Pssst . . . Ya, You!

This site hasn't been cutting it for a while . . . so I'm moving over here. And I promise, I'm posting more frequently. Adjust your RSS feeds if you like.

- Jill

A Day In the Life, Or What It Feels Like For a Mug

Sometimes, I just go off on a tangent. This would be one of them. And occasionally, I think better of my tangents. This would not be one of them. I give you . . . my mug's day. Yes, people have been clamoring to know how the humble mug spends its day. And in a first ever photo expose, here you have it. It ain't pretty, but it's real life, people.

Pick me! Pick me! Seriously, I'm on top . . . do not go for the Starbucks . . . they are stuck up assholes!

Could you do iced coffee every once and a while . . . it's scalding my insides, dammit!

Sugar?! Really . . . should your coffee match your heart? And clean the spoon. It's been talking about you for days.

Sunlight . . . finally. Wonder how long this will last.

This spot again. I'll be here all week at the rate this bimbo does the dishes. All. Damn. Week.

When They Leave

Shelby came home Thursday evening because she needed to have her wisdom teeth extracted. She and Jordan were home the week before for her consult, and they took the train home so that Jordan could begin her semester and Shelby could get some stuff settled for her semester in Germany.

So, when they leave, it is one of the worst few hours for me. Usually, I'm a bit of a bitch the hours or so before they head back to Philadelphia (still can't call that home for them) because it means that my limited time with them is at an end. It means that things are once again out of my control. They will have to be the responsible ones, and I'll be reduced to text messages, Facebook postings, and the occasional phone call. I'll trust that everything I've said has registered some place in their brains and that they will make the right choices again and again.

 Truly, it means that I won't get to see them. When I talked to Erika before Shelby's surgery, I told her I was a little freaked out over the whole thing. The last time Shelby had anesthesia, she was 18 months old and having tubes put in her ears. Getting your wisdom teeth removed is pretty routine, and it scared the shit out of me. What if? Add to that Shelby leaving for Germany in about seven weeks, the Girls being separated for the first time in their lives, and Jordan talking about grad school in Los Angeles. See what I mean? What if . . . I can't even fill in the blanks.

Dave is driving Shelby to the train station as I type this. I have a crap ton of grading to get done, so I have iTunes cranked and am working my way through a pile of essays and pop quizzes. I was making good headway, but then a sappy song came on, and I lost it. Guess I should be used to it by now, but the what ifs are multiplying.

- Jill

Why I Knit

Ten years ago, I didn't know how to knit. I looked at the yarn that I saw in Walmart or a craft store and didn't really give it a second thought. But a friend asked if I would take a beginning knitting class with her, so I carefully selected a skein of hideous variegated Red Heart and some shiny aluminum needles and cast on for a scarf. Eventually I made a sweater for a bear out of Sugar'n Cream cotton . . . and then I stopped.

I have no clue why I stopped. I just did. Stopped for about two years. Stopped to the point that I forgot how to purl. Stopped and didn't finish an equally hideous scarf made out of lilac wool and white fun fur. But eventually, there was a need to pick up the needles again and create something for someone special. My sister, Bridget, was pregnant with Emma, and I wanted to make her a sweater. So, with the help of Debbie Stoller's Stitch 'n Bitch, I figured out how to purl again. And I never stopped.

So, why do I knit? That answer is evolving. It gives me something to do. It's been linked to memory retention. It's portable. It makes me think. It allows me to control something. It allows me to fly without Valium or any alcohol (fine, less alcohol). It calms me down. It gives me something to do. It takes my mind off of things. It's better than crack . . . at least I'm 99% sure it's better than crack.

Last weekend, I attended Vogue Knitting Live! in New York City with a friend. I had the opportunity to take classes from people whose knitting I have admired for ages. Got to relish in a full on girl-crush (Clara Parkes, I adore you . . . seriously, let me buy you a drink!) Listened to a lecture from the person who got those needles back in my hand. Bought my own Valentine's Day presents. Suggested to Dave that he buy me a sheep. Took some advice from the aforementioned fiber pusher, Ms. Parkes, and bought a bag of Romney to test out a spindle. Heard Alice Starmore speak and was inspired to try one of her designs.

So, again, why do I knit? I just do. I don't need a damn reason.

