Gross/Gorgeous

I'm on day 4 of what has turned into a progressively disgusting cold. I'm at that stage of "coldness" where a face transplant is something I might actually consider (especially if Dr. Alex Karev were performing it, right?). Regardless, writing = too much time with my hands off of tissues. Thus, I leave you with this:

Hello, I'm here for your face transplant.

Oh Hey There, Soapbox.

I was at a workshop today that turned out to actually be worth my time, a rare gem lately. The presenter was talking about the "diversity" of kids in the classroom today. Aside from race, and language, and ethnicity, more babies are being prematurely now than ever before. More babies are born with drugs in their veins than ever before. And more children are being diagnosed with ADHD, autism, depression and anxiety disorders than ever before. Today's children come to school over-tired, poorly nourished (if at all), and from "print-free" homes. Some homes have more televisions than books - which would be absolutely shocking to me if I weren't reminded of this daily by children's reactions to being allowed to take my books home with them. I'll never forget at open house when a child in my class this year proudly showed his father his desk, including his school library book, to which his father responded, "This ain't a real book. It ain't got no pictures." Motivating, isn't it?

I thought of my own little munchkin at home, and how much he absolutely loves reading. And it's not just one book he's into... it's dozens. I should know, they are currently scattered all over the living room floor. He loves his "Daddy book" - a lift the flap book that's love is shown by it's haphazard flaps hanging precariously on each page. He loves Puff the Magic Dragon so much, he bawled when he accidentally ripped a page, crying "Oh noooo. Oh NO!" He loves books with textures and books with bright pictures. We go to the library almost every week - in fact, Houston's first real conversational sentence was in reference to me asking if he wanted to go to the library: "YESH! More books. Please?"On top of gazing at his favorite pictures, Houston has even started recognizing letters in print, excitedly scanning those little black letters in his favorite stories for "O"s. At one and a half years old, my son has had more exposure to literature than some students in my class who are 8 years old. It's no wonder our schools are failing.

As much as we say, "kids these days," kids these days really are different. And as much as I may feel like a "dunce" at home, there are certain times in life when I have to stop belittling myself and instead give myself a hearty slap on the back. Our kids are our responsibility. Not their teachers'. I can only hope that Houston's love for books always outweighs his love for "Sprout TV."

What Would You Do...

...if you could do anything and not fail?

This was a question on a recent health form I was asked to complete. Such a deep question for a standard health form, right? I have this issue with forms in that as soon as I see an empty form, I need to complete it immediately. Some deep-rooted OCD issue or something. So when I came to this question, it frustrated me that I had to stop and think.

What would you do if you could do anything and not fail?

A flurry of answers swirled in my mind. I could be a writer. No. You don't have the time. You're not good enough. You'd lose interest. I could start that business I've always thought about. No. You don't have the money. You don't have the experience. You'd lose interest.

But wait... you would not fail.

What would you NOT do if there was no risk of failing? You could literally do or try anything, and have a positive result. I would sit down and finally write that book. Because I wouldn't run out of money ahead of time. We would not have a health-related issue that demanded health insurance. I would not be denied by that major publisher and lose all self-confidence. I would not lose interest because it would be such a riveting topic, and there wouldn't be those "you should really be doing something more practical, like laundry" thoughts going through my mind. And I really could open my business for toddlers and parents because I'd have a booming business and loads of start-up money. I could bring my son to work with me and finally balance every aspect of my life that is important to me. Successful thoughts are exciting... but are they realistic?

Someone "professional" told me recently that I spend too much time conjuring up worst-case scenarios, and then dwelling upon them. But isn't that easy? Isn't it easy to think of all the things that could go wrong, and instead living in a state of comfortable "stability?" In real life, failure IS an option. A scary one. Especially for type-A perfectionists with a flair for OCD.

But the question remains, in black and white, what would you do if you could do anything and not fail?

What's your fantasy?

I bet it doesn't involve agonizing over professional football players' weekly capabilities. I bet it doesn't involve scrutinizing the waiver wire to find the best hidden gem to replace your injured wide receiver. I bet it doesn't involve hours in front of "StatTracker" on Sunday afternoons, evenings and Monday nights to keep updated on your players' progress minute by minute. I bet it doesn't involve wishing a concussion or broken limbs on your enemies...

unless you're a boy. Or me.

I have become OBSESSED with fantasy football. I can't help that I am a competitive girl by nature, but there is something about playing a "boy's game" that somehow makes it more intense. My current league is comprised of 14 teams, 11 of which belong to boys. I'm proud to say that my hours of dedication have landed me in the top 3 of my league consistently, and even allowed me a one-week debut at first place.

