100 things about me

1. I once appeared on The Uncle Al Show.
2. I got to be in the cookie jar where I think I was the only kid in the history of the show to eat only one Mama's cookie!
3. I am now a mama myself--a mother of three boys.
4. I am a librarian.
5. I am an English teacher who may return to that position soon, for more reasons than one.
6. I have a brother who is 16 years younger than I am and he's my only sibling; on top of that, we found out one month and one day before he got here that he was coming in the first place.
7. I consider myself a writer and some day I'm going to write a doozy.
8. I sat next to my husband in high school band--he played bari sax while I played oboe--and I was convinced he hated my guts. For some reason that bothered me even then.
9. I now have two nieces from China.
10. We have a chocolate lab named Goober.
11. If I had it to do over again, I probably would have gone to college at CBC and studied music like Dr. Koplow encouraged me to do, but that wouldn't have worked very well because Dr. Koplow was at NKU. If I'd gone to CBC originally, I never would have met the man, so I guess music just wasn't meant to be.
12. And I still would have had my three boys; I just would have added one girl--I think.
13. I played drums in marching band.
14. I once did a flip over my tri-toms when I played drums in marching band, and no, it wasn't planned. I came out without a scratch and without a lot of my original dignity.
15. I am afraid of flying, but I'm going to Puerto Rico this summer with a bunch of teenagers.
16. I hate heat and humidity, but I'm going to Puerto Rico this summer with a bunch of teenagers.
17. If this Puerto Rico thing works like I hope, I want to find more mission trips to do.
18. I play piano.
19. I used to play clarinet and guitar.
20. My all-time favorite musician is Rich Mullins. (Why can't I write like that?)
21. My all-time favorite philosopher is probably Rich Mullins, too, but I know a couple who rank right up there with him.
22. I believe Elvis IS dead.
23. I believe JFK and Hitler are, too.
24. I LOVE to read, but I don't get to do it as much as I wish I did.
25. I won the same library grant twice. That ain't easy to do.
26. My favorite fiction books are Christy and Jane Eyre.
27. I like mountains more than I do the ocean.
28. People who sit in the teachers' lounge and make fun of kids and their families really annoy me.
29. I love to laugh.
30. I'm ever-so-slowly turning gray, which really gets my goat. My grandmother was well into her 80s when she died and she didn't have much gray at all.
31. My husband is a lot more patient with me than I am with him, bless his heart.
32. I'm too laid back to be a woman.
33. I love teenagers--at least most of them.
34. The day my mother-in-law died, I thought I would, too.
35. The day my cousin died, I wasn't much better than that.
36. I was my mother's mother's only grandchild for sixteen years and she spoiled me horribly.
37. I never knew my mother's father or her brother, either, but visiting their graves chokes me up more than visiting the graves of anyone I did know.
38. Mom's father was a Quaker.
39. Dad's great-grandmother was German.
40. Somewhere in the mix is Scotch-Irish and Native American.
41. Need I say anything about my temper? (The Quaker may be closer, but it lost out on that deal.)
42. Brian's grandmother was probably my favorite person ever.
43. Of the about 15 of us who hung out together in high school, only six (maybe 7; I've lost contact with one) of us are married and only 5 of those six have children. Two of the six married each other. Two (maybe four) are gay and one was, at one time at least, a lesbian. Go figure.
44. My biggest fear is losing a child.
45. My second-biggest fear is losing my husband.
46. I HATE RATS AND MICE!
47. I saw Elvis in concert once. I had long hair and my grandma fixed it in finger-curls for the concert.
48. I went to the Bob Braun Show a couple years after I went to Uncle Al. I don't remember a thing about who was there that day, but I remember he was one of the nicest men I ever met.
49. I can usually catch sales like you can't believe.
50. My son attends a Bible college in Louisville, and I can't stand that town.
51. The worst things about teaching are PDs and meetings.
52. It's funny how, when I quit watching TV, the whole world became more beautiful.
53. I'm not incredibly talented or smart, but I am diverse. I guess that's something to be said about having no real strengths.
54. If I can get on a plane to go to Puerto Rico, I want to get on a plane to go to Great Britain one day.
55. I hate the way some folks turn teenagers or older people or little people or other people, in general, into service projects.
56. I cry over greeting cards and commercials.
57. I can drink iced tea by the gallon.
58. I don't drink, but I don't mind if others do--just as long as they don't get sloshed.
59. Nothing makes me angrier than knowing others drink or smoke or whatever while their families are doing without because of it.
60. The only thing I don't like about my house is that I can't see sunrises or sunsets. If I could find a place that would allow me to do that, I'd sell this one in a heartbeat.
61. Two of my more-embarrassing moments are already chronicled in previous blogs. I won't tell anyone my most-embarrassing. Not even Brian.
62. The most annoying things in the world are sales calls. I've put my name on no-call lists, but I still get calls for school.
63. I censor school materials.
64. Some of the funniest moments we've ever had have come courtesy of Brennan, our quietest child.
65. I get tired of Christians holding non-Christians to their Christian standards. That's as logical as expecting someone who only understand Spanish to immediately understand English.
66. I've never been so scared as I was on three separate occasions, and these are in chronological order: a) when Brian lost his finger; b) when Bart was diagnosed with diabetes, and c) when I got a call from my mom where she said, "Get over here now; we have to take your dad to the hospital!" and she hung up.
67. I've never been so close to beating anyone as I was my parents as I was when I arrived at their house after that phone call to find both of them sitting calmly in chairs, reading the paper. I'd arrived in 10 minutes. The trip normally takes approximately 20. I'd prayed all the way. Guess I'd flown, too.
68. The only time I've ever screamed at God was that day when I was begging him not to take Dad yet.
69. The day that Bart left his glasses on the car for the second time while he was playing outside was the only time I've screamed at any of my kids with someone else present--and that's because, for the second time, I drove off with them still on there. He was a junior in high school at that time. It was all my fault that it happened, according to him.
70. I have so many good thoughts that I've decided I must write down later, only to have forgotten the thoughts by the time I remember to write them down.
71. I'm none too thrilled about conventional church just because it's all so premeditated and no one really gets to care about each other or about God.
72. I'm the weird one of my family on both sides. Don't know why. I'm not a black sheep; I just hear a different drummer.
73. I like challenges. If I don't have challenges, I get really bored. Few challenge me.
74. I grew up in the same house where my mom and dad live now, and they've lived there for 42 years--since they were married.
75. I've never seen Titanic or Steel Magnolias, and I don't feel as though I've lost that much, but maybe I'm wrong.
76. I've never read a lot of the stuff I'm supposed to have read (Pride and Prejudice, Cry, the Beloved Country, Brave New World), but I've read a lot of stuff few others have (Christy, Jane Eyre, A Country Doctor).
77. I'm addicted to ice cream.
78. My butt proves it.
79. I hate basketball--especially KENTUCKY basketball. I think it's too much of a god here to be given any real consideration.
80. I love spoonerisms and Freudian slips.
81. Everyone at school knows better than to say that I'm not a real teacher; if one doesn't, s/he learns quickly. =)
82. Our schools are doing our teens of today more of a disservice than even parents imagine.
83. I like algebra in a sadistic kind of way.
84. Many of the folks I see on a daily basis get more uptight about the candy machine stealing their money than they do about a kid who is wasting his potential.
85. I don't belong to KEA or AFT and I hope I never do.
86. Some teachers are the biggest whiners I have ever run across.
87. My favorite colors are blue and the rosy/dusty/mauvey reds.
88. If I could, I'd wear jeans, sweats, and t-shirts all the time--and no shoes!
89. I plan to learn to quilt this year.
90. I plan to learn to paint a little, too.
91. I plan to learn the hammered dulcimer sometime in the not-too-distant future.
92. If I could afford to, I might quit my job at the drop of a hat, but I'm not sure.
93. I hate cliches, but I can't help using them, it seems.
94. I have never had a real birthday party, and now I'm not so sure I want one. Brian tried last year for my 40th, but it was awful. I'm still not over it.
95. I snore.
96. I scratch my head when I write and sometimes when I read.
97. I cheer for the underdog--always.
98. I think entertainers are, by-and-large, stupid, overpaid egomaniacs who couldn't hold a real job if they tried. (Why can't they all be like John Wayne, Jimmy Stewart, and Bob Hope? Shoot, why can't they all be like Mel Gibson! Oh, yeah!)
99. I don't, to this day, understand how anyone in his right mind could vote for Bill Clinton. (Sorry to those who voted for him who may stumble across this, but I don't!)
100. I have come to realize that humans are incapable of unconditional love, but it seems dogs do it quite nicely.