 
Effortless Cardigan by Hannah Fettig
Yarn: Cascade 220 in Pacific Blue
Needles: 8 (maybe 9) . . . I can't remember
Modifications: none other than where I messed up on the sleeve decreases
Notes: I wanted a slouchy, throw it over jeans and go to the store, kind of sweater. And this is it. It's easy to wear, and this might be the warmest sweater ever. I predict that it won't make it upstairs this winter as I'll wear it as a defacto robe until mid-May. I had been knitting on this for a while since it was stockinette for ages and had allowed the cardi to languish on the needles for way too long. But having the VK Live! deadline looming forced me to finish it so that I could wear something knit at a knitting convention (shocking . . . wearing something I knit at a knitting convention). Because of the construction, it swings open, so I have a shawl pin to keep it closed. And you know what? It's damn near perfect.

xo,
Jill

Dear 21-Year-Old Self

How's it going, you know, now that you've had the rug pulled out from under you? Seriously, though, were you really doing okay before that epiphany of an appointment? Shitty economy. Job prospects for your boyfriend not that hot. A kid on the way. And you still have college to finish, correct? So today was just icing on the cake because "twins" was exactly what you wanted to hear.

Guess what . . . you'll be fine. That boyfriend of yours will turn out great. And those twins? They will be the most amazing women you've ever met. Sure, you'll struggle. You'll wonder if living in your car is an option. Food stamps will look like a luxury at some point in time. And the two of you will do just about anything to make a go of it. You'll finish college - and just a semester late - but not without some sacrifice. Turns out working third shift will be the only way to avoid the cost of daycare (plus it's awesome birth control). And you'll put off work for about eight years. But being a stay-at-home-mom is something that you'll enjoy and excel at. Sure you won't be the crunchy "I'm going to make my own paint and paper and never let my kids watch t.v." SAHM, but you'll figure out a way to encourage those girls to find their own answers to just about everything.

Baby A and Baby B

So, buck up, little camper, because you're going to need it real soon. You're going to gain about 60 more pounds. You'll go into early labor in about six weeks, and you'll end up in the hospital. Your boyfriend will miss his National Teaching Exam because he won't leave your bedside. And your father? He's going to need open heart surgery, and your mom won't tell you because she's too worried about how you will react (then again, she won't tell your father that she told you . . . and hilarity ensues). After early labor, you're going to wind up on bedrest for 10 weeks . . . and owe your sisters more than you can ever repay. But eventually, on April 15, you'll start to understand what life is really all about.

And you'll never be the same,
Your 42-year-old self

PS - Last year's post here

One Little Word: 2012

Last year, when I decided to try the One Little Word experiment, I settled on the word growth pretty quickly. There were a lot of things I wanted to try and see how things would progress. Projects 333 and 365 were successful (note to self: put a three on it and apparently, I'm good). Learning how to use Photoshop not so much . . . personally, I like Lightroom. The whole "Hey, let's take grad classes to learn how to develop an educational computer game because they are free" went down in a great big ball of flames basically because the "university" was sucktacular. Overall, growth was good for me.

2012's word proved to be more challenging. I mulled over word after word for what seemed like ages but probably more like two days. Wellness? Sounds too much like school. Consideration? Of what exactly. Fitness? Thank you . . . no. Domesticity? Seriously, I considered that. Eventually it came down to two words: perseverance and persistence.

• perseverance  - steady persistence in a course of action, a purpose, a state, etc., especially in spite of difficulties, obstacles, or discouragement.
• persistence - the act of continuing steadfastly or firmly in some state, purpose, course of action, or the like, especially in spite of opposition, remonstrance 

1:366 . . . back for round two

Pretty much the same word, right? Here's where the English teacher comes in. For some reason, I always think that perseverance has a negative connotation; it always seems so wishy-washy, almost as if one continues persevering even when one shouldn't. But persistence makes me think of one who pushes forward no matter what the answer. I'm probably way off base . . . but it's my word, and it's persistence. That nagging little voice in your head that says, "You know, you could walk a bit more." The urge to finish grading that bulking pile of papers you brought home for break. The need to continue a project when you just don't feel like it. Persistence. Nothing zen like balance or creativity or peace (and if those are your words, awesome . . . they are your words not mine). 

There are a few things I know I need to do during 2012, and I'll need all the persistence I can muster. First, I have to learn the spelling pattern, and anyone who knows me will understand that it might take all year to get it right. 


xoxo, 
Jill

Wrapping Up 2011, Part 2

So what did I learn from the 365 project? Let's see . . .

