Howdy. I've been sick.

And not just a little bit actually. First there was the nothing little cold over Thanksgiving (oh and four days of migraine pain, but that's still not a huge deal). I thought I was on the mend but noooooooooo.

The Monday after Thanksgiving, I tried to go to school. I knew I had a fever, but it seemed like I could just tough it out. At 12:00 they sent me home because I was at 102.5. So I went home and went to bed. Then I realized maybe I had the flu. I mean I'd had the flu shot, but you can still get it. And fever, aches, pains, cough. Seemed reasonable.

Next day went to the doctor. They said flu! The nurse said infection. My oxygen levels were only at 91% (should be more like 99). But I went home with a tamiflu script and some codeine cough syrup. And a fever of 103.2. No school all week.

I never got better. By Friday my doctor called and said it wasn't the flu, the test had come back negative. But I still couldn't breathe. He said it was a virus and he didn't need to see me. (I've got a new doctor now). The next day, Saturday, I was still running in the 103s and Ricardo packed me off to the Doc in the Box. Chest films, blood work... diagnosis: multi focal double pneumonia, mostly in the right lung with a good chunk in the lower left lung as well. Antibiotics, rest, no school. Back home.

I was supposed to go back for a follow up on Tuesday and make sure the antibiotics were working. On Tuesday I sounded worse and was still running a fever in the 101s. They diagnosed me with atypical pneumonia (in other words, non viral, non strep pneumonia) and put me on a second antibiotic. By Friday when I'd finished the first I was finally starting to feel better. I went back that day for another follow up and a chest film and low and behold, the left lung had cleared and the right was better.

But that night I started vomiting. It was not unlike having cholera (I have had it so I know). I was so desperately sick I could not hold down water. Back to the doctor's that Saturday.

The antibiotics had given me something called c-diff colitis which is when they kill off all the good bacteria and then the bad stuff (the c-diff) proliferates and poisons your entire system. I was badly dehydrated. They gave me a shot of fenergin, a prescription for more antibiotics and sent me home to hydrate. But I couldn't. I was so tired and so sick I couldn't get fluid in well enough. So Sunday morning it was the ER. For about 20 minutes they tried to get a line in me but I was too dehydrated and I'm a tough stick any way. My white blood count was more than twice normal, my liver function was all whacky and, when they finally did get an IV in I needed three liters of fluids to rehydrate. No school that week either.

The new antibiotic made me very sick so I had to keep taking the antinausea meds as well. However these make you so tired that all I did was sleep. I finally started feeling better in time for The Kid's birthday (12/23) and today I feel ok. I'm still super tired all the time and I have no strength or energy. I lost 15 pounds (but have put back 4). And that's what I've been up to in December.

A couple lost sayings that should have been included

The first one is courtesy of his reading class. While working with another student in his reading group, Dwayne wanted to get her attention. (Same girl as momma's boyfriend girl). So out of nowhere is heard "Gahther rownduh leetle cheeldrin, it's stooory tahm."

The other excellent line was from a discussion we had about geothermal energy. I had told the kids that we'd been to some geysers in Chile that had been used to create geothermal energy. Then I showed them pictures of it and explained that geysers were boiling hot streams of water heated by underground volcanoes. I also mentioned that someone who had been there didn't listen to the guides and burned himself badly.

"He put his hand right in to it," I explained.
"Way-ul, may be he was doin' thuh Ho-key Po-key."

Maybe he was.

Great sayings of a favorite student

So I have this student. He's a special ed kid. He has some issues (not the least of which is that he is incapable of making eye contact so he always turns his head towards you and his eyes away, and also he doesn't like to be touched. Oh and he takes forever to write even his name.) but he is easily one of the most hilarious people I have ever met.

It all began with a few comments here or there. He doesn't speak much and when he does it's very slowly. Oh and he has a serious drawl type accent. He's seriously below grade level in reading and math and it's likely he will always struggle. But somehow he's a genius when it comes to funny things.

For example, we were talking about solids, liquids and gases because states of matter are something that third graders have to know. So we were drawing pictures (which is really hard for him). It started out easy.

"A car is a solid."
"Yes, yes it is. Good job!"
"Hand (it sounded like Haaaaaaayyyuuuunnnnnd) Sanitizer is a liquid." Did i mention he's obsessed with hand sanitizer?
"Very good, it sure is!"
"Gas is a gas." Fuck. Where was this going.
"Um, what kind Dwayne? Like you put in a car?" (This is NOT his real name, but for a black kid he's weirdly a bubba).
"No (it sounded like now-wuh). Gas. Like when you eat the beans."
"Yep. That's a gas."

And that was just a taste. This kid continues to crack my shit up! So not too long after that I had this very Type A girl freaking out over an assignment in class. She couldn't wait for the directions and she kept trying to interrupt. Just then I hear from next to her:

"Patience (payshuns) little grasshopper (grays hoppuh)." And it's him.

Lately he's taken to saying happy birthday to everyone just to see them react and say it's not their birthday. Then he giggles and smiles. But he doesn't ever look at you when he does it.

Another girl was complaining the other day about her mom's boyfriend. We were talking about energy and how people get their energy from food and sleep and water but machines get it from oil and gas and solar power etc.

"My momma boyfriend, he don't never sleep. He be up to 6 in the morning then he gone and sleep all day!" she exclaimed.
"Maybe he's nocturnal (knock-ter-nahl)" says my sage.

Not one day later, we're reviewing economics terms:

"Name a producer, Dwayne," I said.
"Me," he replied.
"What good or service do you provide, honey?" I innocently asked, thinking he was confused.
"Ah'm fuuuuuhhhnnee," he replied.

Yes. Yes he is.

Potatoes

This year we decided to get a share in a local Community Supported Agriculture group. Of course I chose one who did not require we work in the fields. Because let's face it. I don't do that kind of work. If you've ever seen my backyard you'll know what I am talking about.

But now we're in the extended season. And this means potatoes. And pretty much nothing else. What the hell am I supposed to do with 6 pounds of potatoes every week for fuck's sake?

Last week they became very tasty latkes which matched well with the apple sauce I made from the too many apples we have. Then I took the 2 pounds of sweet potatoes and the two butternut squash and made them into a soup. But I still have about 2 pounds of potatoes left.

And this morning I pick up the share. Again.

What the hell am I going to do? I think giving them away is in order. Potatoes anyone?

I woke this morning...

There is no way I can write anything original about my feelings about yesterday's Karl Rove predicted LANDSLIDE victory for OBAMA!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I woke this morning feeling like for the first time in my life I might be willing to say the Pledge of Allegiance.

I woke this morning thinking that for the first time ever in my teaching career I could tell children honestly that they really could grow up to be president of the United States of America (despite being too sick to actually go to school and also having to go to court).

I woke this morning knowing that the future is so bright I need sunglasses.

I woke this morning to find the world had changed and I had hope.

I woke this morning thinking that I had cast the most important vote I ever may cast in my life, but wondering whether I would get to cast another like it, and thinking I just may.

I woke this morning to a country who had cried out for renewal and had received it.

I woke this morning to a state whose colors had changed and whose motto, Sic Semper Tyranus, finally came true.

I woke this morning to a land which will never be the same again.

I woke this morning knowing yes, yes we can!

And I smiled.

A Jew in Goyland

I have to begin this post with a caveat. What I am about to recount should in no way cast aspersions on the absolutely incredible talent of the students who participated in this. I mean, who knew they could sing that way?! And the music was phenomenal. Lastly the masks were gorgeous, whimsical and one of the high points of the show.

Rather the focus of this needs to be on the clash of state and religion. And also once again, the ways in which I find, as a Jew turned atheist, that I am not in Kansas (so to speak) anymore. Long have I held the belief that there are only two kinds of people here in this small hamlet in which I reside: Black Baptists and White Baptists. And thereby begins this tale.

Yesterday we took our students to see Noyes Fludde. This is a Medieval Mystery Play by the Chester Master. I was fairly excited since I have a degree in both Medieval Studies and Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations. While in college I assistant directed The Second Shepherd's Pageant (a truly hilarious play and a Nativity play) so I don't have an issue with religion when it is placed contextually and is ancillary to the subject or performance.

But it turns out that this play has been messed with. By Benjamin Britten. In 1957 he decided to turn it into an opera for his church community. And thus begins the oddness of this field trip.

We had been told that the play was not religious. And then we took our 51 children to a church to see it. We sat in the pews for 1/2 an hour (a neat trick since I had most of the neediest children with the behavior problems). Long story short, thank you David for introducing the Koi Pond app on the iPhone, and thank you to the makers of the bubble wrap game for iPhone as well.

The show began with someone explaining that there would be opportunities to sing along with the opera. The kids were excited. And then we found out what they would be singing: A hymn which begins something along the lines of Oh Jesus save us. I was aghast. Public school children in a church during school hours singing hymns? How screwed could I possibly be when the first parent call came in?! I told the kids they should choose to sing or not depending on what they were most comfortble with. My partner gaped at me in shocked awe as they gestured for the school children to sing. The principal shot me an astounded look as well. This was so not what we'd been told would be happening. What happened to "It's not meant to be religious?" And isn't lying a sin?

Did I miss something? Wasn't Noah one of my people? Then why is he wearing a giant wooden cross? And why are they singing to Jesus? Actually one of my students actually turned to my teaching partner and said "Isn't Noah supposed to be Jewish?" (Not all of my kids are special ed).

I was sitting with two students who have a lot of trouble attending. And the accoustics of the church are not conducive to the volume of the music (once again, gorgeously played!) for understanding the words in the singing (which was also phenomenal, John and Evan!!). At least not for students who struggle to understand the speech and directions given to them one on one. So these guys could not understand anything that was going on.

I knew I was in trouble when the first question came: "Who that voice up there? Why he talk to that man with the cross?"

The answer is that the voice was God from above. But this is a public school group, and I am a teacher in a public school. Do I say to them, "It's God," or do I say what I ended up saying "It's the voice giving Noah directions about how to survive the flood."