Niceness, for the most-part

Saw a couple folks that I never, ever see as I shopped this afternoon; actually, there were three and I'd never seen one of them before, in spite of the fact he was named for our youngest son. (OK, not really. Really he was named for an author that is wonderful, but my son shared the name before we knew about the author and--is this getting confusing or what?) Anyway, glad to see Jared and Angie and wish we could see them and a couple others a lot more often than we do.

Sometimes I HATE living here. It's too far away from the people I really like and can talk to without getting one of those looks or one of those comments. Not that that is the only reason, but boy, it sure is nice. (OK, I'm being selfish again.)

I got to hang out my sheets today. (The day was GLORIOUS with 60 + degree temps on February 28.) They smell so wonderful now. I wish I could hang them out all the time. I don't mind hanging out laundry as much as I mind throwing it in the dryer, but I'm glad to have my dryer, too. I remember the days when Mom didn't have one. She was, I'd estimate, a good 300 lbs., but she carried laundry from the basement to the second story of our farmhouse where she had clotheslines strung across a storage room. I didn't realize the chore at the time, but now I do. I don't know how she did it.

I've gone from wanting to buy everything to hating to shop. What is going on? I'm not complaining, mind you, but I can't figure it out. As a matter of fact, Bart was whining this morning that one of his Playstation games was damaged--one that he paid for personally--and I had little sympathy for him; in fact, I was quoting Scripture, for crying out loud! I try to not do that because I don't want them to resent either me or God for it, but--well, I think I'm turning into a Fundamentalist! That can't be!(Ben and Ruthie--HELP!) =) No, my problem is that he seems to be more wrapped up in that thing every weekend and I HATE IT!

