CONSCIENTIOUS

I got this note from a darling little boy in my class. It made me smile, because the sentiments are so sweet. It made me laugh, because before finishing his labor of love, the artist/author came up to me, looked me in the eyes and said, "I just want to know exactly what your eyes look like."

Brown marker dots: he got it just right.

I'm trying not to judge myself by the misspellings or, more particularly, the question mark at the end of his sentence.

But today, after finding out that yet another distressed parent wants to come in and observe my class and talk to the principal about their findings, I am putting a question mark of my own on my abilities.

Someone did tell me, though, that I'm conscientious. That's something.

And I do have lovely brown eyes.

SPOOKED, III

Imagine the terror in our parents' hearts of hearts when we looked up from our comfy couch to see Lane walking in the door dressed like so...

The fact that he looked so good dressed in a girl's cheer leading outfit did nothing to make us feel better.
Nor did finding out that he'd just been out for ice cream with a bunch of friends, all of them dressed like this...

Perhaps this is why it's so often asked, "Parents, do you know where your kids are?"
Well, we knew Lane was at a Powder Puff football game, one of the Homecoming traditions at his high school, but he told us he was the coach--not part of the cheer squad!

I hope the girls played football better than the boys cheered, because this was Lane's prize for his adventures in girl clothes:

a broken finger.

He was kicked by one of his fellow cheer-ers, and after much pain and four screws and a plate in his finger later, this was Lane, post-op. He was groggy and gross, throwing up every time he moved.

This is Lane pre-op.



Oh, yes. There are times he terrifies me! Mostly, though, he just makes me laugh, and laugh, and laugh, and laugh, and laugh, and laugh, and laugh some more. Then we laugh, and laugh, and laugh, and laugh, and laugh, and laugh, and laugh...

SPOOKED, II

Lane turned 18 last week.

Happy Birthday, Lane!

His good friend aided and abetted me in throwing a grand surprise party for Lane.

Another good friend offered him a very special birthday gift: a kiss from three different girls.
All Lane had to do was stand there--blindfolded--and graciously accept his gift.
All he then had to do was guess who each girl was.

This is Lane after finding out that I was Contestant #2.

I have to admit, I was a little freaked out by it, too.

Creepy.

SPOOKED

I shan't be clever, I shan't be quaint.
I'm only blogging to earn my paint (er...point).

Dearest Linessa of the "If You're Going To Do Something, Do Something Well" realm has invited me, along with several other participants/contestants to better ourselves through an 8 week Holiday challenge. One of the requirements is to write in one's journal/blog each day.

Hence, I'm blogging.

But not well.
I'll just fill you in on the latest of our lives...

Saturday night, for all intents and purposes, was Halloween around here. Joshua went trick-or-treating with some friends (no grown-ups allowed). When he came to school dressed for the Halloween Parade, he was attired in ski clothes and shorts with a naked bum attached, and was (in case you couldn't guess) a ski-bum. To go out Saturday night, though, he was first a clown, then a skeleton, and then left as a ski bum. He returned shortly afterwards, however, to change yet again, this time into a Rastafarian. Whatever that is. He was gone all night, though, so whatever he was, he was having a good time being it.
Lane party-hopped the whole night dressed as...Lane. I did see him in costume the night before when he went to a football game. He was (drum roll, please) a Rastafarian.
I was Rapunzel. Not even a Rastafarian Rapunzel.

I was Rapunzel, that is, until the wig I had painstakingly made out of 6 skeins of yarn gave me a huge headache, a kink in my neck, and partial deafness (I couldn't hear underneath all that yarn). Five days to make the wig. Five minutes 'til it was off my head.

Michael was, as ever, beastly. More specifically, he was in his Halloween-means-but-one-costume-for-the-rest-of-my-life gorilla get-up.

Evan was a Mormon missionary.
Evan was a Mormon missionary who got into a car accident.

He is okay, and was truly protected from what could have been a genuine horror for all of us. We got the scary phone call from the Mission President's wife on Saturday night, just as we were leaving to go to a Halloween party ourselves. Needless to say, we were a little late, and not a little bit shaken. But all is well, for which we are immensely grateful to our Heavenly Father.

A perfect time to move into the Thanksgiving season! No more spooks for me, thank you very much.

