Sisterly Love

Hello interpeeps! Did you miss me? I missed you. I've been in bed for a few days feeling so bad that I didn't even feel like checking in with my blog buddies. You know it must have been BAD if it kept me away from here, cause I love you people like a fat kid loves cake (and that's sayin' a lot).

I finally pulled my miserable self out of bed earlier today and walked through the house. That was a big mistake. I promptly screamed and ran back to bed and hid under the covers. You should have seen the place! Cave yourself up in your room for a few days and a renegade band of outlaw tornadoes bust in and destroy the place. Either that or my kids made the mess. The investigation is still underway.

While I was helping the CSI team look for evidence I came across a bunch of wadded up paper towels in both of the girl's rooms. Upon closer inspection I discovered that the paper towels contained messages. Apparently the girls were throwing notes back and forth to each other across the hall. I thought I'd share a few of the notes. Get your tissue ready and behold my daughters' idea of sisterly love.

From Brookie (age 7) to Lauren (age 13)

Love you some. You can get all on my nerves, but still I love you. but I think of you in my head sometimes and it is not good.

Love you,

Brooke

From Lauren to Brookie

Well me too, but sometimes I just want to slap you in your face, but I don't because I love you.

Love you!

Lauren

Makes a mama proud.

May I have a redo?

Lauren had to be at school at 7:50 this morning to catch the bus for a basketball tournament. I got up. I woke her up. She got ready. I got ready (by getting ready I mean putting a jacket over my pjs). I went to get my keys. My keys weren't there. I freaked.

I lost my keys!

I never lose my keys. I have lost my shopping list, my mind and even my boobs ability to defy gravity, but not my keys. I was frantic. I didn't want to her miss the bus and get in trouble. I dumped the contents of my purse out all over the table, looked all around the house and finally found them in the car.

We rushed to the school just in time to see the bus driving by a block away. We sat there a moment and tried to decide what to do. I was worried that she would get in trouble if she didn't go to the basketball tournament (she doesn't play, she's just a manager), but I still feared a punishment if she didn't honor a commitment. She was worried about her co-manager having to go to the tournament alone. So we decided she should go. There was a tiny problem though. The tournament was over an hour away and the bus was gone. There was only one thing we could do.

We chased the bus.

We finally caught up with them several miles down the highway (after driving way too fast) and Lauren leaned out the window and waved them down as we drove up beside them.

It was like one of those mommy nightmares...no make-up...in pajamas...hair doing a classy tumbleweed impersonation and letting my child out on the side of the highway while thirty teens looked on.

She had to be so proud. Now if you'll excuse me I need to buy her something cool enough that it will make up for humiliating her.

Do they sell ponies on ebay?

Moo-tivational Teaching

"Hey mom, I found a gold penny under my bed! Isn't this Sacagewea on the front?"

I turned away from the hated dishwater whose goal in life is to wreak havoc on my hands and looked at my seven year old, the youngest contributor to the never ending pile of dishes that find their way to my sink on a daily basis. She was holding a gold dollar.

"Sachaja-who-ha?" I asked, earning an immediate frown of disgust.

"Sacagewea...you know...Luis and Clark..." The 'duh' was unspoken, but so very evident in her tone.

"Oh yeah. Right. Sacagewea," I said, vaguely remembering something about her hooking up with Robin Williams in 'Night at the Museum'. I looked at the coin and pretended to study it carefully. It was an Indian alright and that was about all I knew.

"I think it might be sugar, but I'm not 100% positive," I said trying to sound confident ( I was more like .000003% sure).

"Then let's look it up," she said. So we did.

I am madly in love with google. If Dave ever tires of my redneck ways and leaves me for some sophisticated woman with a matching set of dishes I am running away with google and we are going to make our own gaggle of googlets.


I am so weird (like you needed that spelled out for you).

Anyway, she was right. See?


She is officially smarter than me. She has a second grade education and she is smarter than I am. It was bound to happen sooner or later.

While we googled facts and learned a few new things together I enjoyed observing her thirst for knowledge. I am so happy that she has an internal motivation to learn. That is becoming increasingly rare. It seems the days when knowledge in and of itself was all the reward a child needed for motivation to learn are slipping away without anyone noticing that they are making an exit. That seriously worries me.

I have often thought to myself that motivating children to learn is the biggest part of my job. I have done so many things to motivate them. I have had parties and dances and given fun rewards. I have dressed up...oh my have I dressed up...for one reason or another through my eleven years as a teacher. I've been Sandy (from Grease) and sang and preformed on stage. I've been a nun (like in Sister Act), again preforming for the children at our school. I've been Baby Spice (don't ask). I've been a monster from under the bed....a mouse...a lion and a clown (the non scary version.).

I've even been a cow...a pregnant cow at that. And not just any cow. I was a cool cow from Kalamazoo. No really I was. Look...

Clearly I have no shame.

The point is that I've done all that and more to motivate students, but really there was something behind all the crazy things I did that motivated them more than anything else.

Love.

I've loved every single one of my students and made sure they knew that I loved them. It is a great motivator and is the best secret I know to being a successful teacher. So while I worry about their lack of internal motivation all I know to do is to keep on loving them, keep on teaching them and keep on praying for them.


God will take care of the rest.


(He really rocks at this love thing too.)

You Might Be a Redneck If...

1. A midweek dinner includes biscuits, chicken fried steak, corn, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese AND gravy.

2. There is food being served in a pan on the table.

3. There are two foods being served in pans on the table.

4. Your plates do not match.

5. Your daughter is fixin' her plate before anyone else gets to the table.

6. You say fixin' on your redneck list.

7. Your napkins are paper.

8. Your napkins (that are paper) are thrown haphazardly on the plates (that don't match) with a fork and your oldest child calls this setting the table.

9. Someone's water is still in the bottle instead of in a glass.

10. Probably because you don't have enough matching glasses to set the table.

11. The butter is in a tub.

12. There is camo gear thrown over a chair during the entire meal.

13. You have no qualms about posting a picture displaying your redneckness to the world (a.k.a. the 17 people that read your blog).

14. I didn't want to end on thirteen.

15. You are too superstitious to end your redneck list on thirteen.

Batting a thousand

Is this day over yet? Please say yes. Lie to me. It's okay. It's one of those permissible lies of kindness, like when your dad lied to your mom when she asked if her pants made her butt look big and he looked her straight in the eye and said no.