Planning trips to Gatlinburg and to Puerto Rico. I'm becoming quite the traveler.

The day is glorious, but I feel angry

I wish I could just let go of the feeling that I need to be accepted by people and that only the folks who are accepted by others are the folks worth anything. I find that, if I could be comfortable with myself and my lack of social needs and my sometimes odd views of life, I would be happier because I know right now that I'm never going to be accepted like those around me. I'm never going to be cheered on like my brother- and sister-in-law; I'm never going to be emulated like my brother; I'm never going to be respected like my parents are; I'm never going to be seen as the teacher-leader Sharon Valentine or Tony Dietrich or Rhonda Moore or George Christoph are. I'm just going to be me. Few, if any, will ever buy into my idea of faith and church and "religion." Few, if any, will ever count on me for much of anything--expect much from me regardless of my potential because I'm just not aggressive enough or assertive enough or...

Why isn't that OK?

I think part of being a true follower of Christ--letting go of the world, as He puts it--is just that: being yourself. I have a family and a career and, once in a while, things go OK. Sometimes I feel more blessed than some of those around me who gush about their blessings just because I don't feel the desire to be out and about to latch onto the accolades. Sometimes, though, I rant and rave about how unfair life is--like today. Today is a day where I'm asking why people can't see folks as I see them--why they can't see my sister-in-law as "one who is better than"; why they can't see Brian's uncle in the same light; why they can't see beyond their facades and the facades of others like them.

Then I wonder who is really looking at facades.

The girls, the guys, and the expectations

Got pictures of the newest addition to the family. At nine months, Emma appears to be quite the personality in spite of living in the not-so-favorable conditions of a Chinese orphanage for all her life. We got pictures yesterday and they showed a happy, beautiful Chinese doll. She already says da-da; she makes fish-lips, and she makes faces at the baby in the mirror. I can't wait to get them home so that we can see her.

Brett wants to take PE 2, Lifetime Fitness 2, and study hall next year. That's it. Of course, he can't get by with that, but that didn't stop him from trying. Now he's taking calculus and other classes that he can't stand. Poor kid ought to have known better than to have landed a mom who is a teacher.

Brennan is doing much better than he has been in school; of course, I don't know how he could mess up considering they spent Monday watching a movie, of all things. Makes me want to home-school him--Brett too, for that matter.

Bart has an ear infection and feels plain miserable right now. Poor kid goes from court to the doctor. (Wow. It's already been three days since we were at court. This week has flown!) I know everyone there is watching out for him, but still...well, a mom is a mom. A dad is a dad, too. I think he wants me to go get him more than I want to go get him, and that's bad.

I think I feel better

I awakened at 2:00 AM worrying about the kid who told me about the stupid teacher and the stupid kid because I had to tell the principal about the kid who told me. Now, though, I know the teacher's fate, so that makes me feel some better. He'll be back fairly soon. I'm glad. He deserved something, but not what I thought he would get.

Brian goes to Alabama tomorrow. He talked to Dave last week and that alone has helped a lot. Maybe he just needs to know that someone else cares; his family--the ones he cares most about--doesn't seem to care much for him, that's for sure. And he told Bart that he loved him today and Bart was so happy that he text messaged me to tell me how cool that was.

I can't believe this: I'm thinking about teaching again--I mean actual classroom teaching. I submitted a letter expressing interest in the notion and John told me that we'd talk if a position became available. In the meantime, we're working on the third Literary Gala for the year (May 3) and I'm trying to get a book fair together. If I can keep things together, I'm OK. If people would play, I'd be ecstatic.

Dishes are calling and so is a good book and the bed. I'll continue this later.

Seeing The Passion this weekend, if I can handle it. I really want to handle it.

A day in court and a day in China

Bart appears in court in less than four hours for his speeding/reckless driving charge. If he had to do it, why did he have to do it in a place that's over an hour away?

Heard from Karen and Patrick. They now have Emma and Patrick has taught her to say "da-da." She's taken to them all and is doing really well, I gather. Sarah--the kid who has been planning from the beginning to "take her back to China"--got the first laugh out of her. I hope things go well the rest of the way through.

The truth is out and it's no better

OK. He wasn't falsely accused. He was just set up, more or less.

Still sucks.

The plot thickens and it sucks

What do you do when you feel someone has been falsely accused and will probably lose his job because of the false accusations, but you don't know the first thing about anything through first-hand experience to be able to help?

And what do you do when you find out that a kid who is your son's age--a girl you pretty much had hopes of having as a daughter-in-law one day--probably isn't even going to make it to graduation?

Some days you're in the right place...

And some days you're not. Today was one of the "not" days; actually, that day started yesterday.

Secrets are better kept as secrets sometimes, but sometimes they just have to come out and that's the right thing to do. I just didn't want to be the one who received the secret. Yesterday I was. Today the secret hit the fan without my help. (I'm glad I didn't have to make it hit the fan because I would have had a mad student.) Now I believe it's a mess just beginning to take shape.

Sometimes you see that happen when you're a teacher.

Crazy school stuff, part 387

Just about the time you think you're going to tear your hair out at school, things like these happen:

What Did I Say???

