It's payday, and as usual I take $20 to blow on nothing. It's a monthly thing, a little present from me to me.
Today it went to the kids. I took them to the MacDonald's in WalMart, then they each were allowed to pick out a $5 toy.
Zack, the gourment, selected a basket of faux food. Very metrosexual of him.
Zoe picked out a coloring book with lipgloss, but then put it back and got a plastic backpack full of pretend tiny MacDonalds food. (Dear God, *I* am what's wrong with America. *sigh*)
When we got home, the kids opened their stuff and laid the food all over the table.
I dove to the sofa, joining Chuck to watch ACC College Football Preview 2006.
After about three minutes, Zoe brought a tray of food to the coffee table.
Waitress?
Yes?
I didn't order this.
Oh.
Please take it all back, then I'll order.
When she returned, I was ready.
I would like an apple and ice cream.
No.
No?
No. It's against the law.
The LAW? Really? Which amendment?
The MacDonalds one.
Oh. OK. Then just bring me what all the cool people eat.
So she brought a ton of food back to the table.
Alright. Both of you. Eat.
You can't boss us around. You're the waitress.
Oh.
We'll call you if we need anything. Thanks!
I turned my back to her, enjoying this new little game, feeling ridiculously smart.
Zack appeared, bringing Chuck a plastic pickle and a tomato.
I snatched the pickle, waved it around (etc) and tried to look sexy.
Might as well play the whole "date" thing up. It's a rare moment the two of us get to watch football together.
Every football season Chuck is reminded that he has the coolest-football-loving-wife in the world, and falls in love with me again. I am that girl who watches football, loves it, and elbows you over if you're blocking Sportscenter.
Just as we were getting cozy, Zack came back and smashed a tomato into Chuck's crotch.
No tip for him.
For either of them, actually.
But it looks like a good year for FSU.
Go Noles.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
No Tipping
It's payday, and as usual I take $20 to blow on nothing. It's a monthly thing, a little present from me to me.
Today it went to the kids. I took them to the MacDonald's in WalMart, then they each were allowed to pick out a $5 toy.
Zack, the gourment, selected a basket of faux food. Very metrosexual of him.
Zoe picked out a coloring book with lipgloss, but then put it back and got a plastic backpack full of pretend tiny MacDonalds food. (Dear God, *I* am what's wrong with America. *sigh*)
When we got home, the kids opened their stuff and laid the food all over the table.
I dove to the sofa, joining Chuck to watch ACC College Football Preview 2006.
After about three minutes, Zoe brought a tray of food to the coffee table.
Waitress?
Yes?
I didn't order this.
Oh.
Please take it all back, then I'll order.
When she returned, I was ready.
I would like an apple and ice cream.
No.
No?
No. It's against the law.
The LAW? Really? Which amendment?
The MacDonalds one.
Oh. OK. Then just bring me what all the cool people eat.
So she brought a ton of food back to the table.
Alright. Both of you. Eat.
You can't boss us around. You're the waitress.
Oh.
We'll call you if we need anything. Thanks!
I turned my back to her, enjoying this new little game, feeling ridiculously smart.
Zack appeared, bringing Chuck a plastic pickle and a tomato.
I snatched the pickle, waved it around (etc) and tried to look sexy.
Might as well play the whole "date" thing up. It's a rare moment the two of us get to watch football together.
Every football season Chuck is reminded that he has the coolest-football-loving-wife in the world, and falls in love with me again. I am that girl who watches football, loves it, and elbows you over if you're blocking Sportscenter.
Just as we were getting cozy, Zack came back and smashed a tomato into Chuck's crotch.
No tip for him.
For either of them, actually.
But it looks like a good year for FSU.
Go Noles.
Today it went to the kids. I took them to the MacDonald's in WalMart, then they each were allowed to pick out a $5 toy.
Zack, the gourment, selected a basket of faux food. Very metrosexual of him.
Zoe picked out a coloring book with lipgloss, but then put it back and got a plastic backpack full of pretend tiny MacDonalds food. (Dear God, *I* am what's wrong with America. *sigh*)
When we got home, the kids opened their stuff and laid the food all over the table.
I dove to the sofa, joining Chuck to watch ACC College Football Preview 2006.
After about three minutes, Zoe brought a tray of food to the coffee table.
Waitress?
Yes?
I didn't order this.
Oh.
Please take it all back, then I'll order.
When she returned, I was ready.
I would like an apple and ice cream.
No.
No?
No. It's against the law.
The LAW? Really? Which amendment?
The MacDonalds one.
Oh. OK. Then just bring me what all the cool people eat.
So she brought a ton of food back to the table.
Alright. Both of you. Eat.
You can't boss us around. You're the waitress.
Oh.
We'll call you if we need anything. Thanks!
I turned my back to her, enjoying this new little game, feeling ridiculously smart.
Zack appeared, bringing Chuck a plastic pickle and a tomato.
I snatched the pickle, waved it around (etc) and tried to look sexy.
Might as well play the whole "date" thing up. It's a rare moment the two of us get to watch football together.
Every football season Chuck is reminded that he has the coolest-football-loving-wife in the world, and falls in love with me again. I am that girl who watches football, loves it, and elbows you over if you're blocking Sportscenter.
Just as we were getting cozy, Zack came back and smashed a tomato into Chuck's crotch.
No tip for him.
For either of them, actually.
But it looks like a good year for FSU.
Go Noles.
TIME, Guyfriends and War
I now have my own subscription to Time magazine. This is mostly because I’m teaching several Foreign Policy classes & I really want to be very aware of what’s being talked about NOW.
Why? so that I can draw students’ attention back into history and see the role popular culture, mass media and public opinion can have on US’s role in the world.
So, I admit I didn’t read the first few issues as carefully as I read Self, Cosmopolitan and Marie Claire. OK? There. Confession over, let’s move on.
Last night I flipped through September 4, 2006 magazine while the kids watched the Flintstones. Just the fact that the magazine was published at a future date – and yet arrived in my mailbox already – just kinda freaks me out. I’ll have a whole other column on that, so let’s move on.
The first article that caught my eye was “How VA Hospitals Became the Best: No longer a nation’s shame, veteran care is acing competition.”
I didn’t read it.
I laughed. Out loud. Please.
Images from Born on the Fourth of July are burned in my head, kept strong with horror stories from colleagues and students.
I think that article is wishful thinking, happy news to appease a nation of veterans and their families. This is a side effect of war, and a social reality for the US.
So why didn’t I read the article? Because when I’m at home with the kids, flipping through a magazine while trying to tune out the Flintstones, I don’t want to think about veterans.
That is a luxury in my little tiny piece of the universe, right now, and I’m going to enjoy it.
The next article was titled “The One Who Got Away,” so I thought “yeah! An article about relationships. Hooray, I think I like Time magazine!"
Wrong. It was about the Quattrone trial. Yawn.
I turned the page and there was a youngish Nick Lachey looking guy wearing a backpack.
OK, now this is interesting.
The article? “The Secret Lives of Teenage Boys: Social Scientists who study young love are discovering that contrary to popular belief, male adolescents don’t just want to have fun.”
Don’t you like how they tell you the point of the article without you even having to read it?
Pre-digested thoughts, thanks. Fantastic.
The study discussed in the article is “groundbreaking” in that it quantifiably proves that adolescent men are sensitive creatures.
Duh. Please. PLEASE.
The last thing in the world I’d want to be would be a guy in high school or college. They’re mean to each other. The bullying, homophobia, raging hormones. The overall pressure.
Add to that the whole “men can’t show feelings” thing (like any of us forget that the first man, Adam, didn’t go whining to God that he was bored….) and maybe we can all better understand why this particular group has the highest suicide rate, many car accidents and basically is at risk for everything from jail to HIV.
The Time article only looked at guy’s hearts in regards to women.
They missed something huge. Some guys are lucky enough to have another guy or two who they can be completely cool with.
Guyfriends are, in fact, a wonderous thing to behold, especially when they bring the best out in each other
One of the most memorable emails I ever received was from a former student telling me to keep an eye on his friend who was taking my class. I took that more seriously than a directive from the President of the College.
And, as hard as it is for some of them to make friends… guys need guyfriends. People need people.
I think the male species is happiest when it is pairs. Or groups.
Wedding Crashers. Ocean’s 11. Bull Durham. Braveheart.
Should I keep going? Because I know the BIG secret that’s only a secret from girls.
All those movies that most girls think are about WAR or SPORTS but are really about guys going through an awful life-shaping event together, and searing themselves into each others’ hearts and minds.
I wonder if some guys, the ones who lose a friend, move away from their friends, are lost and a little bit lonely might look to the military for that friendship.
The military offers hope of belonging, friendship and meaning during the roughest years of a man's life.
Male students of mine who are veterans of recent wars and events (which is an odd, stomach flipping thing for me to think about) talk about their “old buddies,” the guys they went through hell with.
Now, back in the States, they are often split up from that tight network. So what if they find each other on Facebook or Myspace? It just isn't the same. It isn't hanging out.
I can’t even image the stress of losing guyfriends must add to all the other issues of just being a person trying to work, parents, go to school, and find a place in the world.
I’m an optimist, by the way.
I want to believe that the VA hospitals that TIME is bragging about do more than suture people up.
I hope they are part of a huge, high-function system that is pro-actively working to integrate our veterans into a society full of people who read future-dated magazines .......
...........and skip every single article on war…..
like I did.
Jumped by 2 Mommies at Preschool
So I get Zoe to her preschool at 7am. She waits there until 7:40am, when a teacher walks her and a bunch of other kids past the fence that seperates her preschool from the elementary school.