Oh I kid. Don't lie. It isn't nice and I really don't need your tainted soul added to my list of transgressions today. I've been doing enough damage all by myself.

When Lauren woke up this morning she was SUCH a grump-a-saurus. Seriously, it was awful. She looked downright mean and the way she was acting caught me off guard. She is really such a pleasant child who rarely acts in a negative manner. And this was definitely negative. In fact after no more than ten minutes of it I told her she must have some major PMS going on and then I asked her dad if it was possible to beat the PMS outta someone. She knew I'd never beat her, but she also knew I was not going to let her act like that. I gave her a very stern lecture (which really didn't improve her mood any...duh) and told her to suck it up.

It wasn't until much, much later....like seven hours later...that she reminds me that she is out of one of her meds. She had told me three days before she needed a refill and I was having such an awful day that it went right out of my head. As soon as she told me she still needed it I groaned as I realized what had been going on. This drug can't be missed and if it is the effects of it will become rapidly apparent in horrible mood swings.

Crapola-on-a-stick.

It was MY fault. Her awful mood was all my fault and I was the one that needed to be beat. By the time we figured out what was amiss it was too late to get a refill so she has to go all day tomorrow without it too. I wonder if I should warn her teachers??

While I was on the PMS accusatory train I told Dave he had PMS too. He ignored me and kept grouching about whatever it was he was grounching about. I warned him that he better get happy in his pants or I'd do something about it.

He never listens.

I had to panse him (is that what they call it when you run up behind someone and pull their pants down to their ankles??). He just laughed and then tickled me til I peed my pants a little (gosh I hate that).

That only left Brookie unharmed, but of course I managed to fix that. When I was washing her hair she said, "Ouch, your nails are scratching my scallop." Well I couldn't help it. I giggled. Then I told her the word was scalp.

She burst into tears and told me to stop making fun of her.

I swear I didn't mean to hurt her feelings. I love it when she mixes words up. It is adorable and reminds me of my dad (and myself). I guess I was just full of mother grace and charm today.

Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to go pull the covers over my head and wait for a new day and a another fresh start.

Washing Wishes (oh the shame)

Due to popular demand I am posting the children's book I tried to write.

Okay, a whoppin' two people asked to read it, but that's more demand that I've ever had before so I'm taking it! But first I thought I'd post some reviews...

Your book is really good Christy. I loved every word. I am forcing all my innocent bystanders of friends to read it.

- My Mom


This book is better than 99% of the children's books I've read. If you don't have it published I am paying to publish it myself.

- One of my best friends Donna


So as you can see from totally unbiased opinions it is really, really good. Now for the review of the publishers I sent my book to:

We are not accepting unsolicited transcripts at this time (translation-you stink).

-Numerous Publishing Houses


Now for the book (I am incredibly embarrassed right now for some reason...oh yeah, I remember why...it's because I STINK).

Washing Wishes

Beyond the rainbows and above the clouds, in the magical part of heaven where wishing stars are found, lived Barnaby, the tiniest star in the heavens. So small was he that even though he tried with all his might, he was not able to grant wishes. Oh how sad this made him! More than anything he wanted to help make dreams come true.

He hoped and prayed that one night when he woke after a good day’s sleep he would find that he had grown big enough and strong enough to have the wish granting power he longed for.

Often he would visit Gramstar, the wisest wishing star he knew, and talk to her about his problem. As they talked, they would sit together and watch the wishes float up from the world below and try to guess what was inside each wish. The wishes rose up like bubbles and reminded Barnaby of crystal balls that shined and glowed with hope as they searched for a wishing star to bring them to life.

“I think this one is for a bike,” said Barnaby one night as he plucked a wish from the sky beside them. He shook the wish gently and looked inside and saw a black and white puppy wagging its tail. “No, it’s for a puppy,” he said with a smile as he let the wish go. He watched as it floated to another wishing star and clapped merrily when the ball popped into a burst of sparkles and light because he knew that meant the wish had been granted.

When the next wish came by he pulled it from the sky and said with a teasing grin, “I think this one is for an elephant on ice skates.” He was still laughing when he looked inside, but he could see nothing but a foggy mist. He shook the wish slightly, but still nothing appeared. His smile faded away as he looked at Gramstar and said, “I think this one is broken.” She took it from him and peered deep inside and then sadly she said, “No Barnaby, it’s not broken, it’s dirty.”

“How does a wish get dirty Gramstar?” Barnaby asked in confusion. He had never heard of a dirty wish.

“When a wish is made from a heart filled with doubt, that doubt covers the wish’s hope in darkness. These are dirty wishes and they cannot be granted,” Gramstar said, sounding as sad as Barnaby felt.

Barnaby’s heart was heavy as he asked, “What happens to the dirty wishes?” He was almost afraid to hear the answer. What could be sadder than a wish not granted? “The dirty wishes are eventually weighed down by the doubt that fills them and they sink down to forever rest on the top of the clouds,” Gramstar replied.

Later that night as the sun began to rise and it was time for bed, Barnaby couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned in the sky as he thought about how many wishes must be trapped on the clouds wanting to be granted. He decided to go see for himself.

It was a long journey down to the cloud tops and Barnaby was very tired by the time he arrived. But he soon forgot all about his weariness when he saw all the dirty wishes before him. As far as the eye could see were clouds with wishes resting on them. Barnaby decided right then and there that something must be done to help them. His body might be small, but his heart was large and he was determined to come up with a plan to help the dirty wishes.

If only there was some way to magically wash the wishes, Barnaby thought to himself. Then they could float back up to the heavens and be granted. Suddenly Barnaby had an idea. Everyone knew that there was magic in the moonlight. What if he could wash the wishes in the moon’s magic beams? It might not work, but he was sure going to try!

A few night’s later when there was a full moon, Barnaby made the long trek to the cloud tops once again. This time he brought along a big bag that Gramstar had sewed for him. He filled it carefully with some of the dark and gloomy wishes and followed the moon’s beams to where they touched the ocean below. Once there he pulled out a wish and carefully dipped it into the wet moonbeams and then he gently scrubbed it. His eyes widened in surprised when he saw a pretty doll appear inside the wish and then he smiled because he knew his plan was working. He let the wish go and it floated toward the stars to fulfill its destiny.

