Sunday, July 29, 2007
Next on my list to sue...
While reviewing my grocery list at Kroger today, I bashed my cart directly into a large metal pole centered in the aisle. Loudly. I almost got whiplash. Who puts a pole in the middle of an aisle? I hope no one saw.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
After 24 hours of frantic reading....
I finished Harry Potter. Wow. All I can say is wow. More to come later.
ps - No spoilers in the comments. Eddie's not done. I'm working on a post with my thoughts that are all things Harry Potter for when she's done.
ps - No spoilers in the comments. Eddie's not done. I'm working on a post with my thoughts that are all things Harry Potter for when she's done.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Woes
In case you're wondering where I've been in the last week or so, I'll tell you. I've been right here in my house, chasing Piglet. I have not had time to blog, read Harry Potter, empty my dishwasher, pluck the hair that I found today growing out of my cheek, cook, watch TV, or breathe properly in the last two weeks. Allow me to explain in more detail because I can sense your riveted stance as you lean in closer to your screen.
Piglet has had a rough stretch. In one week, he got a nasty cold and learned to crawl. What do these events have to do with one another, you might ask? They both involve a nap strike. A two week long, screaming, hot, sweaty, red-faced nap strike. When one is ill, they cannot breathe when lying down. This aspect is understandable to me. Turns out, when one learns to crawl, one's body cannot stop practicing, even when it is so exhausted that it falls asleep sitting up. You'd think this would be enough to wear me out, but no.
Quickly grasping the concept of crawling, Piglet was off like a shot, tearing around the house, terrorizing Gus at every turn, chasing the Roomba. Piglet no longer has use for toys. Who wants toys when there are outlets to poke! Dog bowls to taste! Cords to pull! Breast pump parts to put in your mouth! The house is a big, big new world and Piglet wants to experience it. The word "no" is in use a lot these days. Feeling the fireplace ash? NO! (Gus comes behind to eat up the crumbs.) Putting your fingers under Gus's tail? NO! Pulling the fake moss out of my fake ficus? NO! Climbing on top of the Roomba while it's vacuuming? NO!
To compound the problem, the field behind our fence is being developed and we are the lucky recipients of a retention pond. It will be pretty, with a wrought iron fence and a fountain, but right now, at least between the hours of 7am and 7pm six days a week, it's a large mud pit filled with 8-12 large yellow digging machines that alternately roar past my fence at 60mph and back slowly with their infernal BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! BEEEEEEEEEEEP! BEEEEEEEEEEEEP! Did I mention that Piglet is having trouble sleeping? Do I even have to wonder why?
Now that crawling has been mastered, he's over practicing that in his crib and has moved on to pulling up. Pulling up is very cute in the morning when I go to get him out of his crib and he's hanging over the rail, grinning a gap-toothed crooked grin, so proud to be standing up on his own. It's not so cute when every naptime becomes standing practice and he can't get back down short of freefalling backwards, which ticks him off, to say the least. So, here we go again. He stands, crying with his eyes closed because he's so tired, but can't lie down to sleep because his body wants to practice.
I must wrap up this post, as Piglet has risen from his fifteen minute morning nap. Did I mention that I can't get Harry Potter read? Did I mention that I've lost 3 pounds this week? DID I?? And to all a good night.
Piglet has had a rough stretch. In one week, he got a nasty cold and learned to crawl. What do these events have to do with one another, you might ask? They both involve a nap strike. A two week long, screaming, hot, sweaty, red-faced nap strike. When one is ill, they cannot breathe when lying down. This aspect is understandable to me. Turns out, when one learns to crawl, one's body cannot stop practicing, even when it is so exhausted that it falls asleep sitting up. You'd think this would be enough to wear me out, but no.
Quickly grasping the concept of crawling, Piglet was off like a shot, tearing around the house, terrorizing Gus at every turn, chasing the Roomba. Piglet no longer has use for toys. Who wants toys when there are outlets to poke! Dog bowls to taste! Cords to pull! Breast pump parts to put in your mouth! The house is a big, big new world and Piglet wants to experience it. The word "no" is in use a lot these days. Feeling the fireplace ash? NO! (Gus comes behind to eat up the crumbs.) Putting your fingers under Gus's tail? NO! Pulling the fake moss out of my fake ficus? NO! Climbing on top of the Roomba while it's vacuuming? NO!
To compound the problem, the field behind our fence is being developed and we are the lucky recipients of a retention pond. It will be pretty, with a wrought iron fence and a fountain, but right now, at least between the hours of 7am and 7pm six days a week, it's a large mud pit filled with 8-12 large yellow digging machines that alternately roar past my fence at 60mph and back slowly with their infernal BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! BEEEEEEEEEEEP! BEEEEEEEEEEEEP! Did I mention that Piglet is having trouble sleeping? Do I even have to wonder why?