Mr. Dietrich walked in with Andy M. and Brett while Patty and I were talking. Patty grabbed Andy for his midterm, then I grabbed Brett for his. Mr. D. walked in and started herding them toward the computers and Patty explained that we had shang-haied them.

Of course, I couldn't leave well enough alone. I wanted to say, "You have the misfortune of having two of our kids as your students." Instead I said, "You have the misfortune of having two of our kids as your sons."

Zach James nearly fell off his chair and I think Patty, the good Catholic innocent by-stander, was at least as embarrassed by the situation as I was.



What Did HE Say???

Rich told me about one of the middle school behavioral disorder students. Seems that he dropped his bun as he was going to set his tray down at lunch. His reaction? "Oh, f*#%!" Then he saw a teacher sitting next to him, well within hearing range. His reaction then? "Oh, d*$#!"

The teacher gave him credit for coming up from the cellar just a little bit, at least.

"We're off"

That was the message I found on my e-mail this morning at about 6:00. Brian's brother and sister-in-law AND three-year-old niece are on their way back to China, along with a family friend who is going mostly to help with the three-year-old. They'll come home with one more person, just like they did nearly three years ago. Emma Mei will be coming home to stay.

We thought we would be less excited about this homecoming than we were the first one; heck, we've been through it once. But now that it's just about 10 days away, we realize we're no less excited than we were before. We're just more familiar with what this is like.

We always thought that their inability to have their own children was a kind of curse. I can't imagine, for example, not knowing how it feels for your baby to move inside you--feeling those flutters for the first time or having those tae-kwon-do kicks later on that wake you from a sound sleep. I wouldn't trade those experiences for anything, but somehow I don't feel as though Karen and Patrick have been cheated at all. Maybe, in some ways, they've been just as blessed. What an opportunity God has given them! And their reward is two little girls that they get to spoil and love, as do we.

A new niece is on the way!

Brian, Brennan and I went to Karen, Patrick, and Sarah's tonight to see them before they leave for China in the morning. In a couple weeks it will be Karen, Patrick, Sarah, and Emma. Can't wait. Emma can't be as much fun as Sarah, but she's still going to be special.

Ten seconds with a drill

I feel better. Doc drilled one hole in my tooth (it's dead; I feel like I should be wearing a black armband or something) and yanked out the nerve; I am already feeling better. But he ain't finished.

Can you say "root canal"?

Can you say "crown"?

Can you say "$$$$$$"? AACK!

I've had this insane craving for ice cream since my appointment this morning. I couldn't eat, so I stopped to get a milkshake--something that usually makes me sick. Now I'm on my second bowl of ice cream. I hope we can widen the doors at little expense.

I wish this would account for my crankiness

Revelation at 4:15 AM: I have a tooth abscess. That's why I've been in pain since Sunday. Hoping the dentist calls soon. With my luck, he's not right here in town. He's probably in Butler instead. As long as I get this thing settled, I don't care if I have to drive across the Mojave and the Gulf. (Why I would have to do that is a mystery.)

Finished The Secret Life of Bees yesterday afternoon. Pretty good stuff. I love her metaphor, especially the teasers at the beginning of every chapter that come from various publications on bees and their lives and their care. In spite of the dangers I'm treading upon (according to the fundamentalists), you can't help but see how we're all intertwined--nature and humans. Good grief, look at what the fall did to them! The lion and the lamb did get along until we blew it. I'm not a tree-hugger, but if we think that nature is just ours for the destroying, we have it all wrong. We use it with respect. We don't worship it, but we treat it as a creation of God. And we look at it to learn about it and about ourselves. Makes a big difference.

I guess that's the reason that I didn't like the book. I liked it for its metaphor and for the story itself, but I had a lot of trouble with the idea that the folks in the book worshiped bees and their version of Mary. I found it disturbing that the center of worship for these people--black people--was the legend of a wooden woman who loosed them from slavery. Maybe I'm looking way too far into it, but it was almost like she preyed upon the stereotype, in some ways--like the only things African-Americans worship is the fact that they were freed from slavery and the only thing they detest is the fact that they were slaves. The women in the book were well off--or at least comfortable. They certainly didn't get where they were by dwelling on their ancestors' pasts.

Maybe I just need to take more drugs and lie down again.

Anybody got any cheese?

Quiet. That's unusual here.

One day off of school and I feel like I've won the lottery. Never mind that I should be there anyway, doing whatever it is I do (or don't do is more like it), but I decided that I was feeling like a train wreck that was staged to happen at any moment, so I stayed home.

Nice.

Had a thought-provoking discussion at church last night; then I had a heart-dumping discussion right after that. I need those now and again.

First, those of us who are going to Puerto Rico first had to sit through the youth lesson for the evening. I thought it would be awful, but it turned out to be pretty good. Jon posted three signs around the room and we were to choose whichever sign we thought fit the circumstance. The signs said, "Disputable," "Not Disputable--Lacking in Love", then "Not Disputable." "Not Disputable" meant against the law; "Not Disputable--Lacking in Love" meant that the circumstance wasn't against the law but it was probably not in the best interest of those around us if we engaged in the behavior. The behaviors were things such as smoking, alcohol, swearing, speeding, illegal drugs, big house/nice car, etc. The most shocking thing was that, when alcohol came up, all of us adults (those over 21) stayed at the "Disputable" sign. One of those folks was an elder; another was a deacon; another was a deacon's wife. I almost laughed. If the rest of the board had been back there, I'm almost convinced we would have been looking for at least two new board members--but maybe not.

