Monday, August 30, 2010

I hate being in charge of dinner.

I hate deciding what to cook.

I hate remembering to get all the ingredients.

I hate the silent whines when someone isn't happy with my choice.

I hate how the people that live here seldom know what they want
but always know it isn't
what is on the stove
or in the oven
or in the refrigerator.

I'm happy with cereal for dinner
or Wheat Thins
or popcorn.

Just sayin.............

Saturday, August 28, 2010

Have you ever had an issue that could turn your day from bright and sunny to cloudy with a chance of thunderstorms?

I have a few of those. 

They stick in my throat like a peanut butter sandwich on fresh bread sticks to the roof of your mouth.

The difference is that there is nothing good about it.
It is unpleasant from start to finish and there doesn't seem to be a way to avoid the whole process.

I wish I felt differently about things.

I wish I was always the better person.

But I am not.

I detest feeling used and taken for granted. 

I detest my usual laid back attitude being used to the advantage of an agenda that is counterproductive to my stress level and therefore my sanity.

Please don't advise honesty or forthrightness. 
They have not worked in the past and so most likely never will.
Some people are masters at seeing and hearing only those things that meet their needs.

I know you are thinking about forgiveness.
Why doesn't she forgive and move on?
Forgiveness is elusive.  Never as easily granted as it is advised.

My first name means grace.
My middle means bitter.

When examined objectively my names are an honest assessment of my personality. Generally, I am capable of extending grace to those surrounding me. I can look beyond slights, insults, and dislike to extend grace. 

There are some things though...steeped in bitterness.
Things I have been told are even deserving of bitterness.

I just wish I knew how to be the one that gets the prize once in a while. 


Wednesday, August 25, 2010

If a Picture is Worth a Thousand Words Then I'm Taking Several Hundred to Work Tomorrow

I know that it has been while since I have posted a blog. 
I can tell because the words waiting to be written tumble around in my head like clothes in the dryer.  I am just too tired to think let alone form coherent thoughts.  The first month of Kindergarten is always excruciating.

Seriously. Ask any teacher of little ones.

The first week it is all I can do to drag myself to the car and get home before I dissolve into a puddle of sore feet, a sore throat and sore ears.  My feet are sore because it has been six to eight weeks since I have spent the majority of eight hours standing and walking around on a concrete floor.  That doesn't even include the pounding my feet take when chasing a crying five year old who has decided that Mom didn't kiss him enough times.

The second week my patience wears thin as I explain for the umpteenth time that urinals are only used while standing and should never be sat upon. 

Or touched. 

Sometime this week I realized that I must repeat EVERYTHING I say a minimum of five times.  It's not always a case of a child that just doesn't listen.  Kindergartners are generally eager to please and EXCITED BEYOND ALL CONTROL just to be at school.  Usually each comment must be repeated so many times simply because school language is so different from everyday language. 

What follows is a typical one sided conversation as I tried to get one small body sitting appropriately on our group time carpet.

"Sweetie, sit on your bottom. No that's sitting on your feet.  Sit on your bottom.  Your bottom.  Ummm, sit on your behind.  No, sit down.  On the floor.  No! Don't move off the rug, just sit!  Down.  Umm okay, honey, just, ummm, just sit on your butt.  Alright everybody that's no reason to laugh so loudly. You've heard people say butt before!  Okay!  Good job!  Now scoot up a little. No not that way!  Scoot forward.  That's backwards.  Scoot towards me.  No that's sideways.  Scoot towards the front of your body. No! Don't bend!  SCOOT. STRAIGHT. AHEAD.  Oh, Sweetie, I'm not mad at you I just thought maybe you couldn't hear me so I had to use my loud voice. Here, I'll just move you. This is called scooting forward....."

Running a close second to the number of words I have to say each day are the number of words THEY say.

I'm not even kidding.

Five year olds have a lot to say and it is all VERY  important to them and it must be said immediately.

Out loud.

At several thousand decibels.

Now halfway into our third week, I am no longer taking Advil as soon as I get home and I've been able to stay awake until at least 10:30 each night. However, I am still having to say waaaay too many words. 

My co-worker says we should be paid by the word. 
If words were worth a penny, I'd be a billionaire by now.

Even so, this is the best job ever. The people I hang out with all day sometimes have to take a picture of me with Mom's cell phone at dismissal time just in case they miss me at night.

You should all be so lucky!

Just sayin...............

Friday, August 13, 2010

I once posted that the last three days of school see this post were among the longest I had ever experienced in my life........Yeah, so I'm taking that back.

