Ethan

Last night we were watching a great show on Discovery that's on Sunday nights. I even told my students to watch it. It's called Life and it's narrated by Opera. It's about animals in their natural environment. Anyway in the middle of the show, Ethan asked, "How are babies made anyway?" Like the good parents we are, Scott and I ignored him and silently prayed that something spectacular would happen on the show to distract him. He asked again. Again we prayed, more desperately this time. The third time, Noah responded, "You'll find out when you are older, you're too young." I asked Noah if he knew, because as far as I know he thinks the mom and dad have to pray really hard to have a baby- I've told him this several times. He replies, "Well, I have an idea..." I asked where he got his information and he said they will get to watch a movie at school soon. Two things made me laugh. Earlier in church that morning, Noah whispered to me that he wants a baby sister like the one in front of us and wonders if I could make it Chinese. The other thing was a movie in school? I wonder if they taped it off Showtime? Later, when Noah was reading to Ethan and I we were talking about personification (no we are not the nerd family)- it's when inanimate objects are given human like actions. As in the "ax bit through the wood". We somehow ended up giving lots of examples and Ethan said, "oh like if the toilet talked and when I'd pee it'd say, 'hey you- turn down that hose'. " Yes. Exactly.

Old...

Lately I've been feeling old. I watched a commercial where Addy McDowel tells us "You'll be proud to say your age, if you use this product..." and it goes to a "50-year-old woman who looks 30". That's 20 years younger. It's never crossed my mind that maybe she really is 28 and just saying she's 50, so I bought the product. I can't say I look like a teenager. I play this game with myself and the Sunday paper. I did it when I was thinking I'd be an old maid- even though I got married very young. Back then I'd look at the engagements and look for people who were older than me (to give me hope that I won't die alone as a barren woman). Now, I still play the game just to see if people my age- or older, still find true love. The way you play it is, everyone you see and think "Oh! They are older than me!" you read their announcement. I first scan to see when they graduated high school/ college. Six out of six that "qualified" for the "they are older than me" round were not. In fact two of them graduated from Fargo South in 2004, which technically would make them old enough to be my first students!! Do I look that old? I realized this year, I am no longer considered the "young" teachers, but one of the "old hags." I completely skipped the "middle of the road". Last year I was young. This year, I am old. I have more than likely lived over half my life already, yet I feel like I've haven't done that much. I spent a great deal of it looking for the damn "blue handled scissors" that never existed, and now I spend it looking for Andy Panda's pencils. When I look at the "old" teachers- who really aren't that old but think they are, and think of my mom who thought she was old when she was 30, I notice they are feeble. They can't carry in their own school bags- that's on WHEELS, so they make their husbands do it. They can't be expected to teach (not even a classroom of kids, but short little classes that are constantly canceled) AND be responsible for calling Jimmy Jon's to put in an order of subs because "that's too stressful". So they take the morning off from seeing classes to get the order ready. They think microwavable soup is a "new wonderful creation" and they read the directions on how to make it out loud just so you know it's easy. They are scared of technology and think all of the students are out to get them. Then I look at me. Yesterday the backs of my knees hurt so much from playing basketball with the boys on Saturday, I could barely walk. It even crossed my mind to make Noah carry in my purse to church. Last year, I was sure the fifth graders at my school were out to get me. I don't use the TV in my classroom because I think if I touch it, it will fall from the ceiling!! My students asked me how old I was the other day, when i told them to guess one kid said "60" one said "21". After I reminded her that I would have only been 17 when I taught her in Kindergarten, she said maybe I was 25, but this is the girl who tells her ma, "she don't like it when you says ax." Oh well. I better go put some Ben Gay on my achy knees before I put on my "house shoes".
Thoughts I think: Kids like April Fools jokes. They really think it's funny when you tell them you're taking them to Disney Land and then drive to an old abandoned parking lot of a burned down warehouse and say, "damn, Disney Land burned down..." They'll cry and cry, but deep down, they'll think it's a good April Fools joke.