Speeding was fun, considering my lead-footed son was back there. ("Yeah, Bart. Where are you going to stand?") Swearing was unequivocally "Not Disputable--Lacking in Love." Illegal drugs was a no-brainer. Actually, once we figured out the program, no one seemed to be too much out of sync with each other.

Then, after our planning session about PR, our youth minister's wife and I talked a little. I suddenly found myself telling her a lot that I haven't said to too many people, if any have heard it all. I still have lots to say, but at least I got to dump the tip of the iceberg.

To be honest, I've felt overwhelmed for years. At first I thought it was school and family and...you know, life; but now I'm finding that I'm not just physically tired. I'm plain tired in every way imaginable. I can't pick up my Bible most times without just putting it back down. I can't pray. I can't seem to get the house done without either going into a tantrum or just becoming apathetic over the whole deal. I can't do much work at work at all, to speak of. I'm almost convinced I'm losing it, but I don't feel that way. I just feel as though the whole world is on my shoulders. Jackie and I talked about this for a little while, and I told her I really didn't know what to do.
Enough whining.

The snow is almost gone from our yard. All that's left are those places where piles once were--you know, from shoveling the drive or the city scraping the street. A week ago I was praying for another snow day but now I just want spring. Not spring, really. February is too early for that. Maybe just more days in the 40s and 50s than days in the 20s and 30s. I'll send my wish list to Mother Nature.

Weirdest of the weird: I think my Bible was stolen. I had it at school but, as of Friday, I couldn't seem to locate it. (That's what I get for forgetting to bring it home after I need it.) Do I rejoice in this--especially since I'm not reading it much right now and there's a chance that someone else might?--or do I suffer righteous indignation? That seems pointless. Ironic situation I find myself in. Those are usually the most fun.

What's up with me this morning?

My jaw hurts, I'm tired, and I'm really cranky. I can barely get two seconds to myself because of men and the dog. I want to run away.

Maybe I'll nap this afternoon instead.

Family Time

We took the whole family to O'Charley's for Valentine's Day. Good eatin'.

Amazing: on the way there and back, Bart and Brett and I talked and talked and talked. We talked music; we talked school; we talked music; we talked sports; we talked music. Brennan listened to Garth Brooks (I don't DARE call that music) on his personal CD player and Brian just sat there. Oh, well.

Watched the trailer for The Passion of the Christ. I cry when I read reviews for it and I cry when I watch the trailer. What am I going to do when I see it?

Puffs, go into overtime. You're going to need many more tissues.

Now to focus on other folks

One piece of information that I left out of yesterday's news was that one of the kids--a kid whom I LOVE and who works with me in the library--was found sitting in a bathroom stall crying her eyes out. This is nothing really unusual; she has days like this. Yesterday, though, she wouldn't tell me directly what was wrong. That's not like her.

"You'll yell at me," she said.

I asked her when I'd ever yelled at her.

"Oh, you will," she insisted.

She did tell me that our over-worked counselor had had to put her on hold. She didn't know why, so she felt like she was being brushed aside. I explained to her that that wasn't the case and that our counselor was just having to do too much for any one person to handle.

Then out of the blue, she says, "I'm fat and ugly and...My dad finally admitted to me last night that he has problems with fat people. I've been trying to throw up. The only thing that has turned me against it is that I hate the taste of puke."

Now this young lady isn't exactly thin. She's not HORRIDLY overweight, but she has a weight problem and she knows it. But she is beautiful inside and out. I wanted my son to take her to the prom last year, and I guess I made the mistake of trying to talk him into doing that. I couldn't think of a better person for him.

And the irony in her dad's comments come with apparently no CLUE that she loves him unconditionally, irrationally. Her dad is gay. She doesn't care. She's a Christian who knows it's wrong and will tell you it's wrong, but she doesn't look at the sin; she sees the man who is infected by the sin and she loves him.

And he can't really love her because she is overweight and because she has emotional problems that require medication and because she isn't perfect.

His loss. Some day I hope she realizes that.

"Some days it just don't pay to get up"--but sometimes those are the days you REALLY should!

I should have seen it coming.

Everyone trembles at the thought of Friday the 13th. I've learned through the years to become wary of Thursday the 12th.

Unfortunately, I didn't learn well enough.

This has been a quirky week in the first place. Tuesday I went to our local fast-food restaurant (can we say McDonald's on this thing?) and ordered two Big Mac meals for the guys and a salad for myself--a Caesar with French dressing. (OK, I'm different.) When I drove up to the pick-up window, the worker asked, "What's with the salad dressing, anyway?" After retrieving my bearings, I said, "She asked me what kind of dressing I wanted, so I asked for French." She said, "I was wondering why you had Caesar and French in the bag." OK. Someone made a boo-boo, but I had the bag and the drinks, so I left.

I arrived home and the boys got their hamburgers, etc. Then I went to the bag. No salad. Not so much as a lettuce leaf. Only a packet of French and a packet of Caesar dressing.

