Let me take my dentures out...Matlock is about to come on.

Wow. It's been over 6 months since I've blogged. Technically, it's been 8 and a half months, which is basically like I'm waiting 9 months and giving birth to a whole new blog. Most new babies are ugly, and this might follow suit.

I'm starting off slow, just telling about 'this' and 'that' of my life and teaching Kindergarten and how I work out all the time, except not at all. Oops.

We had a faculty meeting after school today. We had to look at the stimulus money and decide what we want to buy. This sounds like a good idea until you get 55 + women in one room to talk about purchasing. Everyone has their own opinion and 97% of those opinions suck. It doesn't help that my principal kept using the word "monies." I mean, is money even plural? I told the teacher next to me to "Shoot me now" and she said, "I would, except then you couldn't shoot me back." She is so clever.

Then the new Aggie teacher at the table started a conversation with me. Our Aggie principal was so excited to hire another Aggie. I remarked to someone that I don't really care what school she went to (or if she went to school at all) as long as she shows up to do her job and doesn't complain, which is a step up from her replacement. So, I ask new Aggie what year she is, and she replies "Class of '09!" This means the ink on her teaching certificate isn't even dry, but she has enough enthusiasm to rid the world of educational injustices. I said, "Wow, you still have some maroon dust on you!" and I told her I was glad she was here. She asked my year, I responded, "Class of '03," and thought to myself, 'Only 6 years older than her, but a wealth of teaching experience in comparison!' New Aggie Girl raised both her eyebrows said, "Woah, that's old." And she didn't say it in the You-have-so-much-wisdom-and-maturity kind of way, but more like the You-need-to-get-to-Luby's-and-rub-some-Ben Gay-on-that kind of way. I can't recall ever feeling the sting of offense when it comes to my age. I felt old. I felt out of touch with what's hip and unable to convey that I still have my youth to enjoy. Poor New Aggie Girl. She just made an enemy with this Grandma. If me and my new knee replacements can make it up the ramp tomorrow, I might give her a piece of my mind.

Of course, since I just used the word "hip," it probably means that I'm not anyway. And if skinny jeans and boots and scarves in summer are "hip," then I'm happy being "square."

Pray

I'm reminded to just stop and pray about it.

We know prayer works, some of us might have strong prayer lives, we enjoy prayer. But if you're like me, you go in and out of these phases. Sometimes it's so easy and sometimes you don't know where to start. Sometimes you have all the right words and sometimes you say the same monotonous thing you did yesterday. Sometimes you feel like He hears you and sometime you feel like it falls on deaf ears (even though we know better).

Well I have been going through one of the prayer-is-hard-and-takes-a-conscious-effort-phase. After a bad day of school yesterday (put it on the Top 10 Worst list) I was in a foul mood, to say the least. And before I went to bed I did two things.

1. I thought positive thoughts. Sometimes you just have to talk yourself into a good mood. I said, "I will make tomorrow a great day! I can't wait to see the kids. I'm going to be so prepared. Tomorrow will be fun in Kindergarten!"

2. I prayed. At a time where I felt guilty I haven't spent enough time in prayer or meditation, I just made it quick and simple and knew that I needed help.

Quick and simple. Just do it.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

That is the sound of me squealing!


This picture does not do my lil house justice...but Scuba and I put up Christmas lights on Sunday. Oh my heavens...it was so much fun! The buying, moving the ladder, falling off said ladder, him hoisting me up cheerleader-style, and the final Clark Griswald tribute of plugging the lights in! (And like Sparky, I blew the fuse. Twice. The company seems to believe that only two strands can be joined -as directed on the box- and I tried to string together 5. They were right.) Anyway, Scuba didn't fight at all! He even let me boss him around and get all OCD with the direction of the lightbulbs and the twisting of the strands. He was a trooper! I don't know what those people are talking about that get in a Grinchy-Bah-Humbug mood when it comes to lights. It was quite the adventure!


When we were finished, I stood back and smiled so big. I had an overwhelming feeling of pride, Christmas spirit, and nesting. MY HOUSE IS LIT!

3 Ring Circus

My classroom is the equivalent of Barnum & Bailey without superhuman feats and animal dung. Instead, it's human dung. J came up to me yesterday and said, "Miss Rose, I pooped my pants." Such honesty.

Today, my classroom was a 3 ring circus because I had an autistic child and his one-on-one teacher, a mentally retarded boy along with his one-on-one assistant, and a high school student observing me. There were so many eyes on me (all but the two special ed boys) to see what I'd say or how I'd handle the screaming, roaming, and complete ignorance. I think it went pretty well because everyone was on task for at least 2 minutes.

My vice principal came to observe our 3 ring circus for a short time yesterday. Later, she commended my classroom -the students and my teaching and management. The mentally retarded boy has been removed from his classroom and teacher that ignore him, and placed with me. The VP commented that the mentally retarded student should remain in my classroom because, "...I've never seen him so engaged!"

