Dear Favorite,
Tomorrow we will celebrate nine years of marriage. And all I can think is they have been a hard fought nine years. People who believe marriage is held together by some sort of magical love fairy have obviously not been on the other side of some of our more epic battles.
I actually think that's part of what has made this work, though. We've learned, together, to fight fairly and only with one another. I'm sorry it took the better part of those nine years to realize how important that aspect of marriage is...particularly since it's something you seemed to get from the beginning.
Actually, there were a lot of things that just made sense to you. Provision. Protection. Support. Encouragement. While I was busy believing laundry was a need to be met, you were careful to acknowledge the less tangible needs in me. To acknowledge those gifts is to openly acknowledge that our marriage has gotten to this point due to your continued persistence.
That's just you, though. You would never admit it, but as soon as someone tells you something is impossible, you have a goal--to prove him or her wrong. Your tenacity and super strange sense of humor have been rallying points for us whether you've realized it or not. And those gifts are mostly the reason we've notched our belts for nine whole years.
It's funny, though isn't it? To wake up and realize that none of this looks the way we planned it, but to know that I would've chosen you over and over. To me, that is the most accurate depiction of love--the fact that we have chosen each other in spite of circumstances that statistically ruin relationships.
I wonder if being a little bit broken meant we fused as we healed? If that's true, I wonder what our relationship will look like when grief isn't a part of most days--when it's just you and me and not you and me and the could-have-beens. It can't be less than beautiful, because I'm highly convinced that the flaws and blemishes are the story behind beauty. And we certainly have our own fair share.
But whatever jumbled, beautiful mess it may be, we're right in the middle of it together.
And in the end, I want to be standing at the beginning with you.
I love you--as deeply as you've taught me to love.
Crys
Showing posts with label The Letter Series. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Letter Series. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Monday, April 30, 2012
The Letter Series: Dear CIA
Dear CIA,
I understand that you think you have the market cornered on this whole "psychological warfare" dealy, but I think you are largely missing what it means to screw with someone's head. I mean, sure, water boarding can definitely lead to an outbreak of crazy, but doesn't the beauty of screwing with someone lie in the ability to deny any sense of mea culpa in the incident? Clearly, taking a towel and a pitcher every where you go screams, "Stuff is going to hit the fan and I'm going to be in the middle of it", no?
With that in mind, I'd like to introduce you to the more subtle sensibilities of Favorite, my husband, who is turning psychological warfare into an art. Here, I will recount a recent story that documents his creative genius, and you can determine if his strategies are more effective than the routes you currently prefer.
Favorite's current employment does little in the way of encouraging employees. Often that means the employees find their own sources of entertainment. That fact alone should be enough to explain the reason Sasquatch shows up in more conversations than the state of our economy. Many people believe discussions over his arguable existence are a waste of time, but not Favorite. Favorite is willing to entertain the fantastic possibilities often ignored by regular people--like the Loch Ness monster, Area 51, and, of course, Sasquatch.
Really, though, Favorite's willingness is mild compared to those of his coworkers. One man was so convinced of Sasquatch's existence, he made sightings and footprints regular conversation topics. He referred to the beast as "Samscratch" and whole-heartedly believed someone, someday, would catch it, and the world would be privy to something he knew all along.
Favorite decided to make that happen.
In the name of science (or psychology, if you prefer), he set out to make this man believe he experienced a real Samscratch sighting.
For weeks, Favorite attempted to procure a Samscratch suit but was unsuccessful. After randomly sharing his endeavors with a family member, he discovered a man who had purchased a gorilla costume at a yard sale because "it was a good price." Believing there were similarities between Samscratch and a gorilla, and knowing the dark and the woods would make up for any discrepancies, Favorite took a chance.
He gathered his crack team of professionals and set out on the aptly named Samscratch adventure.
Three grown men (all over the age of 25) called a partner in crime to determine when the Believer left work and would be taking his usual route home. Then, they set up camp off the side of the road, dressed in the gorilla suit and waited for the magic to happen.
Ten minutes into their wait, the Believer turned down his road. Since the boys were aware of his headlights, they cued Samscratch who ran across the road--from one wooded area to another wooded area. Then, they waited.
The Believer, who normally drove 30 mph, sped up to 60 mph, found a drive way and quickly turned around. He slowly drove back to the area of the sighting carefully looking for the alleged Bigfoot. The Partner in Crime, who was behind the Believer and also witnessed the "sighting", slowly drove past on his way home. Eventually, the Believer left the scene of the crime and, we assume, made his way home.
The next day at work, the Partner in Crime asked the Believer about what he saw. The Believer commented, "Well, that's something you just don't talk about unless you have a body." He refused to discuss the incident with anyone else, and, according to Partner in Crime, freaked out about the whole ordeal. And, honestly? Who wouldn't? It's not every day Samscratch ambles into the woods right before your very eyes.
I naively believed the experiment would end at this point. The boys would share their story, everyone would get a laugh and we would finally move beyond the adventures of Samscratch.
But Favorite wasn't done.
He let the story marinate. Every day, the Believer became a little more jumpy. Every day, Favorite giggled a little more.
