, do you like Hannah Montana?

TeacherMommy: No, I don't really like Hannah Montana very much, baby.

DramaBoy: But why don't you like her? Girls LIKE Hannah Montana!

------------

Gems gleaned from going over rough drafts of the paper affectionately known as The Bitch:

Harriet Beecher Stowe aroused many people through her very famous and controversial book, Uncle Tom's Cabin.

This theme was completely utilized towards the end of Uncle Tom's Cabin when the beloved hero, Uncle Tom, is brutally beaten to death by a viscous slave driver.

Through Twain's life, his experiences and wisdom seldom come, molded the modern author into the sculpture he is today.

(I can't help but wonder--did the first of those have anything to do with the slave driver's stickiness in the second? I know. Ewwwww.)

------------

And the fourth thing that's made me giggle?

All the snarky, funny, wonderful comments and emails and texts and whatnot my friends and family have been sending. I big puffy heart you all.

-----------------------------------------
*Inspired by the song "Things" from my favorite children's CD (it's #19 on the songlist)