Barnaby was so proud of his accomplishment! Even though he wasn’t big enough to grant wishes, he was still making a difference by helping wishes come true. He had never been happier than he was that night as he spent hour after hour washing wishes.

While he was washing his seventh bag of wishes he heard a splash behind him. When he turned to see what had made the noise he saw a small orange and white creature behind him. “What are you?” asked Barnaby in a nervous voice. “I’m a clown fish. My name is Gobbo,” replied the creature. “What are you?” the little fish asked. “I am a wishing star. My name is Barnaby,” Barnaby answered with surprise, he thought everyone knew what a wishing star was. “A wishing star, what’s that?” asked the tiny fish as he swam a little closer to Barnaby. “A wishing star is a star that lives in the heavens and grants wishes that are made on the earth below. Haven’t you ever wished on a star before?” He asked his new friend. “We can’t see the stars from deep in the ocean,” said Gobbo.

Gobbo stayed to help wash the wishes all through the night. They spent many happy hours talking. Barnaby told Gobbo of his dream to be able to grant wishes like all the other stars. Gobbo told Barnaby of his wish to be a real clown that could live among the land dwellers and make boys and girls laugh. As the night passed by they became fast friends. Barnaby was sad to head back to the heavens for he knew he would miss his new friend. Gobbo promised to return during the next full moon to help wash wishes again.

The months passed by and slowly the cloud tops were emptied of their doubt filled wishes as Barnaby and Gobbo washed each and every one. They had become the best of friends while they worked together side by side and Barnaby could see how very much Gobbo wanted to be a real clown. He wished there was some way he could help him.

One day Barnaby was summoned to appear before King North, the king of all the wishing stars. Barnaby had never been to visit the King before and he was very nervous. He couldn’t imagine what the King wanted with him, the tiniest star in the heavens. He wondered if the King had found out he was sneaking down to the ocean each month.


He hoped he wouldn’t be punished. Barnaby had to muster up all the courage inside his little star body to go and see the King.

“Barnaby,” boomed the King in a deep voice, “it has come to my attention that you have been traveling to the ocean during the full moon each month to wash the dirty wishes.”
Oh no, thought Barnaby, here it comes. I am in big trouble now. “Is this true?” asked King North? “Y-y-y-ess, King North,” stammered Barnaby. The next thing the King said startled Barnaby and filled his heart with joy. “I am very proud of you Barnaby. It is a very caring and selfless act you have been doing. I would like to reward your kind act with a wish. You may have anything your heart desires.”

Barnaby could not believe what he was hearing. He could use the wish to finally become the wishing star he’d always dreamed of being. He was so excited, but just before he told the King of his wish, he remembered Gobbo and his wish to become a real clown. Barnaby’s heart sank. If he wished to have the powers of a wishing star, then he could not wish for Gobbo to become a clown. He was torn between his own wish and his desire to grant Gobbo’s wish. Then Barnaby had an idea. “King North,” he said, “I wish to become a wishing starfish that lives in the ocean and grants the wishes of all the sea creatures that live there.”

And so it was.


Barnaby soon learned that there was a catfish who wanted to be a real cat and a tiger shark who wanted to be a real tiger. There was an angel fish who wanted to be a real angel and a sea horse that wanted to run in the Kentucky Derby. But before Barnaby granted any of their wishes there was one thing he had to do…

He turned Gobbo into a real clown.

Cuteness and Yumminess

My GT students are making their own sock puppets and writing puppet shows for the Pre-K class. They are doing a great job and we are having so much fun. I thought I'd show you a picture of the puppets that the Kindergarten through Second grade group made.

I think they turned out really cute!!



And while I am here I am going to post a recipe that Inspired asked for. It's one of my mom's specialites. It is the easiest recipe EVER and it is super yummy for your tummy. Enjoy!

Sopapilla Cheesecake Recipe


2 cans of crescent rolls
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 teaspoon cinnamon
2 (8 oz.) packages cream cheese, softened
1 stick butter

Preheat oven to 350F. Press 1 can of crescent rolls into bottom of 9 X 13 inch pan. Mix cream cheese, 1 cup sugar and vanilla until creamy. Spread over rolls in pan. Cover with other can of rolls. Melt butter and stir in rest of sugar and cinnamon. Pour over top. Bake for 30 minutes. Can be served warm or room temperature.

Randomness Galore

Mrs. 4444 from over at Half-Passed Kissin' Time has tagged for a meme! I am still not sure what the word 'meme' actually means, but I get the general idea behind it so I shall give it my best shot.

THE "RULES"

Link to the person who tagged you.

Post the rules on your blog.

Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.

Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.

Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.


Here are my six non-important things/habits/quirks:

1. I am a flossaholic. I floss way, way too often. I carry floss with me at all times and it is hard for me to wait until I am out of a restaurant before I start flossing (sometimes I don't wait).

2. I am toebidextrius. I use my toes like extra sets of hands. I can can cook, clean and pick my nose with my toes. Oh I kid. But I really can pick stuff up with them very well.

3. I used to be really, really afraid of clowns. Okay, I still am afraid of clowns, but not as bad as I used to be.

4. I sat in the bathroom at lunch for almost an entire school year in high school because I feared that when I went inside the cafeteria to sit at a table everyone would get up and leave.

(In defense of my weirdness I was incredibly shy and had zero self confidence. What's odd about this is that I wasn't unattractive or unliked. In fact I had lots of honors to make me feel better about myself such as class favorite, most beautiful, most friendly, valentine sweetheart, homecoming queen court...blah blah, but for some reason that was never enough to make me feel good about myself. To this day I don't know why I was like that. For a very long time after we married Dave would not allow me to put myself down and that helped, but what helped most of all was teaching. The unconditional love of hundreds of children healed my defective self esteem like nothing else ever could. )

5. I can make balloon animals.

6. I wrote a children's book called 'Washing Wishes.' Don't be impressed. It wasn't good enough to be published, but I did write it!