And that was the sign that this was going to be a challenging day for me.

Then followed the simple question, "Is that a real axe?" Yep. "Why they have an axe?" to build the ark. "What's a ark" A fancy name for a ship. "Why the old lady don't want to go?" She's scared. Phew. Crisis averted.

But then came the second wave of trouble. The animals began to march in. The students at the high school had made these incredible paper mache masks for them to wear. They were enchanting and the students were excited by them. I fielded the easy ones: "It's a rat, a lion, an elephant–" (special ed, remember) "a flamingo" (my favorite I think because who does not love billowing pink feathers). And then it came: "Why they need the animals?" Thankfully one of my students who attends church regulary answered for me, "Cause God say they need to save the animals on the ship." At least I didn't say it.

Finally Noah's wife was on the ship (and I didn't have to explain the concept of the Gossips and Temptation). And they were off. There were more questions "why they sleeping?" long trip, tiring, but these were not challenging.

And then the raven was sent out. It started easily enough.

"What's a raven?"
"It's a Crow."
"How come he don't have no mask?"
"He's got feathers on his hands."
"Did he go to our school last year?"
"Yes he did."
"I know him."
"Yes, I'm sure you do."
"What that? That an angel?"

And I had to stop. Because I didn't know if it was or not. Garbed in a white choir robe with elaborate (and spectacular) white feathered wings, was a blond child with shining hair.

"It looks like an angel," I cautiously proffered.
"I think she an angel."
"She could be." And I am racking my mind for the Noah story. I don't remember an angel. In the Old Testament, angels aren't sweet and lovely and you don't want to meet them on an overcrowded ship reaking with animal shit.

And then Noah sent her out.
"She's a dove." RELIEF!
"What a dove?"
"It's a bird. It's a sign of peace"
"Like the thing on a Mercedes" D'Oh!
"Not exactly."
"Where the angel go?" D'Oh!
"She went to find dry land."
"Why they need land they got a boat?"
"Would you want to be on a boat with so many animals?"
"How the angel going to find the land?"
"The dove is going to fly out and see if there's anything to rest on."

And in she came with the olive branch in her hand.

"Why she got a stick in her hand?"
"It's an olive branch. It's a symbol of peace."
"Like an angel?" Fuck me running!!!!!!!!!
"Like the DOVE."

At that moment the childern who had played the animals and sung in the chorus, donned colored gloves, held hands and made a rainbow.

"What the rainbow for?"
Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!
"It's a sign. The rainbow is a promise."
"Like the angel?" Oh Holy Jesus!!!!!!!!
"Like the DOVE."
"Who's promising?"
And now I'm screwed. I have to this point managed to avoid God through this whole thing. Can I use entity? What about not answering? How do I do this?
"Ms. ________ Who promising? What they promise?"
fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck
"It's a promise not to flood the earth and destroy it any more."
"Who flood the earth? Why he do that?"
AAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
"He thought the people were bad and wanted to punish them."
"Why he punish them?

And now triumph!!!!!!! You see, we're working on civics right now. I had this one in the bag!!!!

"Because when people hurt their community by breaking the rules and doing bad things, they get punished so the community can be healthy and safe. We do the same thing in our community. This is a play from long ago when they punished people differently."

Whew!!!!!!!

"I don't want to drown in no flood."
"No," I said. "Neither do I."

And thus ended my Friday Field Trip.

Oh my fucking God I found the motherfucking rat

When I came home this evening at 6:30 , having left the house at 7:00am, I noticed that there was a smell in the kitchen. It was a bad smell. A too sweet but not sweet smell. The Kid noticed it too. We checked the trash, which also smelled, but which did not smell like this.

We proceeded to sniff our way through the house. Stronger in the living room and dining room. Not as strong in my study or the bedrooms. In the entry way it was Jack LaLane strong. But on the stairs down to the laundry room it was Lou Ferrigno strong. We sniffed through Ricardo's study and the guest room. Less powerful there.

And I knew. The whole time I knew but didn't want to face it.

That was the smell of dead rodent.

And it was in the laundry room. And it could be anywhere.

By the time we made it into the laundry room it was Arnold Schwarzenegger, pre Terminator, on steroids, just in from Austria, 1970s smell. I started to gag. The Kid ran up to his room to put on his batman mask and retrieved his ninja knife. (As an aside, which is what this is, wtf goes through 9 year old boys' heads? a plastic knife and a rubber face mask?). I fended off the nausea that threatened to rob me of my $5 value sub from Subway, and we began the search.

It could have been anywhere. I tried behind the work bench, in the luggage, and behind the washer and dryer. We looked through the old crib, under the changing table and between the spare dining room chairs. We looked under the sink, through the shelves and between the brass bed that one day I really will spray paint and use in my guest room because it's so much nicer than the one I have in there. But alas, no dead rat.

And then I thought the smell would knock me right over. As I leaned over the cinderblocks beside the boiler, I smelled it. And then I saw the tail and the puddle of gore that it lay in, 3/4 of the way under the boiler.

The way rat poison is suppposed to work is that they eat it and it makes them so thirsty they leave the house to find water and then they drink water and the poison is activated and they die. But it hadn't been working. Oh the poison was being removed, but the rat was still around.

Last Monday we saw it. The kid came to me and said, "Mommy the rat is sleeping in the family room." So I went downstairs to see what the hell he was talking about. Sure enough, there was the mangy, manky sonofabitch, sleeping (or more likely beginning to die) right in front of the TV. I thought it was dead so I turned on the light. NOT DEAD!! It jumped up and scurried towards us. I screamed as it ran through my legs. The kid screamed and ran upstairs to get his wooden sword (that one made sense to me). I ran upstairs to get a broom, but to no avail. We could not find the rat.

Also the rat ate my favorite plant ever, Instrument Salad, the Christmas Cactus that my neighbor gave me and which The Kid named when he was only 3. And I loved that fucking cactus.

But now I was faced with the tail and the dilemma. How do I get it out? I had the broom but that only pushed it further under. Except the part that stuck to the floor in its own entrails.

I was going to have to touch it. I went upstairs and double gloved. The Kid got bags and I went down again. With a wrenching shuddering heaving effort, I extracted the rat from under the boiler, thrust it in a plastic bag, tied it in a knot, and threw it in the trash which I then took out and threw in the outside trash. I poured bleach over the spot two times and left it to soak. I opened all the windows I could and tore up the stairs.

Having done the deed, I literally ran to my bathroom, ripped off my clothes, threw myself into the shower and scrubbed every inch of my body from head to toe as if I had OCD. There may not be enough colazepam for this experience.

And with that, Instrument Salad was revenged.

Ricardo is right, although I don't know this person

Here is a quote from Newsweek:

"The evidence is really now quite conclusive that male circumcision is effective at preventing HIV among men." – Kevin de Cock HIV-AIDS official, WHO

I nearly ran over my neighbor this evening.

Pat Napoleon (no relation as far as I know) was in the middle of the road in her tie-dyed t-shirt and slippers, eating something out of a bucket. Not like a beach bucket but more like a the bucket one gets chicken in. Maybe it *was* a chicken bucket. I don't know. I doubt it because it was blue and from Whole Foods. If it was chicken, it was free range chicken. And well loved. Until they killed it and put it in a bucket. But I digress.

Pat Napoleon is married to Leo Napoleon. I love their names. I love saying Leo Napoleon. And it made me start thinking about names I've known that have made me laugh in one way or another.

The first odd name I ever encountered was my father's mechanic when I was a kid. I didn't understand why my mother snickered every time my father said he had to take the car in. It wasn't until I was about 12 that I clued in on his name: Dick Tingle.

Another great name from my past belonged to some neighbors we had. Avery and whatever her brother was. Their last name was Fischoder (pronounced: Fish Odor).

Of course, my maiden name is Gross. I once offered extra credit to some 9th graders if they could come us with a way to make fun of my name that I had never heard before. But they didn't, dazzled as they were by the classic "is your middle name IS?"

I knew a grad student in my program in archaeology whose name was Dusty.

I had a resident once whose name was Dr. Feeling. And another one whose name was Payne. I wondered how that would work out as a hyphenated last name?

We knew a couple in Boston who would have had the best hyphenated name ever: He was Frost and she was Wild so it would have been Wild-Frost. They totally could have been super heroes with that name.

Then there was the year at camp when I had a camper named Princess (I have since had several Princesses although none of the others have been white. And one came with a twin named Precious). Princess's brother? Jesus. Not Spanish. No "hay-soos" but Jesus as in the swearing.

One year we taught two Uniquas. I guess they weren't.

I also had a set in twins in southern Massachusetts named Rusty and Dusty (actually I have known 3 Dustys and only the grad student was female. And yes she was named for the singer).

I had a Raji and a Shakti. Both lived in an Ashram. Or maybe only one did. One's last name was Mandelkorn.

I had a school secretary whose name was Linda File. She was not a nice woman. Maybe it was all the Files she left at home. She had like six kids.

I knew a woman whose name was Dolores. She could not have been more aptly named. She had the saddest life of anyone I know.

When we were kids, my sister and I actually thought my grandmother's friend's name was Poor Marilyn. We actually asked her once when she'd visit Poor Marilyn while staying with us. That wasn't really her name.

The Students are Back.

And I don't care for the changes here in town because of them. First of all, there is a lot more traffic. Second of all, the traffic is all annoying especially at Barracks Road Shopping Center where there were always too many SUVs in the first place. Now there are more SUVs and they have students talking on their cell phones in them.

But the real issue, as far as I am concerned is what happened yesterday in the grocery store. They were all sold out of Apple Jacks.

This, in my opinion, is a Problem. Last week, Ricardo bought Cap'n Crunch which is delcious, don't get me wrong! But I was really hankering for Apple Jacks. Ever since I spotted Ryan who is one of the people I teach with, ambling down the hall with a bowl of Apple Jacks for breakfast, I have been craving them. But yesterday there were no large boxes, none whatsoever in all of Harris Teeter.