Finally, on the day of the Believer's retirement, Favorite gave him a card that included a picture of Samscratch...except, this time, Samscratch wasn't wearing a mask and he was standing with the rest of the crew who made the impossible a little more believable.
You'd think an experience like this would force the Believer to abandon any belief in the existence of BigFoot, but apparently it reinforced his faith in the mythical creature.
That said, I'm pretty sure this story is just one example of how your agency could create mental disturbance for its own use without all that "Ack, I'm drowning" nonsense.
Think it over. Favorite is available to strategize to help central intelligence reach its full potential.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Gorilla Samscratch
I understand that you think you have the market cornered on this whole "psychological warfare" dealy, but I think you are largely missing what it means to screw with someone's head. I mean, sure, water boarding can definitely lead to an outbreak of crazy, but doesn't the beauty of screwing with someone lie in the ability to deny any sense of mea culpa in the incident? Clearly, taking a towel and a pitcher every where you go screams, "Stuff is going to hit the fan and I'm going to be in the middle of it", no?
With that in mind, I'd like to introduce you to the more subtle sensibilities of Favorite, my husband, who is turning psychological warfare into an art. Here, I will recount a recent story that documents his creative genius, and you can determine if his strategies are more effective than the routes you currently prefer.
Favorite's current employment does little in the way of encouraging employees. Often that means the employees find their own sources of entertainment. That fact alone should be enough to explain the reason Sasquatch shows up in more conversations than the state of our economy. Many people believe discussions over his arguable existence are a waste of time, but not Favorite. Favorite is willing to entertain the fantastic possibilities often ignored by regular people--like the Loch Ness monster, Area 51, and, of course, Sasquatch.
Really, though, Favorite's willingness is mild compared to those of his coworkers. One man was so convinced of Sasquatch's existence, he made sightings and footprints regular conversation topics. He referred to the beast as "Samscratch" and whole-heartedly believed someone, someday, would catch it, and the world would be privy to something he knew all along.
Favorite decided to make that happen.
In the name of science (or psychology, if you prefer), he set out to make this man believe he experienced a real Samscratch sighting.
For weeks, Favorite attempted to procure a Samscratch suit but was unsuccessful. After randomly sharing his endeavors with a family member, he discovered a man who had purchased a gorilla costume at a yard sale because "it was a good price." Believing there were similarities between Samscratch and a gorilla, and knowing the dark and the woods would make up for any discrepancies, Favorite took a chance.
He gathered his crack team of professionals and set out on the aptly named Samscratch adventure.
Three grown men (all over the age of 25) called a partner in crime to determine when the Believer left work and would be taking his usual route home. Then, they set up camp off the side of the road, dressed in the gorilla suit and waited for the magic to happen.
Ten minutes into their wait, the Believer turned down his road. Since the boys were aware of his headlights, they cued Samscratch who ran across the road--from one wooded area to another wooded area. Then, they waited.
The Believer, who normally drove 30 mph, sped up to 60 mph, found a drive way and quickly turned around. He slowly drove back to the area of the sighting carefully looking for the alleged Bigfoot. The Partner in Crime, who was behind the Believer and also witnessed the "sighting", slowly drove past on his way home. Eventually, the Believer left the scene of the crime and, we assume, made his way home.
The next day at work, the Partner in Crime asked the Believer about what he saw. The Believer commented, "Well, that's something you just don't talk about unless you have a body." He refused to discuss the incident with anyone else, and, according to Partner in Crime, freaked out about the whole ordeal. And, honestly? Who wouldn't? It's not every day Samscratch ambles into the woods right before your very eyes.
I naively believed the experiment would end at this point. The boys would share their story, everyone would get a laugh and we would finally move beyond the adventures of Samscratch.
But Favorite wasn't done.
He let the story marinate. Every day, the Believer became a little more jumpy. Every day, Favorite giggled a little more.
Finally, on the day of the Believer's retirement, Favorite gave him a card that included a picture of Samscratch...except, this time, Samscratch wasn't wearing a mask and he was standing with the rest of the crew who made the impossible a little more believable.
You'd think an experience like this would force the Believer to abandon any belief in the existence of BigFoot, but apparently it reinforced his faith in the mythical creature.
That said, I'm pretty sure this story is just one example of how your agency could create mental disturbance for its own use without all that "Ack, I'm drowning" nonsense.
Think it over. Favorite is available to strategize to help central intelligence reach its full potential.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Gorilla Samscratch
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
The Letter Series: A Few Randoms
Dear Admiral Criticism,
I'm learning to avoid things that just aren't my business, but allow me to share an observation that has been a long time coming: she's your kid, not your project.
Develop your relationships any way you want, but know that you have a limited amount of time to truly get to know someone. I promise there is more to her than her dress size or her outer appearance. In fact, you are largely missing out on influencing some of the most important decisions she'll ever make because of your constant focus on her weight or current insufficiencies (according to you).
While you're really looking at her, don't miss all of the amazing things that are happening in her life. She's becoming an adult--one who is really learning to make her own decisions and becoming responsible for her own stuff. Really, this is something you'd notice if you spent more time looking at how far she's come instead of how far she has to go. (And by the way, she gets it. I promise she already sees the obstacles ahead. You don't need to point them out. Constantly.)
