Too Good to Wait

I know I said I wanted to write a post to remember Ryan first, but this couldn't wait. (Mike, Molly, this is for you!)

Mr.4444 and I love Halloween. This year, Mr.4444 is dressing as Buddy the Elf (from the movie Elf, of course) for our party tomorrow night, so he put it on tonight to practice. With Christmas music playing in the background, this is how he greeted trick-or-treaters. (This is not staged. I also have a clip of three little girls doing a lot of giggling, but this one was the best.) Also, sorry about having to bend to view it, but it's worth it!


I love you, Mr.4444; you are one silly, fun man. Thanks for cheering us up.

No Words

Our dearest friends, Mike and Molly are living a parent's worse nightmare tonight. Their 17-year-old son, Ryan, passed away unexpectedly yesterday. I won't be posting for a while. Please keep Mike, Molly, and their family in your prayers.

Worn Support Hose, Lately?

I found this great little book, called How NOT to Become a Little Old Lady. I bought a few copies to give to my sisters for Christmas or birthdays. For some reason, Mom didn't think it was that funny, but the rest of us laughed a lot when my sister Mary opened hers. According to the book (and some of my embellishments), little old ladies....

1) Talk about their dental health during lunch.

2) Pay no attention to the actual shape of their lips when putting on lipstick.

3) Cover every surface of the living room with little china and glass figures that fall over when you go near them.

4) Buy their clothes at garage sales and don't notice (or mind) the food stains on them.

5) Boil vegetables (until they are gray.)

6) Tell long, boring stories about buying drapes, new bedding, or shoelaces.

7) Can tell you everything about the neighbors; what time they came home last night, why the police were called, or who's getting divorced

8) Can rest their breasts on their knees (without bending over).

9) Pass gas out loud in public (and act as though no one heard it)

10) Iron gift-wrapping paper and ribbons and use them again.

I don't know about you, but I'm not looking forward to it.... And you little old men out there...feel free to add your own characteristics!

Gram's Best Friend

Mom has always loved cats, but Dad, being a farm boy, had little interest in domesticated animals. In fact, he once told a story of how he poured gas on a cat and lit it on fire. (I don't know if he was kidding or not, but he sure laughed hard when he told the story.) Anyway, about twenty years ago, maybe because Michelle was the spoiled baby the favorite the last one left in the house and there was more room, Dad consented to getting her a cat as a gift for some event or another. The cat (Misty) came from the Humane Society. Unfortunately, it soon became clear that her name was not a coincidence; she peed all over the place. As if that wasn't enough, she hated everyone except my mom, who loved her and tried (unsuccessfully) to hide the peeing habit. Eventually, Dad gave her (Misty, not Mom) the boot, and that was the end of cats in our house...at least for a while.

Dad passed away in April, 2005. We hadn't even had the funeral yet when Mom, sitting quietly at the kitchen table, announced firmly, "I think I would like a kitty-cat!" Eager to help ease her grief over Dad, we embraced the idea, and soon, Mom was at the Humane Society, scoping out a potential new friend. A tiger with reddish fur and amber eyes snuggled up to her right away and did not seem to want to leave her lap. Reluctantly, Mom had to leave him until the required time period was up. The funeral took place in the interim, and Mom soon collected her "Jimmy-Cat."

Jimmy-Cat is a cute name, but really funny when you realize that my dad's name was Jim. Mom was adamant that Jimmy-Cat would be his name. (I wonder what Dad thought of that!) Jimmy was a steady companion from the start; rarely leaving Mom's side. She knew right away that they were meant to be together. He always runs to meet her when she comes home, leads her to her chair at suppertime, and spends hours in her lap. Whenever Mom is out of Jimmy's sight for a while, he comes looking for her, as if to check on her. She'll tell us, "Jimmy-Cat looks after me, just like your daddy did!"

Mom lovingly recalls the first time Jimmy-Cat showed compassion for her. "I was having a rough day;" she said. "just missing your dad a lot. I finally broke down, sobbing while sitting at the diningroom table. Suddenly, Jimmy (who had been sitting nearby) was at my side, putting his little paws on my leg as if to say, I'm here for you."