• I like yarn . . . lots of yarn photos
• Dave's hands are in many photos
• I fell in love with Kellie Hatcher's Charlie preset around late September
• There aren't as many photos of the Girls because they live in Philadelphia
• My friends make unexpected appearances
• I'm okay with black and white in my 365
• I'll probably do another one 

Here's the video. Nothing earth shattering. Then again, there's nothing earth shattering about me. See you in 2012!

Wrapping Up 2011

Apparently the year will roll over in about 15 hours, so it's only fitting to look at what's been done and take stock of it all. It's not like anything great is supposed to happen in 2012 (cough, cough Mayan prophecy of world ending proportions), but still . . . 2011 deserves its due.

At the beginning of the year, I decided to take on all sorts of new projects and "I'm gonna" things. Some were successful, some not so much.

• Project 365 - Take a photo a day. Post it. Relish in it. For the most part, I was pretty successful with this endeavor. Granted, there were days between uploads to Flickr, and occasionally, I forgot to take a photo for the day and had to rely on the iPhone. But for the most part, it was a fun project, and I'm pretty sure that I'll do it again. 
• Project 333 - Look at your clothes. Pare it down to 33 items for three months. Repeat every three months. Sounds daunting but it was probably the best thing I've ever done. I used the relaxed rules because it worked for me. And I didn't include jewelry in my list of 33 items or purses, not because I own so many but because of work. I don't think I'll go back to my old clothing ways since I don't use my dresser any more and have everything in a nice little closet organizer. If you're looking for a project for the new year, this is it. 
• Journaling - I made it to January 4 before I stopped. I've tried repeatedly to journal, and I kinda suck at it. Big time suck at it. Not sure why, but journaling isn't for me. Maybe it works for you, but for me . . . no dice. 
• Big Picture Classes - I signed up for three this year . . . and failed at all three. Granted, I saved all the prompts from Picture Inspiration and One Little Word (more on that one) with the hopes of catching up over the summer, but I never did thanks to the curriculum writing for our cyberschool (still a sore subject). 
• Cooking more - Did I really say that I would? Really? Lasted about as long as journaling . . . but I'm trying to fix that in 2012. 
• One Little Word - I love the concept. I love the prompts. I hate the follow through. My OLW for 2011 was "growth," and I think that I was pretty damn successful with it, even if I didn't follow any of the prompts from the class. I learned how to use my camera better - still have a long way to go - and the 333 concept was amazing. Plus, I think that my life in general was influenced by the word. I'm still mulling over the word for 2012, but I'll figure it out in the next 15 hours.

The Firsts of the Months in 2011

All in all, 2011 was a pretty damn good year. And I'm pretty sure that 2012 will be equally good . . . at least for the first 355 days. Then that whole "Holy shit, the Mayans are coming! The Mayans are coming!" crap could work its magic. But that's almost a whole year from now, right?

Happy New Year's Eve . . . be safe and find someone to smooch when that clocks ticks midnight!

- Jill

Post Christmas Blahs

Even Princess Leia would be mystified

1. Dave chipped a molar on Christmas Eve on the super yummy - but super crisp - bacon on the annual Christmas Eve bacon brie cranberry sandwich. 
2. My laptop started doing that whole "Hey, you don't have a camera connected so you can't video chat with you family." And I started in on the "Like hell I don't, dumb laptop, because that's what I had repaired in October." But the laptop countered with "Oh, yeah, miss smartypants. Find it if you're so smart. And while you're at it, I'm not going to recognize your external hard drive just because you're being a bit of a know-it-all bitch." And then I was like, "Fucking hell, laptop, you're not supposed to do this you piece of shit." Yup . . . I spent a few hours talking/chastising/begging my laptop to work the way it is supposed to. 
3. Whilst trying to find an external hard drive, the Girls and I got caught up in a huge traffic jam (for our town it was huge) and had to go to three different stores to find the one that I wanted . . . and remembered why I hate Walmart (too many students, too crowded) and don't care for Best Buy (I don't have a penis therefore, no one thinks that I need help because I couldn't possibly want anything technological). Alas, Target didn't have the hard drive so I was stuck with the other two options, thank you very much. 
4. Dave woke up this morning with the same pain in his abdomen that he has had for a few weeks now. Only this time, it woke him up. He used my phone to look up symptoms of a heart attack on WebMD because he didn't think he could walk back up the stairs if it was, in fact, a heart attack. Not to worry, he's going to the doctor today, and truly he thinks it may be a really bad bruise from a hard landing a few weeks back. I thanked him for scheduling the appointment because a) I'm not willing to give him up just yet, and b) it will be on my terms when I am. 