She's still looking for your approval. Don't take that lightly, because there is going to come a day--probably in the very near future--that your negativity will lead her to avoid your opinion at all costs. Instead, she'll shrug her shoulders and comment that you aren't on board, because you never have been. Oh, and open your eyes so you know how much she is doing to please you. Some of those decisions were for your benefit--not hers.
She's never going to be perfect. OK? But she's still pretty great. I hope you figure that out before it's too little too late. Recognizing those things doesn't mean you completely ignore her flaws, but it can't hurt to balance all of your snarky comments with a bit of verbal affirmation, can it?
--A Concerned Observer
Dear Students,
English is hard--especially when we need to address what literature is meant to do for us as readers. Unfortunately, group work in class doesn't mean the requirements are going to be easier. In fact, because you have the benefit of other opinions/help, it's probably going to be more difficult. But I feel obligated to push you to discovery in the classroom, and, often, that means pushing your thinking processes beyond normal parameters.
I feel like it's my job to ensure you are capable of thinking for yourselves. How could that be possible without a ton of practice opportunities?
You're Welcome.
Your Teacher
I'm learning to avoid things that just aren't my business, but allow me to share an observation that has been a long time coming: she's your kid, not your project.
Develop your relationships any way you want, but know that you have a limited amount of time to truly get to know someone. I promise there is more to her than her dress size or her outer appearance. In fact, you are largely missing out on influencing some of the most important decisions she'll ever make because of your constant focus on her weight or current insufficiencies (according to you).
While you're really looking at her, don't miss all of the amazing things that are happening in her life. She's becoming an adult--one who is really learning to make her own decisions and becoming responsible for her own stuff. Really, this is something you'd notice if you spent more time looking at how far she's come instead of how far she has to go. (And by the way, she gets it. I promise she already sees the obstacles ahead. You don't need to point them out. Constantly.)
She's still looking for your approval. Don't take that lightly, because there is going to come a day--probably in the very near future--that your negativity will lead her to avoid your opinion at all costs. Instead, she'll shrug her shoulders and comment that you aren't on board, because you never have been. Oh, and open your eyes so you know how much she is doing to please you. Some of those decisions were for your benefit--not hers.
She's never going to be perfect. OK? But she's still pretty great. I hope you figure that out before it's too little too late. Recognizing those things doesn't mean you completely ignore her flaws, but it can't hurt to balance all of your snarky comments with a bit of verbal affirmation, can it?
--A Concerned Observer
Dear Students,
English is hard--especially when we need to address what literature is meant to do for us as readers. Unfortunately, group work in class doesn't mean the requirements are going to be easier. In fact, because you have the benefit of other opinions/help, it's probably going to be more difficult. But I feel obligated to push you to discovery in the classroom, and, often, that means pushing your thinking processes beyond normal parameters.
I feel like it's my job to ensure you are capable of thinking for yourselves. How could that be possible without a ton of practice opportunities?
You're Welcome.
Your Teacher
Friday, March 30, 2012
The Letter Series: Dear Spring Break
Hello Spring Break, my long-awaited friend. Lovely to see you.
Your presence makes me feel better that not one person participated in the meme linky I posted on my blog yesterday (#humblingexperiences). I am also thankful to have the opportunity to actually fold the laundry that's been laying on my couch for the last week. So, yeah. Thanks.
I keep trying to imagine how my time with you will be best spent. Most people would probably run to Florida at the first opportunity. But something in me says I should use you to look around the dustier areas of my life, and appreciate the fact that I have time to reevaluate some of the habits I've thrown on a shelf for the last few weeks. Like prayer. Like Bible study. Like personal journaling.
But I fully intend to enjoy our weekend trip toward the end of my time with you. Spring break isn't spring break without at least a tiny bit of time out of town. Favorite is really looking forward to that time, so thanks for not disappointing him.
I probably won't think much about work while we hang, Spring Break. I'll revisit those things right before I know you're leaving, but I think we all need some time to relax and appreciate everything around us. Of course, I'll have that opportunity just a few weeks after you leave, because Summer Break plans to visit mid-May. But that doesn't mean I shouldn't appreciate you while you're here.
So that's what I'm going to do--appreciate. I just thought I'd let you know where I stood.
Thanks for the visit.
Crys
Your presence makes me feel better that not one person participated in the meme linky I posted on my blog yesterday (#humblingexperiences). I am also thankful to have the opportunity to actually fold the laundry that's been laying on my couch for the last week. So, yeah. Thanks.
I keep trying to imagine how my time with you will be best spent. Most people would probably run to Florida at the first opportunity. But something in me says I should use you to look around the dustier areas of my life, and appreciate the fact that I have time to reevaluate some of the habits I've thrown on a shelf for the last few weeks. Like prayer. Like Bible study. Like personal journaling.
But I fully intend to enjoy our weekend trip toward the end of my time with you. Spring break isn't spring break without at least a tiny bit of time out of town. Favorite is really looking forward to that time, so thanks for not disappointing him.
I probably won't think much about work while we hang, Spring Break. I'll revisit those things right before I know you're leaving, but I think we all need some time to relax and appreciate everything around us. Of course, I'll have that opportunity just a few weeks after you leave, because Summer Break plans to visit mid-May. But that doesn't mean I shouldn't appreciate you while you're here.