I think it stems back to 7th grade gym class... I was playing co-ed floor hockey and managed to score THREE times on a boy-goalie. It was perhaps the best day of my physically semi-active life. It lit some sort of crazy competitive spark inside my brain. Watching that boy cry, yes, cry, felt really REALLY good. Playing fantasy football is kind of like that. Beating boys feels really REALLY good. When your quiet, it feels good to trash talk sometimes AND to have the skills to back it up. We don't get those chances very often, do we?

And thus, weekly, you will find me hunched over my Mac, making line-up changes, picking up new players, scrutinizing stats, and analyzing performances. And please don't be surprised or offended if you stop by my house on a Sunday afternoon and hear phrases like, "I hope that jackass gets knocked unconscious." Because my 13-year-old self still relishes the day that I made a boy cry.

Christmas...already?

Did someone forget to tell me that Christmas is December 1st this year? I guess I missed the memo.

Is it me, or is Christmas making an appearance earlier this year? Obviously the malls are decorated with music blaring insanely early per usual, but Santa already? Really? Shouldn't he be busy with the elves this month? (Wow, that's a lot of questions.) My mailbox has become bombarded with advertisements, lights are popping up all over my tiny neighborhood, and friends are updating their statuses with their latest holiday preparations - your Christmas tree is up and decorated? What?!

As I stroll the aisles of Target, I can't help but feel bad for the fall decorations, ruined with red clearance stickers an entire month before they should be. But I smirk a little too as I gently place them in my cart. Don't worry little accessory, there's a place for you at my house. And I love your cheapness.

I have always made a mental goal of ignoring Christmas until Black Friday, but this year I can't help feeling just a teensy bit of pressure to start cheating on Thanksgiving.

What about you? When's an acceptable time to start your decorating/shopping/holiday panic attacks? Let me know below!

Whoopsie.

Everybody has those pet peeves... little things that drive you absolutely crazy. And that's usually what they are, little things. My pet peeve is when people chew with their mouths open. Seeing as I have lunch duty at school right now, I am confronted with my pet peeve on a daily basis. Of course there are other things too, but that really is right up there in my top 5. One of my friends can't stand when the timer on the microwave isn't cleared out. Mine says :08 right now. If she were here she'd probably be twitching.

It's very easy to list everyday annoyances, but have you ever thought about what YOU do that annoys other people? My husband and I have had this conversation, carefully, in the past. It's kind of a touchy thing, to tell someone that their habits really piss you off. Honestly, I've been blessed with a very neat, laid-back man to call my husband. Maybe it's time, or maybe he just knows me all too well, but there are really very few things I could think of that irritate me. And also I don't want to blast him on blogger. Love ya, Smit!

But I had to laugh as I was thinking about what to write about this afternoon. As I sit at the kitchen counter, his pet peeve is glaring me directly in the face:

Justin's Major Pet Peeve... wuh wuh.

Open cabinet doors. 4 of them. Of course after taking this picture I had to rush over and close them before he noticed my delinquency. It's hard to be told or "reminded" of your faults. But if you are going to live so closely with someone for presumably, the rest of your life, I guess it's important to be conscientious of those little nagging things that drive each other crazy.

Although I totally blame this one on genetics. Hang out with my dad for a few hours and you'll think there are no cabinet doors in the kitchen at all, because they're all permanently left open. Sorry for blasting you on blogger, Dad.

Babies are fun

So apparently Houston finds the word "gentleman" hilarious. Therefore, I've trained him to kiss my hand every time I call him gentleman. 

The past 10 minutes have consisted of the following:

Me: "Oh Houston, you are such a gentleman!"

Hew: giggle giggle, kisses the back of my hand, "More?"

Me: "Oh Houston, you are SUCH a gentleman!"

Hew: giggle. kiss. "More?"

Repeat x 212.

Ahhhh... babies can make you feel so good about yourself.

Oh, Nate.

I have always been a big fan of Nate Berkus, but have to say I'm not so much a fan of his new talk show. He's really, really, really boring... and sometimes awkward.

BUT, he did recently have a really good segment on clutter - my biggest nemesis. You can watch the video  here on clutter personality types. There are 5 types: distracted, procrastinator, bargain shopper, sentimentalist, and perfectionists. He doesn't really go into detail though on what happens if you happen to have all five types. Errr... shit. I mean, namaste.

It's that time of year again...