Jimmy likes to watch Packers games with Mom, too. However, he gets mad when she startles him with a cheer and scares him off her lap; he will give her a dirty look and refuse to return when that happens. When they're bored, Mom plays a chase game with Jimmy-Cat. She'll say, "I'mmm gonnnnnnna get you!!" and he will run and hide, over and over, peeking out to see if she is giving chase. Mom has all the time in the world to play with Jimmy; there are plenty of kitty toys in her living room to choose from. And Jimmy doesn't hock up hairballs all over the place, like most cats; Mom brushes him so often that he barely needs to groom himself! She also keeps a special little water fountain filled in the livingroom for Jimmy, since he likes his water nice and fresh.

Of course, these days, Mom's not chasing Jimmy around the house. She's laying low (healing nicely, thank you) and Jimmy is not far. Eventually, there will be no need for one of us to be with her round-the-clock. When that time comes, I will feel better knowing that Jimmy-Cat is watching over her, just as Dad probably is...A meow massages the heart. - Stuart McMillan

Is you a good citizen?

I found an antique in the garage today (Mr.4444 cleaned it for the party next weekend!!) It's a grade school textbook from 1923, called Elementary English, Spoken and Written, by Hodge and Lee. Paging through it, I noted a couple of interesting entries....

Our Country's Flag-
When a flag is carried by in a parade, stand up if you are seated. If you are walking, halt. Stand at attention. Boys remove their hats as the flag passes. Never allow the flag to drag on the ground. Never leave it out after dark.

You may learn this pledge to the flag so that the class can recite it together:

I give my head, my heart, my hand to God and my country; one country, one language, one flag.

My mom may have used such a textbook in the two-room school house she attended as a young girl. It makes sense that her generation has strong feelings about speaking English in this country. After all, my parents were only one generation away from ancestors who immigrated here and were proud to learn the English language.

More from the book....

Being a Good Citizen-
Every boy and girl who lives in America is proud of being an American. He wants to be a good citizen of his country. One of the things every good citizen tries to do is to speak the language of his country clearly and correctly. If we are careless about the way we speak our own English language, we are not truly good citizens of America. Perhaps you make errors which are common to your locality, (the author chastises.)

The book goes on to advise students against saying things like, "This here is my pencil," "It was are turn to play," "My pencil point is busted" [instead of broken], "Are youse coming over tonight?" and "I bought me a coat."

Isn't this interesting?? I'm not trying to make a political statement here. I just think it's interesting (and funny, in spots).

Bad News and Good News

Conversation between Charlie and me on Thursday....

Mrs.4444, my stupid cat sat on the mice.

What??

When I came home from school yesterday, two of the mice were flattened in their box, because my stupid cat sat on them.

You have a cat??

Yes, and I don't know how it happened, but he got in my room and sat on my mice. So that's why I beat the crap out of him!

Why in the world would you beat your cat like that? I'm guessing he didn't go in and sit on them; he was probably playing with them and killed them that way, being too rough. That's what cats do, Charlie. It's their nature.

I don't care. And then he went in there again last night and flattened the last one. I found it this morning. I'm going to beat the crap out of him again today when I get home.

Charlie, that's just wrong. It's not your cat's fault the mice are dead. Cats kill mice instinctively; it's just what they do.

Not my cat. I have the non-mice-killing kind.

There is no such thing as a non-mice-killing kind of cat, Charlie.

Well.... I train my cats not to kill mice.

How in the world do you do that??

Huh? I don't know. I just do.

Charlie, if you go home and hurt your cat, I am going to have to report you to the Cat Protection People. I understand that you're upset that your mice died, but that's unacceptable. You may not hurt your cat. [And I'm going to call your mom later to make sure you don't!]

So, no need for any mouse names, unfortunately, but I appreciated all the cute suggestions.

Now for the good news...

Holy cow! I didn't realize how busy DJane is until Thursday night, when I read more of her blog. This girl is a single mom of three, a student, and WAHM in two businesses (here and here). And yet, she took the time to bust out her "Stupid Human Trick" (SHT), which I require before passing on awards. What a great sport, huh? I thought maybe I had gotten away with not having to do it (the links, oh the links, how they torture me!), but Jane took the trouble to make her video, so I must oblige...I hereby give this award(pretty cute, huh?) And because it's my blog, I get to offer up these two, as well...Before I say who gets their pick, I want to tell you the rules: There are none. That's right; just pick your favorite and hang it up. Of course, it would be nice if you linked back to me when you post about it, but please do not feel any pressure to give the gift to any certain number of other bloggers; do so only if you are moved to do so. I want this to be a treat, not a trick, heehee! In fact, I'd like to encourage everyone to just give one of these awards to someone today, not because you got one and have to, but because you appreciate someone. Do it "just cuz."