This opened me up to a dilemma. Should I buy the little boxes and suffer through the ineveitable Corn Flakes and Pops (also a fine breakfast item)? I'd only get two little boxes, enough for one bowl really. Did I switch to Froot Loops, which are a close relative but which lack the cinnamon toasty-ness of my heart's desire. Could I make do with another week of the Cap'n? Or should I just eat the frosted mini wheats I already have and get over myself.

I realize the paucity of the Apple Jacks may not in fact be the fault of the students. But it's much more fun to blame them than it is to wonder why there is a conspiracy to deny me my cereal of choice.

How you know your anti-depressants are working

First it's the little things. A third grader (OK, she should be a fourth grader, but she got held back) who falls on the floor and refuses to do any work and then gets made and huffy at you when you tell her she needs to get up and sit in her chair properly. While once this might have bothered me, I found I was mildly amused by it all, and not at all frustrated.

Then it's slightly larger things, like the favorite student from last year with a family crisis who comes to me first thing in the morning to cry on my shoulder and needs serious intervention to help. While once I might be crying with her, or worried about her all day, I found that I could think about her, worry for a second or two, remind myself that she was being taken care of and get back to business in the classroom.

And then the serious test. The house disaster test.

I got an email from Ricardo yesterday. In it he mentions in a very off the cuff sort of way that buying the special drain cleaner from Martin Hardware wasn't going to fix the slow drains in the showers upstairs.

I saw this email and thought, "Huh." So later in the day, not even during my lunch, but at the end of the day, I called to see what had fixed the drains (since it was clear in the email that the showers were open for business upon arrival home).

Let's start with the way I know that my anti-depressants are working, shall we? I have a hole, a rather good sized hole, gaping in the ceiling of my downstairs bathroom. Not only do I have a hole about the size of a generous beach ball, but I am not right now experiencing any elevated blood pressure over it.

Turns out that the pipes that the two upstairs showers share had clogged and rotted through. Water was dripping down into the bathroom. By the time the plumber came it was clear that the ceiling was toast. The plumber checked to see that the showers were not the problem, assessed that the pipe was old, clogged with hair (clearly mine, OK, because Ricardo, very very bald), and needed to be replaced. $350 and a spaniel sized hole later, and I was ready to shower the 3rd grade grime for my ample body.

Now we have to wait for everything to completely dry out so we can replace the whole ceiling in the bathroom.

Not 6 weeks ago this would have left me shaking in a corner. And now? Well better living through chemistry I say!

Benefits Boogie!

So due to a number of reasons, none of which I plan to share in this forum, we're in the market for health insurance. And as it happens we kind of need to get the benefits under way, by oh say, Sunday of next week.

Ricardo is going to be visiting professor at GWU this year and will be there for 4 days a week. So he can get his benefits there, in DC. But here in Svarlbad, we're kind of out of network. So what to do? Shall I get my insurance through the schools? Shall I trek to DC for my care? Should we risk it and go with a low cost PPO or play it safe with the HMO? Arrrgh!

So today was spent poring over various charts and tables dedicated to health plans. Have you ever spent any time looking at these things? I swear to God, they're designed to try to be "easy to read." What this means is that they are indecipherable.

Here are some examples of the weirdness of all this.

In order to cover myself and my family on my health plan it will cost me $987 a month. That's what they will deduct from my check. However they will then give me a bunch of money back. So what will the health plan actually cost? Wait for it....$488.17 a month. WTF?

But here's the kicker. It's cheaper for me to insure myself and my son on one plan and myself and my husband on the other plan than it is to insure all of us. So basically, it would cost (actually cost, once they paid back parts) $106.08/month for me to insure myself and The Kid. To insure myself and Ricardo? $275.45. To insure all of us? $488.17. WTF????

Then which plan do you chose? What is coinsurance? Why are the deductibles $20 or $30 for your PCP? What are they charging extra for? And why won't they tell you? Why do some plans have deductibles and coinsurance. And when it's a deductible of $1500 is that for one person? two people? 19 people?

I also have found that the people who work for benefits are terrible to deal with. Because they have been asked every question there is to ask about benefits and they understand the plans perfectly, and how retarded do *you* have to be to be asking *that*?

I'm starting to understand why it is that my shrink doesn't deal with any insurance of any kind. She is strictly cash and carry and I am beginning to respect that.

In a related note today someone who shall remain nameless (if it were I, I'd totally tell you, it's not like you don't know my bra size and my dress size, for Christ's sake) went to his/her shrink and had a whole conversation about anti-depressants. Two fascinating observations came out of this.

Observation 1: Why do the media call antidepressants "happy pills?" If they actually made you happy they'd have a street value.

So that got me thinking, as it is, they make it so that you have the potential for happiness, but ultimately whether you experience it or not is up to you and who you're hanging out with. Perhaps one should try the Little Miss Sunshine test. If you're on your meds and you can't laugh at that movie, you need to have a chat with the shrink.

The second observation the shrink made is as follows: How does he know when someone is over medicated? If they have a conversation with their health insurance company and they aren't enraged, they're over medicated.

And thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges...

What Shall We Have For Breakfast?

The next day dawned hot and sunny. Our plan had been to go to Ocean World and enjoy a day there away from the hell that was the compound of the Lifestyles Hacienda Resort. And we were looking forward to our hot, fresh breakfast.

I was up early because the concrete like bed had left me with stabbing pains in my back. So I was there to witness the truck pull up and disgorge two maids with plates from the buffet. It seems that, as per usual in a Latin country the term "fresh" does not mean what it means in the US. Fresh is a relative term and means only that once upon a time the ingredients were prepared and at some point that day they were in fact "fresh."

A plate of sausage and potatoes, another of waffles, a third of bacon and a fourth holding pancakes were brought into the villa. There the maids proceeded to microwave them all and serve them to us. We did not immediately tell my mother since she'd had a hard day the day before and we thought maybe she mightn't find out about the "fresh breakfast." After all, the eggs were prepared on our stove.

The breakfast was tolerable and we proceeded on to Ocean World. Once there we found that the Kid could not have an encounter with the sea lions as was promised at the hotel (quel surprise!) but we did pay for him to have his picture taken with the sea lion and it was awesome.

We swam in one of their aquariums where you can snorkel with all kinds of fish including this huge school of giant silver fish whose name I do not know. We also saw a shark show, a dolphin show and swam at the beach. We then walked back to the resort since we'd been told all different times for the bus and frankly it just wasn't that long a walk.

That night we ate at the so called "sea food" place, Blue Lagoon. Most of the food was disgusting, but Santiago liked his fish. Mine was virtually inedible. When we went back to the buffet to get ice cream, we found that everything we ate there was being served on the buffet. D'oh!

So we loaded up on sliced beef (it was so much better than what we'd eaten) and bread and lettuce and tomatoes. The next day we ate great steak sandwiches at the villa. Ingenuity paid off for us!

OK. I need to get back to making supper. Sorry to not be around much, but I started back to school this week and it's kicking my ass. Besides, I am not feeling the love people. Let me know if this saga is worth continuing, ok?

Lying Liars and their Stiking Lies. Part II of the DR

I'm going to start this by saying that I went to the Doc in the Box this morning because I couldn't stand the stomach issues I was having still after the trip. I had a fever and swollen internal organs. Diagnosis? Salmonella! I think that's a good preview for the next part in this series.

Our second full day dawned cloudy and drear. We became trapped in the breakfast buffet as it rained monsoonal rains upon us. No matter. We needed to pack up anyway to move to the Villa that day.

My mom had booked two nights in the suites and then 5 nights in the Villa. She paid for all 7 in the Villa but the evil bitch who sold us this trip double dipped and sold us 5 days and someone else 5 days but charged both of us a whole week's worth and overlapped them so she only paid for 10 days. More on her to come.

The night before my mother had arranged for us to move at 4pm so we could enjoy the beach for the day and not have to rush back. But when we got to the reception area they told us we needed to leave our room because they needed it for someone else arriving that day. By then the sun had come out and we were ready for beach. So Ricardo went up and moved our stuff. But while waiting, my mom found out that we could move to the Villa then and have the whole day ahead of us at the beach. So when he came down, we told him the plan and vacated the rooms.

But it turns out that that was a lie. Because when we came down with all our stuff, surprise! The Villa wasn't ready. And also we owed them 20 pesos for a call we'd made to the Trapische Paradise restaurant the night before because they wouldn't give us a reservation at a restaurant and we didn't want to eat at the buffet again. It was 10:30am.

Now, 20 pesos is about 60¢. It's 33 pesos to the dollar. So I handed her a 500 peso bill. But she couldn't make change. But we couldn't check into the villa until we'd settled our bill with them. But they couldn't make change. Finally I found a 100 peso bill. Still, no change. WTF? I was yelling at them. My mother was yelling at them because we'd been tricked into giving up our rooms and there was no villa for us.

Finally they agreed to "transfer" the 60¢ charge to the villas, we got a guagua (bus) to take us to the villas reception. It was now 11:30 am. There they kept us waiting while they answered the phones instead of helping us and took other customers before us for another 1/2 an hour. We were told they were cleaning the villa. We were told there was no villa for us. We were told we'd been upgraded to VIP and then that we weren't. Eventually someone came to take us to the villa.

And then the fun started. It was 1:15. We got to the villa where we proceeded to slide on the tile floors which were wet but not clean. Everyone chose bedrooms. We turned on the fans because it was a million degrees in there. In the bedrooms we cranked down the thermostats. But then we couldn't find the thermostat in the living areas.

At reception we had been told the villa was air conditioned. We had specifically asked, because the day before we found out from a guest member like us that hers was had a/c only in the bedrooms. My mother had insisted we be given a place with a/c throughout because we knew from another person (a VIP) that her villa did have a/c throughout.