So that's what I'm going to do--appreciate. I just thought I'd let you know where I stood.
Thanks for the visit.
Crys
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
The Letter Series: To The Parents of my Students
A former student stopped by my classroom today and I had the opportunity to laugh with him over his current college experience. When he left, and I went to sit at my desk, I smiled to myself and thought about what my role in his life is...or was.
I've never really taken the opportunity to thank the parents of my students, but I probably should.
Dear Parents and Guardians,
Because of you, my job is a privilege.
I don't mean that tongue in cheek at all. My job really is a privilege.
I have the opportunity to witness some of the best parts of your teenagers' lives. I get to giggle during homecoming, dance at prom and blink a little faster at graduation. But those are really only the highlights.
On a daily basis, I laugh with these students. We laugh over dating mishaps, discussions about pornography (strictly educational, I promise) and weird football nicknames. We laugh over my inability to be graceful and their inability to filter conversation. (Wait. I can't filter conversation either.) We laugh because of successes, and we manage to laugh over stupid trivia contests that never quite end the way I imagined.
I've been challenged by their views. You may not believe it, but these students are precocious bunch. They are concerned about your unemployment and the cost of electricity. They know that it's necessary to clip coupons and watch the grocery bill. They get that the current state of the economy doesn't just affect someone somewhere--it affects their families and this community. They may not be voting or passing laws, but they are certainly interested in war and the United States' involvement in those wars. They worry about loved ones who are deployed and whether those same loved ones will make it home.
They are great conversationalists. We've discussed everything from grammar issues to cancer; rhetorical devices to loss. They are masters at navigating the classroom requirements and still manage to approach my class with a serious demeanor that leaves space for humor. And speaking of humor? They know how to use it. Mostly appropriately. And more often than not, defuse tense situations with it.
They are conscientious, and I love them for it.
They are funny, and I love them for it.
They are attentive and interesting and honest and open to learning. You are so privileged to have the opportunity to raise them. I'm just grateful I get to be a player in the game, because those students change who I am and the way I approach others. I learned to accept, push, discipline, praise and instruct because of your kid.
During a conversation with another grad student, I was faced with this question: "With all of the new requirements for high school students, will you eventually think about leaving your job to avoid the stress?"
I thought for a few seconds and then gave the response that popped into my head the moment the question was out of his mouth.
No. I can't. I'm all in. I expect that from them. And they should expect it from me.
But mostly, I feel privileged to enjoy what is likely the best part of you. I truly hope you recognize the perspicacious group of human beings you have on your hands. Thanks for sharing them.
I've never really taken the opportunity to thank the parents of my students, but I probably should.
Dear Parents and Guardians,
Because of you, my job is a privilege.
I don't mean that tongue in cheek at all. My job really is a privilege.
I have the opportunity to witness some of the best parts of your teenagers' lives. I get to giggle during homecoming, dance at prom and blink a little faster at graduation. But those are really only the highlights.
On a daily basis, I laugh with these students. We laugh over dating mishaps, discussions about pornography (strictly educational, I promise) and weird football nicknames. We laugh over my inability to be graceful and their inability to filter conversation. (Wait. I can't filter conversation either.) We laugh because of successes, and we manage to laugh over stupid trivia contests that never quite end the way I imagined.
I've been challenged by their views. You may not believe it, but these students are precocious bunch. They are concerned about your unemployment and the cost of electricity. They know that it's necessary to clip coupons and watch the grocery bill. They get that the current state of the economy doesn't just affect someone somewhere--it affects their families and this community. They may not be voting or passing laws, but they are certainly interested in war and the United States' involvement in those wars. They worry about loved ones who are deployed and whether those same loved ones will make it home.
They are great conversationalists. We've discussed everything from grammar issues to cancer; rhetorical devices to loss. They are masters at navigating the classroom requirements and still manage to approach my class with a serious demeanor that leaves space for humor. And speaking of humor? They know how to use it. Mostly appropriately. And more often than not, defuse tense situations with it.
They are conscientious, and I love them for it.
They are funny, and I love them for it.
They are attentive and interesting and honest and open to learning. You are so privileged to have the opportunity to raise them. I'm just grateful I get to be a player in the game, because those students change who I am and the way I approach others. I learned to accept, push, discipline, praise and instruct because of your kid.
During a conversation with another grad student, I was faced with this question: "With all of the new requirements for high school students, will you eventually think about leaving your job to avoid the stress?"
I thought for a few seconds and then gave the response that popped into my head the moment the question was out of his mouth.
No. I can't. I'm all in. I expect that from them. And they should expect it from me.
But mostly, I feel privileged to enjoy what is likely the best part of you. I truly hope you recognize the perspicacious group of human beings you have on your hands. Thanks for sharing them.
Monday, January 24, 2011
The Letter Series: Dear Upper Respiratory Mess
Dear Upper Respiratory Mess,
Leave me alone. This is the THIRD TIME I've had you in the last month. The. Third. Time. I have no idea why you find my body to be the perfect host for your little Hamptons get away, but I'm done.
I like sleeping without coughing my head off. I like breathing without randomly throwing up because I end up coughing so hard. I especially enjoy tasting food which I can't even eat at this point because it makes me sick.
