Time Suck Continuum

I lose sunglasses. Not a lot, but I inevitably lose them. I have one pair that I really like and they were purchased at Target. All hail The Target. I don't go nicer than Target sunglasses. Because, as previously stated, I likely lose said sunglasses.

Well, I purchased a second "just in case" pair in March. These were worn with as much frequency as the standard Target sunglasses. However, the new sunglasses were only $7.99 and also purchased at Target. As opposed to my "high end" sunglasses purchased at Target for $12.99.

Gotta love Mossimo at Target. Gotta love Super Target.

A while back, my sunglasses were dropped into Medina Lake. I was at the lake over Memorial Day and this boy that I'm dating (and actually like for longer than 2 weeks) dropped them into the lake. He was chivalrously hoisting down the wakeboard from the overhead-wakeboard-holder-contraption-thing (that is the official name) for me to ride, and his muscles were bulging, and he dropped my glasses into the drink. With quicker reflexes than a puma, I flung my bikini-clad body into the water, touched the precious sunglasses numerous times, before kicking them farther down towards the sandy bottom.

I am a graceful specimen.

Then, the most monumental thing happened: I didn't get mad that my Just In Case Target $7.99 Sunglasses were lost. Did I mention the bulging muscles? I think I was distracted. Oh, and I was about to attempt wakeboarding for the first time in my life and I was preoccupied with pre-game motivational and competitive thoughts that were running rampant in my brain. I'm pretty sure I even said out loud, "LET'S GO ROSE! YOU GOT THIS!", to which all four males aboard the boat looked at me with fear as if I were Kathy Bates from Misery.

So, now I'm down to my ONE TRUSTY $12.99 PAIR OF TARGET GLASSES. That I've had for over 6 months. Astounding, I know.

This morning, I got up for a run and looked for my sunglasses because it's BRIGHTER THAN THE SURFACE OF THE SUN at 7:45am in Texas. It's like the equator is a myth and we live here at the closest possible location to our planet's source of heat. Good grief. Anyway, I left the house, walked outside (dry-heaved from the heat) and then went back inside for my sunglasses. Except, I can't find them. They aren't in my purse and they aren't in my car.

I can't find them I say. Where are they? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!

I think I left them in Bulging Muscle Boy's car or house and can't find them at my convenience. I begrudgingly run, and managed to make it the entire day without sending a frantic, "WHERE THE HADES ARE MY SUNGLASSES SINCE YOU LOST THE FIRST FRICKIN' PAIR?" text.

Again, I am a graceful specimen. Quite the catch, no?

I went to Target at about 3:30, searched the entire wall o' glasses, and came up with NOTHING. I was very willing to purchase the $14.99 pair, too. Because I am WITHOUT SUNGLASSES PEOPLE. Admittedly, the $14.99 pair were 30% off and I couldn't do the mental math, but I was pretty sure it was cheaper than $12.99. That is, if I found a pair I would actually wear in the presence of others. Which I could not.

Dejected, I took a stroll through the $1 section, and found a pair of packaged sunglasses. I kid you not. It's like my agony and searching was just so God could get a kick out of my eye degeneration from all the UV rays I've been absorbing for the last day! Seriously, the $1 pair were way better than any $7.99, $12.99, or $14.99 at 30% off pair that Target (pronounced Tar-jjay) has to offer.

Tar-jjay and not Tar-GIT since I am a graceful creature.

Spanish Dating Inquisition

It is with great hesitation that I share news with you. I had to tell my parents I'm dating someone.

Hold on, I just threw up in my mouth a little.

Okay, I'm better. This is my LEAST favorite conversation to have with my parents, which is why I've only had it twice. Truly, I have always wanted to avoid the later conversation about the break-up. Therefore, I avoid the initial "I'm dating someone" conversation. I hate the questions and curiosity and excitement that is premature. I don't know the answers to most of the questions that my parents ask. But if I do, I don't want to share, because I don't like thinking about it. I'm scared to jinx it and make it go away.

So, I was forced into this (premature) conversation because my aunt and uncle know about it. And asked me about it.

Again...I just threw up.

I figured if Aunt & Uncle that live 90 miles away know about it, Mom & Dad that live 4 miles away should know. They are my parents, after all.

I was at my little cousin's 2nd birthday party this past Sunday, and my loud-mouth cousin (whom I love and trust in her friendship) must have told her parents that I'm dating someone that they know. It is appropriate to tell you that my aunt and uncle have always taken an interest in my dating life. They try to set me up, they ask me how things are going, they are curious as to why I'm still single. My aunt needs a hobby, to say the least. I always get the feeling that she 1. is apalled that I'm 27 and still single and without children (GASP!) because everyone in our family (except my brother and me) was married at 22 and had their first child by 25, and 2. thinks I'm a lesbian.