I'm not going to tag anyone right now because I think most of my blogging friends just completed a meme of their own. I'll just leave an open invitation for anyone that wants to play along. Have fun! (but not freaky clown fun cause that would just be creepy)

Poopsie

I promised to tell the story of how my father came to be known as 'Poopsie'...the Poopster...the Grand Poopah...okay, okay we just call him Poopsie, and really I think that is enough. Don't you?

When I was pregnant with Lauren my mom picked out the names Mumsie and Poopsie for the grandnames. She thought the names were adorable. Dave thought they were ridiculous...especially the Poopsie. He protested immediately. My mom didn't really care what he thought (she rarely does) and she stuck to her guns.

So did Dave.

As the months of my pregnancy flew by (as fast as bleeding, pre-eclempsia and bed rest can fly by) it became clear that neither of them were going to agree on a grandname for my dad. Dave was determined that he be called Papaw and mom was sticking with Poopsie. Eventually they decided that whichever name she said first was going to be the name we used.

When Lauren was born they each used the names they had chosen. They used them a lot...a whole bunch of A LOT. The day finally came that she finally called my dad by a name.

Poopsie.

But Dave had the last laugh. As it turns out young children can't say Poopsie very well. Lauren couldn't. Brooklyn couldn't. Tre couldn't. Instead what they said was Poosie.

I'll just let that sink in for a minute.

Everybody on the same page now? That's right. I said Poosie as in poooseee. It really wasn't as fun or cute as it might sound. It was actually awkward and blush inspiring. Especially for my mom because she is the one that insisted on the name. I could tell countless stories about the embarrassment this name caused or about the fun my uncle had telling the kids to say Daddy loves Poopsie (yeah, I come from some up-town folk), but I will limit it to one story.

When Lauren was about 18 months old my dad was taking up offering at church and we were all sitting towards the back of the sanctuary. Lauren really wanted to go with my dad, but of course she couldn't. Her little lip quivered for a bit...waiting just long enough for him to get to the very front of the church and then she stood on the pew and said, 'Pooooossssiiiieeee....I want my Poooossssiiieeee'. Well everyone and I do mean everyone sorta gasped together and turned to look at her/us. Then my mom stands up and announces very loudly, "She is saying Poopsie everybody...she is saying POOPSIE." I wanted to crawl under my seat and hide until everyone left.

Good times. Good times.

And now you know how my Dad ended up named not only after a bodily function, but at times after a body part as well.

Blogfessional

I have an addiction and I humbly ask that you not judge me too harshly when you hear what it is. Okay. Here it goes. I'm just going to blurt it out real quick like...

I love American Idol.

LOVE IT.

There. I said it. Please don't forsake me in this season of tv viewing weakness.

It was because of this undying love that I found myself in a bit of a dilema when I realized that the second night of American Idol was airing at the same time as our youth meeting at church (which I volunteer to help with). I am ashamed to say that I was actually momentarily torn about what to do. It didn't help that Lauren was begging me to let her stay home and watch.

You'll be glad to know that I did make the right decision and told Lauren that we had to go to church. That brought forth much crying and gnashing of teeth.

Lauren wasn't all that thrilled either.

But I told her that the Bible clearly says that thou shall have no other idols before God. Hello. The show is called American IDOL. My choice was made for me thousands of years ago and my hands were tied.

So we went to church and are oh so proud that we persevered through this trying and tempting time in our lives. And we shall be rewarded in the great by and by.

Personally I am asking God to make sure Taylor Hicks isn't allowed to preform in heaven, but hey, we all have our own ideas about the rewards of heaven.

Next we'll work on the cabbage patch

I was teaching an ESL group today (that's English as a Second Language for the acronym impaired readers among us) when it came to my attention that out of the three boys in the group exactly zero percent of them knew what break dancing was. Of course I found that entirely unacceptable.

You may be asking yourself why we were talking about break dancing in class, but never you mind, I do not have the time to go into the complicated intricacies of the art of teaching here today.

Ahem.

Anyway, after I got over my appalledness at their woefully lacking education I tried to explain break dancing to my little Spanish speaking friends. Have you ever tried to explain breaking dancing to someone? It's really not as easy as it sounds. Eventually I had to get up and actually demonstrate some classic break dancing moves to them.

Have you ever tried to demonstrate break dancing? That's not as easy as it sounds either.

Let's just say it didn't go well. I fear they did not understand what walking like a retarded astronaut had to do with American dancing, though it was hard to tell by all the blank stares and blinking they directed my way. Apparently they don't appreciate the finer points of classic dance moves.

Right.

They struggled a bit with synonyms and antonyms as well at first. I didn't think they would ever understand the difference of the two. We had tried numerous examples of synonyms when I got to the word hot. Right before all my hair fell out in one frustrated pile their teacher came in to pick them up early. I told them to leave their dry erase boards on the table and I'd put their things away so their teacher didn't have to wait.

I picked up the first dry erase board. It said warm. Very good. I erased it and put it away.

I picked up the second board. It said worm (don't laugh. That actually makes sense. Seriously, sound it out. Phonetically it does say warm). Again, very good. They both understood that warm and hot were alike. Yay!

I picked up the third board. It said Mrs. S (insert my last name). Now this kid, he is obviously BRILLIANT. He totally understood synonyms. I immediately game him an A for the entire school year and referred him to the Gifted and Talented program. What else could I do??

Oh I kid. What kind of teacher do you think I am?

I only gave him an A for the semester.

Unfortunately my lovely teacher buzz was killed when my next group of children refused to believe that toodleooski was Russian for good-bye. What on earth happened to my credibility??

Perhaps they heard about the break dancing.

Happy Birthday Dad

I used to believe that I was born with twelve toes. My dad convinced me that a shark bit off my two extra toes and boy was I grateful to that shark! I am not even sure at what point I figured out the truth (I am seriously gullible).

The same ornery man convinced my brother, sister and me that a cocklebur was a porcupine egg. Oh how we tried to hatch that little bur. We put it in the windowsill to make sure it stayed extra warm and checked on it several times a day. We really wanted that baby porcupine!! One day we came in off the bus after school and all three of us ran to check on our porcupine egg and it was gone. Gasp! Immediately we all screamed (I'm the oldest, blame me) and jumped on the couch. I guess after a little thought we decided a porcupine on the loose was a bad idea. We stayed on that couch for hours until my parents got home. When they finally arrived mom confessed that she'd thrown it away because she was tired of having it in her window and that it was not really a porcupine egg. Dad didn't say much. He was too busy laughing.