Bright spot? We're headed to the train station to pick up Jordan's boyfriend in a few minutes, so the Girls and Shelby's boyfriend will get to hang out in town for a few days before we take them back. Dim spot? An appointment at the Apple store to fix my laptop, which is pretty much the eight circle of hell. The ninth circle? Forever 21.

How was your holiday?

xoxo,
Jill

Sleeping In On Christmas Morning

Seriously, it's 9:49 AM, and the Girls are still in bed. I have a cup of coffee in hand, the ice cream is churning for dessert, the pets are getting restless, and they are still asleep. There are days that I really yearn for the pre-teen years.

Don't get me wrong . . . I don't mind the whole "what the hell do they want for Christmas and how am I going to wrap this when they are asleep and get it under the tree" facade of years past. I do kinda miss Santa (and if you are one of those, "Santa is a lie, and we're not going to raise our children lying to them," folks . . . more power to you, but I don't get that) and all the trappings that go with it.

The presents were stacked on the chair with care . . . is that how it goes?

But I'm not sure I was aware that once you get to be a certain age, the presents that were once carefully arranged under the tree get stacked by two unknown individuals who are still asleep and are getting bras and jeans this Christmas on their father's chair. Must have missed that tradition . . . but I'm pretty sure that it will make a reappearance next year.

Merry Christmas . . . enjoy the moments!

-J

Music To My Ears

Looking for Christmas tunes? I don't have an effing tree up in my living room yet, so go carol yourself some where else. Because while I love Bing Crosby's "Mele Kalikimaka" as much as the next person, I'm having a hard time getting "into" the Christmas/holiday spirit this year. Perhaps it's the weather (pretty balmy until yesterday). Maybe it's the fact that I'm shopping for jeans and boots and bras and a goddamn Crockpot for my kids this year (seriously . . . Jordan wants a Crockpot). Or it just could be that there's a bajillion and one things to get done before saying, "Ho, ho, ho," doesn't send me into a fit of prostitute joke giggles.

A little bit every day . . . helps keep me sane

So what's a girl to do? If you're me, you listen to music and knit and read. Sometimes all three at the same time, but more likely just two of them. Trust me, it's probably not the two you might be thinking of. Last year, my friend Tricia created a sublime Advent scarf pattern, which consisted of a nice lace pattern every day (about twenty rows). By the time Christmas rolled around, I had a lovely scarf that was about 60 - 70 inches long. This year, she decided to do the same thing. Today is day eight, but I'm on day five . . . which is fine, but I'll have to catch up over the weekend.

I'm using the Cascade Heritage Silk sock yarn in a really beautiful raspberry color. It wasn't the yarn that did it for me (rarely is) but the color. Perfect color for a dull winter day. So, I've been knitting a scarf with texture on a size 3 needle. Nothing like adding to the holiday stress level. But overall, I'm really chuffed with the choice that I made. It's a lovely color; it's knitting up like a breeze; it's relatively easy to follow. Holidays be damned . . . this will keep me sane.

With the holidays in mind, I will leave you with a video. Thankfully, a friend posted it on Facebook last night, and I've listened to it about five times since.



Cheers,
Jill

It's Not That I'm Not Grateful . . .

it's just damn hard to express it. Sometimes when I read other people's posts during November, my first thought was, "Why can't I sound that sincere? Surely there must be something wrong with me." Seriously, I have tons to be grateful about: happy marriage, successful kids, health, a job I love . . . so why the hell can't I put that into words? Truth is, I have no f-ing idea.

So let's see if I can articulate it four days after the "official" month of gratitude has past. There are things that bring me joy on a daily basis. The blossoming cherry tree that I pass ever morning and evening on my way to a job that I love (teaching truly is the best gig in the world, people. Even with the media screaming about how teachers are basically money grubbing whores in search of a summer vacation, I wouldn't give it up for anything) brightens my day. My Tuesday Knit Nights provide at least two hours worth of recharging every week . . . much laughter, good times with friends, the occasional snack or two, plus all the yarn a girl can handle. Music. Routines. Me. Co-workers. Family. Voting. Technology. A clean fucking counter. Wine. Quiet moments. But mostly, my husband and kids.