So we asked Diaz who had brought us there where the a/c was for the living areas. He said it was on. We hadn't turned it on. How did it get on? The maid turned it on. Where were the vents? He said he didn't know. So we began looking. But there were no vents. Because there was no a/c. Finally we got him to admit there were no vents. But, he told us, if we leave the bedroom doors open it will cool the villa. So we left the doors open and put the fans on. It did not cool the villa. We asked to be moved to another villa one with a/c. But they couldn't do that. All the villas were full. There were members coming and the villas were being saved for them.

We had been told by the absolute bitch whom my mother had rented from that we would be entitled to all the VIP privileges she got. So we were still of the opinion that this might be true. Thus we began the quest for our golf cart, promised by Eileen Bravo whom we'd rented from (DO NOT RENT FROM HER ON EBAY SHE LIES!). But we couldn't have one. There weren't any. We weren't members. My mother pointed out that she'd had surgery the month before and they told us they could probably get us one. But then no, they couldn't because the members were coming and they needed them. There was not one single golf cart to spare. Nor a villa with air conditioning since everything was so so full. At the lowest season in the tropics. With the place at least 1/2 empty. 1/2 empty? they scoffed! Full, full, full.

By then it was like 3:00 and we were starving. We had once again failed to get reservations for a restaurant. Our entire day had been eaten up by the lying merry-go-round. So Diaz called us a guagua. Which didn't come. So we all piled on his golf cart and they took us to Indochine to get something to eat. The food was inedible. The hamburgers had hard bits of bone in them. The pasta tasted funny. We ate almost nothing and then returned to our villa.

And thus began the quest for breakfast. We had been told we would get a hot cooked breakfast in our villa every morning. So when we called, they told us we could only get a continental breakfast. Finally we got a customer service person on the line. We began to ream her out over everything that had happened. She promptly blamed everything on Eileen Bravo. It had become clear that she was a total liar and her ad had been full of total bullshit. But it wasn't like the resort hadn't had their fair share of lies to spread as well.

Between my yelling at Nicola and Ricardo yelling at her, we managed to get some free passes to Ocean World out of them. I told her they needed to be ready for us to pick up in one hour. Of course they weren't. But we got them.

We went back to the villa where Cesar appeared to try and straighten us out. He claimed that eggs, bacon, waffles, these things were part of a continental breakfast. Despite the paper that we'd gotten with what we could order. On that paper it said continental breakfast was rolls, fruit, juice and coffee. But he denied what was written there. Then he told us that we were never told what we'd been told. We'd always been told we were getting a hot breakfast. OMFG!!! Get me out of this fun house!!!!!

That night we went back to the Trapische Paradise where we had a delicious meal.

Tune in tomorrow to find out exactly what a hot breakfast at the Lifestyle Hacienda Resort and Spa is...

Where to even begin. Part I of the Dominican Republic Saga

Yesterday we got home from the Dominican Republic trip we took with my mother. I've spent the last week trying to figure out just how I can possibly blog about this week. I'm still working on this, but have decided that it's too long a tale to be told in a single entry. This is a multipart story.

Theme 1 of the DR Saga: Arriving

Let's start with the fact that we had a 6 am flight to Miami out of Dulles. Dulles is a complicated airport. It's complicated because it's old and under construction. It's complicated because it's near DC and it's all threat level conscious and all (not like National i.e. Reagan where Ricardo managed to take a pocket knife right on through security no questions asked. He's also gone through without any picture id as well. Nice airport security!). It's complicated because in order to get to the gates you have to take shuttle buses, which I affectionately think of as "pods."

Because we were flying internationally, we couldn't do the self check in and instead had to wait in line. The thing about flying to Miami, is that it's the capital of Latin America. So the line, at 4:30am is long and full of Latins. More impressively it's full of their luggage. Piles and piles of suitcases, crammed to capacity, two to five per person spilled out of the lines as families who had shopped for days probably prepared to return to their home countries. We waited and waited and waited. Finally at 5:15 am they started to let us through the line so we could make the flight. At 5:30 we were still not through security. At 5:45 we pulled up at the gates on the pod and literally made a run for the flight. We were the second to last people on the plane. But we made it.

Maybe we should have taken that as a sign though. Maybe this was not a trip that was meant to be. But since we made it, we went.

Upon arriving in the DR we were greeted by a driver and brought to the Lifestyle Hacienda Resort and Spa. We had been told we were getting a two bedroom suite for the first couple nights. But...no! They did not have that. So we got two one bedroom suites. Fine.

We went to the pool, where we were immediately accosted by the first level shill sent to rope us into the sales pitch for the timeshare. When would we come for breakfast? He'd meet us there with our free gifts! Oh goody free gifts!

For dinner that night, because we couldn't get reservations at any of the restaurants in the resort, we went to the buffet. We'd dressed nicely but as it turns out the place was open air, no a/c. This is fine but it was hot and humid and the mosquitoes were out full force. But they had Dominican food and Ricardo and I were thrilled. We ate plantains and they had roast pig (chancho). This was going to be great! We headed back to the suites, climbed the three flights of stairs to get there. The air conditioning was on and we were tired. We all searched for the softest of the cement like pillows and then went to sleep. And thus endeth the first day.

By the next morning the vacation took its first turn. That morning we were accosted both by difficult bowels and by Alex of the timeshare shill. As it happens he didn't have our free gifts with him. Shock! Would we mind accompanying him to the office to get them? It would only take a minute or two and we'd be off to the beach. Hmmmm. It's getting fishy!

The gift turned out to be a bottle full of roots and twigs and leaves with a label on it calling it Mamajuana. It was a Dominican "vitality" elixir if filled 1/3 of the way with honey, 1/3 of the way with red wine and 1/3 of the way with brandy. Sure to beat viagra at its game. Guarunteed to clear up any ache and pain. Perfect for "el estress."

But the real "gift" as it were was the sales pitch, delivered by someone else in the scalding heat and humidty of the morning. When it became clear that we were not going to give them $85,000 so that we could pay 1200 a week to stay in their resort, they allowed us to leave, calling the "guagua" so we could head to the beach.

Once there, we continued to get accosted by everyone about buying there. I started to pretend I didn't speak Spanish or English or German or French (actually it's not hard with th German now since I wasn't very good at it 19 years ago in college and haven't spoken it since then). This worked relatively well and provided a certain measure of calm.

The beach was not fabulous, the sand rocky and rough the waves too strong in one place. But once we learned to stay in front of the VIP beach, we enjoyed bobbing in the waves, and once we also figured out we could use the VIP beach, we took full advantage of their cool bubbling pools and the all you can drink piña coladas. The Kid was on a regular of 4 or 5 a day (virgin, of course!).

The VIP beach more than made up for the only so-so nature of the actual beach. Not only did it have a collection of bubbly hot tub like pools with cold water in them, a waterfall, and drink service, there were no chairs there. Instead they provided a series of beds. Queen sized platforms held thick soft matresses (better than the actual beds) with curtains around them and over them for shade. Some were swings, others double decker, still others low and some high. All of them had pillows and fresh towels on them. Talk about decadance there.

Day 1: Creepy sales pitch, but great beach. So far, a dream!

Tune in tomorrow for the metamorphasis of dream to nightmare as the saga continues with the tale of leaving the suites for the villas. There will be lies, deception, anger, and more!

Why I am not in Real Estate

This last weekend we went to a small mid-Atlantic city to look at housing for my mother who is considering moving there. It's a neat little city with great food (and freaking unbelievable Italian cookies).

But I learned something important while there. 1. I now know who shops at Touch of Class. 2. I can not be a real estate agent.

On Saturday we looked at a bunch of condos which were cool, but not "it." One was in a converted abbey which was architecturally amazing (stained glass, carved wood, etc) but completely stultifying since the entire view, out of every window was either bricks from the walls across the way, or trash cans and dumpsters. Another one had a hallway so narrow, I thought I might have to turn sideways to make it down with my girth. It actually reminded me a little of getting an MRI. Not good. There was one that was phenomenal (Brazilian cherry floors, Thermidoor everything, marble steam shower and soaking tub, closets galore).

My first inkling that realty is not for me came in the MRI hall apartment. How cold I show that apartment to someone and not begin to wig out and need a valium every time I went down the hall? How could I tout the architecture of the abbey, without cringing from the claustrophobia of dumpsters and brick. It's one thing to be a monk and in a cell and feel closed in (with God, I'd assume). It's another thing to try to make someone else buy that lifestyle for $490k.

It was the second day of house hunting that clinched it for me, however. On that day we saw one crappy place after another. And then we saw a house. Right down the hill from the Thermidoor place. And I loved this house. It was quirky and funky and seemed so cheap for what it was. I'd live in the house. But not with the current decor. And here begins the true tale of why I can never become a realtor.

These people, whose names I do not know, who live in this charming mid-Atlantic city, near a lovely city park, have shopped at Touch of Class.

When we first entered the house it became clear that the people who lived there, had, how shall we say, eclectic tastes. Not only were there still several Christmas decorations up, but they were a very strange mix. There was the styrofoam dove with its glittered body and glittered strings in its mouth. But there was also the glass Christmas Barbie statue on a dresser. These were mixed in with two ceramic Easter Bunnies and a carousel horse.

The house was very long and narrow (not MRI narrow). You passed from the entry hall/living area, through the dining room which were both full of antiques (and strange holiday stautuary). The kitchen needed to be redone entirely and seemed to have last seen attention sometime in the late 70s or early 80s when the dark wood cabinets with their faux victorian shape and hardware were put in.

It wasn't until we were in the master bedroom that I first had the urge to begin to take pictures. I will not show any here because that would be wrong, and because the camera on my phone stinks. The master bedroom was resplendent in over the top, polyester golden stripes. But what held me in thrall was the artwork over the bed. There, painted on canvas, was a lovely scene of a pond in the country, surrounded by verdant growth, a natural idyll. And the piece de resistance was the wooden carved geese that flew up in formation from the painting, right out into the room in 3D splendor. The photo snapping commenced!

I could not believe my luck when I hit the closet. There were (God I hope they were!) costumes!! Velvet and downy feathers, sequens, lace and beads. A captain's hat. Boas. Either these people were reenactors, fetishists or worse, they wore these things out!