What? Oh, my times running out? Okay, okay. And the awards go to....

Milena-This woman writes like she's feeding you, and I'm not talking about brussel sprouts, here. I'm talking about creme de la creme meals, here, folks. I always, always leave Milena's blog feeling pleasantly full.

Birdie--Birdie, Birdie! Man, this woman is ambitious! She bakes, beads, blogs and sews with enthusiasm and joy, which she spreads everywhere she goes. Birdie is a sweetheart, and the blogosphere is a better place because of her.

Terri-Terri is a published author, ladies and gentlemen! Okay, she'd want me to mention that her work was published in a magazine, but she will one day give CL Wilson a run for her book-writing money! Terri, you're a gem; keep on sparkling! :)

Jen, from Cheaper Than Therapy-Jen is always doing for other people. She's thoughtful, funny, and talented. And she's a savvy shopper and a good sport. Jen deserves an award :)

Someone else who deserves an award is Nebraska Girl. She is an very hard-working, photo-taking, college-going single mom who inspires me with her determination. You go, Nebraska Girl! Take your pick!

Amelia Bedelia (otherwise known as Amy) has one of the prettiest blogs I've ever seen; I just love it. She's also funny, creative, loving, and thoughtful; I added her blog to my reader after reading just one post ( think it was this one.) Amy cracks me up :)

Charette is a brilliant writer. This month, she has written some ghost stories (true) that are beautiful and compelling. For her writing talent alone, she deserves one of these awards, but she's also a gifted painter, as evidenced here. Thanks, Charette.

If you like gorgeous photography, check out Jackal's work. She's got a gift, and I'm so glad she shares it.

Okay, it's been over an hour now, so I hope this was worth that amazing trick, DJane. (How do you do that???)

P.S. If you would like to see my SHT, click here, but Zoeysdad's trick is WAY better than mine, so check that out, too.

Friday Fragments

If you are really soft-hearted and feel terrible when people hurt themselves, don't watch this video. On the other hand, if you LYAO when other people hurt themselves, I strongly encourage you to watch this video. Hilarious (or horrible, or both, depending on how you look at it.) Thanks, Amy, for posting it! (p.s. Fast-forward to 2:30, unless you love bad singing, too.)
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In the mood to be spooked? Check out this post from the Accidental Housewife, who once lived in a house that appeared to be haunted! She's also on my "Awesome Blogs Added to My Reader This Week" list!
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Still waiting for my Jovi costume to arrive in the mail...I hope it looks half as good as Mr. 4444's Elf costume; he's going to be hilarious at our Halloween party. He's been watching the movie to get the moves/lines down.
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Kyle is being Confirmed this weekend! He's so excited about all the money he's going to get the party we're having for him. I remember my confirmation...my parents each wrote me an intimate, personal letter that I received during the retreat. I was so touched (and I still have the letters.) Off to write one for my boy...
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Want to join in the Friday Fragments fun? Add your Friday Fragments post to Mr. Linky here... (Don't forget to leave a comment, please :)

Three Blind Mice

Charlie has three new friends. They are of the rodent variety, but hey; a friend's a friend. He came to school on Monday, full of his story about how he found three baby mice in a trash can last Saturday and has been "helping them survive," because "their mother abandoned them." He told me about the eye dropper he and his mom used to feed them milk mixed with honey.

Charlie asked me what I thought he should name them. I told him something short (like their probable lifespans, JUST KIDDING). However, I did tell him gently that he needed to expect that they might not make it; babies need to eat often, and they might not be strong enough to go all day without food. A light went on in Charlie's head, and he said, wide-eyed, "I know! I could bring them to school, in a box! Do you have a little cage I could borrow?"

You already know what I said to that! Sorry, Charlie; this school has enough mice already (thankfully not in my classroom, but I've heard tales...) I suggested that he instead bring in a photo of the babies. He replied, "I promise I'll do my best to get a picture."

Charlie has been walking on air; he cannot not stop talking about the mice. He looked up "mouse care" on the Internet and drew a mouse for his graphing assignment today. Each day, he rushes home to check on the babies. So far, so good.