Now that crawling has been mastered, he's over practicing that in his crib and has moved on to pulling up. Pulling up is very cute in the morning when I go to get him out of his crib and he's hanging over the rail, grinning a gap-toothed crooked grin, so proud to be standing up on his own. It's not so cute when every naptime becomes standing practice and he can't get back down short of freefalling backwards, which ticks him off, to say the least. So, here we go again. He stands, crying with his eyes closed because he's so tired, but can't lie down to sleep because his body wants to practice.
I must wrap up this post, as Piglet has risen from his fifteen minute morning nap. Did I mention that I can't get Harry Potter read? Did I mention that I've lost 3 pounds this week? DID I?? And to all a good night.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
"Self-esteem comes from the self doing something worthy of esteem."
So, my dad sent me this article about why the generation that is currently in college/entering the workplace has such a sense of entitlement, and I found it a fascinating topic after teaching those kids during their formative years. I don't remember seeing this problem when I taught in Raleigh, but I was teaching in a lower income Title 1 school at the time and perhaps that would account for the difference. It was upon my move to Texas when I learned about the yuppie world that I began to see the change in the attitudes of kids and their parents.
Suddenly everything became about how a student felt about themself. How might negative report card comments damage their self-esteem? Would having winners and losers in PE games hurt their self-worth? How would it make a kid feel if all the other kids but them raised their hands and everyone knew that they didn't know the answer? Are report card grades really fair? What if a kid got an F and quit trying? Shouldn't we have something for the kids who didn't make the honor roll? What's going to motivate them to keep on trying? These are some questions that I have personally heard in staff meetings and professional development sessions.
These are the questions that I think have led to the demise of the current college-going generation. The stories that I've heard Eddie tell are deplorable. These are adults. Adults attending college on the brink of professional careers. I'm really curious to know how the professional world views these kids as they enter their work field. Do they suck it up and get on with it, even with a tough learning curve? Or do they ask for special privileges and have their mommy call their boss to make excuses for them? I must know.
It all starts at home. Even the school end of it has come into being because of pressure from these enabling parents who can't bear for their kids to learn a darn life lesson once in a while. I don't see where being over-protective of your kid gets you. I used to think, when I taught, that maybe I didn't understand because I didn't have children. Well, I have one now and I still don't get it. I don't want my kid to be dependent upon me for their basic needs. I don't want my kid to not know how to solve his own problems. I certainly don't want to talk to my kid's college professors for him.
What happened to the days when parents always sided with the teacher? When I was a kid, I was terrified of my teachers. I got in trouble one time: second grade, Mrs. Simpson. I didn't put my name on my paper and she threw it in the trashcan. Then she wrote my name on the board for not turning in my work. I had to dig through the trash to find my paper and I had trouble identifying it because I was crying so hard, probably terrified that my parents would find out and I would feel terrible. You know what would happen to Mrs. Simpson today? First, the child would call their parents on their cell phone from school. Then the parents would call the principal and demand to speak to her directly about Mrs. Simpson. Then Mrs. Simpson would be called to the office while she is trying to teach to be reprimanded for doing what she did. Then it would go in her permanent file, which would be reported back to the parent. The student would then be relieved of all accountability and given a 100 (if the school has grades, that is) for their work.
"Self-esteem comes from the self doing something worthy of esteem."
Suddenly everything became about how a student felt about themself. How might negative report card comments damage their self-esteem? Would having winners and losers in PE games hurt their self-worth? How would it make a kid feel if all the other kids but them raised their hands and everyone knew that they didn't know the answer? Are report card grades really fair? What if a kid got an F and quit trying? Shouldn't we have something for the kids who didn't make the honor roll? What's going to motivate them to keep on trying? These are some questions that I have personally heard in staff meetings and professional development sessions.
These are the questions that I think have led to the demise of the current college-going generation. The stories that I've heard Eddie tell are deplorable. These are adults. Adults attending college on the brink of professional careers. I'm really curious to know how the professional world views these kids as they enter their work field. Do they suck it up and get on with it, even with a tough learning curve? Or do they ask for special privileges and have their mommy call their boss to make excuses for them? I must know.