For the first time EVER in my 20 something career, our students started the school year on a Monday.

I know that starting on a Monday must make sense to the rest of the world and for a small moment I thought that I might like having five consecutive days to work on procedures and rules with the small people I am called to civilize this year.

Five year olds have an impeccable memory if you have promised them ice cream. But their memory is not so good about things like no screaming in the bathroom. I foolishly thought five days without a break might help improve the memories of the little critters.

I would tell you if my hypothesis was proven right or wrong but my feet are screaming so loudly I can't concentrate.


When I stand up and try to walk it feels as if my feet are four times their normal size.

They aren't. But they hurt.

Even if my feet weren't hurting, the crushing fatigue I am experiencing has rendered me incapable of any ability to form coherent thoughts.

It could be argued that the younger the child, the more energy required to usher them through the school day.

It could also be argued that the younger the child, the more words required to usher them through the school day.

I have repeated every thing I have said no less than three times. Everything.  Three times. At least.

It is becoming so ingrained that this morning when I stopped by McDonald's for a large sweet tea as a reward for living through the year week, the cashier asked me if the three large sweet teas were separate orders or all on the same order.

My co-workers and I are starting a petition to be paid by the word. If it works out I foresee an early retirement and a summer home in Italy.

In five short days I have already heard more OINKs and even said a few OINKs myself. I have also witnessed the creation of new letter names that will astound you.

By the way........I love, love, love my class. 
They are quirky and funny and sweet. 

Just sayin......................

Monday, August 9, 2010

So Glad You are Mine

It's been a rough day today.
The tears have fallen more than once.
Every other August 8th I have gotten a 
phone call early in the morning. I tried for
years to be the one to call them but my mother
always beat me to it. Smile. She and Dad always
said, "I'm so glad you are mine." And I always said, "Me too!"

My father has
dreaded this month.
They would have celebrated
their wedding anniversary next weekend.

of that painful day
must be awful for him. I
called my father as soon
as I was sure he would be
out of church. It broke my
heart to realize that he dreaded
August 14 so much that he forgot August 8.

It's okay though.
That's the kind of
thing that grief does
to you. It is like trying
to find your way through
a dense fog.  It blurs your
eyesight so that it is all you
can do to keep your feet on the
pathway of life. I know that Mom
would want me to make my daddy's
world as okay as I can. So that is what
I tried to do. Hopefully, my voice was just
as happy and as cheerful as I wanted it to be.

As many of us as are
able will gather together
August 8, 1962
The day I found my family
at the restaurant that Mom
always chose for their anniversary
dinner. We have gathered there many
times before to celebrate one thing or another.

I hope that
it helps us all.

Tonight, when all the
kids are in bed and I finally
stop working on lesson plans
I will whisper to my Mom.

I'm so glad you chose me.

Just sayin'.............

Saturday, August 7, 2010

Chosen Babies

I came home August 8, 1962.

I was a Chosen baby. In fact, I am one of four Chosen Babies.
I have known all my life that I was special.

I knew I was special because my parents told me so.

From as far back in my memory as I can search, I have felt
nothing other than pride in how I came to be a part of my family.

I knew to feel pride because my parents taught me to.

My parents read books to us and one of our favorites was a book named The Chosen Baby. After all, it was all about US and how we became a family. (I remember how surprised I was when I learned to read for myself and discovered that the children in the book were named Peter and Susan instead of having the names of my older brother and sister.) Being a Chosen Baby meant that God worked extra hard to give us to the family that would be perfect for us.

I knew to feel extraordinarily blessed because my parents told me I was.  

My parents did not tell me to feel sorry for children who joined their families in the regular, plain old, boring way.  But I did anyway. 

After all, my parents CHOSE me.

My parents told me that out of all the other babies in the world they wanted me the most. In my mind, they must have walked up and down row after row of cribs looking for the best for the best. I imagined them hugging each other while looking at me and shouting, "She's the one!"

I knew that only the best babies got to be Chosen Babies because my parents told me so.

Only Chosen Babies celebrated an anniversary. Nowadays many families like ours call them Gotcha Days. Shorthand for-The Day We Gotcha.  Mom and Dad called them Anniversaries and we celebrated four of them each year. Anniversaries were similar to birthdays but instead of one kid getting all the presents we all got one. To a child betting presents is the BEST.
I felt sorry for my friends who were always they should have been.

I knew that they were right to be jealous because I told them so.