By that time, Brian had gotten home, so I asked him what he wanted. He placed his order with me and I went back to get my salad. When I walked into the place, the previously-mentioned worker met me at the counter. "I tried to get you when you left! Did they know they charged you for a salad?"

????

My response? "I ordered a salad. I didn't GET the salad. That's part of the reason I'm here."

"Oh. Well, then, that's it over there." She pointed toward the counter. I got my salad. Gee.

Fast-forward to today.

I met my partner-in-crime (our lab manager) at the door and she was already going a blue streak at 7:20 AM. "Mr. Howard's computer is down."

Our manager isn't on the clock at this time, so she gets really irritated when she gets this type of call at this time. Not good when you share a room with her. Eva dashed out the door to fix a the *^&! computer while I prepared for student Bible study. (Ironic combination there.)

Before 8:30, I was dragged into computer crises, as well.

By 8:20, one teacher who had not checked her equipment was in the midst of a crisis at the beginning of class. Her laptop had no CD drive port. I took a new laptop to her, but then we faced another issue: it had no ports for the Proxima projector. I thought that wouldn't be a problem if I could only find an S-Video cable. Laugh. S-Video cables are at a premium in our building. After much rooting, we found a VGA cable and our STC and I thought it would be worth a shot. Laugh again. Thank God for kids. After about 10 minutes back in Meredith's room, one of the students pops a door on the computer and--lo and behold--there are the ports we were looking for in the first place. (What's really frustrating is that I knew about this; I had just forgotten about it.) We hooked it up, anxiously anticipating a beautiful picture; instead we got an error message. I called my partner-in-crime and left as soon as I saw she was making her way up the hall.

In the meantime, the teacher who had started Eva's day off so brightly notified me that he needed a Proxima projector in the library second block. Since those are only a little less rare in our building than are S-Video cables, I was on the hunt again. (This guy has his own, and I believe he had it in his room--but, oh, well.) I got the STC to let me borrow one, and sometime during all this mess with Meredith, she sent it to the library. That's great, except I didn't know that she'd sent it to the library. So when I met Tony the English Teacher coming up the hall with a Proxima projector, and he said that someone had returned mine to the library, I didn't think a thing of it.

Then I got to the library on yet another mission (a teacher, somewhere during this mess, had asked me to take a worksheet to the copy room for her), and my aides said, "Mrs. Greene sent the Proxima up for Mr. Howard to use in the library."

AARGH!

So off to Tony the English Teacher's room I go. I arrived. I glowered. He cowered. I left with a Proxima projector. I then ran across the hall to see about Meredith. The computer that I had given her was locking up after about 5 frames; she had to keep rebooting, so she was getting nowhere still with her presentation.

This time she called Eva.

I returned to the library and set up the Proxima in the appropriate corner. I tried to send one of the boys down to a classroom that had our only portable projector screen (yet another premium item) only to realize that my brother was subbing in there and he had no key to the room. (He had been sadistically watching this soon-to-be Olympic event from a front-row seat.) After I confirmed that I couldn't open the door, either, I set off in search of a custodian who opened the door; then I sent one of my burly student aides to get the screen while I went back to finish the set-up, which included finding a cart since, I soon discovered, mine had been absconded. Tony the English Teacher--the one who had done the absconding--offered his AV cart; I gratefully accepted and sent another of my aides (this one not so burly) down the hall to retrieve the cart.

Once the cart was in the library, I completed my set-up and breathed a relieved sigh.

Oh, how foolish of me. It was only 9:50. I still had more than five hours to go in this place!

The bell rang for second block. I answered the phone. I checked out books. I made sure everything was set up as it should be.

The tardy bell rang. I waited for Mr. Howard's arrival.

In walks Ms. Wainscott.

I only took a moment to realize that I had neglected to write her on my schedule earlier in the week and, as a result, I had her class and Mr. Howard's class both scheduled at the same time. My first thought: we can do this. All I have to do is break the screen and the Proxima down and take it to...to...

To where?

I grabbed the phone, frantically dialing--looking for an empty room with about 20 computers. (A premium location in our school.) As I'm dialing my second number, I catch a movement out of the corner of my eye.

Mr. Howard has arrived; he blanches. All of his dreams for uninterrupted library time have gone by way of his fish from a few years ago--down the toidy.

As I stood there trying to decide who else to call, the two of them took matters in hand and Ms. Wainscott stayed. Both were gracious; Mr. Howard got a free lunch--literally--and I felt like crawling into a hole.

I ran down to Meredith's room again and she told me she had decided to hook the Proxima up to her regular computer. I unhooked the laptops and started hooking up her desktop computer. Once I started moving her things around, she informed me that she would take care of it herself.

I headed back to the library.

I arrived to find peace--or rather, the proverbial calm before the storm. I checked my schedule, put Ms. Wainscott in the library for the next period, and took care of some e-mails, etc., that were waiting for my attention.

Eva was still running crazy. Other computers had had some issues, as well, but, before the end of the period, she was back in her chair reading a book--a well-deserved break. I didn't dare pick up a book, so I kept working on e-mails.