It all starts at home. Even the school end of it has come into being because of pressure from these enabling parents who can't bear for their kids to learn a darn life lesson once in a while. I don't see where being over-protective of your kid gets you. I used to think, when I taught, that maybe I didn't understand because I didn't have children. Well, I have one now and I still don't get it. I don't want my kid to be dependent upon me for their basic needs. I don't want my kid to not know how to solve his own problems. I certainly don't want to talk to my kid's college professors for him.
What happened to the days when parents always sided with the teacher? When I was a kid, I was terrified of my teachers. I got in trouble one time: second grade, Mrs. Simpson. I didn't put my name on my paper and she threw it in the trashcan. Then she wrote my name on the board for not turning in my work. I had to dig through the trash to find my paper and I had trouble identifying it because I was crying so hard, probably terrified that my parents would find out and I would feel terrible. You know what would happen to Mrs. Simpson today? First, the child would call their parents on their cell phone from school. Then the parents would call the principal and demand to speak to her directly about Mrs. Simpson. Then Mrs. Simpson would be called to the office while she is trying to teach to be reprimanded for doing what she did. Then it would go in her permanent file, which would be reported back to the parent. The student would then be relieved of all accountability and given a 100 (if the school has grades, that is) for their work.
"Self-esteem comes from the self doing something worthy of esteem."
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Crushing Hallux Wound
I realize that it's been almost two years since the near-fatal event which we refer to as "The Sink Incident" occurred, but the lawyers have just gotten around to doing anything about filing any kind of lawsuit. I got a copy of the papers and will share some of the choice phrases:
1. When Ms. Pigs touched the faucet to turn on the water, the ceramic sink – weighing over 30 lbs -- fell onto her left hallux causing a crushing wound which required stitches to close and which resulted in permanent injuries.
2. La Bamba owed Ms. Pigs a duty of care to maintain the Premises in a reasonably safe condition for an invitee's use, including installing and maintaining the bathroom sinks in a manner which prevented them from falling onto the toes of invitees at the slightest touch.
3. As a direct and proximate result of La Bamba’s negligence, Ms. Pigs sustained serious and permanent injuries, has undergone great physical pain and mental and emotional anguish, has been prevented from transacting her personal and professional affairs, has incurred medical expenses, lost wages and other damages.
My favorite parts? Left hallux, crushing wound, great physical pain, mental and emotional anguish. Love it. Love the drama, love the detail. Love it. I also got a giggle out of the expectation that a restaurant should maintain bathroom sinks in a manner which prevents them from falling onto the toes of patrons.
*If you are a new reader or an old one in need of a refresher, check the original tale of woe.
1. When Ms. Pigs touched the faucet to turn on the water, the ceramic sink – weighing over 30 lbs -- fell onto her left hallux causing a crushing wound which required stitches to close and which resulted in permanent injuries.
2. La Bamba owed Ms. Pigs a duty of care to maintain the Premises in a reasonably safe condition for an invitee's use, including installing and maintaining the bathroom sinks in a manner which prevented them from falling onto the toes of invitees at the slightest touch.
3. As a direct and proximate result of La Bamba’s negligence, Ms. Pigs sustained serious and permanent injuries, has undergone great physical pain and mental and emotional anguish, has been prevented from transacting her personal and professional affairs, has incurred medical expenses, lost wages and other damages.
My favorite parts? Left hallux, crushing wound, great physical pain, mental and emotional anguish. Love it. Love the drama, love the detail. Love it. I also got a giggle out of the expectation that a restaurant should maintain bathroom sinks in a manner which prevents them from falling onto the toes of patrons.
*If you are a new reader or an old one in need of a refresher, check the original tale of woe.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Yummy
At tennis match last night:
My partner: You guys are going to think I'm crazy, but I keep smelling birthday cake.
Me: It's my armpits.
Partner: Ha, ha. No, really. I keep getting definite whiffs of cake. Like a bakery.
Me: Seriously, armpits. Secret Platinum Vanilla Chai. A little cake with every serve or overhead shot. It's nice. You should try it.
My partner: You guys are going to think I'm crazy, but I keep smelling birthday cake.
Me: It's my armpits.
Partner: Ha, ha. No, really. I keep getting definite whiffs of cake. Like a bakery.
Me: Seriously, armpits. Secret Platinum Vanilla Chai. A little cake with every serve or overhead shot. It's nice. You should try it.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Where's My Walker?! Get Me My Easy Spirits!
I'm not that old, really. I'm 31, a mere youth. A youngun', if you will. A wee sapling in the tree of life. But I'm starting to act old. Take my blog for instance. In the last month, I think I've talked about eye cream at least twice. Eddie's talked at great length about her varicose veins and she yelled at children splashing her in the pool. She's only 7 months older than I am. You should probably be grateful that I haven't shared the effects of my fiber bars on my bowel movements. On Thursday night, I went to see Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. That's when I knew that I was old.