I don't know what your problem is or why I'm being targeted. I do know that it's time for you to pick somewhere else to make roots. I'm probably going to the doctor tomorrow, and even though that didn't work the first time, I'm hopeful that this time the doctor will hand you your packing papers.
See ya.
The Tired of Being Ivalid Teacher Who Cannot Expect Substitutes to Teach Julius Caesar
PS. Theraflu is not amazing. But it does clear my sinuses and send you into hiding for long enough for me to sleep at least an hour. Forget that I've been in bed for 20 hours today.
Leave me alone. This is the THIRD TIME I've had you in the last month. The. Third. Time. I have no idea why you find my body to be the perfect host for your little Hamptons get away, but I'm done.
I like sleeping without coughing my head off. I like breathing without randomly throwing up because I end up coughing so hard. I especially enjoy tasting food which I can't even eat at this point because it makes me sick.
I don't know what your problem is or why I'm being targeted. I do know that it's time for you to pick somewhere else to make roots. I'm probably going to the doctor tomorrow, and even though that didn't work the first time, I'm hopeful that this time the doctor will hand you your packing papers.
See ya.
The Tired of Being Ivalid Teacher Who Cannot Expect Substitutes to Teach Julius Caesar
PS. Theraflu is not amazing. But it does clear my sinuses and send you into hiding for long enough for me to sleep at least an hour. Forget that I've been in bed for 20 hours today.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
The Letter Series: My Apologies to the Pastors and Wives
Dear Pastors and Wives of the local Baptist Association,
Hot water is a luxury. Cold water is available to the masses. Last night, I was the masses. That might explain why I showed up to your annual Pastors and Wives Christmas dinner dressed like the defunct hippy.
In my defense, I didn't KNOW it was your annual Christmas dinner. I just knew that my MIL invited Favorite and I to eat a meal she had cooked for a group of people so we wouldn't have to find food. It's not like we're scavengers. We've just had an interesting set of life experiences in the last couple of days.
Despite those interesting circumstances, you should know that I now have hot water and no longer have to contemplate the various sinks in which I can pee because we got a toilet installed, too. Of course, none of those things explain why I showed up to your Christmas dinner. But if you really want that story, I'll start from the beginning.
I didn't really want to live like a viking. That was Favorite's idea. Unfortunately, viking-hood was thrust upon me. By whom? Well, by the trailer, actually.
See, a hot water pipe busted sometime last week. We're not really sure when it happened, but I noticed it on Saturday. I was in the shower washing my hair and, all of a sudden, icicles came out of the shower head and pelted me. I was being attacked by a force I couldn't fight. The only thing I could do was scream.
Favorite, being the protector that he is, jumped up and ran into the bathroom and said, "What?! What's wrong?! Are you OK?"
"Whoo. I'm fine...but the water is COLD! I don't think our hot water is working."
Favorite responded, "Well, we've got a leak. I noticed it yesterday. I'll see what I can do later."
Unfortunately, later never really came.
In our defense, it's difficult to work on two separate projects at once, and since we have no intention of staying in the trailer, we decided to throw our efforts to the house.
So last night, we decided it would be in our best interest to move our bed and sleep up there so we have access to hot water. On the flip side, however, my husband informed me that our lack of trim, closet organizers, grout, sink faucets, flooring (in the laundry room) a banister and other odds and ends meant we weren't going to be living comfortably in the house. Nope, we have to live like vikings...vikings who carry their belongings out and don't leave anything in the normal places...like drawers.
But vikings can't be bothered with things like food preparation--even though they get hungry.
So I just want you to know that I put on the only pants available to me at the time. I'm sorry they were fleece camo. I realize that's not exactly festive enough for the prestigious occasion you were hosting last night. I'm also sorry that the only shirt I had to wear was the blaze orange one they gave me for Project Graduation last year. Vikings work with what they've got, you understand.
I did want to let you know that the food was excellent, and I really appreciate the obviously sorrowful looks you gave me and Favorite as we walked in the door. The good news is I'm going to be ok.
Vikings can take care of themselves.
Sincerely,
Crys, the newly crowned viking princess of Happy House's Holiday Ho-Ho Farm.
PS. I'll have you know that while you were all pitying my condition, our "friends," Pastor Mark and his wife Mandy, were laughing hysterically at our misfourtune. What would Jesus do, indeed!
Hot water is a luxury. Cold water is available to the masses. Last night, I was the masses. That might explain why I showed up to your annual Pastors and Wives Christmas dinner dressed like the defunct hippy.
In my defense, I didn't KNOW it was your annual Christmas dinner. I just knew that my MIL invited Favorite and I to eat a meal she had cooked for a group of people so we wouldn't have to find food. It's not like we're scavengers. We've just had an interesting set of life experiences in the last couple of days.
Despite those interesting circumstances, you should know that I now have hot water and no longer have to contemplate the various sinks in which I can pee because we got a toilet installed, too. Of course, none of those things explain why I showed up to your Christmas dinner. But if you really want that story, I'll start from the beginning.
I didn't really want to live like a viking. That was Favorite's idea. Unfortunately, viking-hood was thrust upon me. By whom? Well, by the trailer, actually.