About ten minutes before this period ended, Eva's phone rang. Another computer had taken a dive--much like Mr. Howard's had early in the morning. As Eva ran out of the room, all I could think was, "Here we go again."

Third period started with the return of Ms.Wainscott. Her kids settled in at computers and logged on. Since she had an early lunch and would be leaving in a moment, I left, grabbed my lunch and brought it back to the library in hopes of some quiet. By the time I arrived back on the scene, one teacher's overhead had blown a bulb. I grabbed a couple different bulbs--sure one would work--and went down the hall. Of course, neither of them worked. Thankfully, the teacher had gotten another projector to use for the block, so I went back to my lunch.

I had just really dug in when another English teacher--Mrs. Moreland--showed up to use the computers. Since I thought Ms. Wainscott had occupied only half of the computers, I put Mrs. Moreland's small class on the ones that I could reasonably assume were empty.

I had forgotten that nothing was reasonable today.

Ms. Wainscott's class showed up about fifteen minutes later--during which time I had probably gotten to eat maybe three bites of my salad--and looked pretty much like Mr. Howard had looked when he walked in second block. After another discussion--this time not a negotiation, but more like a "the librarian's lost it" conversation--Mrs. Moreland packed up her class and headed back. That's when I realized that she was supposed to have gone to another room altogether; instead she just gave up. I, on the other hand, gave up on lunch and went to complete the changing of the bulbs.

Then Tony the English Teacher called. "When can we come down to check books out?"

"Tomorrow and Monday?"

"No. Today and tomorrow."

I'd missed him, too.

After all was said and done, the school was still standing, I proved once again that I am far from perfect, we checked out books to Tony the English Teacher's classes, and I still have a job and some shred of respect amongst the establishment.

In the midst of all this, though, I had a reminder of God's greatness--and from a non-Christian, at that. I told Mr. Howard that, since God had promised never to forsake me, I supposed He was giving me a test--and a BIG one, at that, and I wasn't doing so well.

He replied, "I think you will make an A- or better. God always grades on the curve."

Truer words were never spoken! THANK GOD FOR GRACE!

Stupid Human Tricks

I know I have another one, but this one is the one I remember.

One of my former principals--one I didn't care for much when I worked with him in that capacity--is now back as a teacher. He teaches the "ruffians."

Today, his cell phone came up missing. After a feverish search, he concluded that one of his students had stolen it, and he knew which one had. He called in the school resource officer and two administrators and they all went to the alleged offending student's locker.

Imagine the scene.

Teacher: My phone plays The Lone Ranger theme, so if we hear that, we'll know it's mine.

The assistant principal dials. The Lone Ranger plays.

Teacher: See! I told you that kid took it! It's in the locker!

The three others bend toward the locker to listen.

Principal: Steve, I don't think it's coming from the locker.

The song was coming from Steve's belt. He'd covered his cell phone with his sweater.

Today was one of those days I was glad to be a teacher. =)

A place we'd never been before

My oldest son and I went to a visitation last Friday night. Bart (my son) and this kid just graduated last May. I don't remember how long it took for one of my classmates to pass, but it was certainly longer than nine months. It seems this skinny spitfire had a heart condition no one knew about. His dad told me his heart was enlarged. That's all it took to bring down a nineteen-year-old boy.

I have been at a few funerals for young people and many for old. My first "young person funeral" that I can really remember was that of my twenty-year-old cousin, and amazingly the circumstances were similar. Billy's heart wasn't enlarged; he was just too big to be playing church basketball--but who knew? He played basketball whenever the urge hit and that was often. But on December 1, 1979, that didn't matter anymore because that was the night his urge took him away and left all of us wondering what might have been. He was seeing a girl. Would they have married, as he seemed to be hoping? How many kids would he have had? How would he and his four-year-old brother that he'd waited so long for (he had three sisters, poor guy) have gotten along? Then later--much later--would his sister have fought anorexia if he had lived? Would his parents have divorced after nearly forty years of marriage? It's odd how we expect one person to make such a difference in things like that.

And here I am, wondering about such things with Billy and, to a much lesser extent, Anthony (I saw him every day, but I didn't know him) as I remember that three weeks ago, a railroad engineer found another one of my former students--a twenty-two-year-old young man who was planning his wedding--hanging from a railroad bridge. He'd made some bad choices, but nothing that was worth his life, but he decided to end it right there on a railroad bridge where, but for the grace of God, he could have hung until spring without his family or his fiance having a clue about where to find him. Seems really unfair and stupid and--you fill in the blank--that so many young people want to live and just die from heart attacks or strange maladies or car accidents or horse accidents and then someone so healthy with so many hopes just decides that it's time to check out and leave a widowed mother and two sisters and a fiance--all who adore him and depend on him--behind. Forgive my judgmental attitude, but I have a lot of trouble with that.

I don't plan to make this a daily thing, but...

As I alluded earlier, my faith is something that is important to me. Sharing it has been a problem, though, considering I've been trying to get a handle on it for a while now.

Today, though, I decided that maybe I've been complicating the matter too darned much. I think I'm looking for this great insight on faith when all it is is stepping out and doing something, regardless of the consequences. And I'm not talking about physically walking off a cliff or walking into a strip joint for Jesus (whatever folks mean by that) or anything like that. I'm talking about stretching my limits.