First of all? I took a sweater. Nevermind that it was 90 degrees outside, I often get a little chill in a theater. So there I am, ready for the movie to start, all bundled up in my sweater when I start to be annoyed by teenagers. The giggling, the squealing, the blatant I-hate-you-flirting... all very annoying. I won't hesitate to admit that that was so Eddie and I about 15 years ago and we thought we were pretty darn cool. I might even point out that we once drove through a Taco Bell drive thru, ordering two and a half napkins and one straw. Great hilarity prompty ensued, as I'm sure you can guess. Then we rocked out to something by REM and drove around some more. I am very sorry for this now.
Once the movie began, you'd think I'd be over my old-ness. No, no. Movies are Way. Too. Loud. I mean, WAY. I have extraordinarily sensitive hearing and perhaps this is part of the problem, but it truly hurts my ears to sit through a movie. All the booming to the point that things vibrate? Is that really necessary? And the bright flashing lights! I missed most of the fight scenes in HP5 because the lights were too bright for my aged eyes. I kept having to squinch my eyes shut to avoid a headache. And then all those Hogwarts scenes that jump from doomy gloomy darkness to pa-BAM! morning daylight. Good gosh. You could blind the elderly that way.
So there I am. Old before my time. And I'm pretty sure I didn't get any points for interviewing the ticket sales girl about the sign in the window which clearly stated: "Children under 6 are not allowed into R-rated movies after 6pm." Are you kidding me? People do that? Is that really a problem? Why is this rule only in place after 6pm? And just to clarify, are 7 year olds allowed into R-rated movies after 6pm? I see. So, not only am I old, but the deterioration of parenting in this country has to slap me in the face too. I guess that also makes me a goody-goody for thinking it inappropriate for a young child to view an R-rated movie. Silly me.
Get me my PoliGrip and my support hose. I've got places to be.
First of all? I took a sweater. Nevermind that it was 90 degrees outside, I often get a little chill in a theater. So there I am, ready for the movie to start, all bundled up in my sweater when I start to be annoyed by teenagers. The giggling, the squealing, the blatant I-hate-you-flirting... all very annoying. I won't hesitate to admit that that was so Eddie and I about 15 years ago and we thought we were pretty darn cool. I might even point out that we once drove through a Taco Bell drive thru, ordering two and a half napkins and one straw. Great hilarity prompty ensued, as I'm sure you can guess. Then we rocked out to something by REM and drove around some more. I am very sorry for this now.
Once the movie began, you'd think I'd be over my old-ness. No, no. Movies are Way. Too. Loud. I mean, WAY. I have extraordinarily sensitive hearing and perhaps this is part of the problem, but it truly hurts my ears to sit through a movie. All the booming to the point that things vibrate? Is that really necessary? And the bright flashing lights! I missed most of the fight scenes in HP5 because the lights were too bright for my aged eyes. I kept having to squinch my eyes shut to avoid a headache. And then all those Hogwarts scenes that jump from doomy gloomy darkness to pa-BAM! morning daylight. Good gosh. You could blind the elderly that way.
So there I am. Old before my time. And I'm pretty sure I didn't get any points for interviewing the ticket sales girl about the sign in the window which clearly stated: "Children under 6 are not allowed into R-rated movies after 6pm." Are you kidding me? People do that? Is that really a problem? Why is this rule only in place after 6pm? And just to clarify, are 7 year olds allowed into R-rated movies after 6pm? I see. So, not only am I old, but the deterioration of parenting in this country has to slap me in the face too. I guess that also makes me a goody-goody for thinking it inappropriate for a young child to view an R-rated movie. Silly me.
Get me my PoliGrip and my support hose. I've got places to be.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Miss Manners
Etiquette question: If you are invited to a Boy Scout Eagle ceremony, do you take a gift? If so, what kind? It so happens I'm invited to two. Have not attended one before. Unsure of protocol. Thanks.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
De-NIED: Part Two
***Update below***
Well, I'm sure you're not surprised to hear that I didn't hear from FlakyMama last night. Nor did I hear from her this morning. I left another message on her answering machine around 9:30am asking her (very cheerfully) to please give me a call.
Lunch came and went, and my neighbor called to invite us to go to the pool. This particular pool would be in FlakyMama's neighborhood, which connects to mine. Since Piglet has spontaneously learned how to crawl, sit himself up, and pull up, guess how he spent his morning nap? Alternately sitting up, trying to crawl, and pulling up on his crib, then getting stuck in the stand position and crying. After no morning nap, I was determined to wear him out so he'd get a good afternoon nap, so off we went to the pool. Pool magic worked. After 90 minutes of Big Fun in the water, Piglet was ready to go. I was changing him into a diaper and clothes when I heard it: the distinct tone of FlakyMama's voice.