Dave and the Girls are pretty much the reason for everything. They require little, if any, explanation for my gratitude. I'm just a better person for them being in my life. The Girls. When you have babies and kids in school, most of your identity whether you want to admit it or not, is wrapped up in being their mom. If you think I'm lying, go look at your photos or chart what you do on a daily basis. It's all about your kids. But when they leave for school, you don't quite have that "luxury" any more. Then things start to shift, and you figure out how to be a different mom. On more than one occasion, I'll read someone's blog and think, "Just wait . . . you're in for a life changing experience in ten years when your kids leave." And my Dave? He's my brand of snarky; he keeps me in check; he laughs at my jokes; he listens to my rants (although I suspect he plays Angry Birds during the rants), and he lets me cry when I need to.

I think I spent most of November in need of a good cry, but it never really came. So that need has been bubbling around for a while now. I'm hoping that it comes out before Christmas . . . otherwise, I'll put on a sappy movie or read the last chapter of The Westing Game or listen to "This Woman's Work" and get it over with. That crying jag that I know I'm headed for will have to wait a few more days . . . there are essays to grade and an Advent scarf to knit after all.

True Confessions of a Welfare Queen

I don't know how the conversation even started, but it ended with me deciding that it was time to come clean. There was a period of time, when the Girls were very little, our family needed help with the basics. Anyone pulling in less than $900 a month with four people in the house would need it. So Dave and I sought help from the government and applied for federal assistance. I've mentioned it in passing my students a few different times, and they usually approach it with skepticism. Their basic sentiment: Why would you need welfare?

Before the Girls were born, we received W.I.C., which is an awesome and probably underappreciated program. The women who ran our local program were generous and took the time to get to know us. They never failed to check in to see how things were going and made suggestions that worked with the program. After the Girls were born, Dave worked full-time at a hotel overnight balancing the accounts so that we wouldn't need to pay for day care. Even with that, it still wasn't enough. I don't which one of our parents suggested welfare, but we talked it over and decided that we didn't have many other options.

There was an interview process involved; we thought we needed to take the Girls, which was a mistake. They went with us once (hell, I only went once to tell you the truth . . . Dave graciously went every time it needed to be done) and once was enough. Even that first interview was brief: here's your paperwork, fill it out, bring it back, we'll see if you qualify. So we did . . . and we did. In 1991, we qualified for $239 a month in food stamps and free medical care for the Girls. To us, $239 was like hitting the lottery. I budgeted for our first shopping trip with the stamps, had a list of healthy dinner items, and even splurged for jarred plums for the Girls since pre-made baby food was a luxury for us. We started checking out, and the cashier was making conversation with us and oohing and ahhing over the Girls. Until I pulled out the food stamps to pay for our groceries. The cashier turned icy, rude almost. I hadn't changed . . . but her perception of me had. No longer was I a mom chatting about the goofy things her kids were doing. Now I was some free-loader taking advantage of the system. A welfare queen.

It didn't get any easier as the time went on. We never went shopping in our town if we could avoid it. God forbid that people knew we were on public assistance. Going to the doctor wasn't much easier. Of the three pediatricians in the practice, one was blessing but the other two basically saw us for the medicaid card that paid for their services. Luckily, the Girls rarely had to see the other two. After they repeatedly came down with ear infections, their pediatrician suggested tubes in their ears. "You could go to Cincinnati and get them allergy tested first, but as soon as they see you're on public assistance, you'll be stuck in paperwork hell." We took her advice and avoided the Queen City and stuck close to home.

Every once and a while, after Dave's quarterly meeting with our social worker, Vikki, it would be determined that we either made too much money and the food stamps would take a three-month "vacation." Because of my careful budgeting, I had enough food stamps to get us through most of those months (minus the splurge for baby food). When it became clear that we had officially reached the threshold for food stamps, I decided to save the final one. There wasn't a real reason why I saved it, but I wanted to be reminded that while I was and still am extremely grateful for the safety net of public assistance, I never, ever wanted to go back to that. I remember what it is like to sell your CD's to pay for your electric bill. The terror goes through your body when you think you might have to live in your car.  How you're positive that everyone around you knows you need help.

The real reason I kept it? So that I could always say I remember what it felt like . . . that disdain from the cashier or the tolerance from the pediatrician.