As usual, she kisses me and heads to the window to wave at me as I pull out, flash my brights, and drive away.
Only, this time, my car won't start.
Damn.
I try it again.
Dead.
Zoe's in the window, watching.
My mind is racing.
Should I walk home? It's three blocks. Up and down hills. It's not too hot outside (yet) but I'm in heels and this won't be easy. I could walk barefooted.
Then I think maybe someone can give me a ride home, I can get Chuck and either take his car (HA!) or get him to drop me off at work.
I run into the preschool and ask the first mom I see if she can give me a ride home.
She doesn't even pause before smiling.
Sure!
We head back to the parking lot. I confide my gratitude......
Thanks, my car is dead.
Oh. I have jumper cables.
You do?? Let's try it. Do you know how?
Kinda. Black to black, red to red.
OK.
She pulls her car over, lifts the hood.
It's a new Acura, and there are cool covers over everything so we kinda can't see the battery.
Another mom shouts out "Hey, I have extra long cables if you need them!"
The Acura mom and I just kinda smile.
We don't want to ask for help, but we also don't want to explode our cars.
Especially with our kindergarteners still watching from the window, waving.
Mommy #2 comes to my car and takes over.
She was amazing.
She hooks me up, my car starts, hooray.
Then she makes sure that Mommy #1 gets her cables all put away.
We exchange names quickly, thank each other, then each dart back into our cars to get to work.
And our daughters saw the whole thing through the window.
Mommy role models.
(this is post #400, by the way, and yes, I'm proud of myself, thanks for asking)
As usual, she kisses me and heads to the window to wave at me as I pull out, flash my brights, and drive away.
Only, this time, my car won't start.
Damn.
I try it again.
Dead.
Zoe's in the window, watching.
My mind is racing.
Should I walk home? It's three blocks. Up and down hills. It's not too hot outside (yet) but I'm in heels and this won't be easy. I could walk barefooted.
Then I think maybe someone can give me a ride home, I can get Chuck and either take his car (HA!) or get him to drop me off at work.
I run into the preschool and ask the first mom I see if she can give me a ride home.
She doesn't even pause before smiling.
Sure!
We head back to the parking lot. I confide my gratitude......
Thanks, my car is dead.
Oh. I have jumper cables.
You do?? Let's try it. Do you know how?
Kinda. Black to black, red to red.
OK.
She pulls her car over, lifts the hood.
It's a new Acura, and there are cool covers over everything so we kinda can't see the battery.
Another mom shouts out "Hey, I have extra long cables if you need them!"
The Acura mom and I just kinda smile.
We don't want to ask for help, but we also don't want to explode our cars.
Especially with our kindergarteners still watching from the window, waving.
Mommy #2 comes to my car and takes over.
She was amazing.
She hooks me up, my car starts, hooray.
Then she makes sure that Mommy #1 gets her cables all put away.
We exchange names quickly, thank each other, then each dart back into our cars to get to work.
And our daughters saw the whole thing through the window.
Mommy role models.
(this is post #400, by the way, and yes, I'm proud of myself, thanks for asking)
Rockets in the Morning - Part 2
Yes, I do love my mornings with Zoe.
I get up early, have lots of coffee and get 90% ready.
At 6am, before I get my suit on, I spend 20 minutes with her, waking her up and talking.
I love lifting her of bed, completely asleep, and carrying her to the sofa. Then I kinda scratch her back and rock her until she protests enough to let me know she's awake. That's when I turn on the TV and we sit quietly for a few minutes.
Zoe, I have bad news. Today we HAVE to go to the library.
She sees my sarcasm and joins in.
NO Mommy, not the LIBRARY. That's awful news.
Then she giggles.
Can we go BEFORE school?
Nope. After school.
Can we go to the one with the treehouse?
No. That's downtown -- too far away.
I've been downtown in Tallahassee, she brags.
You have coffee breath. Ew.
She shields her face and I scowl at at her.
I kiss her on the forehead.
When have you been downtown?
I've been to the Challenger Museum. And you haven't.
You're right!
I want to go on Challenger one day.
You can't.
Why?
It blew up.
Her eyes got huge. I know this is big information, but it's true.
What? It just BLEW up?
She sits up off my lap, brushes her hair out of her eyes, waits for the story.
Look, the hardest thing I've ever had to tell the girl is that Dr. Martin Luther King was dead. She took that REALLY hard.
But she was grateful to hear the story of his life. I'm not afraid of telling Zoe the truth, especially if I think I can make the story somehow relevant. Which I can't always do -- but I try. I'm sharp in the mornings, so I go with it....
Yes. That's why we have a museum. Because it was so sad when the rocket blew up.
How?
Well. Um. (Is she ready for this? Is this more traumatic than watching same-sex-Next-on-MTV?) See, a part of the rocket came off --- and it caused the rocket to explode.
Oh. Then it crashed?
It kinda turned into a big cloud.
Zoe nods. She's seen the picture.
Where did the astronauts go?
To heaven.
How do you know?
I want to say "Because President Reagan told us in a speech...." but I just don't want to talk about Reagan. Sorry.
Because my heart feels it.
Oh. My heart is only this big.
Zoe makes a fist. She is not happy about being little.
She's competitive and impatient -- qualities that ensure success, right?
You're right. My heart is about this big. (I put both fists together)
But your love isn't in your heart. It's everywhere.
It's your spirit.
And your spirit is HUGE.
How big is my spirit?
From here to God.
Zoe looks around. I can't see it.
Not with your eyes. (The girl is totally waking up now, people...)
Your heart symbolizes love, just like a Cinderella's castle makes you THINK about Disney World.
I love you from here to the sky Mommy.
I love you too. What do you want to wear today?
Can I wear a suit like you?
No. You might have PE.
Oh. I'd wear shorts under my skirt like you do. (The girl knows ALL my secrets!)
Ok, fine, let's get you dressed.
Mommy, how old were you when the Challenger exploded?
I was in high school.
What were you wearing?
Jeans.
Oh. It's too hot for jeans. I'll just wear a skirt and some shorts.....
Then I turned the TV off and followed her to her room and smiled knowing that hardest history lecture of the day was already behind me.
I get up early, have lots of coffee and get 90% ready.
At 6am, before I get my suit on, I spend 20 minutes with her, waking her up and talking.
I love lifting her of bed, completely asleep, and carrying her to the sofa. Then I kinda scratch her back and rock her until she protests enough to let me know she's awake. That's when I turn on the TV and we sit quietly for a few minutes.
Zoe, I have bad news. Today we HAVE to go to the library.
She sees my sarcasm and joins in.
NO Mommy, not the LIBRARY. That's awful news.
Then she giggles.
Can we go BEFORE school?
Nope. After school.
Can we go to the one with the treehouse?
No. That's downtown -- too far away.
I've been downtown in Tallahassee, she brags.
You have coffee breath. Ew.
She shields her face and I scowl at at her.
I kiss her on the forehead.
When have you been downtown?
I've been to the Challenger Museum. And you haven't.
You're right!
I want to go on Challenger one day.
You can't.
Why?
It blew up.
Her eyes got huge. I know this is big information, but it's true.
What? It just BLEW up?
She sits up off my lap, brushes her hair out of her eyes, waits for the story.
Look, the hardest thing I've ever had to tell the girl is that Dr. Martin Luther King was dead. She took that REALLY hard.
But she was grateful to hear the story of his life. I'm not afraid of telling Zoe the truth, especially if I think I can make the story somehow relevant. Which I can't always do -- but I try. I'm sharp in the mornings, so I go with it....
Yes. That's why we have a museum. Because it was so sad when the rocket blew up.
How?
Well. Um. (Is she ready for this? Is this more traumatic than watching same-sex-Next-on-MTV?) See, a part of the rocket came off --- and it caused the rocket to explode.
Oh. Then it crashed?
It kinda turned into a big cloud.
Zoe nods. She's seen the picture.
Where did the astronauts go?
To heaven.
How do you know?
I want to say "Because President Reagan told us in a speech...." but I just don't want to talk about Reagan. Sorry.
Because my heart feels it.
Oh. My heart is only this big.
Zoe makes a fist. She is not happy about being little.
She's competitive and impatient -- qualities that ensure success, right?
You're right. My heart is about this big. (I put both fists together)
But your love isn't in your heart. It's everywhere.
It's your spirit.
And your spirit is HUGE.
How big is my spirit?
From here to God.
Zoe looks around. I can't see it.
Not with your eyes. (The girl is totally waking up now, people...)
Your heart symbolizes love, just like a Cinderella's castle makes you THINK about Disney World.
I love you from here to the sky Mommy.
I love you too. What do you want to wear today?
Can I wear a suit like you?
No. You might have PE.
Oh. I'd wear shorts under my skirt like you do. (The girl knows ALL my secrets!)
Ok, fine, let's get you dressed.
Mommy, how old were you when the Challenger exploded?
I was in high school.
What were you wearing?
Jeans.
Oh. It's too hot for jeans. I'll just wear a skirt and some shorts.....
Then I turned the TV off and followed her to her room and smiled knowing that hardest history lecture of the day was already behind me.
Rockets, In the Morning - Part #1
One of the biggest changes in my life this semester has been the new routine of waking Zoe up, getting her dressed and taking her to school by 7am.
You probably know me well enough (in reality or out here in internet-land) to know I get up around 4:30am, and have been in the habit of sneaking out of the house by 6am to write.
Those days are over.
I need to be a Mommy. A Mommy who gets up at 4:30am of course, but still.