"Excuse me! Excuse me! Could you please let us in? We live right down the street, I swear, but we forgot our card!"
Big shocker there. She forgot her card.
I stealthily averted my eyes, hoping she wouldn't recognize me in a bikini and sunglasses. No worries there, she was in her own world. My neighbor let her in, and as she headed back my way, I mouthed, "THAT'S HER!!" We exchanged the classic silent conversation. [Are you kidding?! Dead serious. No way! Way.] We fanned away her trailing fog of perfume and sized her up. She and her big blonde Texas hair were oblivious to all around her. And clearly not ailing in any way. Surely, she must have called me while I was gone, right? Snicker. You know the answer.
I got home to no new messages or emails from FlakyMama. At least now, we've perhaps ruled out the medical condition? I wish Piglet hadn't been on the verge of a meltdown. It would have been big fun just to walk up to her...."Hi! I guess you're not taking your afternoon nap today? Is that just on Tuesdays? Oh, okay...."
Update:
She called at 5:08pm. Oh my gosh! I was soooooo silly. First of all? She had a REALLY BAD sinus headache yesterday - you know the weather? Yeah. And? Her son didn't tell her I even called until this afternoon, can you believe that silly little guy? And? She JUST THEN had heard my message on the machine from this morning. They had a "thing" that they had to be at ALL day long and just got home. Guess she doesn't know I saw her arrive at the pool at 2:45, huh? She is SO sorry and insists on paying me for my time. (Hurray!) Is there any way he can make it up? She feels SO bad. Lucky for her I had a reschedule tomorrow and I'm already tutoring, so I offered to tutor him too. This woman's on a short leash, people! No more Mrs. Nice Pigs!
You might wonder why I am going to tutor him at all, and I will tell you. First of all, I really liked the kid, and I'm really looking forward to working with an older kid in writing. (He's in 7th grade.) It's not his fault his mom's a flake. Secondly, I only took on three kids, which an amount I'm pretty happy with. Two kids doesn't quite seem worth the effort. I think four would be a nice round number, but maybe next year or during the school year. Word of mouth seems to be the way to attract tutorees. So....we'll give it a go. Maybe it'll create good blog fodder. I'll let you know tomorrow...
Well, I'm sure you're not surprised to hear that I didn't hear from FlakyMama last night. Nor did I hear from her this morning. I left another message on her answering machine around 9:30am asking her (very cheerfully) to please give me a call.
Lunch came and went, and my neighbor called to invite us to go to the pool. This particular pool would be in FlakyMama's neighborhood, which connects to mine. Since Piglet has spontaneously learned how to crawl, sit himself up, and pull up, guess how he spent his morning nap? Alternately sitting up, trying to crawl, and pulling up on his crib, then getting stuck in the stand position and crying. After no morning nap, I was determined to wear him out so he'd get a good afternoon nap, so off we went to the pool. Pool magic worked. After 90 minutes of Big Fun in the water, Piglet was ready to go. I was changing him into a diaper and clothes when I heard it: the distinct tone of FlakyMama's voice.
"Excuse me! Excuse me! Could you please let us in? We live right down the street, I swear, but we forgot our card!"
Big shocker there. She forgot her card.
I stealthily averted my eyes, hoping she wouldn't recognize me in a bikini and sunglasses. No worries there, she was in her own world. My neighbor let her in, and as she headed back my way, I mouthed, "THAT'S HER!!" We exchanged the classic silent conversation. [Are you kidding?! Dead serious. No way! Way.] We fanned away her trailing fog of perfume and sized her up. She and her big blonde Texas hair were oblivious to all around her. And clearly not ailing in any way. Surely, she must have called me while I was gone, right? Snicker. You know the answer.
I got home to no new messages or emails from FlakyMama. At least now, we've perhaps ruled out the medical condition? I wish Piglet hadn't been on the verge of a meltdown. It would have been big fun just to walk up to her...."Hi! I guess you're not taking your afternoon nap today? Is that just on Tuesdays? Oh, okay...."