In the bathroom everything was carpeted. Why do some people need to dress their toilets up like that? The seat was carpeted. The toilet had its own special carpet around it, as well as one gracing the top of the tank, all in a soothing dusty rose color.

Another room featured resin scultpures of animals. There was a woman with wolf hounds (not unlike my beloved Greyhound lady), as well as mice and rabbits. Oddly though there was also a vintage print of the Cutty Sark.

My favorite "accent" may have been the resin switchplates throughout the house which featured irridescent pansies and violets on them.

But I ask you. How could I have shown this house to potential buyers? I was way too busy snapping photos of the beribboned carousel horse (which was as tall as my shoulders) to actually talk to anyone about such banalities as utilities and on street parking. No. I am clearly better off simply being the looker rather than the shower.

Come to think of it, I have been thinking I needed a new hobby...

Hantavirus

I am about 98% sure I now have the Hantavirus. Why do I believe myself infected with this deadly disease? Well, let me tell you why. It's long. You should not be surprised by that fact.

Over the weekend I decided that it was time to sell the Elliptical Trainer that has happily resided, like a neglected and yet abused kitten in my study for the last 5+ years. Now that I belong to (and actually go to) the Gym, I don't need it and it takes up a massive amount of space. So yesterday around 5pm I listed it on Craigslist and by 9:30 pm it was gone from my life (and my study! Yeah me!).

The thing is I have not been writing very much (ok at all, fine. happy now are you?!). I wrote while at my mom's and I've worked out some issues with the character development, but I am about 1/2 way through the novel and I haven't written anything on it in 3 weeks. Maybe that's because I am having a minor issue right now, but it could also be that I hate my study. So it was time for a change.

The plan was get rid of the Elliptical, move the desktop computer back to the kitchen, move the extra desk to the guest room and bring the chair and a half up from the family room. No problem right? All I had to do was move the computer, clean out the desk and do the switcheroo.

Maybe this is the time to mention the mice. We have mice. From what I can tell in my laundry room, actually the mice seem to have people rather than we having them. They chewed up my World Market scone mixes (OMFG I love those things!), ate my Kid's shirt, and chewed through the thistle seed for the finch feeder (which we no longer have so why do we have the seed in the first place anyway?).

Because my son is a kind and good child he refused to let me buy poison or traps. So I bought those little noise things you plug in to the outlets which make this hideous high pitched sound that makes mice run away. Or let's hope they do. Because the next step is massive giant portions of poison.

In order to move the extra desk from my study to the guest room, we needed room for it there. So my husband decided to move the random collection of cd players, VCRs, DVD players and microwaves (OK, just one microwave) to the closet. Which he could not do. Because it was full of voluminous piles of shit. Which he started hauling out and cleaning without even asking did I think this was the time or place for a household dark night of the soul.

Here's what was in the closet:

1 box of stunning, vintage Block Lagenthal china
22 rolls of wrapping paper for assorted occasions
1 box of tumblers (handy! I have a boy who broke most of mine)
4 music boxes purchased by my mother (I have shipped them to you, Mom)
3 sets of sheets which go to a bed we no longer have
4 cordless phones
1 corded phone
curtains so ugly I can't believe we bought them and instead cling to the fantasy that my husband's stepmother gave them to us
my late father-in-law's entire collection of pajamas
a collection of notebooks my husband used while in graduate school
a box of photos from my wedding (none of them any good)
two random pieces of glass
1 bag of art supplies
1 bag with random tea cups and saucers (?)
1 huge set of toys for a 4 year old boy (but not mine because we didn't give them to him)
a comforter and pillow shams given to us by my brother-in-law who got them free from a trade show 15 years ago
boxes to every piece of electronics equipment we've ever bought including those we no longer have
a box full of manuals to appliances we no longer have
a box of random detritus
office supplies
a box of three ring notebooks
and.....

The BIGGEST FUCKING MOUSE NEST I HAVE EVER SEEN

So the simple switcheroo became an exercise in mousey exorcism. First everything had to come out of the closet. Then we made piles just like they do on TV: keep (the glasses and the china, because that shit is just gorgeous!) recycle (boxes, notebooks, random pieces of glass etc) trash (everything that was permeated by mouse house or excrement, and everything we've never used in the 7 years we've lived here) and trash lite (everything else) which we were going to take to Goodwill.

Then we moved the desk. When my father-in-law died, my step-mother-in-law insisted we take this dolly they had. I thought that was ridiculous to have. How much moving were we going to do that we needed a dolly, for God's sake? My husband insisted we needed the dolly. We must have the dolly. How can one live without a handcart? And I now must confess today I am a grateful woman. Because no way was I moving that desk without it today.

All this was made harder by the fact that we started it after we'd been at the gym for an hour and a half, after I pulled my left lat muscle and while my car was in the shop getting inspected (yes I missed the deadline again) and new brakes.

So once the shit was all hauled out and everything was vacuumed, sanitized, scrubbed and sorted, we ravenously devoured a subway turkey sub, dropped the stuff at Goodwill, picked up my car, loaded it with boxes and took them to the recycling center. Then we ran home, showered and parted ways, Ricardo to retrieve the Kid at camp, take him to piano and a hair cut, me to ice my side and head to the post office to mail the boxes of my mom's stuff to her and then to the grocery store so I could get home and make dinner.

But ever since I was in that closet I have been convinced I didn't actually pull a muscle. That instead the pain is in my lungs and is the start of the hantavirus which I have contracted in my quest to expel the mice from my house which was a mere side effect to my getting rid of the Elliptical so that I can have a more pleasant place to write.

Oh yeah. I'm writing this from the dining room.

And the Kid has pointed out we have ants in the kitchen now.

Observations from a waterpark

This Saturday we went to a waterpark in the north of our state. It's one of these things that has a lazy river, slides, obstacle courses, kiddie/fecal matter pools, lap pools etc. It's great fun for all ages which is why we went because my brother in law and his family had come down from their home to see us and we'd all met at my mother in law's.

Now I'll start by saying that we're not a typical family. First there's the Spanish speaking which is not unusual in this state or this area, but which could have gotten us into terrible trouble since the county where the water park is is trying to get rid of all Hispanics, um, sorry, illegals (just Hispanics). On top of this, my BIL and his wife adopted a baby girl from Ecuador when she and The Kid were about 10 months old (they are three days apart, give or take since no one is really sure when she was born). So José, like Ricardo is married to a Jew from the Northeast. But they have a Native American child. Oh, and their other child? A 15 year old former boy soldier from Sierra Leone who is trying to get asylum to stay in the US. He's awesome. Smart, funny, clever and charming.

So here comes this loud, Spanish/English (Creole, I guess too but only the Boy Soldier speaks that) multi generational family and we're getting a lot of stares. But I kind of don't see why. Because my niece is a very attractive girl, the Boy Soldier is gorgeous, and none of us resembled anything close to the human freak show in attendance at this park.

See the park itself belongs to the county. It's public. And that means that the people who come to it are also the public. And I have this to say. There are some fucking freakish looking people in this world. And seeing them in their bathing suits? Yeah. That doesn't help. Moreover, it seems the more outlandish one person is, the more bizarre their mate is as well.

Couple #1: Skinny skinny little white guy around 48 maybe 50ish. Balding, but with a scraggly, pitiful pony tail which reaches 1/2 way down his back. Sunken chest, chicken skinned flesh. Has not been in the sun in 40 years. But who is he with? A massive woman, with rolls and rolls of blubber wearing a bikini three times too small for her. Now I am not a small woman. I freely admit that. But I also would never dream of wearing a bikini in public. Hence the id picture joke, people. When your stomach rolls over the bikini bottom so that the only fabric visible is from the back end, it is time for a different sartorial choice, woman.

Couple #2: Tandem Tattoos. He is clearly military (what gives it away? The Semper Fi tattoo, of course). She is clearly not a real blond (roots the size of Nebraska). She has an elaborately flourished tattoo on one shoulder of the name Kevin (I hope/assume it's the Marine). On the other arm she has a celtic-like arm band. She has a rose on her low stomach and, wait for it... a butterfly on her hip. He's got a matching arm band although has gone with the more masculine barbed wire, and the forearm of his other arm has a Sacred Heart of Jesus tattoo.

Couple #3: Massive man with a stomach that makes him look like he's 18 months pregnant. But it's not the stomach that is as distracting as the fact that he is liberally furred all over with thick curling hair. The guy looks like he wore a velcro suit to the vet's office and then rolled around on the floor. It's unbelievable! He is with a woman who is waaaaay too old to have a rhinestone belly button ring and who is so deeply tanned that she is in fact leathery looking. Like she's been tanned, not by the sun, but by a professional who plans to use her hide for a nice pair of pumps. She is sporting a pair of fake boobs so stiff that you could hang a winter coat on them, and nails which are long, hot pink, and pierced with a little gold ring and rhinestone. Gorilla man spends his time in the inner tube on the lazy river with his foot hooked into the handle of her tube while she spends most of her time in a cervical tuck, rearranging the expensive cleavage in the shocking pink bikini top so that she (and he) spend most of their time contemplating that particular expenditure.

And people stared at us. I guess we're just as freakish as everyone else.

I've been very good about going to the gym most days

and the results?

I've fucking gained weight. That is the result of working out every day. I gained 5 pounds.

Jesus Christ on a Popsicle stick!

I'm even paying for a personal trainer to torture my "core" muscles for a half hour. Which is very painful, by the way. And then I spend a half hour on the arc trainer. And then I stretch and do my back exercises. The results are weight gain.

I get that muscle weighs more than fat, but this is a real shit sandwich. Because the whole point was to lose weight and not gain it.

I guess this is another instance of the way my life seems to work.

What I have learned this week

1. Do not sit on a vinyl chair in your underwear even if your kid is at camp and you don't need to wear pants. It's summer here and you will be sorry.