Man, I hope they make it.

For more stories about Charlie, click here and here and here. (He's quite a character :)

Almost-Wordless Wednesday

My new friend D and her dear Matt visited us last weekend (they're Canadiens, Eh?!). D shared this photo of her cat, during a "pet photo shoot." It was too cute not to share!(Don't worry; no birds or cats were harmed in the making of this photo.)

Another Excuse

Due to technical difficulties, Mrs. 4444 will not be posting tonight. She is at Mom's house and unable to hack into the neighbors internet service. That damn neighbor needs to get a stronger signal!
She asked me to type the few sentences above. Then I hung up the phone and typed the rest of the stuff. I'm so sneaky.
This is Mrs.4444's sister, Michelle (http://secondchance4me.blogspot.com/). Since she gave me her password, I will use the opportunity to sabatage her blog with love. If you are reading this, you are probably a fan of her. Which makes you a really smart person. Every loving, positive thought you have about her is absolutely accurate. She is a real human. She is every bit the beautiful person you think she is. She is a Superwoman who does it all, and does it very well. I have always looked up to her and have admired every inch of her. Every day, she does approximately 10,842 things for other people. She is the only person I know who can be so completely giving of herself, yet still attend to her own needs and retain her strong sense of self. Right now, she is at Mom's, wiping her butt and giving her a sponge bath instead of blogging to you people. Ok, I embellished a bit. Mom can wipe herself. But I tell ya, if she couldn't, Mrs.4444 would get right down there and Git Er Done. I love you, Sis! Thanks for all you do!
Hurry back home... your fans await you.

Dirtballs, Part 2

Read Dirtballs, Part 1 here.

You see, although I thought I was crying for the kids I was working with, what I didn't realize until later was that I was actually crying for myself; their stories were tapping into a well of emotion in my own heart. Finally, I was ready to pull up the bucket and see what was in it.

I began attending Adult Children of Alcoholics (ACA) meetings, where I saw myself clearly in the effects of growing up with an alcoholic parent, and learned about the solutions.) I'll never forget that first ACA meeting, because I was introduced to the 12-Step program. In particular, the very first step changed my life: Recognizing that I was powerless; that a Higher Power, not I, was in control.

You mean I wasn't in responsible for fixing the unhealthy people in my life (my dad, my boyfriend, etc.)?? Wow. Thank GOD!

I cannot tell you what a relief it was to finally have permission to stop trying to save everyone around me. My life had become unmanageable as a result of my trying to control everyone and everything around me (in order to feel secure.) I was a control freak, and it was exhausting. It caused me to choose the wrong men (with plans of changing them, of course). It was so liberating to finally let go.

I had found myself attracted to drama wherever I went. Many people who grow up in alcoholic households tend to become addicted to drama, and they actually seek it out (subconsciously, in my case), because that's what they're used to. It's no surprise that ACAs often grow up to work in high-adrenalin jobs, such as emergency room personnel, nurses, police officers, and other high-stress jobs. I had found myself drawn to a group home full of people living dysfunctional lives, and that was no coincidence.

Over time, I grew through my own work in ACA and through reading self-help books on the subject. I also discovered the work of Bradshaw ("Inner Child" stuff). Eventually, I moved to another state (and another group home), and continued my journey. I began working with a mentor (a talented clinical psychologist named Vern who also became a great friend) and further unpacked my own "baggage." Vern taught me a lot. He also encouraged me to seek private counseling for a separate issue that that had plagued me for years, and I took his advice (more on that, maybe, some day).

I saw a clear evolution in the way I worked with kids struggling with emotional issues after I had healed my own. In the past, when I was around someone experiencing emotional pain, it terrified me (because it tapped into my own). I filled every available moment of silence with chatter; anything to avoid silence (and reflection). Through working through my own issues, I learned that a person does not have to go around emotions, but can safely (with support) go through them.

Today, I embrace my negative emotions, rather than running from them, because I know that they are healthy and that I'll get through them. When I encounter someone crying in emotional pain, I am sad for them, but I am also happy for them, because I know that expressing emotions is necessary for healing. I reassure the person, without sending a message that their pain is too great to bear. I know that "swallowing" emotions does not heal them; it just creates infections that can lay dormant for years but always come out in the end. If you can cry, that means you are alive and living in truth, generally speaking. I'd rather be alive than be dead emotionally, even if it's painful.