- Jill

Hiding Matches

Fire . . . it's that element that I don't get. It's heat. It's dangerous. It's changeable. It's beautiful in a sorid way. My brother, when he was younger, had this obsession with fire. He would light matches and watch the flame dance on the tip of the match only to blow it out or drop it when it neared his fingers. Mom hid matchbooks for ages, and you could never find one when you need to light a candle. Birthdays? Most of the time was spent looking for anything to set the candles aflame.

For a while, Dave would purchase the instant fire logs for our old house because it burned in color. I'd wake up with a sore throat that would go on for days, and Dave's response would be, "But it burns in colors . . . it's blue!" Watch any person who's semi-drunk at a bonfire, and they are mesmerized for hours. It's like the most alluring babysitter ever. Watch the pretty flame. It changes shape. Color. Size.

Beyond the dangerous beauty is the real reason to fear fire. It destroys indiscriminnently. You always hear about the large brush fires in California and the people who stay to protect their homes when any rational person would get the hell out because they know that fire truly doesn't give a shit. It's the honey badger of the element world.

It brought a tear to my eye on Sunday

Fire destroyed a friend's livelihood this weekend. The family tavern caught fire when the cook came in to start the fryer. They lost the business and most of the apartments (two were spared). I got her text on Saturday morning, the one were she said she would rather deal with her dying father than the notice she got about the fire. By the time the fire departments got there, nothing could be saved. So now what?

I have a drink chip from the tavern, and I'm not giving it up. I refuse to give up the dream that eventually, I'll be able order a cheeseburger with grilled onions and sauteed mushrooms completed with an order Kelly fries and a few Yuenglings. I'll wait until I can choose the tunes on the digital jukebox. When I can chat with my friend and figure out what the skinny is about the people in tavern. When we can discuss what's going on in our families in details. When we can laugh our asses off at the next person to walk through the doors.

I'm counting on you to get the tavern up and running . . . I've got a drink chip after all.

Cheers,
Jill

Crap I Did Today

Sorry for the absence . . . tis grading season so that means my ass has been one with the couch as of late. But this past weekend, there was nothing to grade (mark it on your calendars), so I did what I like best: knitting, reading, knitting and reading, watching movies, watching football, and going to Spice India with my husband. I can't really cook Indian food that well - despite repeated attempts - and quite frankly, when you have really good Indian food about 25 minutes away, why the hell would you?

So, today . . . well, here's what I did:

• kvetched with some co-workers over the professor of our grad class getting fired
• previewed the on-line taping of the class that we are being merged with and panicking
• created a game design document for Knitting Ninja (yup . . . I'm designing a game based on knitting; you'll wish you thought of it first - or that I didn't have my head examined when multiple people suggested it)
• called a bajillion and one parents about failing grades; fine . . . I called ten parents
• laughed at my mother and my sister in our repeated attempts to get a video chat going. Note to self: it's your new laptop, idiot
• scheduled a Genius appointment at the Apple store to correct the whole video chat issues because it really is the new laptop
• made a hot cocoa and added a generous "Dave is traveling again" amount of Bailey's
• added songs to my unofficial funeral playlist on Spotify. Not that I'm planning on kicking it any time soon, but truly I have no desire to have "Amazing Grace" or some other shitty song played. Instead, you'll be treated to "Tobacco Road" by Lou Rawls or "Zombie" by The Cranberries. Note the irony in that last one
• argued with the cat for space on the rather large couch. She wants my spot, and right now, I'm kind of afraid that she might eat me if I don't move
• talked to my sister about her son's homework, which apparently is pretty challenging for her. I'm going to give her the benefit of the doubt because it does sound kind of hard . . . which would be fine if he weren't in first grade

I think that's it . . . wait. I taught 110 kids today and modeled how to create their book report. I explained the plot to To Kill a Mockingbird because one of my kids thought it didn't have a plot. I helped a kid find a book that he could read because he lost his over a month ago and never thought to tell either me or my reading partner. I laughed at some of their responses. I nearly cried at some of the other ones. I often forget about work . . . because it doesn't really seem like work. It's just something I enjoy doing.

Wish me luck with tomorrow . . . I'm Skyping with my parents in class five times so that my kids can see an interview being conducted. It's either going to be the best idea I ever had or the worst . . . jury's still out on that.

Cheers,
Jill

PS - I'm pretty sure that you could strip to "Tobacco Road," too. Might have to start another Spotify playlist . . . "Music to Shake Your Moneymaker By" . . . suggestions?