What this means is that Zoe now (finally!) gets to see me at my prime, after 2 cups of coffee and a good workout, but before the sun rise.
Yesterday we were singing (yes, you non-morning people, this isn't a joke, we were singing before dawn) and Zoe breaks into the Star Spangled Banner.
Mommy, what's the rocket's red glare?
Well Zoe, the song is really about the flag. And the War of 1812. We weren't sure the flag would still be there.
Whaaa?
She smiled, ready for the story. She likes to stretch out our mornings together. Daddy is NOT a morning person, so Zoe is relieve to finally be with someone all happy and bouncy and Tigger-like.
See Zoe, we were a new country in 1812. . These other countries who used to be our friends and like our family started pushing us around, telling us who we could trade with. It got ugly. Remember Napoleon? He had something to do with it. And that mean guy on the $20 bill. He was part of it to.
Andrew Jackson, the one with the crazy hair?
Yes. So, we all start fighting -- that's war -- and a man woke up really early and was worried that the war would mean the end of the United States. We were just a teeeny tiny baby country, so it was a big deal that we were tough enough to fight off the big old bully countries.
Wow.
We're standing in the kitchen. I'm already in my suit, ready to teach, so I just go with it.
Time to dramatically perform the Star Spangled Banner....
O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light..
(point out the window -- like now, right? see how the sun is just coming up?)
What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming?
(hey, the flag we love, which represents the country we love, was there last night... is it still there? did we lose while I was sleeping? damn, please say we didn't lose!!!)
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air
Gave proof thro' the night that our flag was still there.
(It was a loud, crazy, violent night... BUT Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Hooray, we're still alive)
O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
Zoe claps, hugs my left thigh.
Mommy, why do they say that we're free?
Well, Zoe, that's part of the Bill of Rights.
I'm not sure if she's READY for the Constitution yet, so I pause and let her steer our conversation.
Oh. Can will you braid my hair?
Sure.
Mommy? What do you teach?
History.
Really? Because you should maybe teach songs. That was good.
Thanks, Zoe. Thanks.
You probably know me well enough (in reality or out here in internet-land) to know I get up around 4:30am, and have been in the habit of sneaking out of the house by 6am to write.
Those days are over.
I need to be a Mommy. A Mommy who gets up at 4:30am of course, but still.
What this means is that Zoe now (finally!) gets to see me at my prime, after 2 cups of coffee and a good workout, but before the sun rise.
Yesterday we were singing (yes, you non-morning people, this isn't a joke, we were singing before dawn) and Zoe breaks into the Star Spangled Banner.
Mommy, what's the rocket's red glare?
Well Zoe, the song is really about the flag. And the War of 1812. We weren't sure the flag would still be there.
Whaaa?
She smiled, ready for the story. She likes to stretch out our mornings together. Daddy is NOT a morning person, so Zoe is relieve to finally be with someone all happy and bouncy and Tigger-like.
See Zoe, we were a new country in 1812. . These other countries who used to be our friends and like our family started pushing us around, telling us who we could trade with. It got ugly. Remember Napoleon? He had something to do with it. And that mean guy on the $20 bill. He was part of it to.
Andrew Jackson, the one with the crazy hair?
Yes. So, we all start fighting -- that's war -- and a man woke up really early and was worried that the war would mean the end of the United States. We were just a teeeny tiny baby country, so it was a big deal that we were tough enough to fight off the big old bully countries.
Wow.
We're standing in the kitchen. I'm already in my suit, ready to teach, so I just go with it.
Time to dramatically perform the Star Spangled Banner....
O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light..
(point out the window -- like now, right? see how the sun is just coming up?)
What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming?
(hey, the flag we love, which represents the country we love, was there last night... is it still there? did we lose while I was sleeping? damn, please say we didn't lose!!!)
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air
Gave proof thro' the night that our flag was still there.
(It was a loud, crazy, violent night... BUT Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Hooray, we're still alive)
O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
Zoe claps, hugs my left thigh.
Mommy, why do they say that we're free?
Well, Zoe, that's part of the Bill of Rights.
I'm not sure if she's READY for the Constitution yet, so I pause and let her steer our conversation.
Oh. Can will you braid my hair?
Sure.
Mommy? What do you teach?
History.
Really? Because you should maybe teach songs. That was good.
Thanks, Zoe. Thanks.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Dr. Zoe Lemon
This morning Zoe could see that I was off. Down. Sad.
I told her my heart hurt.
And of course, I just kept getting dressed, because sadness is no reason to be late to school or work, right?
Mommy, I know what happened.
What? (How?)
Mommy, you had a heart attack. Just a little one.
I did? (Smile, sigh)
Yes. You'll be OK.
What do I do, Dr. Lemon?
Well, you just need to keep putting your hand on your heart and thinking about all the happy things you'll do today.
That's it?
It's not that easy, Mommy. Try it now.
OK. (I put my hand over my heart, take a deep breath, close my eyes....)
What are you thinking about?
Writing.
Writing? WRITING??!!! Not seeing me do cheerleading after school?
OK. I'm thinking about both.
Good. Good Job, Mommy. Now, don't you feel better?
Yes.
Can you braid my hair?
Can I take my hand off my heart?
Just for a little while.
I told her my heart hurt.
And of course, I just kept getting dressed, because sadness is no reason to be late to school or work, right?
Mommy, I know what happened.
What? (How?)
Mommy, you had a heart attack. Just a little one.
I did? (Smile, sigh)
Yes. You'll be OK.
What do I do, Dr. Lemon?
Well, you just need to keep putting your hand on your heart and thinking about all the happy things you'll do today.
That's it?
It's not that easy, Mommy. Try it now.
OK. (I put my hand over my heart, take a deep breath, close my eyes....)
What are you thinking about?
Writing.
Writing? WRITING??!!! Not seeing me do cheerleading after school?
OK. I'm thinking about both.
Good. Good Job, Mommy. Now, don't you feel better?
Yes.
Can you braid my hair?
Can I take my hand off my heart?
Just for a little while.
Monday, August 28, 2006
It's the First Day.....
It's the first day of classes and campus is swarming with exceptionally well-dressed students carrying around cheat-sheets with their schedules.
I don't laugh at them, because I've had to check several times to find out which classrooms I'm teaching in --
My 9am class was great. They laughed. I decided to like them.
My 10am class was huge. They liked the Lysol ad story.
VJ was late.
I think he likes it when I pick on him
Former students have been dropping in my office all day with good news and bad.
Lindsey's sister passed away.
Khara is on the verge of the Dean's list.
Jonathan is bringing me the Andy Garcia movie on the Cuban Revolution tomorrow.
Someone dropped off a present for Ricky's birthday.
Lauren overslept but still got here 30 minutes before class.
Melody's schedule is messed up, but she's starting the honors program.
Caleb checked in from Miami, and has impressed the hell out of me.
Life is testing Megan (again) and she's going to come through it (again).
Max is nowhere to be found (yet) but I'm exepecting him to walk in my door any minute wearing a blue shirt.
Haley taught me that they now have photo booths in bars. Thank you GOD they didn't have those (or cellphones) back when I was in college!
James is winning the 2006 poke-fest.
And this is ALL before noon.
Forecast for Fall 2006?
Fantastic.
I don't laugh at them, because I've had to check several times to find out which classrooms I'm teaching in --
My 9am class was great. They laughed. I decided to like them.
My 10am class was huge. They liked the Lysol ad story.
VJ was late.
I think he likes it when I pick on him
Former students have been dropping in my office all day with good news and bad.
Lindsey's sister passed away.
Khara is on the verge of the Dean's list.
Jonathan is bringing me the Andy Garcia movie on the Cuban Revolution tomorrow.
Someone dropped off a present for Ricky's birthday.
Lauren overslept but still got here 30 minutes before class.
Melody's schedule is messed up, but she's starting the honors program.
Caleb checked in from Miami, and has impressed the hell out of me.
Life is testing Megan (again) and she's going to come through it (again).
Max is nowhere to be found (yet) but I'm exepecting him to walk in my door any minute wearing a blue shirt.
Haley taught me that they now have photo booths in bars. Thank you GOD they didn't have those (or cellphones) back when I was in college!
James is winning the 2006 poke-fest.
And this is ALL before noon.
Forecast for Fall 2006?
Fantastic.
Labels:
Cubanitas,
Laughing,
Professor Diaries
Men NOT to Sleep With....
Hello, women?
Get out the notebook where you keep the list of men you would definitely sleep with.
I want to make sure you block this man from your list.
His name? I can’t tell you.
He would be CRAZY to give me his permission to write this and include any incriminating detail, so I’m going to call him Mr. X.
Mr. X is a handsome, charming, single friend of mine.
He is the kind of guy who can be friends with women, and all the guys think is cool.
He liked you.
For awhile.
Until you slept with him and then went crazy.
One of you (Ms. 1) dropped everything, moved in with him, then basically whined about being bored and lonely.
Another one (Ms. 2) of you drove 6 hours to screw him, then texted him 5 or 6 times a day for a month, even though he didn’t respond.
You lost him after 2 texts, by the way.
Oh, and you, the other one? The one from 2 weeks ago? (Ms #3)
He knows you flipped through his phone to see if anyone else has sent him dirty textmessages.
They have.
He deletes them.
And he kinda wishes you were getting them from someone else, too.
Recklessly and shamelessly pursuing a man who isn’t very interested in a relationship is not a smart – or attractive – thing to do.
The smart thing, my friend, is not to sleep with him
According to him, everything was fantastic between you guys until then
But after the whole weekend of whatever crazy sex you guys must’ve done, you simply lost your mind, your boundaries, your independence and your ability to leave a dirty coffee cup on the counter.