This is why there is such a great burnout rate among people working in my field; if you have a lot of buttons to push, these kids can find them in a heartbeat, and you will soon grow weary (or too afraid) to continue. If you work on your "stuff," however, these kids are less likely to tap into a well of emotion, and you don't find yourself hurting all the time from other people's pain. I no longer fear emotional intimacy, and a spell of silence in a conversation no longer fills me with anxiety; I know it has the potential for growth.

So, really, I've learned through writing this post that the reason that I love working with students with EBD (Emotional Behavioral Disabilities) is that those "dirtballs" from long ago actually saved me; not the other way around. Kids with EBD sacrifice themselves; their health, safety, reputations in order to draw attention to problems in their lives; ones that others often pretend are not there. Working with them, seeing their bravery in facing such tough issues, led me to my own path of recovery; a path that changed my life and has allowed me to make a difference.

I no longer run from my emotions; if I'm angry with you, I will tell you, and I hope you will do the same. Unless you are a dangerous person (or one who is terrified of intimacy and cannot handle it), I will not fear talking intimately with you; in fact, I will welcome it. I'm not perfect, but I'm at peace with myself, with my dad, with others who have hurt me in the past. I'm certainly not the poster child for emotional wellness, but I'm doing very well. I've broken a family cycle and have used my skills to help others heal. It's a great feeling.

I still carry some baggage.....but it's only a little overnight bag.

Wondering if your family was dysfunctional? Don’t Google it; I’ll warn you, it’s a bunch of goofy links. If your relationships are often filled with drama, that’s one clue. If you’re upset on a regular basis over relationship issues, that, too, is a clue. If you hold emotions inside because you don’t feel safe talking about them, you probably come from a dysfunctional family. If you’re constantly trying to save people or if you’re a people-pleaser, you probably come from a dysfunctional family. If you’re often angry, that’s also a clue. Being from a dysfunctional family doesn’t mean anything about your character and isn’t a judgement about your parents; it simply means that you probably have some work to do if you want to break the cycle.

Weekly Winners

I call this, "Fall Colors, Part Two." To those of you living in states that have no fall colors, I hope you enjoy these. This is why we live in this "God-forsaken" place; He only forsakes us in January-March. I'll take snow over hurricanes, earthquakes, and tornadoes any day!

Our driveway...These colors feed my soul...And speaking of colors, check out my mom's black and blue arm! She was a good enough sport to let me take her photo the other night when we went back to the hospital to get her checked out again (Who knew that this kind of swelling and bruising was "to be expected?")

Warning: This is bad! Back up right now if you are easily upset or grossed out!


Don't say I didn't warn you...Poor Mom. She sure is a trooper, though; how many of you would let someone take your photo after three days without a shower?!

For more Weekly Winners, visit Sarcastic Mom, photographer extraordinaire!

Taking a Personal Day

Sorry; got nothing left in me for a post tonight, what with working all week and helping with Mom. I won't leave you high and dry, though. This week, Sandra wrote a post with two laughs for the price of one here. (My mom and I laughed til we cried :) Enjoy! And have a fantastic weekend.

Friday Fragments

"My parents checked out of their parenting gig when I was probably 10. They followed other more worthwhile pursuits. I was cast adrift on a sea of self-doubt and loneliness with a shoreline of despair in my sights."

This powerful quote is an excerpt from a post from Four by 40, who has bravely written of her personal experience with abortion many years ago. I found her story moving, educational, and powerful. To read the series, start here.
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If you haven't read my post, Bent, But Not Broken, (my friend Molly's story, posted last Saturday) I strongly encourage you to do so; it will be one of the best posts you have read; I promise.
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I laughed and laughed (til I cried) this week at this hilarious comment from Monica on Melissa's blog, Stretch Marks:

In order to avoid a long, drawn out explanation of why kids couldn't be in the hot tub i told my then 7, 5 and 3 yrd olds that they couldn't be in the hot tub because their livers weren't fully formed and they would cook. Worked like a charm.

The guilt didn't set in until my 7 yr old started crying later that night, after he realized he was sitting with his back against his grandmother's heating pad. "cooking his liver."