My sixteenth birthday came and went without a driving test taking place. I had a car. I was just a chicken. I just knew as soon as I got my licsense I'd run over some innocent kitten. or puppy. or person. An entire year went by without me taking my driving test. An entire year! I don't know what to say about that. I was just a terribly shy and really pretty insecure girl. Well I'll never forget the day my dad showed up without warning and checked me out of school. I assumed at first my sister was hurt so I rushed to the office when they called for me (those kind of calls were pretty frequent and my biggest fear in life). But it wasn't my sister this time, it was my driving test. Both relief and dread flooded me in pretty near equal doses. I really didn't want to take my driving test. But I did take it and I passed and when I was fixin' to get my very first license picture taken my dad told me I had to take my ponytail down. He said they didn't allow them in the pictures. This was in 1990. I had tons of hairspray in my hair. I was horrified. My hair stayed up in some funky white girl impersonation of Don King . It was about six months later that my best friend took her driving test with HER PONYTAIL IN that I realized I'd been fooled and fooled good.

I could tell endless stories about my dad's mischievous side, but I could also tell endless stories about what an awesome, loving man he is and how he is always there for his family. He is the BEST.

Happy birthday Poopsie!!! We love you.

She should be selling used cars

I had to wake up bright and early this morning on account of the horrible thing that we people in the teaching business call morning duty. I find it very fitting that the word duty sounds like doodie, because, well, morning duty stinks a lot like real doodie.

Since I had to be at work early for stink duty I was trying to hurry the girls along. That was rather difficult to do with Brookie bent over the toilet heaving. She had been sick since last Friday, but she seemed better on Sunday. I was worried and thought I should stay home with her, but Dave said that it was just sinus drainage and that she needed to go. So I brought her crackers and sprite and her clothes and she got dressed in the bathroom.

When we got to school I went to the gym for morning duty and Brookie went to my classroom to spend some quality time with my trash can...lots of quality time. The two should be quite close now because when duty was over she was still bent over it. And when my first group ended she was still bent over it. I probably need to get them BFF necklaces because when my second, third and fourth groups were over she was still bent over it. I decided enough was enough. She needed to go home.

So I called her dad and he said that was nonsense. That I didn't need to miss work. She'd be fine. I explained that she was feeling terrible and heaving so much her tummy was hurting. He said she seemed fine yesterday when she was playing with her cousins (who were visiting from out of state) and to tell her to suck it up and go to class.

He can be a tough dad. I tried to talk to her about trying going to class, but it's rather hard to talk to someone with their head in a can. So I made an executive decision, took the day off and brought her home. Afterall I am the mom and am the one equipped with motherly insticts. She was obviously sick and the man had no idea what he was talking about.

Once I informed all the teachers that I was leaving so they wouldn't send students to my room I took Brooklyn home and put her to bed. I was a little nervous about making my own decision when her father had suggested something else, but I kept reminding myself that I knew better than he what was best for her.

I checked on her often and clearly the child was on her death bed.

The first time I peeked in on her she was in a pair of my heels. Clearly she was very sick. Everyone knows that dressing up makes you feel better. The poor dear was taking it upon herself to force herself to get better.

And apparently Madame was feeling poorly too because she dressed her up as well.

She even tried that age old method of 'feeding her cold'. Oh yes, she was a very sick girl.

And finally I found her in some kind of ritual with her Barbie. They used a fiber optic light to take the place of fire. I'm guessing she was praying to God for forgiveness for exaggerating her illness and making a fool of her gullible, soft hearted mama.

I really hate it when he's right.

Sweetness

Ya'll won't believe what Sharon over at Hustle Hag has done. She went and gave me award. And that's not the best part. The best part is that it's the 'you make my day' award and really, I can't think of a nicer compliment. Just knowing that something I do or say can bring a moment of happiness to someone else is all I could ever ask for out of blogging. Thank you Sharon for your sweetness. You rock!

So, do you wanna see it? Do you?? You must have ants of excitement in your pants. I know I do. So without further ado (I just love that word...ado...it is just so full of cuteness) here is my award...

Ta-Da!!! Isn't it adorable? I get to keep it over on my sidebar to remind of the tickledness I felt when I first saw it. Yippe Skippee!!

And now for another best part. I get to pick some blogs that 'make my day' and give them the award also. The instructions said to pick ten blogs, post about them and then leave them a comment telling them about the award. But you know me. I'm a rebel, so I only picked seven. It's not that there aren't other blogs that make my day, it's because I think I know all these ladies well enough to know they won't be bothered by this. So here is my list. These are all women that make me smile A LOT and I am ever so grateful to each and every one of them...

MomMom's Rant

A Mid Size Home on the Prairie

For Love of Home

Tara's Blog

Toto, I Have a Feeling We're Not In Kansas Anymore

The Jackson Journey

John Deere Mom

Okay Ladies, it's your turn to bless someone else. Who makes YOUR day??

Babbling Can Cure Sad Pants

Hi my devoted readers of babble! How was your day?? BOTH girls are sick so I am having to sit at home and miss out on helping at The Power Team tonight event tonight. That made me sad in my pants so I decided to do something to cheer myself up.

Step one: Comfy cozy pj's. It's hard to get happy in tight jeans.

Step two: Eat an ice cream sandwich. How can you be sad eating that?

Step three: Put on a movie guaranteed to cheer you up each and every time you watch it, Sister Act. When I see Nun Whoopie up there shaking her booty in her habit and those little old ladies signing I just HAVE to smile.

Step four: Babbling. I can't help it. I'm a born babbler and when I am down I need to babble to someone to work the sad out of my system. So guess who the poor saps lucky souls are that get to read my drivel babbling?

Uh huh, it's you! Don't let your excitement overwhelm you.

First I have to elaborate on a recent comment left on my blog. You may or may not have noticed someone talking about the time a student bit me on the...um, boob. Since so many of the wonderful teachers and parents from the school I currently teach at read this blog I thought it might be prudent to reassure them that I am not in the habit of letting students put their mouths on me. Well, there was that time last year that boy licked me in the face, sorta cow like with one big lick that started at the bottom of my face and went ALL the way back up, but I am told he only does that if he really likes you, so that wasn't really a lick, it was more like a compliment (see how my warped brain operates?).