See, a hot water pipe busted sometime last week. We're not really sure when it happened, but I noticed it on Saturday. I was in the shower washing my hair and, all of a sudden, icicles came out of the shower head and pelted me. I was being attacked by a force I couldn't fight. The only thing I could do was scream.
Favorite, being the protector that he is, jumped up and ran into the bathroom and said, "What?! What's wrong?! Are you OK?"
"Whoo. I'm fine...but the water is COLD! I don't think our hot water is working."
Favorite responded, "Well, we've got a leak. I noticed it yesterday. I'll see what I can do later."
Unfortunately, later never really came.
In our defense, it's difficult to work on two separate projects at once, and since we have no intention of staying in the trailer, we decided to throw our efforts to the house.
So last night, we decided it would be in our best interest to move our bed and sleep up there so we have access to hot water. On the flip side, however, my husband informed me that our lack of trim, closet organizers, grout, sink faucets, flooring (in the laundry room) a banister and other odds and ends meant we weren't going to be living comfortably in the house. Nope, we have to live like vikings...vikings who carry their belongings out and don't leave anything in the normal places...like drawers.
But vikings can't be bothered with things like food preparation--even though they get hungry.
So I just want you to know that I put on the only pants available to me at the time. I'm sorry they were fleece camo. I realize that's not exactly festive enough for the prestigious occasion you were hosting last night. I'm also sorry that the only shirt I had to wear was the blaze orange one they gave me for Project Graduation last year. Vikings work with what they've got, you understand.
I did want to let you know that the food was excellent, and I really appreciate the obviously sorrowful looks you gave me and Favorite as we walked in the door. The good news is I'm going to be ok.
Vikings can take care of themselves.
Sincerely,
Crys, the newly crowned viking princess of Happy House's Holiday Ho-Ho Farm.
PS. I'll have you know that while you were all pitying my condition, our "friends," Pastor Mark and his wife Mandy, were laughing hysterically at our misfourtune. What would Jesus do, indeed!
Friday, October 22, 2010
The Letter Series: Dear Insurance Guy
I don't know how things work at your school, but at our school we have to fill out new insurance information every year. Every year they place this guy in our lounge because it's the easiest place to catch every teacher. Unfortunately, it's also the most public place.
I don't know how you feel, but I'm not an advocate for sharing every medical problem in the company of prying ears. There are some people I trust and other people I think need to mind their business, so the fact that he was sitting across from me in a room that had just enough people in it to make me uncomfortable, wasn't a scenario I relished.
While I realize this is a public blog, please keep in mind that I will be keeping a few of the better parts of this conversation to myself. They are not public information.
Insurance guy: Fill out the top of this form and give it back to me and we'll get started.
Me: No problem.
*Brief pause while I fill out personal information*
Insurance guy: I need your height and weight, please.
Me: *Of course I answered this question, but will I be sharing that answer with you? Hardly. Keep dreaming blog-world. My weight will never be public knowledge...but keep in mind this is where the interesting part of the conversation takes place*
Insurance guy: Are you pregnant?
Me: No.
Insurance guy: *I don't remember the exact exchange here, but we moved on to some other stuff where we went back and forth asking and answering questions*
Insurance guy: Are you pregnant?
Me: Um, no.
*More exchanges about current medications, blah-blah-blah*
Insurance guy: Are you sure you're not pregnant?
Me: I'm sure. Just chubby. Not pregnant.
Now girls, I realize that an insurance rep needs to know of any impending births. But rest assured, I know my body and I am not, in fact, pregnant. I wanted to hold a damn big sign to make this point clear since I was asked the question THREE SEPARATE TIMES. I also wanted to make it clear that maybe I wasn't super comfortable with his line of questioning.
First of all, I know I'm chubby. I've been working on it. But the battle with PCOS doesn't make this the easiest pony to ride. Get off my back.
Secondly, when someone tells you something once, twice and three times a lady, you should realize that you asked that question a few too many times. An apology might be in order. Blame it on old age so I will not spend the rest of the year silently wishing some angry teacher with an insurance claim hits you in the face.
Thirdly, Really? I mean, seriously?
So for future reference to those of you in the blog world: I am not pregnant. I am fat. End of story.
I don't know how you feel, but I'm not an advocate for sharing every medical problem in the company of prying ears. There are some people I trust and other people I think need to mind their business, so the fact that he was sitting across from me in a room that had just enough people in it to make me uncomfortable, wasn't a scenario I relished.
While I realize this is a public blog, please keep in mind that I will be keeping a few of the better parts of this conversation to myself. They are not public information.
Insurance guy: Fill out the top of this form and give it back to me and we'll get started.
Me: No problem.
*Brief pause while I fill out personal information*
Insurance guy: I need your height and weight, please.
Me: *Of course I answered this question, but will I be sharing that answer with you? Hardly. Keep dreaming blog-world. My weight will never be public knowledge...but keep in mind this is where the interesting part of the conversation takes place*
Insurance guy: Are you pregnant?
Me: No.
Insurance guy: *I don't remember the exact exchange here, but we moved on to some other stuff where we went back and forth asking and answering questions*
Insurance guy: Are you pregnant?
Me: Um, no.
*More exchanges about current medications, blah-blah-blah*
Insurance guy: Are you sure you're not pregnant?