For more "Mommy Confessions," read here.
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Dear ARP at the Teacher In-service,
I know you think you were the only one with more important things to do than listen to the training on Crisis Intervention and Prevention, but your incessant talking (out loud) to your seatmate was so annoying that I almost needed the Crisis Intervention training to deal with you. Yes, it was required. Obviously, you're a genius intervener already and don't need the training, so next time; do your nails, pick your nose, read a book, do a crossword puzzle, solve a Soduko puzzle, or write a blog post, but do the rest of us a favor and please SHUT UP!

Okay. I feel better now.
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Got a Friday Fragments post to share? Add your link here (non-FF posts will be deleted). Don't forget to comment first, please :)

Dirtballs

I didn't set out to work with kids with emotional/behavioral disabilities. I wanted to work with orphans at a local social service agency, so I was very excited when I got the call for a job interview. See, at the time, I didn't know I was co-dependent. I only knew that I was drawn to people who were suffering and needed love. I had always been a caretaker. (I had a savior complex, I guess.) So, I was disappointed when the interviewer asked me, instead, if I would consider working with teens in their AODA* group home. Not wanting to seem unappreciative, I agreed to "check it out."

Twenty minutes later, I found myself sitting across from some "dirtball**" kids smoking at the kitchen table of a group home for kids recovering from drug and alcohol addiction. I had walked through the door tentatively; these kids were kind of scary. They were rule breakers; something foreign to me. Taffy (her real name) was the first kid I met. She had heavy eye makeup on, but the thing I noticed most was the large, homemade tattoo of her name, which ran from her shoulder all the way down to mid forearm. Wow. This girl was tough. To say I was a little intimidated is an understatement.

I am reminded of a quote from a movie in which Angelina Jolie (as a very young woman) plays a teenager who wears tons of stark, scary makeup and has wild hair. She admits, "I wear this mask so that people don't know how really scared I am." If you're tough enough to have an enormous tattoo on your arm, people are less likely to mess with you, right?

Surprisingly, my discomfort didn't last long. These kids, with their rough, startling exteriors, were friendly, sweet, funny, and wise. I suddenly realized that they were no different than any other kid I had met; they just looked different on the outside. Same fears, same needs, same insecurities; just better at keeping people at a distance, where they were less likely to hurt them. And here they were, living in a group home, having experienced lives much worse than mine. If eyes are the windows to the soul, I was seeing some pretty dark places; I was 20 years old, but I felt like a child next to these teens, some who seemed at least twice their ages.

How brave these kids must be, I thought. To break the rules, show disrespect towards authority figures, tattoo and pierce their bodies, smoke, and all at such young ages. (Taffy was 15.) To this day, I have never met a kid with an emotional-behavioral disability who doesn’t tell it like it is, and I find that refreshing. Those group home kids were no exception. I was hooked.

Flash forward a couple of months.

Every time we had Group Therapy, I found myself identifying with the kids' emotions. If one of them shared a story that made them cry, I was right there crying with them. I often put an arm around them to comfort them and help them get control of their emotions. They shared their stories, their pain, their fears. There were many nights that I went home and found myself sobbing; I felt so sad for those kids. I grew in respect for them, too. These "dirtball" kids' in so much pain that they had to self-medicate, had enough bravery to act out; to sacrifice their bodies and their security, to draw attention (consciously or not) to their problems . To me, they were heroes. These "sneaky, manipulative, trouble making" kids were more honest, in some ways, than I was.

One day, during a staff meeting, I teared up while talking about one of the kids, and the staff psychologist turned to me and gently asked, "Your dad's an alcoholic, isn't he?"

I was incredulous! How could he tell? Was he some kind of clairvoyant? See, at the time, I didn't know that I wore my co-dependency on my sleeve. My colleague's gentle observation is the reason I attended my first Adult Children of Alcoholics meeting and started down the road of self-discovery and recovery from my own childhood demons. It was a road on which I was ready to embark.

To be continued... Dirtballs, Part II

*AODA-Alcohol and Drug Abuse

*dirtballs (what we called them in my high school...otherwise known as greasers, hoods, druggies, etc.)

Almost-Wordless Wednesday

Confused? I was, too, for a moment. I saw this on the wall of a tiny staff bathroom in a school I visited today. It cracked me up, especially the little dump truck sketch on the bottom. (And no, I had no need to look for the locker room, thank you very much!)

Now that's what I call dogged!