Now back to the attack on my boobage. Here's what happened (and Regina, no laughing...you got enough kicks outta this when it actually happened)...

One morning I was out on my morning jog, well I walked some too, so to be fair let's call it my morning jalk (half walk, half jog)...Okay, so I was out on my jalk with a friend of mine that was an aide at our campus. She mentioned that she was going to be out for a few days and none of the other aides would cover her bus route (she road a bus and helped with some mentally handicapped children in the mornings). I immediately offered to fill in for her and we went on jalking.

Bright and early the next morning I showed up to help on her bus route. The first day was challenging, the two brothers she rode with were a little rowdy and liked to throw things at you. The youngest was cute and smiled a lot, especially when he hit you in the back of the head with the buckle on the seatbelt. That really made him happy.

The second day I came prepared. I brought some of those books with the bug eyes in them that stick out through all the pages and crack you up. I hoped that would be more entertaining that trying to kill me. My brilliant plan worked great until we stopped to drop the youngest child off. The teacher on duty by the bus drop off wanted to talk to the bus driver (this really nice man) and leaving the bus running, he hops off to answer her questions about a note he delivered to the mom for them the day before.

This is where things went terribly awry. The oldest child, I guess he was 13, suddenly makes a dash for the drivers seat of the bus, which as I mentioned a moment ago, was STILL RUNNING. Okay. This is in the morning, before school and there are children everywhere. I had visions of him throwing the bus into drive and running amuck through masses of screaming children. So I put my hands around his shoulders (he was as tall as I am...that's not really saying, much, but still he was as tall as me) and I pulled him away from the driver's seat. Somehow in the struggle that ensued he ended up facing me as he tried to lunge sideways toward the steering wheel. I yelled out the door for help from the bus driver (suddenly I understood why they had a male driver who was rather large) and while the we struggled and the driver ran towards us, the boy latched down onto my boob with all the might in his little choppers.

OUCH!

It really, really hurt. We managed to get him to detach and then I tried to pretend like nothing happened. But oh no, there was to be none of that. My lovely boss (stop laughing woman, I mean it) insisted I fill out an accident report and then called down to my room that afternoon ON THE INTERCOM and said they needed me to come down so they could take a picture of my injury (she made sure I was alone first). Of course she was kidding about the picture, but I did have one heck of a bruise from that bite.

We found out later from his teachers (we sent him to a school nearby with a life skills unit so we didn't know about his nija teeth) that this was his preferred method of attack. It would have been nice for the teachers at that neighboring school to have warned us. But it's ok. My boob and I forgive you. Good thing he bit my right boob, because my left boob is not nearly as forgiving.

Now you know the entire story and you can rest assured I shall not be attempting to turn any of your children into cannibals.

Hold on to your panties cause I have some terrific news. I am not done babbling yet! I know it is so hard to handle all this excitement, but please try (and you can stop holding your panties now, people are staring).

Last night was night number two of The Power Team Event and we had an even bigger group come up and accept Christ as their savior. I'd guess it was close to two hundred, but I haven't heard an official count. This time there were several entire families that came forward. It was so amazing!

I mentioned in my first Power Team post that my husband was a little nervous about the amount of FIRE in the high school. Last night they did the fire bit again and I snapped some pictures (of horrible quality) with my phone and I thought I'd share a few pics of what panicked my principal hubby.

This was on the stage in our high school auditorium. I guess I can kinda see why he was nervous...if I turn my head sideways...and squint just a little...yes, I can sorta see why he had a bit of anxiety over the situation.

I better hush now. Don't be too sad. I babble a lot and I'll be back later ( and seriously, let go of those panties it's getting a little weird).

Being Tested

Yesterday was one of the toughest teaching days I've had in a long time. All week long we've been benchmarking, meaning we've been giving last years TAKS test to our students to get an idea of where we stand. That gives us a better idea about who needs to have extra help and tells us specifically what areas they are struggling in. I administer the test to the dyslexic students because they receive a few special accommodations on the test (like me being able to read the questions to them).

My group yesterday only had three boys in it. The day started off great. They did everything I asked them to do without a problem. Then about halfway through the test something changed. I'm not sure what happened to cause it, probably just the fact that the test is really long and all that reading is tough on a dyslexic child. The change occurred in the attitude of one the boys taking the test, and boy oh boy did his attitude change.

This little boy is new to our district. In his previous school he had failed every single subject last year, but they'd moved him on anyway. When we called to see what was up with that we were told that he had failed because he spent almost the entire year expelled or in I.S.S. (in school suspension). So basically he had never been in class. I'm not blaming that school. I know exactly why he was kicked out of class. It was because that is what he wanted. The reason I know that is because that's what he wanted me to do with him yesterday. He wanted me to send him to the office or kick him out of my class.

He started off by saying stuff like, 'I don't care about this test. I'm not taking it anymore.' When I kept insisting that he was going to take it and he was going to do well he started making really loud noises while the other students were testing. When this didn't get him kicked out of my room he started throwing things (his test, his pencil, his sharpener....anything in reach really). He threatened, he flipped me off, he was determined to get sent out of the room and get out of doing his work. He finally came right out and said, 'why don't you just kick me out of here? That's what everyone else does.'

And there it was. I had known the reason he was acting so mean (he said some way mean things) and violent, but I had not expected him to just come right out and say it. My answer to him was that I wasn't everyone else and I knew he was smart and that he could slam dunk this test.

And it was true. I knew he could do well. It is obvious this child is very bright. There is no reason for him to be failing all his classes and throwing his life away. So what the rest of the day (several hours of it) came down to was a battle of wills...him against me. I sat across from him and pointed to each and every word saying 'read it' and then on the next word 'read it' and on the next and the next and the next. I never raised my voice. I acted like I had all the time in the world and that I was never, ever going to stop pushing him to do his best. Eventually he got sick of me pointing to each word and saying read it over and over until he read it and he started reading on his own.