That may, in my case, mean:
1) boarding a plane to fly to Puerto Rico to work with a missionary for about 10 days--and that IS happening this June;
2) quitting my job that has little-to-no consequence for anyone to do something that does matter (I've toyed with writing, but I don't seem to have the life experience it takes to make a decent story right now; besides, I feel as though I'd be isolating myself when what I probably really need is to reach out to others--and not just for story ideas);
3) letting down my guard enough to let people know where I hurt;
4) letting down my guard enough to really love my husband (as much as I hate thinking this, it's really hard to do a lot of the time anymore; as I said before, we're becoming more and more opposite. I just wish he'd smile once in a while.)

In other words, I've philosophized my faith until I've made it a lot harder, I think, than what it really is. Jesus said that we should have the faith of a child. A child doesn't philosophize; he does what you ask him to or he rebels. There's really no in-between. Sometimes children understand the whys and wherefores; sometimes they don't. They just trust the parents to care for them in the best way they know how.

So come June, I'll try to remember that as I'm stepping onto that airplane. I have a feeling that this trip will not only be a boost to my faith; I expect it to be the biggest blessing I've ever experienced.

And here we go!

My son is into this, as is a friend. Now it's my turn. Since I'm nearly ten years older than our friend and, naturally, even older than my son, I feel rather silly--like this is something that only youngsters do. As you can see from my current title, I don't consider myself a youngster anymore; however, I do consider myself to be more confused than I've been in my thirty-nine previous years. On one hand, I know I'm in good company, so that's a comfort. On the other hand, I'm not usually known to fit the mould, so the fact that I pick now to do so is distressing.

About me. I find that I like to talk about myself more than is healthy or tolerable. I mostly talk about things that frustrate or confuse me--hence, this blog. If you happen upon this, you may want to tune out pretty quickly. If not, maybe you'd like to join me for the forty-something ride I'm on and join in with anything that may strike you in any particular manner.

But I digress.

As you've figured out, I'm a middle-ager. I feel as though I can just now call myself that because I just turned 40 last May and I plan to stick around to be at least 80. I know I have no control over that and that I might not make it to 40 and nine months, which I will be on Valentine's Day. (Wow, when have I counted the months to my age?) But I can dream, so I will. I don't really think, though, that not making it to 80 would be so bad for me. I just don't want to die before my parents. I've seen that situation several times and I love my parents too much to have that happen to them.

Speaking of parents, I am one three times over. "My Three Sons" is the joke amongst folks who find out my parental status. Being alone in a house with four men is, at best, full of surprises (for example, who knew my calm, quiet, nineteen-year-old Bible college student could drive 104 in a 65 MPH zone and, even more, all but get away with it as far as MY version of state law is concerned) and, at worst, laundry- and dirt-enhanced. (How is it that these men, left to their own devices, can take out a relatively clean house in two hours or less?) Our responsible middle son just did get a job at the local fast-food restaurant today. Our youngest son is just plain weird. He has artist written all over him. We love him; we just don't understand him!

My husband works at a crane company--disgraceful when you consider his woodworking talents, but, considering his family circumstances, a most responsible move. He's terribly quiet and sometimes, I think, more than a little frustrated with life. I love him, but he himself is frustrating at times. (Now I sound plain mean.) He was handed a lot early in life and he tries to do everything he can TO be responsible (as I mentioned), but sometimes I wish he were spontaneous. I never have to worry about him parasailing or anything, but then again, I never get the thrill of watching him parasail and loving every minute of it, either. He's way too safe. It's like life is made up of going to work, coming home, going to work, coming home. And worrying. He's the one who flipped when we found out our oldest was going 104 and he's the one who flipped again when our middle one went out with friends last night for the first time since he's gotten his license. I took both situations more calmly than he did--not that he became belligerent or anything. He just dreams up what could happen more often than I do. Maybe I'm apathetic.

In other words, we're the odd couple.

I'm the librarian at the local high school. To be honest, teaching isn't my cup of tea. I love the kids. No, I'm not kidding. I just don't like how our government dictates our schools. I'll be honest, being the librarian is BORING to me, but that's not my biggest frustration. My biggest frustration is that I can't really help these kids. I can't discipline them (they count how many referrals they receive and then compare notes with their buddies) and I can't outright give them the one thing that really counts. Sad thing is that I'm not really sure how I would if I could.

See, my faith matters a lot to me, but I come from a line of personal faith--you know, it's between you and God and no one else. Now I realize that that's hogwash. This is something that everyone has a right to know about--and no, I'm not talking about the religion of it; I'm talking about the relationship with Jesus. We've taken the easy road around that for so long that we can't even relate to one another, much less someone who is not visible. And when you go there now, you're either a fanatic or you're a do-gooder. We Christians have really missed the boat on what we're supposed to be doing. I'm not trying to bash anyone or anything. I just wonder how we expect people to be drawn to Jesus when we're more concerned about how people look and act before we decide they're worth it. (This has been brought on by several different events that have occurred in the past 48 hours as much as anything; of course, I have a lot of those 48 hours, I think.)

I'll probably go on and on about many things that I'm wrestling in my faith. That's for another time.