This video is incredible. I found it at WIXX.com; Otis Day's All-Night Party Blog. It's not actually a blog (it has no comment feature), but I wish it did, because Otis posted some hilarious videos (and entertaining commentary). Enjoy!


For more of Otis Day's offerings...click HERE.

My Momma Don't Dance

Here's a cute story relayed to me by my sister, Judy. (She heard it from Mom.) Apparently, Mom was in the grocery store when an old Elvis tune was being played on the P.A. She was pushing her cart down the aisle and came upon a man who "looked just like your daddy from the back." Inspired, she called out, "Doesn't this music just make you want to get up and do the jitterbug!?" The man turned to her with a smile, "Would you like to?!" Mom giggled and said, "Oh, sure!" but politely declined. They went on with their shopping, light at heart. At the end of the story, Mom felt it important to add, "Oh, Honey, I just wanted you to know that I wasn't flirting!" (She's such a cutie.)

There'll be no dancing for Mom this week, either, as she fell on Saturday and broke her arm! She's fine, but she'll need a little help taking care of herself. Good thing she has nine kids; there are plenty of kids and grandkids around to help her. And it could have been a lot worse, so I'm not complaining. I just ask that you keep her in your prayers...

Have a great week.

Weekly Winners

This is the end of my drive home....There's nothing like the four seasons (experiencing all of them)
My favorite...(and now on my desktop)
Friday morning on the way to school...And finally, my "Ridiculous Day" costume from last week. The babydoll is actually a puppet; I had a ball freaking people out...There are many more Weekly Winners to be found over at Sarcastic Mom's.

Hope you get to spend some time enjoying the colors out your way...

Bent, But Not Broken

This inspiring story comes from my dear, dear friend, Molly, who is a high school math teacher in a different district. I could write an entire post about Molly; about how she teaches the opposite end of the spectrum from me (physics, calculus, etc.) and about what an amazing teacher and human being she is. However, this email that she sent this week (though not about Molly herself) tells you all you need to know about her...

I'd like to share a story with you, just because I know you'll appreciate it. Ten years ago, I had foreign exchange student from Germany. Anke was her name. She came here as a 16 year-old, not confident in her English, but very confident in herself. I think any 16 year-old who spends a year in another country is brave as hell, but especially one with severe cerebral palsy.

Anke had a very difficult time walking, and usually used braces. Her speech was impaired, she drooled, and her eyes drooped. I fell completely in love with her and thought she was the most remarkable person I had ever met. It's hard to describe in an email why I loved her so much; there are many reasons, many stories, but here is one...

Germany is not a country that mainstreams its handicapped students, but Anke's dad fought very hard to get her into an academically prestigious school. She tells a story of her walking (stumbling) into class one day to see the words, "Death to Anke" on the board. When my students asked her how she handled it, she said, "I just stood taller."

This would mean even more to you if you saw her, because she cannot stand up straight.

At the end of the school year, I was giving a final exam when I heard Anke shuffling down the hall with those braces. (Students were not allowed in the halls during that time, but she had sneaked in to return her book to me.) We had a very tearful goodbye; she was so choked up that she couldn't speak. She finally managed to say, "I love you."

I watched her leave, slowly making her way down that long, deserted hallway... the silhouette of her crumpled body; head bent over to the side, struggling just to walk. I'll never forget it. I remember thinking that that image, with the word "Courage" underneath it, would be so profound.

Anyway, my reason for this story...on Monday, I got a call to go down to the office; I had a visitor. And there she was. We hugged, held hands, and cried. The first thing she said was, "I never forgot you."

So, we ate dinner together last night. Anke is a college graduate now, with a degree in Business Administration. She works for the Human Resources department of a big company in Frieberg. She is looking for another position now, because she would like to live in another country, to experience the world. She turned out to be even more remarkable than I ever thought possible.

Good stuff, huh? Makes me feel guilty for collecting a paycheck; Anke and many others give me so much. It sometimes seems unnatural to get paid when I receive these beautiful gifts in life. In a way, I feel like I should be paying for the privilege.

Molly would certainly not take an ounce of credit for Anke's success, but you and I know that having a teacher like her would make any of us walk taller.

Have you thanked a former teacher of yours lately?