Update:
She called at 5:08pm. Oh my gosh! I was soooooo silly. First of all? She had a REALLY BAD sinus headache yesterday - you know the weather? Yeah. And? Her son didn't tell her I even called until this afternoon, can you believe that silly little guy? And? She JUST THEN had heard my message on the machine from this morning. They had a "thing" that they had to be at ALL day long and just got home. Guess she doesn't know I saw her arrive at the pool at 2:45, huh? She is SO sorry and insists on paying me for my time. (Hurray!) Is there any way he can make it up? She feels SO bad. Lucky for her I had a reschedule tomorrow and I'm already tutoring, so I offered to tutor him too. This woman's on a short leash, people! No more Mrs. Nice Pigs!
You might wonder why I am going to tutor him at all, and I will tell you. First of all, I really liked the kid, and I'm really looking forward to working with an older kid in writing. (He's in 7th grade.) It's not his fault his mom's a flake. Secondly, I only took on three kids, which an amount I'm pretty happy with. Two kids doesn't quite seem worth the effort. I think four would be a nice round number, but maybe next year or during the school year. Word of mouth seems to be the way to attract tutorees. So....we'll give it a go. Maybe it'll create good blog fodder. I'll let you know tomorrow...
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Vexed Again.
I've been out of the teaching biz for about a year now. In that year, I think I've managed to forget a lot. The children's ungrateful natures have faded in my memory to innocent, playful ignorance. The fussy parents with their demanding excuses for their enabled children are just a quiet chitter chatter of requests in my mind....even humorous, they are. The constant backstabbing and nitpicking of working with 98% women is just laughable silliness in my mind's eye. The evil, crazy principal is merely - okay, I haven't lost my mind. She's still insane devil spawn. But the rest of it has diminished greatly. Until today.
Today when I decided to hesitantly dip my big toe back into the waters of teaching, something bit me. I swear, you can't just enjoy teaching a teeny-weeny bit and not have somebody step on you with the "oh, you're just a teacher" mentality. I digress. This summer I decided to take on a few students to tutor. Just enough for me to enjoy a little bit of teaching, but not enough to feel like a job. This afternoon was to be my first hour of teaching since February. Notice the phrase "was to be."
I kind of knew before it happened. Just from talking to the mom on the phone and meeting her once in person, I knew I had something of a flake on my hands. But there are worse things than flakiness in the world. Sometimes it's even endearing. She was very excited about my tutoring services and called me more than a month ago to set things up. She brought me work samples, test scores, the whole nine. After going through his work, I spent a little while setting up a lesson plan for him and was ready to go. Today. Four o'clock.
I drove Piglet to his babysitter's house and arrived back home at 3:50, lest my young prodigy arrive early. I cleaned the kitchen table and set up his lessons. I lectured Gus about company manners. 4:00 came. I cleaned the counters. 4:05. I called my friend/babysitter to consult. She said to give it until 4:15. I checked my email and consulted with Eddie. She was even pushing for a twenty minute delay. I was getting edgy. Pacing the house, looking out the windows. Nothing. 4:15, I picked up the phone and dialed. A child answered.
Me: Hi, may I speak to Wanda?
Kid: She's unavailable right now, may I take a message?
Me: Is this Billy?
Kid: Yes, ma'am.
Me: Hi, Billy. I'm Mrs. Pigs, I'm supposed to tutor you today at 4? I was wondering if you were coming.
Kid: Oh.....really? I'm sorry, my mom didn't tell me....she's asleep.
Me: Um...okay. Can you check with her and find out if you'll be coming today? My little boy is at the babysitter and I need to know whether or not to go get him.
Kid: I'm sorry, I don't think we're going to be able to make it today.
Me: Well, okay then. Can you have your mom call me when she, um, wakes up?
Kid: Yes, ma'am.
So. You tell me what's up here. I've got theories out the ying yang. Well, I have three theories. One, she's a drunk and she passed out and he's used to covering for her. Two, she had a medical situation, like a migraine, and took medicine and fell asleep, forgetting about me. Three, she's just a rude flake. It's almost 9:00pm and she still hasn't called me back. I'm going to call her tomorrow morning if I haven't heard from her.
What are your theories? What would you ask of her? I'm paying my friend to babysit Piglet, so I feel that she should at least pay me half of my fee to cover that. I didn't state a policy on that beforehand, because my fading school memory forgot that many people don't value teachers as actual professionals and have no problems skipping meetings, tutoring, following through on promises, etc. What exactly should I say to her?
Today when I decided to hesitantly dip my big toe back into the waters of teaching, something bit me. I swear, you can't just enjoy teaching a teeny-weeny bit and not have somebody step on you with the "oh, you're just a teacher" mentality. I digress. This summer I decided to take on a few students to tutor. Just enough for me to enjoy a little bit of teaching, but not enough to feel like a job. This afternoon was to be my first hour of teaching since February. Notice the phrase "was to be."