2. Bring your own damn towel to the gym. Theirs are manky and ewwww.

3. Order more water than you think you need because even if you think you don't drink it, the tap water is gross and you'll be sorry when you run out of good water and have to drink that shit.

4. I have conceivably the worst luck ever: I join the gym, two days later I get the email that says it's only $9.50/month through my school system. I buy an iPod shuffle and then I get the $50 rewards certificate from Best Buy one week later.

5. Food simply disappears upon bringing it into the house. I know I don't eat it. Some of it I do. But it's futile to try to keep the fridge full when everyone is home and eating all the time.

6. Chorizo chimichangas are a stern master.

That's what I've learned. Can't wait to see what happens next, can you?

I've been a baking fool!

Since I have been back here from the New England City which shall remain nameless but finally has a winning baseball team, I have been baking a lot. It's probably because I am really depressed about some things going on right now which I can't talk about on the blog but which suck more than anything has ever sucked before.

So last weekend we had someone to dinner on Saturday night. And I made a chocolate raspberry cake. But her dog ate part of it while we weren't looking. So Sunday, when we were going to our friends' house for dinner, I had said I'd bring dessert. And I had meant to bring the chocolate raspberry cake. But since the dog ate part and we'd eaten part, I figured I needed to make a different cake.

The Kid and I went to the Giant up the highway from us and I got it into my head to make a coconut cake. So I made a massive (I mean this sucker had to weigh 6 pounds) coconut mound of a cake. It was delicious. But since I had the leftover chocolate cake with the raspberry filling and since Ricardo and I ate a ton of the frosting (may I recommend using coco lopez in the coconut frosting? It is to die for), we left the rest of the cake with friends.

Now tonight, we have someone coming to dinner. So I am baking a blueberry pie. I even did the lattice top and glazed it and sugared it.

I guess joining the gym was perhaps prescient? Oh except, that with my luck, two days after I signed the 12 month contract I found out that I could get a deal through my school system to pay only $9.50 a month. Two fucking days. Fuck. I need a pie.

I just joined a gym

I've never belonged to a gym before. Frankly they are not the place people of my particular dimensions want to be seen in sticky tight clothing. If I were svelte, I'd be thrilled to sport some stretchy tops, but since all my tops are stretchy if only to fit across my ample bosom, it's just not the same.

See I've realized this year has royally sucked ass. I kind of hate my job in that the kids are not the age group I really like. I love my principal and would work for her any time. And my partners are really great, but it's not the kind of teaching I love doing.

Ricardo has had a brutalizing year with all the administration stuff going on and still having other responsibilities.

My mom has had surgery for cancer. My step-mother-in-law had a pacemaker put in. It's been a shitastic year.

And the newest crap keeps on getting hurled onto the top of the pile. I can't blog about it because it's all still going on, but imagine all the bad things that have been listed and then crank them to 11 (you know, it's one more than 10). Let's sum it up by saying I don't think I've ever cried this much since my son was born prematurely and we were told he'd have only a 60% survival rate. And since in a few weeks that got bumped up to 90%, this is in many ways worse.

All I can say is that our health is fine, the house is good (cool thank God because it's fucking hot out here), the kid is fine. It's just everything else that's in disarray.

So I figured, I could go to the doctor and get some drugs to counteract the panic attacks, *or* I could go to the gym.

And how things have changed! Ok so this is Gold's Gym. As in super buff, steroid freaks with cooking oil slicking themselves down. But it's not! It's full of like normal people. Chunks like me, decrepit gomers even, completely normal people. And I'm all excited. So I am going back tomorrow. I did stop at K-Mart next door because at home I tend to get on the elliptical in a crapped out sportsbra, jammie pants and sneakers. It seemed I needed actual clothes for public exhibition of exercise. But even so, it's a good deal for teachers.

And the best part is they don't have a pool. So we can use all these hotel pools here in town. And since pool memberships run $1200, I figure $39.99/month is a bargain.

So how long will I make it going there? We'll see.

Squirrel Bait

And I am not making this up. I was on the phone with Ricardo at the time and he can vouch for how wigged out I was by it all.

So I am at my mom's still, helping out while she's recovering from her surgery (and she's doing really well which is awesome because I don't think I realized how worried I was before it all). And she lives in this amazingly fabulous brownstone in an undisclosed New England city (you do the freaking math). I didn't want to wake her yesterday so I decided to call Ricardo while sitting on her stoop which is something one does in said undisclosed New England city (it's simple math, people).

I've been really emotional lately because there is a whole lot of hideous shit going on on our lives above and beyond my mom's cancer and my job with feral third graders. So I really needed to connect with Ricardo because I was emotionally gelatinous yesterday morning (better today but still edgy, so Ricky turn on your damn cell phone already this morning!). So I sat on the stoop so we could chat.

And it was perfect weather, like the temperature of air conditioning, 70 and dry. And we're chatting about everything, what this year will be like, plans for his book, work for the summer, schedule for the Kid, yadda yadda, when I notice this cute little squirrel looking right at me. But it's a wild, city squirrel so I think to myself it won't come near me. Not that I am afraid of squirrels. I kind of like them. It's the series of rabies shots I fear. You know how I like those freakshow shows? Well I watched one about a girl who got rabies from a bat in her church and what happened to her and well all I can say is OMFG I do not want rabies.

So I ignored the squirrel and kept chatting. But then it started up the stairs. My mom's house has a lot of stairs. There are like 10 just to get to the front door. And the squirrel was warily but steadily making his way towards me. And looking at me with his beady little eyes. He'd scurry up a couple stairs and then turn sideways and pace a little and then come up some more. He was coming right for me.

So I stood up thinking that that would scare him. He bolted across the railing onto the matching stairs to the neighbor's house. I sat back down and thought that was the end. But it wasn't. The squirrelly bastard started peaking through the scroll work. And the next thing I knew he was back on my side.

I started to wig. Ricardo said throw something at him. But it's a city in an undisclosed New England location. Everything is fucking bolted down or people steal shit. So the best I could find were some dead leaves off a plant and a styrofoam bird in my mother's window box. So I threw the leaf because I didn't want to find that the window box came down. The fucking thing made a lunge at that point.

I swear it was headed towards my ankles. So I was the one running now. I ran down the stairs away from it and the beast followed me. So I ran back up the stairs and it came after me. I hissed at it like you do a cat and it just stopped and stared at me then kept a-coming. And all I could think of is a series of shots in the stomach and hoping I don't die of my brain pickling. And would my insurance cover that.

Then Ricardo said, why don't you just go back in the house.

Jesus. I think I already have rabies if I couldn't figure that one out.

Good news! Mom's going to be fine

The surgery went really well yesterday. It was an hour and a half shorter than they expected and they said the cancer was completely contained and they got it all "if it exists." So I am thrilled by that, frankly. And the fact that she is back to being Miss Sassypants. Well duh! Where did you think I got it?

Is there such a thing as sympathy stomach problems?

I know that people can get sympathy cravings when their wives/partners are pregnant. But stomach issues? Hmmmmmm.

So I am in a major city in New England for my mom's cancer surgery and before the surgery she had to like roto rooter her insides. And I swear to God I am having the same thing in sympathy for her!!! What the fuck is *that*?

In other news, I have functionally finished the school year. I have left my kids in the hands of a sub. Ricardo is on the field trip with them right now and it's clear that the sub is not doing a great job. But, not my problem any more.

I should be here until June 5. Then I head back to home and pop into work that Friday. And then I really am done with the year. And what a hellacious year it's been. I feel like fucking Hurley from Lost.

Why do I always seem to get the first summer cold?

I've got a lovely cold right now. Complete with cough and asthma and the works. Just in time for the end of the year. I figure it has to be the stress of the year and the work and the house an my mom's being ill (clearly not your fault, mom!). But fuck! Just when I need to kick it into over drive, I come down with this shitty cold.

So last night instead of going to Richmond with Ricardo and the Kid and some friends to have dinner at a former colleague of Ricardo's house, I lay in bed and watched Bones on TV.

Which brings me to this post.

I have discovered that I am totally enamored of all kinds of truly sick TV watching. All these medical shows and Bones which is all about murders and sick decompositions of bodies and crap like that. When I look for shows on TiVo I inevitably am drawn to such gems as "I am my own Twin" about fetus in fetu (basically a parasitic undeveloped twin). Or I tape things about conjoined twins and their separation.

I am both repulsed by "A New Face for Marlie" and fascinated by it. Every time I look for that miracle of how much better they look when their massive facial tumors are removed and bone is crafted into a new "face." But they don't really look good at the end. And they are still kind of gross.

I can't get enough of shows on Primordial Dwarfs, people so small they rarely are bigger than a couple feet or weigh more than 20 pounds or so. I watch in horrified fascination as these miniature people are shown to be "just like everyone else" except for them a toy tea set is the right size.

And while I am ashamed at my need for these kinds of shows, it makes me feel like there is an audience out there for this or there would A) be no discovery health network and B) not be these shows.

So it all makes me think that this is the modern day sideshow in action. Instead of paying 50¢ a peep, I pay $120/month for cable TV which allows me to TiVo any and all of this kind of shit. It doesn't make me feel better about my viewing, but does at least allow me to view it at home in the privacy of my secluded room where I don't have to admit to others that I want to see this stuff.

Except, I just did.

Words cannot express the unabashed joy and euphoria

I experienced when upon arriving home from picking the Kid up at Tae Kwon Do, I found in my mail the newest issue of Touch of Class®!!! Elegant and casual? Scintillating and classy? Handcrafted and handpainted? You bet your ass it is!!!!!!!!!!

The count down begins

So a lot of shit is going on right now. My mom is having surgery (Hi Mom!) on 5/29. This means I am officially done with school on 5/27 because I have to travel on 5/28. School lets out on 6/4 and I don't get back from my unspecified location until 6/5. So this week is my last week.

And what can I say but Halle-fucking-lujah! The testing we've been going through has bottomed out my kids. They are grouchy, mean, prone to crying (actually that's not new), tantrumy, and miserable. I am grouchy, mean, prone to crying and while not tantrumy, tending towards the sarcastic with them which is not good and I am trying to avoid it.