Yup. That's why I'm still single. I'm gay.

After Dating Inquisition '08, courtesy of my Aunt, Uncle, and senile Grandma, I threw up in my mouth and then I figured I have to face the music and have the dreaded conversation with my parents. So, I made dinner this week invited them over, and told them over our delicious eggplant parmesean. I think they had already pieced together that I was dating someone, seeing as how I've basically abandoned spending time with them. Oops. My mother was pleased that I finally told her something personal, and my father peppered me with questions. I fully expected the interrogation, but I wasn't prepared to answer.

"Is he a Christian?" My father recognizes the quality that is most important to me in finding someone to spend my life with.
"Is he an Aggie?" My father recognizes that the positive answer to this question means that we have a common interest in something that is important to me. And it will help me avoid confrontation for years to come when discussing colleges and sports. Critical.
"Does he like sports?" The follow-up question to the Aggie question. My father recognizes that he must love sports to fit in the family and for me to be attracted to him. I love athletic men.
"Does he have two legs?" WTF?
"Does he treat you well?" I would like you to realize that my dad asked about his limbs before he asked if the person is respectful, kind, and chivalrous.

Luckily, all the answers to these questions are "YES!' and that makes me happy. Especially the part about him having two legs.

Follow-ups were: "What's his name? What does he do? Does he treat you well? Is he white?"

It was at this precious family moment that I told them his name is Jose Gonzales.

Ole.

Life Lessons...

I'm on vacation. For ten weeks. And, while I'm not complaining (for fear of getting stoned to death by all the people who constantly tell me, "Must be nice to be a teacher with 3 months off.."), I must say that I have a tendency to get bored or go a little stir-crazy if I have too much alone time. I like time to myself, time to think, time to ponder, time to read, time to study, time to accomplish things. But too much time equals analyzation, overanalyzation, and that leads to conversations with myself. These conversations can be present-based ones that are possible, or they are complete Fantasyland versions of what I wish I would have said or would possibly say. The real trouble comes when these conversations take place OUT LOUD. With myself.

Oh the humanity.

So, to prevent such harebrained behavior, I try to keep myself very busy. Here are the things I've learned in the last couple of days while trying to occupy my mind...

1. My neighborhood pool is phenomenal. Minus the 21-year-old lifeguard that is friendly, athletic, in impeccable shape, and has a FAT diamond on her left hand. Oh how life mocks me.
2. When you spray bug spray around the perimeter of the high windows and you are aiming about 2 feet away, do it when a gust of wind does not come and spray the inseticide back into your face.
3. I still suck at lining the ceiling with blue painter's tape. It is just not one of my many talents.
4. You can catch up on 5 episodes of The Bachelorette Season 4 in about 3 hours time with the genius that is DVR.
5. A pretty girl in Lowe's will get all sorts of help from the garden department, plumbing department, and hardware department. They are so friendly!
6. I was at the HEB and saw an elderly couple in front of me, checking out with two cantaloupes (side story: that looked HILARIOUS when the checker held up the two cantelopes in front of her torso) and they had an entire shopping cart for those two items. I felt sad for them because I realized that they have nothing better to do than to make a daily trip to the grocery store because it passes the time. Then I thought, "Well, what else do you have to do at that age? HEB is probably the highlight of their day." And then I recalled that I've been to HEB 3 times in the last 4 days to buy single items such as mozerella cheese, paper towels, and foil.

I have become just like the sweet elderly couple (just with smaller cantaloupes).

Remember When...

Does it ever happen to you that you run across a song, smell, sound, tasste, or person that reminds you of something? I'm sure there are many other triggers. It happens for me most often with scent. The smells of foods remind me of July Fourth or the Thanksgiving in my parents' house; perfumes remind me of significant people and the sorority house. I bet I could spot Summer Sorbet from a mile away. Ahhhhhh.............

These triggers can bring back a flood of memories that fill you with euphoria, delight, pleasure...or conversely, remorse, saddness, anger. I welcome these triggers and find intrigue in placing the exact feeling, time, and place that I first experienced the trigger.

Today, a person was my trigger. I met with a friend to help him out with a job for his company. He's been one my friends for a little over a year, and I am good friends with his wife and enjoy her company. But I haven't seen this friend in four or five months and talk to him very irregularly. His wife and I communicate much more often and about very important topics such as The Bachelor, cooking, shopping....oh and her children, huband, friends, house and my career, friends, and house. Anyway, a friendship that you really want and find comfort in. Like we can go without communication for years and come back and pick up right where we left off. I always want to be friends with this couple.

So I met with my friend (they guy in the couple), enjoyed seeing him and catching up, and remembered a time when we were much closer. There was once a time when he knew everything about my life. As I sat and listened to him talk about A&M softball, my throat closed up and I could recall a time where I thought I'd be close friends with him forever. And his wife. And his children.