Tricky how they compliment you just so you can do the harder, more time-consuming work, huh?

I laughed several times today and had a smile on my face through most of it. They are special...but in a very good way to me. They are all cute kids and it's difficult to describe to you the gong show that I call kindergarten. Not only is there pooping in pants and a broken arm and pink eye and lice (not lying about any of those), we have autism and mental retardation...and a teacher with enough problems to blend it all together into one, big, happy family!

Marlboro Lights, Budweiser, and Turkey

I missed my little kindergarteners over the 9 day Thanksgiving holiday. And when I say "missed," what I really mean is, "was so glad I didn't have to tie shoes, listen to whining/crying/tattling, or deal with pee." But I think that is just understood, isn't it?

It is my firm belief that one of the best decisions my school district ever made was to grant teachers a week-long holiday for Thanksgiving. Many districts in Texas do this and it is just pure genius. I fear that the break was granted by superintendents across the state of Texas to avoid newspaper headlines such as, "Teacher Gouges Eyes out with Turkey Wishbone in Tragic Suicide."

I'm here to tell you that it could happen. I once considered sharpening my pinky in the electric pencil sharpener just so an ambulance could pick me up, I could go to the emergency room, and enjoy and afternoon of adult conversation. The wishbone-suicide fiasco is not far-fetched, my friends.

But let me tell you about a little conversation I had this morning with a student. I was so happy to see and hear the kids at 7:40am this morning. We got to the classroom, unpacked and completed our morning duties, and then had share time. We told all about our week-long, blessed, food-and-family-filled holiday.

Miss Rose: "What did you do for Thanksgiving, K?"
K: "Momma and dad made the turkey. Then dad went to get some cigarettes and beer. That's it."

That is why I missed my kindergarteners.

Oh the Horror

I did not hit my goal of blogging thrice last week. I'm so ashamed that I don't want to discuss it.


Except that I am a woman, and therefore feel the need to talk about everything in excessive and mindnumbing detail. So I will tell you that I did not blog because there was a national "milestone" in the presidential election (notice that I use quotation marks because others described it as such but NOT ME), there was an evening with wine and so much girlish banter that I could not blog about more girlish banter, there was a small-town German festival in which I consumed beer and sausage and fried potatoes and got home well past a decent hour, and there was a road trip beginning at 4pm on Friday. I was a busy girl.


But I must share with you something that embarasses me even more than not doing something I promised to do. It is this, my friends:




My Wednesday morning breakfast.


God bless Shipley's Donuts. I don't know where the urge came from, but I decided that I HAD TO HAVE a donut for breakfast last Wednesday morning. I went in, ordered a sausage kolache (for health purposes) and then my eye spied that delicous treat. I think it was called the Bullseye or Blazer or something like that. I whispered my order over the counter, because I didn't want the other donut patrons to judge me. The server didn't hear me so I had to say it a little louder. I hung my head in shame. Then he said, "Sprinkles or no sprinkles?" and I almost walked out of the door to escape my guilt. I didn't utter a word, only closed my eyes, bit my bottom lip, and nodded. He understood that I was a woman in need of a glazed, chocolate iced, white icing-topped, sprinkled DONUT.


I took a picture before I consumed my "breakfast" because I needed to remind myself that there are people who concoct such an item.


And then there are people like me that savor every morsel. I was wired until I sugar-crashed at about 8:30. My kindergarteners didn't stand a chance that day.

My name means "Full of Grace"

I got a little nervous a while ago thinking about what I'm going to write in my blog. As if I've never done this before. As if I've never graced you with an eyeful of mindless chatter before. Heck no. I'm a pro at mindless chatter. I blogged yesterday afternoon and set a measly goal of 3 blogs this week. I used to do this every day, for Pete's sake! And I thought I'd have nothing to write about...or no structure...or nothing witty to say. But that's not what you've ever expected before, so why start now?

And so I must tell you this story. I went on an 11 mile run yesterday. Because I'm stupid. The first three miles were a breeze and I was thinking about good topics for blogging. I came up with only a few good things until...

Until.

1. The toenail on my big toe on my left foot fell off. To be completely honest (and a smidge gruesome) the entire nail did not fall off. Just about 5/8 of the top. It's from running far distances, such as 11 miles. This made me curse running.
2. About 4 miles into the run, I had to Potty with a capital P. Several scenarios ran through my head of how I could remedy this issue. My best choices were to pray for the urge to pass or Potty in the corner and then wipe my bum on the grass like a 7 pound dog. This made me curse running more.
3. I managed to finish the run, albeit cursing running. I felt ill and attributed the weak feeling to having just RUN 11 MILES. I got home, drank a smoothie, showered. Then my body shook and my stomach wretched and I saw my green smoothie once more.

I managed to make it to the Potty for both occasions. My body curses running.

Ah yes. You missed my grace and tact, no? I aim to please.