You stopped being interesting and started to really bug him.
Mr. X has a job, a very good job. He has a life and isn’t looking for a full time companion.
He already has a dog. And a mom.
And as long as you keep sleeping with him (with or without knowing that several other women are competing for his attention) he won’t have to settle down.
My friend, you (and the other girls who you don’t know about) are the reason Mr. X isn’t in a relationship.
Now, delete him from your phone, unfriend him on Facebook, stop spying on his myspace page.
Do something interesting.
Something smart.
Don’t cook for him or beg to come over.
Just get a life, have your own friends, spend your time moving forward not looking for someone to hang on to.
He finds that attractive, you know.
It’s what he probably liked about you to begin with --
Good Luck!
Get out the notebook where you keep the list of men you would definitely sleep with.
I want to make sure you block this man from your list.
His name? I can’t tell you.
He would be CRAZY to give me his permission to write this and include any incriminating detail, so I’m going to call him Mr. X.
Mr. X is a handsome, charming, single friend of mine.
He is the kind of guy who can be friends with women, and all the guys think is cool.
He liked you.
For awhile.
Until you slept with him and then went crazy.
One of you (Ms. 1) dropped everything, moved in with him, then basically whined about being bored and lonely.
Another one (Ms. 2) of you drove 6 hours to screw him, then texted him 5 or 6 times a day for a month, even though he didn’t respond.
You lost him after 2 texts, by the way.
Oh, and you, the other one? The one from 2 weeks ago? (Ms #3)
He knows you flipped through his phone to see if anyone else has sent him dirty textmessages.
They have.
He deletes them.
And he kinda wishes you were getting them from someone else, too.
Recklessly and shamelessly pursuing a man who isn’t very interested in a relationship is not a smart – or attractive – thing to do.
The smart thing, my friend, is not to sleep with him
According to him, everything was fantastic between you guys until then
But after the whole weekend of whatever crazy sex you guys must’ve done, you simply lost your mind, your boundaries, your independence and your ability to leave a dirty coffee cup on the counter.
You stopped being interesting and started to really bug him.
Mr. X has a job, a very good job. He has a life and isn’t looking for a full time companion.
He already has a dog. And a mom.
And as long as you keep sleeping with him (with or without knowing that several other women are competing for his attention) he won’t have to settle down.
My friend, you (and the other girls who you don’t know about) are the reason Mr. X isn’t in a relationship.
Now, delete him from your phone, unfriend him on Facebook, stop spying on his myspace page.
Do something interesting.
Something smart.
Don’t cook for him or beg to come over.
Just get a life, have your own friends, spend your time moving forward not looking for someone to hang on to.
He finds that attractive, you know.
It’s what he probably liked about you to begin with --
Good Luck!
Friday, August 25, 2006
A Christmas Story: The Grand Adventure
It was the week before Christmas, 1977. Or 1978. These things get blurry over the years.
The owners of the duplex we were renting in Pompano Beach asked us to vacate it so that relatives could rent it.
I can understand why they would want their relatives to be in such a posh neighborhood --- uniquely situated near a horse-racing track, the railroad tracks AND yards away from a busy highway.
That’s prime real estate. Location, location.
It was very difficult for us to find a place to rent , for a variety of reasons, most of whom were lost on the eight- or nine-year old that I was back then.
The rental market in South Florida is tight during the winter, so that probably caused great stress to my parents. It didn’t’ help matters that the landlord wanted us out immediately, and made sure we knew it.
Dad was outside talking to him and the people he brought with him when mom sent me and my brother to stand by dad. She told us something like, “Hold your Dad’s hand and look sad.”
I was amazed that the men outside were talking, laughing, bantering. Although I didn’t watch too muchTV -- these were the days before cable – somehow I had a notion that we lived in a violent scary world, and that these men were going to fight my dad and kick us out.
Maybe because of the very short notice to move -- maybe that’s why we couldn’t find a place.
Perhaps it was because of my mother’s accent, or because we didn’t have money to pay all of the deposits at once.
Somehow, Mom found us a place.
In a neighborhood worse than we already lived.
Closer to the railroad tracks, with a tiny playground we were pretty much banned from using.
We moved on December 23, and got a Christmas tree the next day.
I thought it was the best Christmas ever.
The owners of the duplex we were renting in Pompano Beach asked us to vacate it so that relatives could rent it.
I can understand why they would want their relatives to be in such a posh neighborhood --- uniquely situated near a horse-racing track, the railroad tracks AND yards away from a busy highway.
That’s prime real estate. Location, location.
It was very difficult for us to find a place to rent , for a variety of reasons, most of whom were lost on the eight- or nine-year old that I was back then.
The rental market in South Florida is tight during the winter, so that probably caused great stress to my parents. It didn’t’ help matters that the landlord wanted us out immediately, and made sure we knew it.
Dad was outside talking to him and the people he brought with him when mom sent me and my brother to stand by dad. She told us something like, “Hold your Dad’s hand and look sad.”
I was amazed that the men outside were talking, laughing, bantering. Although I didn’t watch too muchTV -- these were the days before cable – somehow I had a notion that we lived in a violent scary world, and that these men were going to fight my dad and kick us out.
Maybe because of the very short notice to move -- maybe that’s why we couldn’t find a place.
Perhaps it was because of my mother’s accent, or because we didn’t have money to pay all of the deposits at once.
Somehow, Mom found us a place.
In a neighborhood worse than we already lived.
Closer to the railroad tracks, with a tiny playground we were pretty much banned from using.
We moved on December 23, and got a Christmas tree the next day.
I thought it was the best Christmas ever.
Labels:
Holiday Madness,
Laughing
An Essay on Essay Exams
OK, so I'm in my office writing and revising syllabi for the Fall classes.
Hey, classes don't start until Monday, so technically this doesn't have to be done until Sunday night.
But I have no fantasies about being able to write smart things on weekends, and therefore I'm in my office today (Friday) when I could be home watching bad movies on pay-per-view and doing 1000 squats so that... well, you know why.
One of the hardest parts of writing a syllabus is deciding how many exams I should give.
2 is too few.
Three worked in summer, but summer semesters are only 6 weeks long.
Four seems to be the magical number.
If I give 4 exams with 5 essays each in 5 classes, that means -- well, a lot of grading.
Good idea? Bad idea?
I'm not really asking you. You probably would suggest multiple choice, untimed, open-notes tests, that can be taken over and over. Please. I have those. They come from the book, they're taken online, and they're worth 25% of the total grade.
Multiplce choice exams just don't measure understanding of my lectures.
I teach history as a big stories, looking for patterns, meanings, insights.
I don't list facts, dates, presidents, battles and Supreme Court rulings, expecting students to memorize that stuff. Without the big picture, those facts can be meaningless.
I'm not asking your permission to give essay exams because I know that most students hate to write.
In fact, I think what they'd like is if I could use something like an otoscope (the thing physicians use to look in ears) and peer into their brains to see if the facts are in there, hanging like pumpkin seeds tangled with that orangy pulp that is probably in many people's brains especially if they eat too many cheetos.
If they hate writing, and I dread reading hundreds of essays, then why do I do it?
Because I believe that if a student can't explain something on paper, they simply don't know it.
All I'm looking for is a descriptive depiction of the story they learned.
Or evidence that they didn't learn the story.
Or only learned part of the story.
Or memorized two facts about the story, both of which come from Wikipedia, not lecture.
When I give an A, I'm confident that the A was earned.
When I give F's (and, believe me, about 70% of students fail the first exam....) I want to make sure that the students clearly understand what they failed to show.
Then I tell them in my sometimes overly cheery way, "hey, you still have three more exams like this. Bet you'll study differently next time...."
One or two students who fail the first exam will drop my class.
Three or four others who failed will disappear.
The rest? They'll do better on the rest of the exams.
A few saavy ones will even drop by my office at the end of the semester and convince me to drop their first grade since the rest of their scores have been so great.
The decision to reward improvement, by the way, is probably the easiest one I'll make.
See you in class!!
Hey, classes don't start until Monday, so technically this doesn't have to be done until Sunday night.
But I have no fantasies about being able to write smart things on weekends, and therefore I'm in my office today (Friday) when I could be home watching bad movies on pay-per-view and doing 1000 squats so that... well, you know why.
One of the hardest parts of writing a syllabus is deciding how many exams I should give.
2 is too few.
Three worked in summer, but summer semesters are only 6 weeks long.
Four seems to be the magical number.
If I give 4 exams with 5 essays each in 5 classes, that means -- well, a lot of grading.
Good idea? Bad idea?
I'm not really asking you. You probably would suggest multiple choice, untimed, open-notes tests, that can be taken over and over. Please. I have those. They come from the book, they're taken online, and they're worth 25% of the total grade.
Multiplce choice exams just don't measure understanding of my lectures.
I teach history as a big stories, looking for patterns, meanings, insights.
I don't list facts, dates, presidents, battles and Supreme Court rulings, expecting students to memorize that stuff. Without the big picture, those facts can be meaningless.
I'm not asking your permission to give essay exams because I know that most students hate to write.
In fact, I think what they'd like is if I could use something like an otoscope (the thing physicians use to look in ears) and peer into their brains to see if the facts are in there, hanging like pumpkin seeds tangled with that orangy pulp that is probably in many people's brains especially if they eat too many cheetos.
If they hate writing, and I dread reading hundreds of essays, then why do I do it?
Because I believe that if a student can't explain something on paper, they simply don't know it.
All I'm looking for is a descriptive depiction of the story they learned.