Me: I'm sure. Just chubby. Not pregnant.
Now girls, I realize that an insurance rep needs to know of any impending births. But rest assured, I know my body and I am not, in fact, pregnant. I wanted to hold a damn big sign to make this point clear since I was asked the question THREE SEPARATE TIMES. I also wanted to make it clear that maybe I wasn't super comfortable with his line of questioning.
First of all, I know I'm chubby. I've been working on it. But the battle with PCOS doesn't make this the easiest pony to ride. Get off my back.
Secondly, when someone tells you something once, twice and three times a lady, you should realize that you asked that question a few too many times. An apology might be in order. Blame it on old age so I will not spend the rest of the year silently wishing some angry teacher with an insurance claim hits you in the face.
Thirdly, Really? I mean, seriously?
So for future reference to those of you in the blog world: I am not pregnant. I am fat. End of story.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
The Letter Series: A Little Note to Preservice Teachers
When the bell rang at 3:12, I realized I hadn't sat down at my desk once today. Generally, I get a little bit of a break and I get to do a bit of grading. Today, that didn't happen. I have a pile of grading still on my desk, but I finally decided to leave at 5 pm because I needed to quit for the day. Here's hoping I manage to catch up before next week.
Days like this are frequent for a high school educator. I realized early on that I wouldn't be able to clear my desk every single day and sometimes it's necessary to leave a stack of papers for the next day. I really like my room to be organized and together so that has been a rough one for me. Of course, it's just one of a long list of things I wish I would've learned while in my core classes at the university. Here are a few more:
1. Develop thick skin--High school students aren't always the friendliest crowd. Likewise, their parents can be a formidable opponent. If you take everything personally, it's going to be a rough school year. I say this realizing that this is a big downfall of mine. I think everything is a personal attack on my character, and that's just not the case. If you can remove yourself from the situation, you'll be a lot better off.
2. Maintain accountability--This probably isn't a shocker, but students lie. Granted, not all of them are liars, but when it comes to trouble, many of them will tell a fib to save their own backside. If you don't hold them accountable for their actions, you aren't doing them any favors. If the policy states that the student receives a zero, it doesn't matter how much you like the kid. S/he gets a zero. End of story. Will that kid hate you for the moment? Absolutely. But, in the end, these students will realize that you were the same person with every single kid who walked through the door.
3. Love what you do--Nothing translates in the classroom like genuine excitement. Our math department makes that abundantly apparent. I hope that's what my students get from me.
4. Be yourself--Part of teaching them often means developing some sense of relationship with them. Don't be afraid to make yourself human.
5. Don't be petty--There is a difference in consistent discipline and bird-dogging a student. To quote Rebecca Nurse from The Crucible, "There's prodigious danger in seekin' loose spirits. I fear it." In other words, you tend to find what you're looking for. Constantly look for misbehavior out of particular kids, and you're likely to find it. Am I saying that giving them the benefit of the doubt is going to bring you two together? Not likely. But you'll be a lot less stressed.
Unfortunately, I've realized that doing all these things doesn't mean that every kid will love you. Some of them will despise you on principle. Some of them will just hate your subject. But some of those kids might actually like you. A few more of them might learn something...or discover a new talent.
And that makes it worthwhile.
Days like this are frequent for a high school educator. I realized early on that I wouldn't be able to clear my desk every single day and sometimes it's necessary to leave a stack of papers for the next day. I really like my room to be organized and together so that has been a rough one for me. Of course, it's just one of a long list of things I wish I would've learned while in my core classes at the university. Here are a few more:
1. Develop thick skin--High school students aren't always the friendliest crowd. Likewise, their parents can be a formidable opponent. If you take everything personally, it's going to be a rough school year. I say this realizing that this is a big downfall of mine. I think everything is a personal attack on my character, and that's just not the case. If you can remove yourself from the situation, you'll be a lot better off.
2. Maintain accountability--This probably isn't a shocker, but students lie. Granted, not all of them are liars, but when it comes to trouble, many of them will tell a fib to save their own backside. If you don't hold them accountable for their actions, you aren't doing them any favors. If the policy states that the student receives a zero, it doesn't matter how much you like the kid. S/he gets a zero. End of story. Will that kid hate you for the moment? Absolutely. But, in the end, these students will realize that you were the same person with every single kid who walked through the door.
3. Love what you do--Nothing translates in the classroom like genuine excitement. Our math department makes that abundantly apparent. I hope that's what my students get from me.
4. Be yourself--Part of teaching them often means developing some sense of relationship with them. Don't be afraid to make yourself human.
5. Don't be petty--There is a difference in consistent discipline and bird-dogging a student. To quote Rebecca Nurse from The Crucible, "There's prodigious danger in seekin' loose spirits. I fear it." In other words, you tend to find what you're looking for. Constantly look for misbehavior out of particular kids, and you're likely to find it. Am I saying that giving them the benefit of the doubt is going to bring you two together? Not likely. But you'll be a lot less stressed.
Unfortunately, I've realized that doing all these things doesn't mean that every kid will love you. Some of them will despise you on principle. Some of them will just hate your subject. But some of those kids might actually like you. A few more of them might learn something...or discover a new talent.