COUNTING

Owing to the fact that today is ten ten of ten...I thought I might up the celebration a bit by posting ten things at ten o'clock. Whoo, boy! Hold me back from tipping those excitement scales!
Anyway, here 'tis: a brief update, listed in no particular order--just what comes to mind first, second, third, fourth, and so on. Gotta' love those ordinals...

• Lane had to have surgery on the pinky finger he broke while wearing a girl's cheerleading outfit.
• I bought a new rug for the front room. It is zebra print and makes Michael go wild (not because of the print, but because it cost money.)
• Evan has been assigned to be an ASL (American Sign Language) missionary. He took some ASL classes in High School, but somehow I doubt he learned words like the Book of Mormon and baptism by immersion there, even if we do live in Utah.
• I started rehearsals for "A Christmas Carol" last week. I will again be reprising my role as third girl from the left, a slight change from my role as third girl on the right I just finished playing in "The Pirates of Penzance."
  
• Joshua's soccer season just ended. His team managed to keep themselves in the Premier league, despite major setbacks. I managed to be only slightly less confused at when it is and when it isn't off sides.
• I followed a recipe to the T in making some ice cream for dessert tonight. It was absolutely disgusting, and I am going back to my dump and see method of making anything.
• Teaching is going better. We've only had to have a police officer come in to our class once! (That's for real. I have a student who continually steals, so I invited an officer from our district police to come in and talk to the whole class in an effort to thwart the problem.)
• My dad is out of the hospital and making progression towards a homecoming.
  
• Michael took Joshua and me (Lane was out with friends, as per usual) out to dinner at a restaurant that was celebrating Oktoberfest. He ordered something that came with purple sauerkraut and two fried eggs on the top. I nearly threw up. I ordered a delicious Reuben sandwich and still nearly threw up (after eating the whole thing, that is).
• I am going to bed now.

STILL SWIMMING

Well, folks. I'm still in the water.

And, WOW, it has been a crazy couple of weeks!

School started.
"Pirates of Penzance" opened (I am, as always, playing second girl from the right...).
Evan went to the temple.
Fall competition soccer started.
Evan had his going away party.
Evan and Lane received their Eagle Scout Awards.
My dad had a bad turn of events and is in the ICU in Colorado.
I got a new responsibility at church.
Evan went into the MTC.
I had a birthday (yes, folks, the BIG FOUR-OH!).
And life didn't slow down for one second!

Some of that has been wonderfully awful. Some of that has been awfully wonderful.
Some of that has been both.

But, if the doggy-paddle counts, I'm still swimming!

TEARFUL, FEARFUL, CHEERFUL

Today, I lost it.
I broke down and cried in front of my mentor teacher.
It probably made her think that I am a mental teacher.

And, truthfully, I may be a little mental! It has been a long week of working really hard, really long, and sometimes really haphazardly. It may have made me crazy.

But, not for naught. I now have a really cute classroom with 29 desks and 29 chairs and 29 red folders and 29 orange folders and 29 boxes of crayons and 29 sharpened pencils and 29 math books and 29 spelling books and 29 writing notebooks and and and...

I even have lesson plans and papers run off and my M,T,W,Th,F baskets filled with things to do.

So, for a moment there, I was cheerful.

But after one visit too many to my cute little classroom (complete with polka dot paper and red borders) from some other teachers, I began to doubt my own brilliance. After a look or two around the classroom, I would get comments like these:
"Oh, my. Polka dots? You know children can't learn with polka dots around. They'll be too distracted."
and
"Oh, my. You're using red in your classroom? You know red is the color of anger, and children can't learn with that color in the room. Everything needs to be blue. Studies show that blue is calming and aids in education."
and
"Oh, my. You're going to use that book to instruct your children? No, no. That's not the right book. That book is too hard for these children."
and
"Oh, my. I would never use that method."
"Oh, my. I would never take that approach."
"Oh, my."
"Oh, my."
Oh, my.

And then, I was fearful.
Fearful of doing the wrong thing, I began to second guess everything I'd done, was about to do, or ever thought about doing. I went to my mentor teacher (who is, by the way, absolutely amazing!), just to ask her if I needed to use a different textbook...

And then I was tearful.

I couldn't stop myself. I cried. Highly unprofessional, I know, but also highly impossible to stop once started.

But, that was then and this is now, and now I am home after a good night at the theater. I am cheerful once more.

School starts Monday, polka dots, text book, and all.
Sans tears.
Moderated fears.

Three cheers.