First Communion

My nephew and God Son, Austin, is receiving his First Communion Thursday night. I grew up Catholic and the first communion is a really big deal. You wear a veil to show purity to God, you have a special dress and a huge party. I remember sitting with the priest having to confess my sins when I was in first grade and I couldn't think of anything so I LIED and told him I stole. He didn't really yell at me, so I confessed that I was lying about the stealing, and I felt relieved that I had something to confess. I remember him laughing. Even then I was thinking, "Are you kidding me? I am six!! What big sin could I have possibly done that warrants confession?!" That was probably the beginning of my Catholic downfall. I remember telling the monks (who wore sandals year round) during confirmation class that "It's so unfair. Nuns can't talk, but all you guys gotta do is wear sandals all of the time. I can't imagine not talking!! But it'd be fun to wear sandals." To which they replied, "It's also not fair that nuns can fly like in the flying nun, and we can not." That was my second downfall. Growing up Catholic you always feel guilt. I always had this feeling of dread. Psychiatrists call it anxiety, I call it "You're going to hell no matter what you do." Unless I am wrong in my remembering, it doesn't matter what you do or how you lived, unless you were a priest or a saint, you were destined for the place down under. If you lived a very good life, never swore, lied, cheat, steal, or thought of sex in any way unless you are conceiving a child, you might get lucky and go to purgatory and stay there for a million years. In High School, I would try to stay good by going to church every Sunday and teaching Sunday School with a classmate. However, to make my third downfall, all during church I thought about the classmate I taught Sunday School, and maybe made -out with the night before and all of the other Catholic boys. I just couldn't stop. Perhaps that's why I only dated one Lutheran. My fourth downfall is when I try to remember going to church as a Catholic the song, "My God is a Vengeful God!!!" comes to mind. I am not sure if it's a real song, but I can sing the whole thing in my head- parts of it are even in Hebrew. Therefore, it's no wonder I turned Lutheran when I got married. I jumped at the chance to change. Now I have this dilemma. Austin is getting his First Communion. I need to go to the service and probably take communion, but I feel like if I take communion from a non-Catholic church I am signing my one way ticket straight to hell. I have been Lutheran for almost as long as I have been Catholic, but I have only taken communion once- and that was at Ethan's baptism, so I HAD to. I feel like it's one of those mortal sins I promised not to make when I was six years old and lying to the priest about being naughty. I guess I am just going to need to suck it up and do it. Maybe on Easter Monday I can go confess the sin.
On a side note, all day I planned on either walking the dogs after school because it's finally nice out, or working out. Well, it turned out it was too windy to walk the dogs and I was too tired to workout, so I just ate chips instead.

Cleaning With Boys and Dogs; Why Bother?

I woke up at 8:00 and started mega cleaning. I cleaned the bathroom, started a load of laundry, cleaned off the kitchen cupboards, unloaded and re-loaded the dishwasher, wiped down the fridge, microwave, stove, cupboards and sink. I swept and moped the kitchen and bathroom, and let the dogs outside. I cleaned off and polished the kitchen table. I re-arranged the place mats, decided they look like trash, so I dug out a clean tablecloth and decided it needed to be ironed so I ironed it along with three of my shirts and one of Scott's. I put the ironing board away and the tablecloth back on the table and let all three dogs in. I noticed too late that all three had muddy feet. I herded them all into the bathroom, got them in the tub (at once) and ran water to wash their feet. Next, I realized I was cleaning the bathroom, so I had zero towels. I told the dogs sternly, "STAY- NO MOVE!" went and retrieved towels and returned to see all three dogs surprisingly still in the tub. I washed their feet, let them out one by one as I dried them. I mopped the kitchen and bathroom AGAIN , and cleaned the tub for the second time. I went into the kitchen to put the mop bucket away and saw Sam on the other side of the deck door! Asked- not so sweetly, "Who was the genius that put the dog with wet feet outside?" found out it was the biggest genius; the grown-up one. I tried to carry Sam to the bathroom. He thought this was some kind of strange torture, so he got away and ran downstairs to hide from me. I tried to carry him back upstairs, but once again he got away. I finally caught him and put him in the tub. I washed his feet. I mopped the kitchen, bathroom and landing (for the third time), and cleaned the tub. I went into the kitchen and saw Max outside. Max is smaller, so I just picked him up and carried him into the clean tub to wash his feet. While he is in there I hear Sam barking to be let out. I yell, "If anyone lets the dogs out, I will break their legs". This scared Max, so he hopped out of the tub and left muddy footprints everywhere leading to his hiding place in the corner of the living room where he sat. I told him, "Max, I can still see you. You are the worst hider ever," I picked him up and put him back in the tub. I washed his feet, dried them off and mopped up the muddy footprints for the (I lost count) time today. I cleaned the tub AGAIN. I cleaned the rest of the house, including scrubbing mud out of the carpet while the dogs looked at the backyard which was calling their name and barked to be let out. I made a nice lunch and was a little excited to eat on my clean tablecloth. Ethan didn't even sit down before he put ketchup on his hamburger, and WIPED HIS KETCUP FILLED FINGERS ON THE TABLECLOTH!!! I decided I can have a clean house one day when I live alone and I went to take a nap. In the middle of my nap Abby came out from under the bed and barked at the door to be let out. I love my dogs, but they are very close to finding new homes. I couldn't fall back to sleep so I got up and went into the kitchen. I cleaned off the counters because SOMEONE left not only crumbs of food on it, but actual big bits of food on it. I unloaded and re-loaded the dishwasher, mopped up the new muddy footprints in the kitchen and searched for the culprit. I found Sam and Max literally covered in mud on their bottom halves curled up sleeping together on the living room chair. I tried to cry a little, thinking it would make me feel better, but it didn't. I picked up Max, put him in the tub, then carried Sam like a baby (THIS he doesn't think is weird), dumped him into the tub and wash them off. I cleaned the tub once again. I looked for, and luckily found, my leather cleaner for the chair. I haven't even started on the downstairs yet. While I cleaned the chair, I told the boys (all of them) to clean downstairs and I'd be so grateful if someone would vacuum. Noah got stuck vacuuming THAT ONE STRIP, then apparently got tired and stopped- leaving the vacuum where he stopped. I shouldn't complain, at least I didn't have to drag out the vacuum again.
Thoughts I think: Dad always thought laughter was the best medicine, which I guess is why several of us died of tuberculosis.