And that makes it worthwhile.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
The Letter Series: To Whom It May Concern
I skipped church this morning because I haven't been feeling the greatest lately. I don't sleep well, and I'm tired all the time. But that is neither here nor there. For your reading pleasure, I have composed a few letters. Enjoy.
Dear Gum Chewers of America,
First of all, let me thank you deeply for your devotion to fresh breath. Like most Americans, I appreciate conversation that isn't tainted with the awful rank of halitosis. Gum does indeed make those conversations a little more bearable.
It has come to my attention, however, that when you are finished with said piece of gum, you tend to stick in random places. Take for instance, my brief jaunt into Bed Bath and Beyond yesterday. I was admiring those big prints in the hallway of this store only to realize that some unthoughtful gum chewer thought this would be the best place to dispose of his/her breath freshening device. One word: gross.
This event led me to recall the many times I've been privvy to the little breath freshening wads that have come out of your mouth--desks, chairs, lamp posts, walls at amusement parks, the ground, ashtrays and the like. I think I speak for the majority of civilization when I say the madness must stop. We can no longer tolerate random pieces of garbage to litter community property.
When you feel your breath has reached maximum freshness, wrap your gum in a tissue and dispose of it properly. The world will thank you.
Sincerely,
A Concerned Citizen
Dear Brain,
It occurs to me that things haven't been going well for us lately. I haven't been feeling well, and you are obviously aware of this fact, because you've chosen this time to allow my disposition to become less than magnanimus.
That said, it's time you get your filter working again--full blast. It's your job to monitor my mouth to make sure I'm not a jerk, and you've dropped the ball, Brain. You cannot use my illnesses as an excuse to push some sort of agenda. Maybe you're feeling angry at my lack of sleep. Maybe it's the lack of oxygen due to allergies. Whatever the case, it's not okay to allow anything to fly just because you can.
Be responsible, man. I am, after all, the one who suffers as a result.
Sincerely,
The Management
Dear Gum Chewers of America,
First of all, let me thank you deeply for your devotion to fresh breath. Like most Americans, I appreciate conversation that isn't tainted with the awful rank of halitosis. Gum does indeed make those conversations a little more bearable.
It has come to my attention, however, that when you are finished with said piece of gum, you tend to stick in random places. Take for instance, my brief jaunt into Bed Bath and Beyond yesterday. I was admiring those big prints in the hallway of this store only to realize that some unthoughtful gum chewer thought this would be the best place to dispose of his/her breath freshening device. One word: gross.
This event led me to recall the many times I've been privvy to the little breath freshening wads that have come out of your mouth--desks, chairs, lamp posts, walls at amusement parks, the ground, ashtrays and the like. I think I speak for the majority of civilization when I say the madness must stop. We can no longer tolerate random pieces of garbage to litter community property.
When you feel your breath has reached maximum freshness, wrap your gum in a tissue and dispose of it properly. The world will thank you.
Sincerely,
A Concerned Citizen
________________________________________
Dear Brain,
It occurs to me that things haven't been going well for us lately. I haven't been feeling well, and you are obviously aware of this fact, because you've chosen this time to allow my disposition to become less than magnanimus.
That said, it's time you get your filter working again--full blast. It's your job to monitor my mouth to make sure I'm not a jerk, and you've dropped the ball, Brain. You cannot use my illnesses as an excuse to push some sort of agenda. Maybe you're feeling angry at my lack of sleep. Maybe it's the lack of oxygen due to allergies. Whatever the case, it's not okay to allow anything to fly just because you can.
Be responsible, man. I am, after all, the one who suffers as a result.
Sincerely,
The Management
Monday, September 13, 2010
The Letter Series: NOTICE
Dear Laundry,
I am writing this little letter because I need to redefine our relationship. As it stands, this "sit-around-and-wait-for-me" thing isn't really working for me. Don't get me wrong; I appreciate your consistency. I appreciate that you are willing to meet me day after day thereby alleviating any lonely feelings I may develop while Favorite is at work. What I have realized, however, is that there is no follow through with you.
That's right, Laundry. I said it. You don't DO anything. You just sit there. And I've had enough.
It's time for you to start doing yourself. Dirty connotations aside, Laundry. Now is not the time for jokes. In fact, I would like to suggest you form a deep, personal relationship with Tide and Snuggles. They are going to make your day a whole lot easier.
Feel free to submit your concerns to me in writing. Until then, I'll expect you to follow through with your end of the bargain.
With Regards,
The Management
I am writing this little letter because I need to redefine our relationship. As it stands, this "sit-around-and-wait-for-me" thing isn't really working for me. Don't get me wrong; I appreciate your consistency. I appreciate that you are willing to meet me day after day thereby alleviating any lonely feelings I may develop while Favorite is at work. What I have realized, however, is that there is no follow through with you.
That's right, Laundry. I said it. You don't DO anything. You just sit there. And I've had enough.
It's time for you to start doing yourself. Dirty connotations aside, Laundry. Now is not the time for jokes. In fact, I would like to suggest you form a deep, personal relationship with Tide and Snuggles. They are going to make your day a whole lot easier.
Feel free to submit your concerns to me in writing. Until then, I'll expect you to follow through with your end of the bargain.
With Regards,
The Management
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