Yes, I wonder about the man and the woman who first gave me existence and then gave me up to give me a LIFE. I wonder what they look like and what brings them joy. I wonder where the red hair I was born with came from and if someone has green eyes like mine.

The one thing I never wonder about is who my REAL parents are.
I know that their names are Billy and Harriett. 

I know that they loved  me from the start because they told me so over and over and over.

And, I know that I came home on August 8, 1962.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010


The 2010-2011 school year has begun. 
We had to attend a county wide opening day meeting.

All I can say about that experience is that

Oh yes, and

Oh, yes and theme park here in Georgia donated a prize to our county wide teacher of the year.

It was.....wait for it.....a water bottle.

Anything else I say could incriminate me and cause four of our five kids to be forced to miss several meals.

Did I mention it was hot.

Seriously, did they not know that hundreds of big ole grown people were coming today? So many programs were flapping it is a wonder the whole building didn't rise at least a few feet in the air.

I am afraid that I am going to have to tell the parents of my students to send a jacket with their children this SUMMER because the teacher has a malfunctioning inner thermostat.

The heat in Georgia this summer has brought out some of my inner psychotic tendencies. 

For example, that person you heard screaming about how her hair WAS! TOUCHING! HER! FACE!   That was me.

And the person that screamed the her dogs were TOUCHING! HER! ON! PURPOSE!  That was me, too.

Interestingly, one of the fabulous secretaries told me that as she registered another student for my classroom she heard the child say, "Mama, I'm having a hot flash just like Grandma!"

I think the two of us will get along just fine.  :)

Just sayin'..........................

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

The Job

That strange sound you hear is me whining.

"I am trying to trap it up in my mouth but it keeps squeezing out." The previous sentence is a direct quote from one of my home grown (as opposed to my school kids) kids. 

Of course, I am trying no harder to keep the whines 'trapped up' than my then three year old did.


It's not what I do that forces me to whine incessantly.

It's the unnatural hour I am forced to rise each day.

I would prefer to start the Kindergarten day around.......hmmm.......10:00 seems to me like a perfectly reasonable time.

Just sayin'............

Then there is the whole rushing around thing. 

You know, get up, rush through a shower, make-up and wardrobe issues, rush various numbers of homemade kids out the door, rush through traffic, rush 5 year olds around all day.

(Five year olds NEVER hurry when you need them too.
They only hurry when it is dangerous to do so OR when they are the line leader. And that's the gospel truth.
Ask any kindergarten teacher.)

The rushing around continues when the work day is over.

There are errands, dinner, e-mail, kids to take places, Facebook, homework, housework, blogs to read, bills to figure out how to pay because the governor has furloughed us, dogs to take care of, internet to surf, work to finish from work because there's never time to do it AT work and at some point I like to go to bed.

It's a good thing I love my job.

And I do very much.

Just sayin'.........

Sunday, August 1, 2010

There is a blog I check obsessively throughout the day and honestly throughout the night at times.

It is the story of Ashley.
A tiny, little girl with the spirit of David the giant killer. 

And she is in battle with a real life Goliath.

Ashley came into this world in a fight for her life and she has beaten back enemy after enemy after enemy.  She has fought to survive a multiple organ transplant and she has fought to survive cancer.

Ashley will be five years old soon.  Much of her five years have been a struggle. Nothing at all has come easy for her but she has a sparkle in her eyes and a smile that embodies the word merriment.

Ashley now battles a giant named rejection. The details of this excruciating fight has been documented in her story and you can learn about them there. I encourage you to go and read and experience the horror that she endures. I never knew the torture that rejection inflicts on it's intended victim.

Ashley fought so very hard to keep her transplanted bowel but eventually her surgeons were forced to remove it before the thing that once saved her wound up killing her.

Ashley and her family now wait. Only God knows what is next. Only He can see around the corner.

Ashley can survive without a bowel. 

For a little while.

You see, her veins are damaged from the countless IVs and pokes and surgeries and they are now unable to support the central line she needs in order to survive long enough to recover.

She needs this line people.
Her life depends on it.

She also needs to remain infection free.

And all this for SIX months before another transplant has any hope of being even considered.

God has not abandoned Ashley. Just as he gave David, He has given her a sling and three stones.

Her solid rocks are her mom, her dad, her brother and her sister. And they, like Ashley, rest in a sling in the hand of God.

Below are links to her blog and her Facebook page.

Please pass this on to your friends. You can link back to this blog if you need to.

Pray for her please. Pray hard.

Just sayin'.......!/group.php?gid=133238723381489