Kids are funny

My student's writing has cracked me up lately...
One girl wrote about her Christmas. "My funniest present was a beer box. You will never guess what was in the box. It wasn't beer, but the tiger I really wanted! My sister's favorite gift was a bear that glows. She named it Gloria, which is really dumb if you ask me, but she loves it."

Another wrote, "My mom and dad are my heroes because they keep me safety. If there is ever a broken they called the fire department." At first it made me cringe, then I had to laugh because that is how she talks. One day she said, "I'm gonna getter after school cuz my mom axed me to." The kids asked me if "getter" is a word. I said, "No, GET HER is." I am always after her to stop talking like a hillbilly, so now the kids are tattling on her for not talking right.

I had the kids write a letter to their parents today for their conferences which start tomorrow night. I had them write about what they like about school (me). What their favorite thing about third grade is (everything I do and say). As well as what they are learning about (how to hang on every word Mrs. Fairfield says). Last month when we did letter writing I talked about how you don't want to sign it "Love" unless you know the person well and actually love them. One girl came up to me when she was done with her letter to show me. I read it and she said, "I don't know what to say, like I don't want to say love, because I don't know her that well..." I replied, "Who your mom??" She said, "Oh ya, right," and walked away.

It is conference time and... wait for it.... I AM NOT SICK!!!! It has to be some sort of record!! Actually I am way too busy to be sick right now anyway.

I will leave you with thoughts to think:
If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. Then quit. No use being a damn fool about it.

Mornings...

I am rather proud of myself because I have the kid's morning routine down to a science. They can sleep in until 7:20 and we're still out the door by 7:45. I get their backpacks, snacks, boots, snow pants, everything else ready the night before. All they have to do is take a quick shower (usually together to save time) and throw on their clothes. They eat breakfast at school. However, Ethan has gotten too tall for size 7 jeans. At Christmas time I bought him all new pants in size 8. He keeps putting them in Noah's drawers because he thinks they are too "fat" and too long. I had to buy the 8 slims because he is so scrawny, and I STILL have to cinch in the elastic strip on the jeans or tie on the running pants. The past two mornings I've found him sitting on his floor wearing a shirt, socks and underwear sobbing because "he doesn't have any pants." I tell him the 8s are his pants and the 7s were too short. He continues to cry saying, "But I'm a 7, not a 8. I wear 7." I had a flashback when I did and said the exact same thing on a dressing room floor. He refuses to wear the 8s because they are too big around the waist and I have to roll them up. I refuse to let him wear the 7s because it looks like he's waiting for a flood. Yesterday I ended up bribing him with promises of shopping to find long enough 7s. Today I ended up changing MY pants to show him even cool people (like his mom) can wear pants rolled up and not look like a dork. I am fresh out of ideas for tomorrow. If only he were a girl, then he could hide his short pants with hooker boots!

Dear God...

Last night after supper Ethan asked me if I was too old to have a baby. I told him I was not, so he asked, "well, who decides if you get one?" I didn't want to get into the whole birds and bees talk with my seven-year-old, so I said, "God decides." Ethan folded his hands looked at the ceiling and said, "Dear God, please GET my mom pregnant."