In the meantime, I am trying to leave sub plans for the days I will be out. They look like this:

day 1: babysit
day 2: babysit on an all day field trip
day 3: babysit at field day
day 4: babysit in the room, make sure it gets clean
day 5: babysit in the room, don't let them kill each other
day 6: hold on until school is out at 1:00.

Good luck to *that* sub!

OK. Here's what's up

Everything I touch seems to turn to shit if it's in my house and costs a buttload of money.

Last week not only did the dryer die, but we once again had some minor flooding with a load of laundry. I realized in retrospect that had the timing worked out we would have been safe for years. But only if the washer flooded at the same time the dryer caught fire. So that was one expense.

The next major fiasco was that on Friday last it was hot. Or at least hot to me in my 1969 ranch house which is not designed to stay cool. Unless it's cold out. Then being cool is what it does best. But I want to be warm.

I digress.

It was hottish (like in the 80s) which meant the house was hottish which meant that I wanted to turn on the AC at least for an hour or two to cool down. So we did.

But nothing happened really. It just got hotter and hotter in the house. The fan blew but it wasn't getting cooler. So Ricardo cleaned the filter of the AC and put it back in. It was fairly nasty so we hoped it would work the next day.

But it didn't. So I wanted to call the AC guys. "You can't do that! If they come on a Saturday it'll be over time!" So I called to find out how much more and when I learned it was only $35 more I had the guy come.

"Well your problem is you don't have one drop of refrigerant in that system," he informed us.
"But if I was you, I wouldn't put any in either. That's a 22 year old system you got there. And the refrigerant is about $100 a pound. You need at least 10 pounds and that's if I can find the leak."

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaa?

And then he informed us that the refrigerant is so expensive because it's going to be illegal to sell new units that take that kind. It's damaging to the ozone. And that's why it's expensive too.

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaa?

One hour later we were scheduling the installation of a new 3 ton unit for inside and outside. Ouch!

It was the single most expensive 36 hours I've ever had where I did not buy a house, a car, or give birth to a extremely premature infant.

But there was reason to hope. Because on Monday our coffee maker arrived in the mail. I was so excited that I started to kind of skip as I got closer to the box. Which was embarrassing for my son to witness, his mother doing a jig over a coffee maker. But hey, he embarrassed me plenty as a screaming baby. It's payback time now.

We've been without an espresso maker since the middle of February when ours died and when, because it was under warranty, we sent it to Maryland to be repaired. But they didn't do it. And they didn't do it. After 1 month we called them. They hadn't gotten to it. After 6 weeks, Ricardo got hostile with Krups. They agreed to send us a new one.

But they didn't. They sent a reconditioned one. And Monday night, I excitedly unpacked it and set it up, running water through it and salivating at the thought of my fresh latte Tuesday morning.

I'm sure you know where this is headed by now.

It didn't work. And Krups? Yeah, they don't do refunds.

So right now I am sweating outside The Kid's piano teacher's house. It's 89 degrees according to the car's thermometer. I have 12 months to pay off the air conditioner, 18 months to pay off the new washer and dryer, and no coffee maker. My son had to wear a bathing suit (it looks like shorts) to school today because he had no clean underwear and when I get home the house will easily be 85 degrees inside. If I am lucky it will cool down by 1 am. Which is fine, because I'm not working tomorrow. After all, I have to wait at the house for the Washer and Dryer and the AC guys.

OMFGOMFGOMFGOMFG!!!!!!!!

We *now* need a new air conditioning unit. OMFG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I had to buy a new washer.

Actually I had to buy a new dryer. Ours won't shut off. And this is a fire hazard. I learned this was a fire hazard when I went to Best Buy yesterday to look at how much these things cost and mentioned my dryer was "on the fritz."

"Oh," said the tatooed hipper than thou employee. "What's wrong with it?"
"It won't shut off."
"Wow, that's really dangerous. It could start a fire."

Actually I kind of knew that because, A. I am not stupid, B. we discovered that when it ran all night, we could make a new duvet out of the produced lint, and C. my mother mentioned it this last weekend when she was here.

I told my mom that the dryer wouldn't shut off. She said, "Wow, that's a huge fire hazard." So I knew.

Yesterday I went to Best Buy to look at washers and dryers but was dazzled by the array of choices. I don't really like that many choices because it's overwhelming. And I needed to get my head around what one needed 14 wash cycles for anyway. And what is a steam dryer? Because isn't the dryer supposed to dry not steam?

My son had spend the night with his other grandmother the day before and when he got home last night, I was chatting with my mother-in-law about my vacation so far. Lame hardly describes it. But at any rate, she asked what I had done that day and I mentioned that I'd gone to Best Buy to look at washers and dryers. She asked why and I replied my dryer was on the fritz.

"What's wrong with it?" she asked but more accented and lilting than you're reading it.
"It won't shut off."
"Que bestia. That can be very dangerous. It's a fire hazard."

Yeah. I get that.

So last night after dinner with a former student of Ricardo's, I subscribed to Consumer Reports to investigate this whole thing. And I found the perfect washer and dryer! They were economical, front loaders, high on energy conservation. Fabulous!

And not available in my podunk, armpit region of the world.

And one wonders why I shop online?

Sooooo, I enlisted the help of The Kid today and after a lazy morning workout (how can one workout lazily? Have you seen the size of me?) and lunch, we hit the stores. First stop was Sears where they had the second choice washer and dryer and they were on sale. But, only 12 months financing and they dinged you $80 for delivery. You could freaking roll them down the hill to our house! $80! Screw that.

So we went to Lowes. They didn't have any of the models we were interested in. And they knew nothing about any of the models they were selling. And only 6 months financing. Plus I hate them.

Then it was back to Best Buy. Free delivery and set up, free haul away, and 18 months financing (which is good because holy fucking God, have you *seen* the cost of these things these days?!). Plus they can deliver them next Friday when I have off. And they were very nice to me. And the taxes from them (not small!) go to our city.

So what have I done with my break? I got an allergy shot, wrote a 70 page review packet of all the state standards k-3 for science and social studies. I worked out twice, did some laundry (but no drying unless I am in the house, because I *hear* it's a fire hazard). I bought some clothes and then returned them. How pitiful is that.

And finally, I need to call out the lurkers here. I know there are a bunch of you now. I am fine with that, but I' like a roll call or something so I know there's some interest of some kind out there. My ego is fragile, don't you know.

Blah!

Blah!  I am beyond tired right now.  And it's probably because I stayed up way late blogging last night and then couldn't fall asleep until way later and then didn't have coffee, because fucking Krups has not replaced my espresso maker, and not even I can face getting up earlier to make it to fucking Starbucks before 7 am.

Oh and we did a massive assed test simulation (which one of my kids referred to as our "stimulation" and which I completely cracked up over) and I had no chance to buy the kids treats last night so I went to CVS this morning and bought all the on sale chocolate bunnies they had and gave them out after the 2 1/2 hour test (who does this to 8 and 9 year olds? Oh that's right, George Fucking Bush).

Oh and Ricardo is out of town and I had to take the Kid to breakfast because I sure as hell wasn't going to scramble eggs this morning, goddamnit!

And also probably because I got to work at 7:15 this morning and then had parent teacher conferences this afternoon and didn't leave until 6:50pm and then had to come home and make dinner and couldn't even find food so settled for hot dogs and french fries which, I am fairly sure is not actually food and still served it to my only child.

And it's raining.

So my solution is to write standing up in the kitchen.  It's painful after standing all day except during conferences where I sat on the little mini fucking third grade chairs so it's keeping me from writing too long.

See?  Problem solved.

I have a new obsession

Recently, I received a catalog in the mail from a company called, "Touch of Class." I get a lot of catalogs because where I live there are hardly any decent stores and so I shop almost exclusively online or in other places when I go there, which is less often than I'd like. Mostly I throw these things away, and I might have done the same with this catalog, but the name was so very intriguing that I had to delve deeper.

And what a bottomless font it turned out to be!!!

So perhaps the better name is "Not Even One Single Touch of Class." And I do feel slightly guilty about what I am about to blog about because I am fairly certain (like maybe 80%) that my husband's step mother may have items from this company. But I simply cannot help myself! I must share this singular joy with the world.

The "Touch of Class" catalog sells "decor" for your "boudoir." And while it is mass produced, it is also somehow "hand-crafted," "handmade," and "hand-embellished" quite often. I have found myself reading this catalog cover to cover and counting the use of the words "decor," "accent," and "exclusive" just to see what percentage of the entries on any page include them. Here is a particular favorite of mine:

Rose Picture Wall Ornament

Complement a framed picture with this pretty Rose Topper from Glynda Turley. Resin accent has a golden finish; charming accent also has an open rose, smaller buds, and leaves. Beautiful floral-themed accent.

• Accent a framed print or wall art
• Resin rose swag has gold finish

Who is this Glynda Turley? Should I *know* who she is? Does the inclusion of her name somehow make hanging a piece of plastic crap on my wall a "classy" thing to do?

Here's another favorite of mine: The DonaBella Table Sculpture:

Here's the description:

DonaBella Table Sculpture

Taking her pet for a walk along the promenade, DonaBella enjoys the glorious day. Handpainted resin table sculpture features an elegant woman strolling with her greyhound. She wears a dusty aqua dress and broad sun hat.

• Depicts a stylish young woman with greyhound
• Perfect for display on an accent table or shelf
• Handpainted sculpture has feather & jewel accents

First off, I'd like to point out the use of the word "accents" because anything that is not an "accent" is clearly a piece of plastic detritus. And since it is "handpainted" somehow the injection molding that a fifteen year old in China oversaw is erased. And whatever you do, DO NOT miss the "details" sections on these things. They are freaking priceless!