Or evidence that they didn't learn the story.
Or only learned part of the story.
Or memorized two facts about the story, both of which come from Wikipedia, not lecture.
When I give an A, I'm confident that the A was earned.
When I give F's (and, believe me, about 70% of students fail the first exam....) I want to make sure that the students clearly understand what they failed to show.
Then I tell them in my sometimes overly cheery way, "hey, you still have three more exams like this. Bet you'll study differently next time...."
One or two students who fail the first exam will drop my class.
Three or four others who failed will disappear.
The rest? They'll do better on the rest of the exams.
A few saavy ones will even drop by my office at the end of the semester and convince me to drop their first grade since the rest of their scores have been so great.
The decision to reward improvement, by the way, is probably the easiest one I'll make.
See you in class!!
Labels:
magical realism,
Professor Diaries,
raising melissa
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
My NEW Life
We're in a workshop helping us to advise students.
We take an online-career & values & interest survey. Maybe we should do it later, but Jarrett and I (and others) are very distracted by having a computer in front of us.
There wasn't powerpoint and wired classes when WE were in grad school.... plus, there's no QUIZ, so we don't listen too well.
Add to that, we like to take FAST tests.
RESULTS?????
It recommends Jarrett (Professor Phipps) becomes a construction worker.
Barbara Edwards (the famous artist sitting next to me) didn't finish hers. Typical artist, huh?
It suggests I look into becoming a Rabbi.
Or Rehab Counselor.
Seee ya!
We take an online-career & values & interest survey. Maybe we should do it later, but Jarrett and I (and others) are very distracted by having a computer in front of us.
There wasn't powerpoint and wired classes when WE were in grad school.... plus, there's no QUIZ, so we don't listen too well.
Add to that, we like to take FAST tests.
RESULTS?????
It recommends Jarrett (Professor Phipps) becomes a construction worker.
Barbara Edwards (the famous artist sitting next to me) didn't finish hers. Typical artist, huh?
It suggests I look into becoming a Rabbi.
Or Rehab Counselor.
Seee ya!
Labels:
Professor Diaries,
raising melissa
Monday, August 21, 2006
High Alert!!
You already know that I spend waaaay too much time playing with playdoh. Zack loves it. He loves the colors and textures, and he LOVES pretending to cook for the entire family.
(Yes. He likes to dress up in girl clothes, clean the house and cook. So?? so???)
After enough kneading, squishing and molding, all the colors of playdoh turn into greenbrown.
Add a bit of black playdoh to that mess, and you have poop brown.
Which is exactly what I did, about two weeks ago. I made a batch of dark brown playdoh, then was overtaken by the discovery of my natural talent for sculpting life-like playdoh turds.
Magical. Breathtaking.
So real you're afraid to touch them.
One of my beautiful playdoh creations was so spectacular that I brought it in to decorate my desk.
Yes, I showed it to a few people.
Yes, I hid it behind the labelmaker sometimes, too.
But here's the thing.
It's gone.
Gone.
Where did the poop go?
Did the cleaning crew toss it when they were cleaning my desk?
Did they roll their eyes and think "Wow, another crazy professor?"
Or did a student pocket it, taking home a souvenier from their favorite professor?
Or did Peggy take it?
I'm going to ask her right now. Hang on.
She says she's been known to give shit, not take shit.
Fine.
The search continues.....
If you see it, please email me @ melissalaughing@hotmail.com
(Yes. He likes to dress up in girl clothes, clean the house and cook. So?? so???)
After enough kneading, squishing and molding, all the colors of playdoh turn into greenbrown.
Add a bit of black playdoh to that mess, and you have poop brown.
Which is exactly what I did, about two weeks ago. I made a batch of dark brown playdoh, then was overtaken by the discovery of my natural talent for sculpting life-like playdoh turds.
Magical. Breathtaking.
So real you're afraid to touch them.
One of my beautiful playdoh creations was so spectacular that I brought it in to decorate my desk.
Yes, I showed it to a few people.
Yes, I hid it behind the labelmaker sometimes, too.
But here's the thing.
It's gone.
Gone.
Where did the poop go?
Did the cleaning crew toss it when they were cleaning my desk?
Did they roll their eyes and think "Wow, another crazy professor?"
Or did a student pocket it, taking home a souvenier from their favorite professor?
Or did Peggy take it?
I'm going to ask her right now. Hang on.
She says she's been known to give shit, not take shit.
Fine.
The search continues.....
If you see it, please email me @ melissalaughing@hotmail.com
Whatever Works
In the continuing saga of potty training Zack with the HOPE that he can soon move to a preschool that is only 2 blocks from our home (instead of 8 miles...) we put a great deal of effort into toilet things this weekend.
And by WE, I definitely mean CHUCK, because, um, well -- I write on the weekends.
And I clean.
And make lists.
Lots of lists.
And I stand in the corner and spectate while the family does family things.
OK. Yes, I get involved.
I pick up the camera, pick up the crayons, pick up the playdoh.
I find the remote, find lost socks, sometimes even find that no one notices if I just slip away for a few minutes...
It isn't that I don't *want* to parent.
But sometimes (OK, more than sometimes ~) I feel like "hey, if I'm doing all the parenting then Chuck gets to just play three seasons of Xbox football in the bedroom... and this is fair HOW?"
These are not MATURE feelings.
They are not things I LIKE to think.
But at least I'm willing to admit to them.
On Sunday afternoon, when chuck finished his Xbox "season" he played with the anklebiters while I read, wrote, and hid a little bit.
A big ruckus errupted from the bathroom.
I made a splash! I made a splash!
Daddy was very encouraging.
That's right! You can make bubbles with your peepee, and a big splash with your poo poo.
I groaned. Oh.
This is worse than the whole corn poop saga.
Zack ran out of the bathroom, shorts still wrapped around his ankles.
Mommy! Meemee! Meeeeeemeeeee! My poopee splashed water.
I hugged him.
Speechless.
Then sent him to wash his hands....
And by WE, I definitely mean CHUCK, because, um, well -- I write on the weekends.
And I clean.
And make lists.
Lots of lists.
And I stand in the corner and spectate while the family does family things.
OK. Yes, I get involved.
I pick up the camera, pick up the crayons, pick up the playdoh.
I find the remote, find lost socks, sometimes even find that no one notices if I just slip away for a few minutes...
It isn't that I don't *want* to parent.
But sometimes (OK, more than sometimes ~) I feel like "hey, if I'm doing all the parenting then Chuck gets to just play three seasons of Xbox football in the bedroom... and this is fair HOW?"
These are not MATURE feelings.
They are not things I LIKE to think.
But at least I'm willing to admit to them.
On Sunday afternoon, when chuck finished his Xbox "season" he played with the anklebiters while I read, wrote, and hid a little bit.
A big ruckus errupted from the bathroom.
I made a splash! I made a splash!
Daddy was very encouraging.
That's right! You can make bubbles with your peepee, and a big splash with your poo poo.
I groaned. Oh.
This is worse than the whole corn poop saga.
Zack ran out of the bathroom, shorts still wrapped around his ankles.
Mommy! Meemee! Meeeeeemeeeee! My poopee splashed water.
I hugged him.
Speechless.
Then sent him to wash his hands....
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Zoe Started School this Week
Zoe started kindergarten last Monday ~here are some of the pictures we will one day look back on and think, "Wow! She was so little back then...."
PS - go to the website and find new videos.
PS - go to the website and find new videos.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Accounting
Right, OK, I haven't blogged because - well, I spent about 6 days in self-imposed exile from the internet.
Summer school ended August 8, I turned in grades on August 9, and spent August 10 with the kids. Weekends are LOST in my world, but I did have a THREE DAY vacation (Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday).
I mean, not VACATION in the traditional sense because I only had about 7 free hours a day while the kids were at school ~ and, of course, I really didn't relax.
Because I'm a woman on a MISSION.
Always.
I have a fantastic highly recommended book on novel writing that is helping me ask HARD questions about character, plot, cohesion, and honestly my focus has been on writing for the last week.
When I wasn't reading or writing, I was jotting notes for essays, and testing out mascaras.
Yes. That's right. I tried one mascara on one eye -- another on the other -- then went to every mirror in the house to see if one set of eyelashes really was thicker and the other was longer.
This filled like 3 hours (on and off) of Tuesday afternoon.
So, really, I didn't waste any time. I can account for every minute of it.
Summer school ended August 8, I turned in grades on August 9, and spent August 10 with the kids. Weekends are LOST in my world, but I did have a THREE DAY vacation (Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday).
I mean, not VACATION in the traditional sense because I only had about 7 free hours a day while the kids were at school ~ and, of course, I really didn't relax.
Because I'm a woman on a MISSION.
Always.
I have a fantastic highly recommended book on novel writing that is helping me ask HARD questions about character, plot, cohesion, and honestly my focus has been on writing for the last week.
When I wasn't reading or writing, I was jotting notes for essays, and testing out mascaras.
Yes. That's right. I tried one mascara on one eye -- another on the other -- then went to every mirror in the house to see if one set of eyelashes really was thicker and the other was longer.
This filled like 3 hours (on and off) of Tuesday afternoon.
So, really, I didn't waste any time. I can account for every minute of it.
Tuesday, August 8, 2006
Big Time Parenting: Milestone #7684
OK, so Zoe starts kindergarten on Monday, August 14.
Probably.
Maybe not?
I mean, she thinks she's going to, and we have already arranged before and after school stuff for her.
Only yesterday did I go to the school to try to register her.
(Yes. I can HEAR all the other parents laughing at me!!! stop it!!)