Words To Live By

For the past few days, we've been working on storyboards at school, making sure that the kiddos have something to work with before we begin a large project involving photos and diagrams and narration and movies. I'm trying to model the process by demonstrating how to fill out a storyboard and coming clean about my strengths and weaknesses. Strengths: organization, multitasking, words. Weaknesses: procrastination, too many things at once, words.

So tonight, while I should have been grading warm-ups, I was putting together a photo book because the Living Social deal that I bought was going to expire tonight. Initially, I thought I would do a book all about the Girls, but that would require thought and time and care and love. Instead, I figured I would make something that I could use in school . . . a book of my favorite quotes accompanied by my favorite photographs. Here are a few that I particularly liked with the photos that I used:

Be a first rate version of yourself, not a second rate version of someone else. Judy Garland

Never ruin an apology with an excuse. Benjamin Franklin

I have measured out my life in coffee spoons. T. S. Eliot

You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. A. A. Milne

Nature gave you the face you have at 20, but it is up to you to merit the face you have at 50. Coco Chanel

Do or do not. There is no try. Yoda

Tonight I should have graded some warm-ups. Instead, I made a book. I answered a dozen or so emails from students who are slightly panicked about their storyboards. I had dinner with my husband. I realized that maybe Buckaroo Banzai had it right after all when he said, "No matter where you go, there you are."

It's almost Friday . . . thankfully, 

Jill

*Blerg . . . I couldn't find the photo for the Yoda quote on Flickr. But I love it based on how passionately one of my students lobbied for its inclusion in our class quotationary.

'Tis His Birthday Tomorrow

And I have no clue what to buy him. Seriously, I don't know what to buy my husband for his 42nd birthday. Thought about buying him the latest Pearl Jam album, but he bought it on the road. I could pick up the latest action figure he's looking for, but it's hit or miss so that could be either tomorrow or next week or next year. Then again, I could buy him a book or a DVD, but he pretty much does that himself. So I have no clue.

Instead, I thought I would tell some secrets about him:

• Every time there's a Prince song on, he does this little dance that makes me grin from ear to ear. He likes Prince more than any white man with no rhythm should. 
• He graciously spells words for me because he knows I am a poor speller. In fact, he just spelled "rhythm" for me. 
• For our first married birthday together, he bravely ate the grapefruit meringue pie I made even though I used whole wheat flour, and it looked like it had bugs in it. 
• He doesn't really say too much if I spend a day (or two) on the weekend in my pj's grading papers. If we do choose to go someplace, it's with an understanding that I will brush my teeth and hair, but there will be no makeup. 
• If I need to, he lets me cry on his shoulder and doesn't say anything. It's kind of nice because people really shouldn't say anything when you are crying on their shoulder. 
• He'll check on the dog just to make sure she's still breathing. 
• When I get overly invested in a football game, he doesn't shush me or tell me to stop like some people I know (hint: our daughters).
• If we are on a trip to Philly or New York City and we're walking, he walks with me no matter how far we choose to hoof. I just have to remember to get us to a food cart earlier. 
• He doesn't tease me about my grey hair and tells me that he likes it. 
• He's one of the most compassionate people that I know. And he's never forgotten where he comes from or how far we've come. 
• After 21 years, he still makes me laugh on a daily basis. Sometimes over something that he does like the whole "Cat in a box" idea. Sometimes over nothing at all.
• On weekend mornings, he lets me put my head on his shoulder and fall asleep there even though he knows I'll leave an ear print or press down on his chest. 
• He owns everything that Pearl Jam and the Wu Tang Clan have ever released. I'd be hard pressed to tell you what they sing . . . fine, I could tell you some Pearl Jam songs, but the Wu Tang Clan is a mystery. 
• He's cleaned the bathroom more than I ever have in my entire life. Add to that the laundry. 
• He reads voraciously and shares what he reads with me. It doesn't matter what he's reading; it all gets shared. 
• When we are together, he holds my hand in public. 
• He still calls me "Sweetie" when he leaves me voicemail messages . . . and I save at least one of them when he's on the road in case I don't hear his voice again. 
• He's provided an excellent example for our Girls for what a husband and a father should be like.
• He never ends a phone call without saying "I love you" . . . unless there are people in his office, but then he calls right back to tell me when they are gone. 