Of course when he'd get to the questions he'd try to just randomly circle answers. My response to that was that apparently we needed to read the entire story again (there are six fairly long stories and about fifty questions). When I flipped back to the beginning of the story and pointed to the first word and started saying 'read it' to him, he backed down and said, 'okay, okay. I'll answer them right.'

There was so much more that happened, but you get the idea of how the day went. It wasn't fun and it was very stressful. When he finally walked out of my room with the other students it was all I could do to not cry....from stress...from relief that we'd managed to finish...from sadness that he was so hardened at such a young age...just from a lot of things.

I sucked it up and took the tests down to the boy's regular classroom teacher. She graded the tests and they all passed. Not only did they all pass, but the little boy who was so angry and mean made a perfect score. I knew he could. He was the only person in the entire grade to do that. I saw him last night walking down the street with a group of kids with hats on crooked and pants down hanging low on their hips. I pulled up and rolled down my window and said, 'Hey J, guess who made a 100 on that test.' He responded with a tough and attitude filled, 'who?' I didn't say a word. I just pointed at him. He tried to hide the smile that burst through, but I saw a quick glimpse of it before he tried to act like he didn't care. Then I said, 'guess who was the only person in the entire grade to make a 100.' He again says, 'who?' and I just slowly point at him. This time he doesn't try to hide his delight. 'No way!' he yelled and I smiled, pointed at him again and gave him a thumbs up. Then I drove away.

I love my job.

Power Team

Tonight the Power Team came to visit our community. Actually they will be here for five nights, but tonight was the first. If you don't know anything about the Power Team check out their website http://www.thepowerteam.com/. They are incredible and bring a wonderful message in a way that captures the attention of the youth.

We started working to raise money to bring them here, gosh, months ago. Several of the local churches did fund raisers and some of the businesses donated too. I was a little disappointed to see that we didn't totally fill the high school auditorium on the first night. But boy howdy, I was NOT disappointed by the end of the altar call. Guys, over 100 people came forward. That is AMAZING in a town this size. Most of them were teens and that is almost half of our high school enrollment. Can you imagine the change this can make in this town and in our schools? Some of the people were older though. I even took down contact information from a lady that was about seventy years old. I am so happy that she found the Lord! I couldn't stop crying. And smiling. And crying some more. And smiling some more. I was all teeth and tears.

The 'show' started out with stack after stack of wood being lit on fire after they were doused with some type of fuel. Now remember this was in the high school. My husband is the high school principal and gave them permission to have the rally there. People, you should have seen that man's face! I thought he was going to have an aneurysm on the spot! I can just see visions of the school burning down dancing in his head. But things went fine. They broke all the wood, nobody caught on fire and everybody was happy. Of course Dave had to go to the men's room shortly there after and I am convinced it's because he almost messed his britches!!!

As I said earlier the Power Team will be here through Sunday so pray that God continues to move in the hearts of the people in our town. I am helping sell stuff, usher during offering and with the Altar call. It will be a busy week, but well worth every second!!!

Side Note: The Power Team visited our elementary school earlier today and Brookie is now crushing on a 21 year old man with muscles bigger than she is! What am I going to do with that child?

Love Note With A Twist

This morning while I was showering a wave of hubba, hubba husband love washed over me. You know, the kind of feeling that a wife can only feel early in the morning BEFORE their hubby actually wakes up and opens his mouth and ruins a perfectly good moment.

Oh I kid. My husband never annoys me when he opens his mouth (I love you honey!!! You can go back to watching ESPN now. Muah!).

Okay, where was I? Oh yes, I was in the showering feeling all warm and lovey dovey (gosh, that sounds dirty. What is with my blogging lately??). Well, while I was feeling sappy I spotted Brookie's bathtub markers and that gave me a grand idea. Dave always showers after I do so I decided to take the red marker and write a big giant I HEART U on the shower wall for him to find. After that was done I went back to my normal showering routine and smiled stupidly to myself as I thought of his reaction to my note. I thought of the way my serious, quiet, anal retentive husband would smile and...

Wait....anal retentive....he is anal retentive and he is going to climb into this shower and see my note and instead of a little love note left to make him smile he is going to see RED MARKER on his SHOWER WALL and he is going to FLIP OUT. He has never given the girls a bath. He'd have no idea what shower markers were. Well poohdunkle. Now what was I going to do? I really didn't want to wash it off. I wanted to surprise him with a note in the shower, but I didn't want to make him angry. So I did this:




In case you can't read it, the note ended up saying: I HEART U (don't freak...this is a tub marker).

After I amended my little note I once again returned to my regularly scheduled shower and then halfway through washing my hair I started to giggle. What kind of love note was that? Who wrote an amendment to a love note? The more I thought about it the harder I giggled at myself. I almost decided to erase it all and forget the whole thing, but then it occurred to me that there was nothing wrong with my note. It may not be a typical love note, but it was OUR kind of love note and it was perfect...perfect for us. So I left it and guess who loved it?

My anal retentive husband loved it, that's who.

Prayer Request

My cousin Taylor was attacked by a pack of wild dogs earlier today. So far all I know is that when they got her to the hospital part of her skull was exposed, her neck had been ripped open and that she had no feeling in her hands (they fear spinal cord damage I think). They say she is in pretty bad shape and has been care flighted out. She is Lauren's age and has no parents (lives with her grandmother). Her mother died when she was a few weeks old and she never knew her father. Please add her to your prayer list. I know this blog doesn't reach very many people, but every prayer helps.

Thank you all and God Bless.

Edit: Ran home at lunch to post a quick update for you. I called the hospital and Tayler (I spelled it correctly this time Jax- nannie nannie) answered the phone herself. She really sounded like she was in good spirits. They had to repair 36 areas during surgery and there were at least that many more puncture wounds that they cleaned and left to heal on their own. She was out skating alone when a Pit Bull attacked her. She fell to the ground and covered her head and then another dog joined in...and another and another until SIX dogs were attacking her at once. Finally a wonderful and brave woman drove by and saw them attacking her and honked her horn repeatedly to scare the dogs away. When that didn't work she grabbed one of her golf clubs and jumped out of her car and beat the dogs off of Tayler. As far as I am concerned this woman is a hero. Anyway, Tayler isn't sure when she gets to come home, but her life isn't in danger and she has all the feeling in her hands now. Praise God. Continue to pray for a speedy recovery (physically, mentally and emotionally). Thank you!!