You know, the time of year when you go from waving pedestrians across the street with a friendly smile, to wanting to break their legs with the front bumper of your car?

Harsh, much? I know, I know. It is. But it happens to me every year - usually not this early. You go from doing your regular errands, to flicking people off in Target parking lots. Holiday shopping is in full force, and it's already starting to stress me out.

The difference is that this year, I am going to have a little buddy in the backseat who not only is fully conscious of what's going on, but has turned into a little parrot. For example, while attempting to buy bath towels at Bed Bath and Beyond (which by the way, who DOES during holiday shopping?) I found myself whisper yelling, "WALK you IDIOT." Upon which I heard a resounding, "WALK 'IT'!"from the back seat.

It's time to chill. While the "ITS" of the world are out like crazy people shopping in NOVEMBER (idiots), I need to remember to relax. Take a sip of your coffee, put on a fake smile, and relax. As Houston's baby yoga DVD says, "Namaste."The madness has begun, but it doesn't have to be mine... until December 20.

May you all find your own "namaste" this holiday season. The "IT" attitude can be contagious (even for babies).

Eenie, Meenie, Miney...

This was my night: a wonderful, glorious HOUR of uninterrupted sleep, followed by multiple episodes of Super Why, bottles, and baby snuggles. Houston had decided he just was not going to sleep last night. He'd pass out in his crib and just as I would drift out of consciousness, I'd hear, "Mommmmma. Dada. Dada? WAHHHHH" in the monitor. Every half hour. To the minute. Now, at 2:00 am, I lose my normal, cordial personality and turn into something like the Incredible Hulk with turrets. Covers fly. There are groans. Swears. Tears. I'm not proud, but that's me. Sometimes hours later, in the rationality of daylight, I think back upon something that came out of my mouth and feel embarrassed or even like I was dreaming - that awful person could not be me... right? But you know the feeling. Watching the clock, feeling exhausted and realizing that you have 6 more hours, 5, 4, 3, 2 hours left? That's about when I fall into the inevitable stage of sleep that involves war dreams and cold sweat. The best sleep ever. For 2 hours.

Now here is where I have an issue. Most people can roll out of bed, drive to work, and sit in front of a computer or do some kind of "pretend" work for a portion of the day. You know what I'm talking about... you can make it through the day without a whole lot of mental effort then come home and take a nap or go to bed early. OR, an even better alternative, just call in sick. In some jobs, if you're sick, there's no replacement. Life goes on without you. In other jobs, a substitute is called in - another nurse, another cashier. Someone who's trained to do the exact same job you do - someone who might be pissed off that they are getting called on their day off, but at least someone who has some indication of what to do on the job.

And then there's teachers.

I could have called my assistant principal for a sub today. But then that would require writing sub plans. Imagine trying to tell someone you've NEVER met, who may or may not have ANY teaching experience how to do your job, with your kids whom they have also NEVER met. When you're sick, or your kids are sick, and you're not planning for a day off, writing sub plans SUCK. I'm not the kind of teacher who can leave a schedule that looks like: 9:00 - Math, 10:00 - Science, etc... (and there are those teachers out there!). I'm the type of teacher who writes things like: 8:20, walk to the white board in the front of the room, resting on the chalkboard, and use a black dry-erase marker to write the date at the top in large letters - the long date AND the short date. Do not write in cursive.

And the real lesson description hasn't even started yet. Then I have to add things like, "Joe won't do any work in math, but don't call him on it because then he will throw his pencil box at you and run out of the classroom." You know, little tidbits like that. Or, "Jessica might look like she's not listening to you, but if you say her name in class she'll start crying, and don't worry anyway, because just when you think she's not going to do a SINGLE thing, she'll race through the page and get them all right." Try to imagine describing how to do your job to someone who's never met you or your co-workers, has never stepped in your office, and has no experience doing your line of work. And do that while you're sick. At 5:30 in the morning. And try to remember where you left all your teacher manuals from the day before, because they're probably NOT on your desk. In fact, they're probably in your bag... on your kitchen counter. Eff.

Don't get me wrong. I LOVE subs. They have saved me on my roughest days. BUT, it's kind of interesting to me that anyone off the street is qualified to "be me" for the day. People who have never stepped foot in my school, never mind my classroom can come chill with my kids. It creeps me out a little. Oh well, beggars can't be choosers. But tired teacher moms can. Annnnd I choose sucking it up and lots of "silent reading time" vs. explaining my life, minute by minute between episodes of Super Why at 4 in the morning.