I kind of knew before it happened. Just from talking to the mom on the phone and meeting her once in person, I knew I had something of a flake on my hands. But there are worse things than flakiness in the world. Sometimes it's even endearing. She was very excited about my tutoring services and called me more than a month ago to set things up. She brought me work samples, test scores, the whole nine. After going through his work, I spent a little while setting up a lesson plan for him and was ready to go. Today. Four o'clock.
I drove Piglet to his babysitter's house and arrived back home at 3:50, lest my young prodigy arrive early. I cleaned the kitchen table and set up his lessons. I lectured Gus about company manners. 4:00 came. I cleaned the counters. 4:05. I called my friend/babysitter to consult. She said to give it until 4:15. I checked my email and consulted with Eddie. She was even pushing for a twenty minute delay. I was getting edgy. Pacing the house, looking out the windows. Nothing. 4:15, I picked up the phone and dialed. A child answered.
Me: Hi, may I speak to Wanda?
Kid: She's unavailable right now, may I take a message?
Me: Is this Billy?
Kid: Yes, ma'am.
Me: Hi, Billy. I'm Mrs. Pigs, I'm supposed to tutor you today at 4? I was wondering if you were coming.
Kid: Oh.....really? I'm sorry, my mom didn't tell me....she's asleep.
Me: Um...okay. Can you check with her and find out if you'll be coming today? My little boy is at the babysitter and I need to know whether or not to go get him.
Kid: I'm sorry, I don't think we're going to be able to make it today.
Me: Well, okay then. Can you have your mom call me when she, um, wakes up?
Kid: Yes, ma'am.
So. You tell me what's up here. I've got theories out the ying yang. Well, I have three theories. One, she's a drunk and she passed out and he's used to covering for her. Two, she had a medical situation, like a migraine, and took medicine and fell asleep, forgetting about me. Three, she's just a rude flake. It's almost 9:00pm and she still hasn't called me back. I'm going to call her tomorrow morning if I haven't heard from her.
What are your theories? What would you ask of her? I'm paying my friend to babysit Piglet, so I feel that she should at least pay me half of my fee to cover that. I didn't state a policy on that beforehand, because my fading school memory forgot that many people don't value teachers as actual professionals and have no problems skipping meetings, tutoring, following through on promises, etc. What exactly should I say to her?
Mawaige...
...it's what bwings us togevah today.
Picture it: my bathroom, 2007. I peer into the mirror, trying to perceive obvious improvement in my crow's feet from my new eye cream that I've been applying faithfully for two weeks. Mr. Pigs comes up beside me, leaning in and squinting.
Mr. Pigs: Ooh, baby! Golleeeeee, that looks angry!
He's staring, repulsed at the red planet besmirching my chin.
Me: What?
I feigned blindness, pretending not to see the pulsating orb-like encroachment upon my face.
Mr. Pigs: Have you tried lancing that?
Me: Thanks.
Picture it: my bathroom, 2007. I peer into the mirror, trying to perceive obvious improvement in my crow's feet from my new eye cream that I've been applying faithfully for two weeks. Mr. Pigs comes up beside me, leaning in and squinting.
Mr. Pigs: Ooh, baby! Golleeeeee, that looks angry!
He's staring, repulsed at the red planet besmirching my chin.
Me: What?
I feigned blindness, pretending not to see the pulsating orb-like encroachment upon my face.
Mr. Pigs: Have you tried lancing that?
Me: Thanks.
Monday, July 09, 2007
Oh wait, that's my armpits.
A note of appreciation to those who contributed their deodorant opinions. A special thanks to Carrie, who shared that her BO changed after pregnancy and no longer responded to the trusty Degree. This comment was especially reassuring. I will not get into specifics. You will be pleased to know that my armpits are quite improved with my purchase and subsequent use of the much praised Secret Platinum. The multitude of scents both impressed and overwhelmed my senses. After much hemming and hawing and hogging of the Target aisle, I selected Vanilla Chai as my scent of choice. My armpits now smell like cake. It's simply fabulous in ways I cannot describe. Each time I lift my arms, what? Who's baking? Do I smell cake? Oh wait! That's my armpits.
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Notes From the Dog
Alright, folks....me, Gus, here. [long, shuddering sigh] I'm a tired, tired dog. I know you probably can't properly understand, but I have been put through the wringer. First off, you already know about That Kid that's been around for almost ten months now, right? Well, I'm here to tell you, he isn't leaving! I've given up on thinking that he might go home soon. He has his own room and everything.