Dave . . . almost at 42

As of tomorrow, he will have celebrated at least one half of all his birthdays with me.  I still don't have a clue what to buy (other than the one small thing I have) for his birthday. In the past, I've given him silly toys or a tickets to a Steelers' game or DVDs or god knows what else. I guess I have 24 hours (ish) to figure it out for this year.

Cheers . . . and I love you, Dave
Jill

*Edited: Went with a Steelers sweatshirt that he said he liked a few weeks ago . . . but I cleared it with him first. 

"Would You Like Fries With That?" - Harder Than You Think

Conversation today at the end of 7th period:
RG: So, ummm, Mrs. G . . . do you work at Wendy's, too?
Me: (completely serious) Yes . . . it's my second job.
RG: Oh. I wasn't sure when I saw you there.
Me: No, sweetie. I was helping out a friend who had a fundraiser. I was kind of surprised to see you there, too.

On Wednesday night, the last thing I wanted to do was be in Wendy's for two hours, asking people what they wanted to drink with their  value meals. My fall allergies were hitting with the force of a Mack truck. My feet hurt from Zumba. I was dead tired from crap sleep for the past three days. But I promised my friend, Jen, that I would help her during a fundraiser she's holding for her annual multiple sclerosis walk . She's been participating in Walk MS for years now and raises the $2,000 over several fundraisers. In the past it's been easier for her to do, but since the economy has taken a nose-dive, charities have been hard hit.

The Wendy's fundraiser meant that a lot of teachers in our district (all of them from one of our high schools) come to Wendy's, put on an apron and name tag, and shadow someone who is working. I figured I would get to see some former students, help out a friend, and have a good time. Seriously, how hard could it be.

They're chili isn't as good as mine . . . but it's pretty darn good

Famous last words. I shadowed Nikki, a woman a year younger that the Girls, for the evening. She was gracious, kind, and patient with me. She didn't get upset when I repeatedly had to ask which was the medium cup and which was the value cup or where the lids for the chili was located. She laughed when I was flustered. She answered all my questions. She was patient with customers who couldn't make up their minds. She was kind when customers weren't. She smiled nonstop. She worked nonstop. She was awesome.

At the end of my two-hour shift, my feet were killing me. There was a Frosty with my name on it, and I was ready to head out. But Nikki still had another five hours to go for her shift. During one of our conversations, she said she thought about being a teacher, but she's pretty sure that she doesn't have the patience for it. So she was thinking that nursing might be for her . . . but most of her friends were doing that, and most people might be expecting her to as well. For now, Nikki is saving money to buy a car because it's a 25 minute walk for her to get to work. College will come after she has the car, and by then she thinks she'll know what she wants to study. Considering I didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up until I was 30, I am pretty sure that Nikki will be fine.

Besides, if she can handle the rush at Wendy's with a smile on her face the way she did on Wednesday evening, college will not be a problem for her.

Enjoy the weekend,
Jill

PS - I'm loving Kellie Hatcher's color presets . . . check 'em out!

Note To Self . . .

• you're not 21 any more
• you never were that coordinated
• the term "step-ball-chain" still doesn't make sense
• Shakira has hips that don't lie . . . yours probably do
• but you can still shake it

First Zumba class after work this afternoon. If you want to see some fun, try Zumbaing with people you work with . . . I'll be sore tomorrow.

A little breathless,
Jill

I'll Buy More Spoons

Dave has been traveling a lot since shortly after we got back from the Bahamas. The trips usually start on a Monday and end Wednesday or Thursday. Couple that with the beginning of the school year, and the first thing that suffers (besides sleep) is the dishes. I simply don't cook when he isn't here, or if I do, they involve the microwave and something from the frozen food aisle. Seriously . . . why cook for one person when there are so many other alternatives? Don't preach to me about the preservatives or the ingredients or the cost. It doesn't really bother me.

But not having enough silverware does kind of get to me. I might wash the same spoon over and over again when truly it would take about four minutes longer to wash all of them. And yet I persist in my rewashing of the same spoon.

This morning it bit me in the ass. Dave went to pour himself a bowl of cereal. "Is there any milk in either of these two jugs?" he asks. Shit . . . left the empty jugs in the frig again. "Umm. Maybe? Sorry about that." Then a clatter of silverware hitting the sink. "I guess I should have bought milk yesterday," I say to Dave as he sits down. "It's okay. There weren't any clean spoons," he says.

"Lucky I took a photo of that three days ago," was the best I could muster as a response. Guess I need to fix that.

Enjoy the weekend,
Jill