Apparently there is more to registering kids than getting their shots and filling out some emergency contact papers.
They need a REAL birth certificate...."or we can't put your daughter on the rolls."
Right. OK. I wanted to tell that woman behind the counter OFF.
Why did NO ONE tell me that I needed a birth certificate?
Rabies shots too???
I bit my tongue. Between Zoe and Zack, I'll be involved with this Elementary school from now until 2014. First impressions count.
So I raced home and blurted out to Chuck (why was Chuck at home? that's another story...) a bunch of craziness because in the .7miles driving home from Zoe's school, I freaked out.
Here is an actual transcript from the secret recording or me freaking out over this Big Time Parenting Crisis.
WE NEED HER BIRTH CERTIFICATE.
OR SHE'S NOT GOING TO SCHOOL.
HOW ARE WE GOING TO GET ONE???
THERE'S NO WAY WE HAVE ONE.
LOOK FOR ONE!!!
DO WE HAVE IT?
WE DON'T HAVE IT.
WE DON'T.
HOW ARE WE GOING TO BREAK IT TO HER THAT ALL HER FRIENDS ARE STARTING SCHOOL AND MOMMY MADE A HUGE MISTAKE AND -- AND --
And, OK, Will you LOOK?
Turn off ESPN. I don't care about the IMMACULATE RECEPTION.
You know who wins.
You KNOW who wins.
Even *I* know who wins.
Not Oakland. OK???
Please look!
I'm going to watch Weeds and calm down.
Go. GO!!!!!
Probably.
Maybe not?
I mean, she thinks she's going to, and we have already arranged before and after school stuff for her.
Only yesterday did I go to the school to try to register her.
(Yes. I can HEAR all the other parents laughing at me!!! stop it!!)
Apparently there is more to registering kids than getting their shots and filling out some emergency contact papers.
They need a REAL birth certificate...."or we can't put your daughter on the rolls."
Right. OK. I wanted to tell that woman behind the counter OFF.
Why did NO ONE tell me that I needed a birth certificate?
Rabies shots too???
I bit my tongue. Between Zoe and Zack, I'll be involved with this Elementary school from now until 2014. First impressions count.
So I raced home and blurted out to Chuck (why was Chuck at home? that's another story...) a bunch of craziness because in the .7miles driving home from Zoe's school, I freaked out.
Here is an actual transcript from the secret recording or me freaking out over this Big Time Parenting Crisis.
WE NEED HER BIRTH CERTIFICATE.
OR SHE'S NOT GOING TO SCHOOL.
HOW ARE WE GOING TO GET ONE???
THERE'S NO WAY WE HAVE ONE.
LOOK FOR ONE!!!
DO WE HAVE IT?
WE DON'T HAVE IT.
WE DON'T.
HOW ARE WE GOING TO BREAK IT TO HER THAT ALL HER FRIENDS ARE STARTING SCHOOL AND MOMMY MADE A HUGE MISTAKE AND -- AND --
And, OK, Will you LOOK?
Turn off ESPN. I don't care about the IMMACULATE RECEPTION.
You know who wins.
You KNOW who wins.
Even *I* know who wins.
Not Oakland. OK???
Please look!
I'm going to watch Weeds and calm down.
Go. GO!!!!!
Alright. An hour later, no birth certificate.
But we found the cute little letter & form they sent us in January 2001 saying her birth had been recorded, and asking us to send a check for $9 to get a birth certificate.
We never sent away for a birth certificate.
It just didn't seem important at the time. I pretty much spent 2001 breast feeding and watching TV. Things like birth certificates were a lifetime away.
OK. It's NOW the Monday before Zoe starts school.
I need the birth certificate ASAP.
So I get online (at home, shhhh, don't tell?) and find a place to order birth certificates for $35 plus a $20 rush fee.
Before I complete the transaction, I shout out...
"Hey! Wasn't she born in Tallahasse?"
"Who?"
(I try to stay calm. I don't kill him.)
"Your DAUGHTER"
"Yes."
"So isn't her birth certificate here, in town? Hey, maybe I can just go pick it up."
So I google Leon County Birth certificates, and find out the phone number.
And the address.
The building is .3 miles (44 seconds, according to mapquest) from my office at TCC.
So, today I'm getting Zoe's birth certificate.
And the girl is going to SCHOOL next week.
Maybe even in some new clothes.
Milestone #7684 in Big Time Parenting.
************************************************************
Dear God, how much harder is it going to get?????
Poking Around
OK, I am almost perfect alot of the time (stop laughing).
I have had no bread for over a month. Not a cracker, not a crouton.
Today (again) there is a pile of bagels in the faculty workroom.
I'm not even that hungry, but I'm a little bored, a little avoiding writing, and for a fleeting moment I just knew that eating a bagel would be a GREAT way to pass a few minutes.
So I poked one.
And I took a deep breath, then walked away.
No bagel today.
No refined carbs until September 26.
12 sugarfree, alcohol free weeks.
Of course I can do it.
I'm super-Melissa.
I can poke things and then walk away from them.
Anytime.
I have had no bread for over a month. Not a cracker, not a crouton.
Today (again) there is a pile of bagels in the faculty workroom.
I'm not even that hungry, but I'm a little bored, a little avoiding writing, and for a fleeting moment I just knew that eating a bagel would be a GREAT way to pass a few minutes.
So I poked one.
And I took a deep breath, then walked away.
No bagel today.
No refined carbs until September 26.
12 sugarfree, alcohol free weeks.
Of course I can do it.
I'm super-Melissa.
I can poke things and then walk away from them.
Anytime.
Labels:
Laughing,
professoring,
raising melissa
Dear Katami People
Dear Katami People ~ http://www.katamibar.com/
For about a year, I received email from you requesting testimonials and "success stories."
I never responded to requests for testimonials because... well, after I ordered the Katami system about 2 years ago -- I just didn't use it.
OK, so I inflated the ball, played with the bars.
I did one of the six (or was it seven?) DVDs.
Once.
But that was it. I wasn't ready to make a commitment.
I had 2 preschoolers and was teaching college at three different campuses.
I ate too much, drank too much, and was far too tired to make important changes.
I just never found the time (or place) to work the DVDs into my schedule.
But starting next week, I'm working out Katami-style 4x a week.
I know my Fall teaching schedule, and I know exactly when I will be working out.
I've planned for success, and the Katami system is part of my plan.
So, why am I sending you this email?
To let you know that I'll be blogging all about my story-- I get between 450- 2ooo hits a day, so once I blog/write that I'm *doing* this, I HAVE to do it. It's a pride thing, you know....
And, yes, I'm going to take a "before" picture.
Today.
Or tomorrow.
OK, I'm dreading taking this picture, because I tend to compare myself to Kate Moss.
On her skinny days.
Now, I'm not looking all that bad.... but I don't have the muscle definition and generall head-to-toe hardness I had in my 20s, before motherhood.
I know it'll take work, but I know I can do.
Especially if I can laugh about it.
And write about it.
~ Melissa
*****************************************************************************
What? You haven't heard about the Katami system??
http://www.katamibar.com/
*Yes, I really sent them this email
For about a year, I received email from you requesting testimonials and "success stories."
I never responded to requests for testimonials because... well, after I ordered the Katami system about 2 years ago -- I just didn't use it.
OK, so I inflated the ball, played with the bars.
I did one of the six (or was it seven?) DVDs.
Once.
But that was it. I wasn't ready to make a commitment.
I had 2 preschoolers and was teaching college at three different campuses.
I ate too much, drank too much, and was far too tired to make important changes.
I just never found the time (or place) to work the DVDs into my schedule.
But starting next week, I'm working out Katami-style 4x a week.
I know my Fall teaching schedule, and I know exactly when I will be working out.
I've planned for success, and the Katami system is part of my plan.
So, why am I sending you this email?
To let you know that I'll be blogging all about my story-- I get between 450- 2ooo hits a day, so once I blog/write that I'm *doing* this, I HAVE to do it. It's a pride thing, you know....
And, yes, I'm going to take a "before" picture.
Today.
Or tomorrow.
OK, I'm dreading taking this picture, because I tend to compare myself to Kate Moss.
On her skinny days.
Now, I'm not looking all that bad.... but I don't have the muscle definition and generall head-to-toe hardness I had in my 20s, before motherhood.
I know it'll take work, but I know I can do.
Especially if I can laugh about it.
And write about it.
~ Melissa
*****************************************************************************
What? You haven't heard about the Katami system??
http://www.katamibar.com/
*Yes, I really sent them this email
Labels:
Laughing,
raising melissa
Dear Katami People
For about a year, I received email from you (that address is now defunct) I never responded to requests for testimonials because... well, after I ordered the Katami system about 2 years ago I just didn't use it. OK, so I inflated the ball, played with the bars. Did one of the DVDs once. But that was it. I wasn't ready to make a commitment. I had 2 preschoolers and was teaching college at three different campuses. I ate too much, drank too much, and was far too tired to make important changes. I just never found the time (or place) to work the DVDs into my schedule. But starting next week, I'm working out Katami-style 4x a week. And blogging all about it --www.laughingparents.com. I get about 2ooo hits a day, so once I blog/write that I'm *doing* this, I HAVE to do it. And, yes, I'm going to take a "before" picture. Now, I'm not looking all that bad.... but I don't have the muscles, the definition, the firmness I had in my 20s, before motherhood.