Snap! Crackle! Pop!

When I was a kid I loved static electricity. I used to lay in bed at night under a fluffy blanket and amaze myself with the sparks I could make (somehow that sounded dirty, but I promise it wasn't). Then there was the time I had a slumber party and my daddy took what seemed like hundreds of balloons, blew them up, rubbed them on his head (he had hair back then), and stuck them all over the ceiling in the living room. All of us little party animals in princess pajamas slept under that canopy of hairy balloons and while we were happily dreaming of what it would be like to be Smurfette all the balloons drifted down on top of us. When we woke up the next morning we were covered in a blanket of balloons. It was like magic! And oh my goodness what fun my brother, sister and I had sliding around the house in our sock feet building up a charge and then sneaking up and shocking the crapola out of each other. Good times, good times.

Well things have changed. I no longer like static electricity. In fact I am starting to loathe it. It messes with my skirts. It messes with my hair. It makes me accidentally shock the daylights out of people (mostly myself) and since I'm officially old it's just not funny anymore. It's annoying. But apparently we chose to live in the center of where all static electricity in the universe dwells because no matter what I do I get shocked. If I touch a door, it shocks me. If I touch a car, it shocks me. If I touch my computer it shocks me so bad I keep to check and see if my eyebrows were blown off.

I'm not the only one being stalked by the static. Brookie often looks like she stuck her finger in a light socket. Man oh man that child's hair can stand on end. It's amazing really. And the last time Madame Dog went out to potty she came back with so much static charged dry grass stuck to her that she looked like a tiny scarecrow (of course Mighty Dog is still the one that needs to petition the Wizard for a brain).

Speaking of my dogs, if I don't figure out how to stop this shocking madness soon they are going to run away (I have shocked them so many times that they now look at me suspiciously if I get within ten feet of them). Then I'll have to resort to a pet elephant or rhino so that their tough skin will protect them from my jolts. Of course the thought of the Dave's face the first time the rhino hiked it's leg on his shoes makes that idea almost fun, but I like my dogs so I'd rather just stop zapping them.

So does anyone out there have any ideas on how I can stop the static madness?

Toilet Owners Beware!

I don't want to cause nationwide panic and mass hysteria, but I think there is a monster in my house. Seriously people, A MONSTER.

I know! I was just as amazed and frightened as you are.

This isn't just any monster either. Oh no, not for me, I just don't roll that way. You see if I had a vampire it would be easy...garlic, holy water, sunshine, a stake in the heart...no problem. Or maybe a nice werewolf...hello, this is Texas, guns are everywhere and surely a silver bullet could be found. A monster under the bed? That's easy. I'd just show them what's under Brookie's bed and they'd so be running for their lives.

But could my monster be something that simple?? Nooooo. Instead of a run of the mill one-eyed one-horned flying purple people eater I end up with some freaky monster with what must be half a dozen butts! Seriously people, A BUTT MONSTER.

I'd show you a picture of the beast, but I haven't actually seen it yet. But that matters not, because it is so living in my house and I have proof! Behold the evidence....

This toilet paper roll was full this morning. FULL. But look at it now. It's empty. EMPTY. Scary no? And if that freaks you out wait 'til you see this...

All of these toilet paper rolls are fresh out of the trash in one of our bathrooms (yes, just one of them). This very trash was emptied less than a week ago and now it is filled with all of these emptied toilet paper rolls (and we were out of town half the week!). It's okay. Don't panic. Take a deep breath. I was frightened too, but things will be okay. I will find this horrifying butt monster and I will conquer him.


But first I have to wait for him to get home from the basketball game.

Resolution

It's a brand new year and this will be my first post in 2008. For some reason I've had trouble trying to pull all my thoughts together for a post. Material to write about shouldn't be a problem. 2007 was a rough year on our family, but in the end we came out of it wonderfully blessed.

For more than half of last year my baby sister was in the hospital fighting a mysterious illness. As if her bone disease and connective tissue disease were not enough she up and got tetanus, or what the doctors thought was tetanus for six months. It turned out to be a tumor on her thymus causing her to have horrible spasms that kept her hospitalized and even caused her to be put into a coma. When they finally figured out what the problem really was they didn't give us a lot of hope that she would survive the illness, the surgery and the treatment after surgery. But God is GOOD and she came through the surgery with flying colors and ended up avoiding chemo totally. This was all God and His answer to hundreds and hundreds of prayers.

Still, even with such a wonderful story to share I couldn't decide what to write about in my first post of the year. I was torn between Shanna's story, or sharing how wonderful Christmas was, or about our lovely trip to visit good friends for New Year's Eve, or maybe even sharing my New Year's Resolutions.

Finally, after starting and stopping numerous posts, I decided to take the easy way out and simply post a few pictures that Lauren took throughout the year and by doing so, avoid writing anything at all. That's when I came across this picture:

I took this picture a few weeks back when stopping by to check on some of my students and their family. Six people lived in this house...four children and two adults. It's hard to see in this picture how very tiny this house is or that several of the windows are broken out and covered only in cardboard and tape. We (some teachers at my school) made sure the children had a good Christmas with bikes and toys and clothes. The family ended up moving out of our district over the holiday and I know I will worry about the children for a long, long time.

Even though the boys are gone, I am thankful that I still have this picture. It serves as a reminder of what many of my students face each morning when they wake up. Some don't have electricity. Others do not have water. Many of them worry about food for their next meal and having warm clothes to wear.

I am thankful, so very, very thankful that God allows me to be a part of these precious lives day after day. I pray that I am a blessing to them and that I touch their lives in a positive way. God loves each of the children I teach even more than I do (and that is saying a lot) and seeing this picture somehow rekindled my desire to be the very best teacher I can be.

So there you have it. That is my resolution and my prayer for 2008...to be the best teacher I can possibly be and to let God's love overflow onto the children I am so very blessed to teach.

Edit: Please ignore the bird poodunkle/tinkle (not sure which it is) in the picture. Apparently it fell just as I snapped the picture. The bird obviously wanted it's 'stuff' to be famous. Well, now you've done it bird, a whole six and a half people will forever remember seeing your poodunkle/tinkle. Congratulations.