About a month ago, I'd had about all of him that I could stand. Always wanting to touch me, that kid. And his touch is not a gentle touch, let me tell you. He's into SQUEEZING and TWISTING and PULLING. It's a lot to ask of Old Gus. My sleep has suffered lately...I bet you I don't get more than twenty hours of sleep a day. Now, I ask you, how's a dog supposed to function with that kind of deprivation?
Back to the general torment, though. I have a confession to make... I did something kind of evil. After a long bout of harassment at the hands of this kid, I kind of, well....I wished that he'd disappear. I know! I know! It's wrong and mean and selfish, but I'd had all I could take. Mom even washed one of my old toys and just because I haven't played with it in two or three years, she gave it to him! It was the final straw. I wished him gone, went to bed, and like that! He disappeared. I kid you not.
I woke up the next morning and he and mom were GONE. I was a little bummed that mom was gone, but I took advantage and caught up on my sleep. After a few days, I began to worry that I had done something irreversible. They never came back! Eight, nine, ten days....no mom. I admit, I got a little manic and did a little damage to the couch. Two big holes worth of worry, I laid on that couch. I was going out of my mind! Finally, SIXTEEN days later, they came home. Do you know how long that is in dog years! About half my life!
They walked in that door, and I was ready to do anything, ANYTHING! to keep them around. I learned my lesson. I'll let him pet me, pull on me, anything. Just don't leave me again! Oh, the trauma this has caused Old Gus. I've aged at least five months. I have to say, while he was gone, he did become a whole lot more useful to me:
(That's me there, to the left. Notice my toy on his tray. Harumph.) At last, I recovered and was feeling back to normal again, when mom completely lost her mind and came home with this:
I'm never going to rest again! Y'all, this thing is alive. It rolls all over the house and tries to suck me up. I even have to guard that kid against it....it's everywhere! Under my couch, around my food, nothing is safe! I just don't know how much more of this I can take. I snapped a little yesterday. I got after a bag of squash and a box of ziploc bags. I just had to do something, I was feeling insane! (Note to other dogs: I don't recommend either the raw squash or the bags. Not good.)
In closing, folks...keep me in your thoughts. It's been a rough month. And be careful what you wish for.
Thanks for listening,
Gus the Beagle
About a month ago, I'd had about all of him that I could stand. Always wanting to touch me, that kid. And his touch is not a gentle touch, let me tell you. He's into SQUEEZING and TWISTING and PULLING. It's a lot to ask of Old Gus. My sleep has suffered lately...I bet you I don't get more than twenty hours of sleep a day. Now, I ask you, how's a dog supposed to function with that kind of deprivation?
Back to the general torment, though. I have a confession to make... I did something kind of evil. After a long bout of harassment at the hands of this kid, I kind of, well....I wished that he'd disappear. I know! I know! It's wrong and mean and selfish, but I'd had all I could take. Mom even washed one of my old toys and just because I haven't played with it in two or three years, she gave it to him! It was the final straw. I wished him gone, went to bed, and like that! He disappeared. I kid you not.
I woke up the next morning and he and mom were GONE. I was a little bummed that mom was gone, but I took advantage and caught up on my sleep. After a few days, I began to worry that I had done something irreversible. They never came back! Eight, nine, ten days....no mom. I admit, I got a little manic and did a little damage to the couch. Two big holes worth of worry, I laid on that couch. I was going out of my mind! Finally, SIXTEEN days later, they came home. Do you know how long that is in dog years! About half my life!
They walked in that door, and I was ready to do anything, ANYTHING! to keep them around. I learned my lesson. I'll let him pet me, pull on me, anything. Just don't leave me again! Oh, the trauma this has caused Old Gus. I've aged at least five months. I have to say, while he was gone, he did become a whole lot more useful to me:
(That's me there, to the left. Notice my toy on his tray. Harumph.) At last, I recovered and was feeling back to normal again, when mom completely lost her mind and came home with this:
I'm never going to rest again! Y'all, this thing is alive. It rolls all over the house and tries to suck me up. I even have to guard that kid against it....it's everywhere! Under my couch, around my food, nothing is safe! I just don't know how much more of this I can take. I snapped a little yesterday. I got after a bag of squash and a box of ziploc bags. I just had to do something, I was feeling insane! (Note to other dogs: I don't recommend either the raw squash or the bags. Not good.)
In closing, folks...keep me in your thoughts. It's been a rough month. And be careful what you wish for.
Thanks for listening,
Gus the Beagle
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Sick.
Piglet spit up directly into Mr. Pigs' mouth today. It may be the funniest thing I've ever seen.
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