Labels:
Laughing
Dear Katami People
For about a year, I received email from you (that address is now defunct) I never responded to requests for testimonials because... well, after I ordered the Katami system about 2 years ago I just didn't use it. OK, so I inflated the ball, played with the bars. Did one of the DVDs once. But that was it. I wasn't ready to make a commitment. I had 2 preschoolers and was teaching college at three different campuses. I ate too much, drank too much, and was far too tired to make important changes. I just never found the time (or place) to work the DVDs into my schedule. But starting next week, I'm working out Katami-style 4x a week. And blogging all about it --www.laughingparents.com. I get about 2ooo hits a day, so once I blog/write that I'm *doing* this, I HAVE to do it. And, yes, I'm going to take a "before" picture. Now, I'm not looking all that bad.... but I don't have the muscles, the definition, the firmness I had in my 20s, before motherhood.
Labels:
Laughing
Dear Katami People
For about a year, I received email from you (that address is now defunct) I never responded to requests for testimonials because... well, after I ordered the Katami system about 2 years ago I just didn't use it. OK, so I inflated the ball, played with the bars. Did one of the DVDs once. But that was it. I wasn't ready to make a commitment. I had 2 preschoolers and was teaching college at three different campuses. I ate too much, drank too much, and was far too tired to make important changes. I just never found the time (or place) to work the DVDs into my schedule. But starting next week, I'm working out Katami-style 4x a week. And blogging all about it --www.laughingparents.com. I get about 2ooo hits a day, so once I blog/write that I'm *doing* this, I HAVE to do it. And, yes, I'm going to take a "before" picture. Now, I'm not looking all that bad.... but I don't have the muscles, the definition, the firmness I had in my 20s, before motherhood.
Labels:
Laughing
Dear Katami People
For about a year, I received email from you (that address is now defunct) I never responded to requests for testimonials because... well, after I ordered the Katami system about 2 years ago I just didn't use it. OK, so I inflated the ball, played with the bars. Did one of the DVDs once. But that was it. I wasn't ready to make a commitment. I had 2 preschoolers and was teaching college at three different campuses. I ate too much, drank too much, and was far too tired to make important changes. I just never found the time (or place) to work the DVDs into my schedule. But starting next week, I'm working out Katami-style 4x a week. And blogging all about it --www.laughingparents.com. I get about 2ooo hits a day, so once I blog/write that I'm *doing* this, I HAVE to do it. And, yes, I'm going to take a "before" picture. Now, I'm not looking all that bad.... but I don't have the muscles, the definition, the firmness I had in my 20s, before motherhood.
Labels:
Laughing
Dear Katami People
For about a year, I received email from you (that address is now defunct) I never responded to requests for testimonials because... well, after I ordered the Katami system about 2 years ago I just didn't use it. OK, so I inflated the ball, played with the bars. Did one of the DVDs once. But that was it. I wasn't ready to make a commitment. I had 2 preschoolers and was teaching college at three different campuses. I ate too much, drank too much, and was far too tired to make important changes. I just never found the time (or place) to work the DVDs into my schedule. But starting next week, I'm working out Katami-style 4x a week. And blogging all about it --www.laughingparents.com. I get about 2ooo hits a day, so once I blog/write that I'm *doing* this, I HAVE to do it. And, yes, I'm going to take a "before" picture. Now, I'm not looking all that bad.... but I don't have the muscles, the definition, the firmness I had in my 20s, before motherhood.
Labels:
Laughing
Dear Katami People
For about a year, I received email from you (that address is now defunct) I never responded to requests for testimonials because... well, after I ordered the Katami system about 2 years ago I just didn't use it. OK, so I inflated the ball, played with the bars. Did one of the DVDs once. But that was it. I wasn't ready to make a commitment. I had 2 preschoolers and was teaching college at three different campuses. I ate too much, drank too much, and was far too tired to make important changes. I just never found the time (or place) to work the DVDs into my schedule. But starting next week, I'm working out Katami-style 4x a week. And blogging all about it --www.laughingparents.com. I get about 2ooo hits a day, so once I blog/write that I'm *doing* this, I HAVE to do it. And, yes, I'm going to take a "before" picture. Now, I'm not looking all that bad.... but I don't have the muscles, the definition, the firmness I had in my 20s, before motherhood.
Labels:
Laughing
Inked
OK, so afterschool yesterday Zoe and Zack did their usual set up, hanging out at the dining room table writing stories, coloring, diagraming petrochemical reactions. Nothing unusual.
So I thought, hey, I'm going to head to the bathroom and write for a few minutes.
When I came back, Zoe was tatooing her brother.
I didn't stop her.
Somehow she had obtained spiderman tatoo and was holding it to Zack's upper arm with a neatly folded wet paper towel. I guess the directions said to wait 50 seconds, so she was counting out loud to him, telling him to not worry, don't move.
He looked happy.
Neither of them saw me.
Then she pulled the paper towel off, slipped the paper off the tatoo and VIOLA! Zack had a Spiderman tatoo.
His first one. Wow.
I got a little watery-eyed imagining other things -- perhaps less savory? or more creative? -- she probably is going to do to him over the next 10 to 15 years.
Thankfully, it'll probably be worth writing about.
So I thought, hey, I'm going to head to the bathroom and write for a few minutes.
When I came back, Zoe was tatooing her brother.
I didn't stop her.
Somehow she had obtained spiderman tatoo and was holding it to Zack's upper arm with a neatly folded wet paper towel. I guess the directions said to wait 50 seconds, so she was counting out loud to him, telling him to not worry, don't move.
He looked happy.
Neither of them saw me.
Then she pulled the paper towel off, slipped the paper off the tatoo and VIOLA! Zack had a Spiderman tatoo.
His first one. Wow.
I got a little watery-eyed imagining other things -- perhaps less savory? or more creative? -- she probably is going to do to him over the next 10 to 15 years.
Thankfully, it'll probably be worth writing about.
Friday, August 4, 2006
Now Everybody Knows --
Zoe has told all of her friends at school (and teachers) that Mommy moved out a few weeks ago, and now lives "in those cool apartments by Chili's on Thomasville Road."
Damn, the girl CANNOT keep a secret if her life depended on it.......
Damn, the girl CANNOT keep a secret if her life depended on it.......
Thursday, August 3, 2006
Lost Forever. Goodbye!
There are times when I *could* be doing something seriously productive... but well, either I don't want to start something that I can't finish OR I just need to do something mindless (facebook!) in case students come to my office and need to talk --
So, anyway, I've discovered something new.
Facebook isn't enough.
Not for me, not for Melissa who writes stories about Black Ops, money laundering, spies.
And dieting.
I have found something wonderful.
Google Earth.
*sigh*
Lost forever.........
So, anyway, I've discovered something new.
Facebook isn't enough.
Not for me, not for Melissa who writes stories about Black Ops, money laundering, spies.
And dieting.
I have found something wonderful.
Google Earth.
*sigh*
Lost forever.........
Labels:
Professor Diaries
Office Hours
As my first complete year as full-time faculty rolls to a close (I started on 8/15 of last year) I find myself mentally calculating the work I've done over the past year.
Here's a shot at quantifying stuff that has happened over Fall, Spring, Summer A and Summer B.
# Courses taught:12.5 (half of Dr. Hemmingway's class)
Total students: 412
Exams graded: 1648
Quizzes and inclass essays graded: 4944
Essay Questions graded: 9888
Projects Graded: 246
Portfolios Graded: 352
Students who dropped my class 1x: 19
Students who dropped my class 2x: 1
# Students reporting deaths in family during the semester: 17
# Students who came to office hours to discuss a crisis pregnancy: 3
# of Students who had a baby during the semester, then came back to class the next week: 2
# of sports events I attended to see my student-athletes at work: 3 (2 baseball, 1 basketball)
# of student "friends" I have on facebook: 74
# of times I've cleaned my office to impress students: 5
# of itunes playlists forwarded to me by students: 8
# of times I've mispronounced Cody's name: about 100
# of students who have taken all 4 courses I teach: 1
# of times I've actually brought the stick to class: 1
# of times I've tripped over my own feet while making a HUGE point during lecture: about 20
# of times I've accidentally tossed a marker in the air while telling a story: about 100
# of nights I've spent thinking of ways to make lecture more interesting: about 100
# of students who have reported having their work affected by homelessness: 6
# of students who have spent more than 2 hours in office hours: 23
# of students who have spent more than 5 hours in office hours: 7
# of students who have spent more than 10 hours in office hours: 2
# of Beanie Babies given to me by students for no good reason at all: 146 (+/- 10)
# of diet cokes brought to me by current/former students: 15 (1x 12 pack, 3x singles)
Here's a shot at quantifying stuff that has happened over Fall, Spring, Summer A and Summer B.
# Courses taught:12.5 (half of Dr. Hemmingway's class)
Total students: 412
Exams graded: 1648
Quizzes and inclass essays graded: 4944
Essay Questions graded: 9888
Projects Graded: 246
Portfolios Graded: 352
Students who dropped my class 1x: 19
Students who dropped my class 2x: 1
# Students reporting deaths in family during the semester: 17
# Students who came to office hours to discuss a crisis pregnancy: 3
# of Students who had a baby during the semester, then came back to class the next week: 2
# of sports events I attended to see my student-athletes at work: 3 (2 baseball, 1 basketball)
# of student "friends" I have on facebook: 74
# of times I've cleaned my office to impress students: 5
# of itunes playlists forwarded to me by students: 8
# of times I've mispronounced Cody's name: about 100
# of students who have taken all 4 courses I teach: 1
# of times I've actually brought the stick to class: 1
# of times I've tripped over my own feet while making a HUGE point during lecture: about 20
# of times I've accidentally tossed a marker in the air while telling a story: about 100
# of nights I've spent thinking of ways to make lecture more interesting: about 100
# of students who have reported having their work affected by homelessness: 6
# of students who have spent more than 2 hours in office hours: 23
# of students who have spent more than 5 hours in office hours: 7
# of students who have spent more than 10 hours in office hours: 2
# of Beanie Babies given to me by students for no good reason at all: 146 (+/- 10)
# of diet cokes brought to me by current/former students: 15 (1x 12 pack, 3x singles)
# of days I have off between Summer school and Fall semester (including weekend) - 6
# of years I plan to keep teaching college: 40
# of students I'll have between now and then - approximately 10,000
# of studentsI will remember: all of them
**********************************************************************************
Labels:
passages,
Professor Diaries,
raising melissa
Wednesday, August 2, 2006
Office Hours
My favorite part of the semester is when former students drag new students into my office -- sometimes by the scruff of their necks, sometimes with a shove, but most of the time with a firm steering hand of concern.