We met, agreed to some terms for work, smiled at each other and said we'd be in touch soon. I know he believes I'm a capable person, as he's told me as much. And then I left and got in my car, drove out of the parking lot, and as I got several hundred yards away, I couldn't stop the tears from coming to my eyes and all the feelings and emotions of a time that wasn't too long ago. I replayed conversations and encounters and allowed my heart to entertain all of the questions that I once had.

I say all of this because it is food for thought. Is this bad? Normal? Am I not supposed to be friends with them because it makes me replay a brief experience of mine that ended in a lot of hurt? Why does this come back and why won't God take it away permanently? Because I'm so happy and things are going SO WELL in all areas of my life right now, is this little experience something that Satan is using to derail me, make me question and wonder, scare me, and wound me? Well...it's working.

Productivity!

On my first official day of summer, these are the things that were accomplished:

Quality sleeping until 8:30am. Then a nap at 9am. I MEAN.
Ran four miles. Might as well.
Finished calligraphy project for wedding invitations and delivered them. Only took me one month.
Visited my parents. That I haven't seen in three weeks. Oops.
Had my car washed and detailed. For free.
Gigantor grocery shopping in preparation for hosting people to watch some Aggie baseball tomorrow. Whoop.
Got some jeans altered. The jeans were only $30 and the alteration is free.
Drinking a beer at 5pm with my roommate and her parents. Nuff said.
About to go to dinner with my parents, my roomie and her parents.

Is this not the life?

Bit of a Bummer

It is the final day of my contract for this school year. It is a teacher work day. Most importantly, there are no students to be seen. Here are some observations:



1. I got to sleep in until 6am instead of 5am! Glorious.

2. I didn't watch a child point to another and hear him say...no, scream, "MISS ROSE!!!!!!!!! HE..."

3. I get to eat lunch at a respectable time like 11:30 or noon, not 10:30am. I also get to enjoy this lunch at a restaurant and it lasts longer than 30 minutes. There are no words.

4. No one in my presence peed their pants. That I know of.

5. I didn't lose my patience, yell at the person, then feel extreme guilt.

6. I didn't have to worry about a child and their permanent brain developement (or lack thereof), and my influence on this development.

7. I was able to sit down when I pleased, have lengthy conversations with someone over the age of 11, and use the restroom at my convenience (without telling another adult about it).

8. I got a 4% raise today.

9. I ate breakfast with adults, sitting at a table, and no one rushed me to get to work.

10. I have 10 weeks to do WHATEVER I FREAKING PLEASE.



Except...no one really needed me today.

My Job Here is Done

It happens every year in August. I receive my class list of 18-22 Kindergarten students. I laugh and wonder why parents give their child a name with an apostrophe in the middle. I anticipate darling little faces that will accidentally call me "mom." I worry about whether or not someone has given them a pencil and taught them how to write their name. I fear learning disabilities and my own ability in coping, reaching, and teaching them effectively.

Most of them are five year olds filled with curiosity mixed with a slight bit of fear. And I worry about teaching them. Some are four and I'm worried. Some are six and I'm worried. I start writing their names on cubbies and nametags and posters. I call them "angels." I worry. I wonder if I'm capable enough to teach them all the things they need to learn: share, play fair, don't hit, put things back where you found them, wash your hands, hold hands and look both ways. Be respectful, learn independence, take responsibility. Oh, and how to read and add.

I watch them marvel at the inside of a pumpkin, penguins, how a seed grows. I hear them sing songs. I sit with them and explain how and why words rhyme. I listen as they learn to sound out words. I see them manipulate counters as they work a math problem. I try to help and hope I've succeeded.

Then May comes and they are pounds heavier and inches taller. They are more responsible and capable. I watch the miracle of development and know that they would have achieved growth in spite of me. It is my privelege to watch personalities unfold.

I may have yelled one too many times. They may have stomped across the room and acted far less mature than their age should allow. I didn't set expectations. They didn't respect my authority. And then it all comes to a close.

When it is Graduation Day, we walk in to Pomp and Circumstance. They sing "It's a Small World," I call their names, and they walk across the stage. And then I look at Q and D and think, "Man, they ticked me off this year." and my immediate next thought is, "I love them, though." And I do. They are just so fun and so "big boy." That comes from me saying, "Do you want to keep acting like that or do you want to be a BIG BOY?!" And parents come and clap for me and tell me nice things even when I think I'm the worst teacher of all time and I've screwed up their precious child for all of eternity. I receive gifts and meaningful letters that make me choke up because people believe that I made a difference. That is the best part of teaching.

So I give them back reluctantly. I'm reminded that they'll leave me and I've spent more time with them than some of their parents. And I'll forget them and they'll forget me...except for when we run into each other years down the road and for a brief second, we'll remember antics and the most special and formative year in school.