But, now I *beg* you to go and look at this thing. The description is of a lovely woman walking her pet. The picture shows a complete whore out with her dog who I cannot imagine she does what with later when she gets home. The dog's nose is resting on her thigh right where her dress slits up to her poopik. Her "dusty aqua dress" is falling off her shoulders and her head is thrown back as if she were on a Playboy shoot. This is what "stylish" is these days? Is that what the kids are calling it now? The description should include things like "Turnons: long walks on the beach and making out. Turnoffs: Guys who smoke!!!!"

Another favorite element of this catalog is that everything in it is either resin or polyester. Is that why it's only a "Touch of Class?" Because if your entire house is filled with petroleum products you know you'd hit the big leagues?

And all this begs the question of who is buying this shit? Aside from my husband's step mother who may or may not own some resin figures (none of them whoring with pets, I will say in her defense), who buys this so-called "decor?"

Here one can shop for the lovely:

Celine Satin Coverlet, Bedding, & Curtains

Exquisite Celine bed ensemble will add beauty to your boudoir. From a central oval rose bouquet, the quilted coverlet of polyester satin blooms into a charming design. Magnificent roses border lustrous swags. Gathered bedskirt is solid satin with a 15" drop and split corners. Imported.

• Satin bed coverlet
• Vermicelli quilting
• Flip back design
• Available in Pearl, Blue, or Rose
• Touch of Class(R) design

And since it is Grande Size (note the elegant, Frenchified spelling) it will fit even the thickest mattresses (unless they are thicker than 10" because then it won't fit them). And what pray tell is "Vermicelli quilting?" It sounds like a fungus. Or a pasta. But definitely not something I want to sleep in. Is this whole catalog just a series of kinks?

The pages are organized along themes. There are the "Victorian" pages, the "Classic" styles (actually everything is classic in this catalog, and also frequently elegant, which must mean it's not). There are the "Jungle" styles and the "Beach styles." But basically it's all the same, narrated in bizarre prose without subjects most of the time and with odd vocabulary choices meant to sound, I believe the term is "classy."

There is also an endless array of art which must be inspired by Thomas Kinkade (you know, the painter of light?). Here is a piece by my favorite because the name just slays me: Fabrice de Villaneuve:

Normandie I Canvas Art

The quiet scene on the Normandie I Canvas will add a sense of peace to the walls of your home. Wall art features a table, a chair, and potted white florals in a home with a sage green door. Giclee on canvas is hand-embellished with acrylics. Limited edition canvas is signed and numbered.

• Wonderful art for kitchen or breakfast nook
• Limited edition giclee print
• From a Fabrice de Villeneuve original
• Included certificate of authenticity

I guess because it's a limited edition and her name is French it must be something very special indeed. After all, there are only 995 of these! Get 'em while they're hot!

If I were you I would go to this website and sign up for this catalog. I promise if you are anything like me (and for your sake I hope you're not, although there is medication for it), you will find it endlessly amusing.

God I am so Screwed!

This is for you Doug.

Last week, because I must have been on crack at the time, I bought pizza for the entire third grade. Why on earth would I do this? You mean aside from the $150 price tag once juice, grapes and paper goods were figured in? Here's why.

The thing is this is a testing year for my kids. That means they get tested by the state this May. But we test the shit out of them before that. My kids, the ones in my class, there is no reason at all that they can't pass every test. They are all on or above grade level, so I thought a little incentive would be a good thing. I settled on pizza. If everyone hit the benchmark at 75 or better I would get pizza for the class. Which turned into everyone else offering their class pizza too. Soon it was pizza for 70. Lucky us. All my kids passed btw.

So there I am last Thursday dishing pizza to 70 and I was starving. So while my fabulous partners were pouring juice and handing out grapes and carrots, I grabbed a couple pieces of pizza and crammed them down.

In an hour or so, I wasn't feeling so good.

And three hours later I was really not feeling good.

I got The Kid to piano and waited in the car. It was all I could do to drive home and make it to the toilet before the barf fest began.

Friday was a work day and I did not go in. I lay in bed wanting to die.

Saturday I woke up fine though. It was Ricardo's birthday weekend so we decided to go ahead with the plans to go to DC for the night and have a brunch out for his birthday. So we did. As we were driving home Sunday, I felt a little more tired than usual. I chalked it up to having lost 6 pounds in 36 hours.

By Monday I had a cold. Tuesday I dragged myself in to school and barely made it through the day. But I soldiered on. Wednesday I woke up thinking, "This is not good." I felt like I'd been hit by a truck. I was so tired and so achy and coughy. But I figured, one of my teaching partners was out that day with a bad migraine, I could make it through. By 10 am it was clear that was a very bad idea. The school secretary told me to stay home the next day and my principal told be to leave after the buses left. So I did. I left my plans on the back table, and went home where I climbed in bed for an hour before taking The Kid to soccer, leaving him there and crawling back home into bed.

The highpoint of the day though was that during our reading class, my group of high readers was looking at maps. This is the group that includes my own Kid. And they came across the Yellow Sea. And my own son started giggling. And then I heard it: "Hold on, wait a minute, let me put some yellow in it." He had taught his group mates the chant from the Yellow Sea during this summer's Semester at Sea voyage. And soon enough, 24 third graders were alphabetizing and writing up their cause and effect charts, and practicing their sentence combining while threatening to "put a little yellow in it." And when I told them that that was enough, my son, my only child, the premie from the NICU, the infant I stayed home with, nursed through illness, worried and fretted over, the boy I took this job for, taught them the next cheer: "We are the Yellow Sea and we're gonna pee on you." It was an elementary schooler's dream come true. A veritable fantasy of potty and one that GROWNUPS had come up with. I knew I was sick, because I just sighed and went over the parts of speech with the group I was with.

The next morning, I was watching the Today Show in my Nyquil induced haze when I saw the school closings at the bottom of the screen. I looked out the window. It wasn't snowing. What was going on? I couldn't figure it out. That's when it occurred to me, maybe I was really sick.

Turns out some nutter was out on 64 shooting at cars over the night. The high school locked down. The county closed schools. Everyone was in a tiz. And this meant the plans I left were no good because the kids were supposed to go to the high school to go to the Art Show. No dice there. And no outdoor recess. It was going to be a loony bin over there.

And the difference between being 26 and being 36? I was just glad it wasn't me over there at school.

I slept all morning, got up, made popcorn, and slept all afternoon.

And I took today off too. I still feel like utter crap. I blame the testing. It's a good thing we've got more coming up this week.

Cold and Wet

Here's what happened at school today.

It was an emotional day. Lots of crying. Over all kinds of things. Some of it was my kid, and some was others. It was cold and wet and dreary and the kids are tired and stressed and needing a break. And so am I.

So I'd planned some fun stuff. We were doing some presentations, some writing and then were going to play this game they love where I give them super hard vocab and they have to look it up and figure out what the words are clues to. We were all set to play when the fire alarm went off.

And I thought that was quite weird because it was 42º and raining at the time. But we did exactly as we were supposed to. They lined up quietly and we went out. I took role and we got wet. And then wetter. And it wasn't over.

A couple of my girls started to worry and began to cry. But I calmed them down, saying I was sure it was nothing since the fire department was so close and they'd be there or we'd hear sirens by then. And then we *did* hear sirens. The fire trucks roared up and the fire fighters went inside. And we were still outside in the cold rain. In my head I am cursing the fourth grade (or given this year, possibly the kindergartener) who has pulled this alarm and was causing one of my poor children who is as small as leprechaun to begin to go cyanotic around the lips. But I figured they'd know which one was pulled and give us the all clear.

By now we've been outside in the cold rain in our shirts for 15 minutes. One of the other teachers went to her car and got a huge golf umbrella. She lent it to us and I had the kids gather around and put their arms around each other. By that point I had some more crying. And at that moment, one of the kids said, "They're going on the roof!" Bam bam bam, three more start weeping. And I had just gotten the first two to stop. We were shivering and shaking and freezing.

My aide went to her car and grabbed a bunch of sweaters and sweatshirts to put over the kids. Another aide found us a blanket. We were huddled in on each other and I started talking to them. Ridiculous things like, "So do you think soccer will be rained out?" and "What are you doing this weekend?"

And finally no one was crying. We'd been out there for 35 minutes by then. We were talking and hanging out. Some were shivering still and others were sopped straight through. My hands were numb from holding the umbrella over all 22 children (2 absent). And then I saw him. He wasn't just jumping from the cold. And then the tears rushed forth from him.

"Ms. ________ I got to go."

I thought he was panicking because another girl had been sobbing she wanted to go home. And maybe I was dull because of the damp chill that had spread through my body. But he didn't mean he had to leave.

"Ms. ________ I'm not going to make it. I got to GO!"

So what do you do with 22 children in the rain, three firetrucks, and a 9 year old who has to GO? You call to the male aide in 4th grade and send him off to find a solution.

Turns out the blankets came from the very nice family who was right nearby. And they let my young lad GO in their bathroom so there was no adventure peeing for him. But by then one of my girls had caught chill.

We moved her into the middle of the group. Another girl put her arm around her and another took of her sweatshirt and wrapped her up in it. One of the early criers was talking to her sweetly and one of the boys was telling jokes. We'd been out for 45 minutes.

And then it was over. They waved us in and we rushed for the door. I sent the girls to the rest room to take off their wet shirts and put on jackets and sweatshirts. The boys I sent to the cubbies to change. My aide went to the lost and found to find more jackets. I put a wet tissue over the hear register to crank it up. And I noticed that it was time to go. The kids were sharing layers and helping each other into jackets. One got tissues for another one who was chilled and whose nose was still running. My boy who had to go gave his jacket to someone else to wear and everyone clamored to praise someone who'd done something nice for them.

The thing is when I set out to write this I was sure it would be a funny here's what happened to me story. But the thing is here's what really happened to me today:

I found out my kids were really the kind, caring, sweet and lovely children I had hoped they'd be. I found out that in a pinch they aren't mean and bossy and rude and pushy. They're giving and supportive and concerned and good. So even when they are crappy to each other, I guess I have to remember that deep down, my class rocks!