I tell all my students that they need to master office hours. Seriously.
Professors hold office hours, and students need to know how to navigate the art of office hour visits.
This sounds ridiculously simplistic to several of you, I know, but -- well, you overestimate many students' social skill. Confidence. Ability to tell time.
Most of the time, I'm very approachable in office hours, especially for students who are prepared (they have some idea what they want to talk about), direct (they have some idea what they need help with), and not complete strangers (they aren't coming to office hours to explain why they have never attended my class a single time...)
9 times out of 10, students leave my office with a smile. We find an option, a solution, a skill they need to work on. We look at big picture issues, discuss better decisions, print out a gameplan.
I tell all my students that they need to master office hours. Seriously.
Professors hold office hours, and students need to know how to navigate the art of office hour visits.
This sounds ridiculously simplistic to several of you, I know, but -- well, you overestimate many students' social skill. Confidence. Ability to tell time.
Most of the time, I'm very approachable in office hours, especially for students who are prepared (they have some idea what they want to talk about), direct (they have some idea what they need help with), and not complete strangers (they aren't coming to office hours to explain why they have never attended my class a single time...)
9 times out of 10, students leave my office with a smile. We find an option, a solution, a skill they need to work on. We look at big picture issues, discuss better decisions, print out a gameplan.
Labels:
Professor Diaries
Today's (Phone) Conversation with My Imaginary Boyfriend
Him: Good morning.
Me: Oh! Hi Imaginary Boyfriend! What a NICE surprise.
Him: Doing OK?
Me: Yes. Yes, of course I am. Always. I live a perfect happy wonderful life. Whhhheeeeeee, another day of summer school.
Him: Well, yesterday you sounded kinda down.
Me: Oh, just disappointed.
Him: In what?
Me: I don't know. Every now I just think these deep thoughts, and get kinda lost in things. It's one of the downfalls of having an imagination that dwarfs the Milky Way.
Him: Oh. Ok. Sure (pauses, then expertly changes the conversation) You look nice today....
Me: You can see me??? Where are you?
(looks around, under her desk, out the window)
Him: Ha. It was just an educated guess. Probably wearing a suit, heels, pearls & pantyhose, right?
Me: Sorta. No pearls.
And I brought something to change into in case I get a pedicure later.
I once went to get a pedicure wearing pantyhose. That's a rookie mistake that you don't make twice.
Him: Why?
Me: Nevermind. Have you had your coffee?
Him: Yes. And worked out. You?
Me: No. I mean, not enough. I'm kinda sleepy. And grumpy.
Him: You? Grumpy? I don't believe it (laughs)
Me: Don't LAUGH at me ~
Him: I'm laughing at you.
Me: (after seriously considering hanging up --) Oh, that'll get you far.
Him: Like where?
Me: (sighs) Are you trying to flirt? With ME? In the mood I'm in already today??
Him: No. That would be a big waste of my brainpower.
Me: You're right, why even bother.
I've gotta get all excited to give a lecture on the Civil War, the one about Lincoln's real politics.
Him: You'll be great.
Me: I'm not worried about being great.
I'm just a little edgy about doing the lecture for the 10th time this year.
Sometimes I feel like I'm a little gerbil in a ball, spinning history over and over, while other people move up and on....
Him: Like me?
Me: Right. Sure. Just like you. You are the center of the universe. (roll my eyes, which he can't see)
Him: Just checking.....
Me: Thanks.
Him: How's the novel coming?
Me: I haven't written a word in over a week.
Him: And?
Me: And maybe that's why I'm kinda cranky.
Him: You think?
Me: (laughs) Yeah. You're a genius.
Him: You'd settle for less?
Me: I'm glad I don't have to.
Him: OK. Go be brilliant.
Me: You too. What do you do all day, anyway???
Him: Oh, we'll get to that. Now go get yourself some coffee.
Me: (sigh) OK. Thanks.
Him: Anytime.
Me: Really?
*************************************************
Me: Oh! Hi Imaginary Boyfriend! What a NICE surprise.
Him: Doing OK?
Me: Yes. Yes, of course I am. Always. I live a perfect happy wonderful life. Whhhheeeeeee, another day of summer school.
Him: Well, yesterday you sounded kinda down.
Me: Oh, just disappointed.
Him: In what?
Me: I don't know. Every now I just think these deep thoughts, and get kinda lost in things. It's one of the downfalls of having an imagination that dwarfs the Milky Way.
Him: Oh. Ok. Sure (pauses, then expertly changes the conversation) You look nice today....
Me: You can see me??? Where are you?
(looks around, under her desk, out the window)
Him: Ha. It was just an educated guess. Probably wearing a suit, heels, pearls & pantyhose, right?
Me: Sorta. No pearls.
And I brought something to change into in case I get a pedicure later.
I once went to get a pedicure wearing pantyhose. That's a rookie mistake that you don't make twice.
Him: Why?
Me: Nevermind. Have you had your coffee?
Him: Yes. And worked out. You?
Me: No. I mean, not enough. I'm kinda sleepy. And grumpy.
Him: You? Grumpy? I don't believe it (laughs)
Me: Don't LAUGH at me ~
Him: I'm laughing at you.
Me: (after seriously considering hanging up --) Oh, that'll get you far.
Him: Like where?
Me: (sighs) Are you trying to flirt? With ME? In the mood I'm in already today??
Him: No. That would be a big waste of my brainpower.
Me: You're right, why even bother.
I've gotta get all excited to give a lecture on the Civil War, the one about Lincoln's real politics.
Him: You'll be great.
Me: I'm not worried about being great.
I'm just a little edgy about doing the lecture for the 10th time this year.
Sometimes I feel like I'm a little gerbil in a ball, spinning history over and over, while other people move up and on....
Him: Like me?
Me: Right. Sure. Just like you. You are the center of the universe. (roll my eyes, which he can't see)
Him: Just checking.....
Me: Thanks.
Him: How's the novel coming?
Me: I haven't written a word in over a week.
Him: And?
Me: And maybe that's why I'm kinda cranky.
Him: You think?
Me: (laughs) Yeah. You're a genius.
Him: You'd settle for less?
Me: I'm glad I don't have to.
Him: OK. Go be brilliant.
Me: You too. What do you do all day, anyway???
Him: Oh, we'll get to that. Now go get yourself some coffee.
Me: (sigh) OK. Thanks.
Him: Anytime.
Me: Really?
*************************************************
Labels:
Laughing,
professoring
Tuesday, August 1, 2006
Another Conversation with My Imaginary Boyfriend
Me: Sorry I missed your call yesterday.
Him: That's fine.
Me: No, seriously. It would've been the highlight of my day. But I was at the cellphone place getting my phone fixed and I couldn't answer it because I actually hate people who talk on their cellphones in public.
Him: Oh. Did you get a new cellphone?
Me: Um. Errrr. I mean, well. Kinda, almost. I was ridiculously attracted to one that takes pictures. I just know my whole life will improve if I have a digital camera. I'll be a better professor, a better mother, a better girlfriend.
Him: Really. (pause) Can you elaborate?
Me: No. (pause) I mean, yes. (longer longer longer pause) But I'm not going to -- (giggles, but not in a girly way, of course)
Him: So when are you emailing pictures to me? Or are you just uploading them to your silly facebook place?
Me: Well, um, it turns out my phone works fine. The only problem was that the alarm wouldn't go off. Then the guy behind the counter turned it off & back on, which magically cured it. And don't get me started on Facebook...
Him: So you didn't get a new cellphone with a camera?
Me: No. I'm saving the money for other random adventures.
Him: Like what?
Me: A pedicure. New pens to grade with....
Him: That's fine.
Me: No, seriously. It would've been the highlight of my day. But I was at the cellphone place getting my phone fixed and I couldn't answer it because I actually hate people who talk on their cellphones in public.
Him: Oh. Did you get a new cellphone?
Me: Um. Errrr. I mean, well. Kinda, almost. I was ridiculously attracted to one that takes pictures. I just know my whole life will improve if I have a digital camera. I'll be a better professor, a better mother, a better girlfriend.
Him: Really. (pause) Can you elaborate?
Me: No. (pause) I mean, yes. (longer longer longer pause) But I'm not going to -- (giggles, but not in a girly way, of course)
Him: So when are you emailing pictures to me? Or are you just uploading them to your silly facebook place?
Me: Well, um, it turns out my phone works fine. The only problem was that the alarm wouldn't go off. Then the guy behind the counter turned it off & back on, which magically cured it. And don't get me started on Facebook...
Him: So you didn't get a new cellphone with a camera?
Me: No. I'm saving the money for other random adventures.
Him: Like what?
Me: A pedicure. New pens to grade with....
Labels:
magical realism
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