Friday Fragments

Friday Fragments are bits and pieces of my week; thoughts, ramblings, observations. Short and sweet. To learn more, click here.
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Taking advantage of some down time, Kraig took one of my whiteboard markers and drew a little stick figure on the board. The bubble above it's head read, "Yeore stoped!" "Wait a minute," I said, "If you're going to insult people, you really need to spell properly," and I proceeded to teach him the proper spelling. (Hey, I've got to take advantage of every teachable moment, Folks!)
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Dear Bag Full of Work,
I'm sorry I keep taking you home with me and setting you next to the couch, only to leave you there (untouched) until I leave for school in the morning. You must be very jealous of my laptop on said couch. I promise I will take you home this weekend and at least dump you out on the floor to get some air.
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Parent-Teacher Conferences are next week...MUST DO GRADES.
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I approached "Robert" in the office, where he had been "detained" for about a half hour and asked gently if he was ready to go to his next class. He replied, "I hate you. Get away from me!" Sheesh. We've never even had a cross word between us, and now this?

I am always moved by the way kids with conduct disorders try so hard to push people away. (Too bad, kid; it didn't work. I'm not going anywhere.)
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I really loved the comments on Wednesday's post (To Be a Fly on the Wall). I hope if you didn't get to read it, you find it interesting enough to leave your own offering.
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Finally, this little dog is so, so sweet and inspiring. What a little cutie! (Thanks, Judy, for sending the info.) I chose this link (from Snopes.com) because it has the best pics that I found. Faith is a dog who was born with with only three legs (one deformed, requiring amputation), so he walks like a human being. He's been on Oprah and others, but I thought I'd share his story, in case you haven't heard about him.
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Wondering what to do with all of those random thoughts you had all week? Put them in your own Friday Fragments post and link to it here: (FF posts only, please)

Thousand Words Thursday

[circa 1990's] Guess where this vehicle was headed?

Jen, at Cheaper Than Therapy, would be happy to show you many more Thousand Words Thursday offerings. Feel free to head on over...

To be a fly on the wall...

[I accidentally posted TWO posts on Tuesday. In case you missed this one, I'm posting it again:)

If you could go back in time and be a witness to a personal or historical event, what would it be?

I’d like to be a fly on the wall of the delivery room when I was born, just to see my mom, as I’m sure she was her funny self, in spite of the circumstances. (Plus, it being her seventh delivery, she was probably singing and entertaining the nurses or something like that.)

I’d like to go back my dad’s childhood and observe his life on the farm in Stiles, Wisconsin, during the Great Depression. His parents were strangers to me; I’d like to know more about them personally. I’m also kind of fascinated about the people of that era; what they were like. I know that they were a tough lot; it would be an honor to bear witness to what it was really like.

I’d like to see my ancestors as they arrived at Ellis Island (They were likely in steerage.) To see their faces and know what was going on in their hearts as they made that journey would be something else.

One thing I’m grateful for is that I am a woman of the 20th-21st centuries; so many opportunities, yes, but mostly for the freedom to be me. When I imagine what I would have been like, had I lived 100 years ago, I cringe. Having to live and breathe for your husband (having to have a husband at all) doing all those damned chores by hand, keeping my mouth shut in the presence of men, etc. YIKES! I love my generation and would never want to go back to stay, but I wouldn't mind a visit...
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Comments I didn't want to lose before re-posting this:
From Dysfunctional Mom..
I'd want to be there when my Native American ancestors were alive......not a particular event, just that time frame.
And when my mom was a child, just to see her that way.

From Gayla...Now that is a freaky one, wanting to be there when you were born. lol No way would I have wanted to be there when my mom said "Orval, next time I'll give you a boy" And no, she didn't give him that boy ever!! lol

I would love to go back and know my dad's mother. I never met her. She told my Aunt that she was sure my mom was pregnant. Then she died unexpectedly a week later (in the room that would become my bedroom). A few weeks later my mother found out she was pregnant.

Growing up I never looked like anyone in my family. But then my dad came across a picture of his mother when she was around 18. It was a ringer for me. We looked so much alike at that age it is scary now thinking about it. But I'm 5'9 and I'm not sure she was even 5'0.

From Kristin...Just two weeks ago I was traveling through the towns where my parents grew up, out in the middle of nowhere in Western Nebraska. My mother & one of my sisters was with me and we were talking about the pioneers riding in their wagons. I told them that I was sure I had lived during those times, but I was also positive that I died the first day of the trip across the plains. LOL I know it isn't funny, but I'm a wuss and I know it. My mother however, she made it over the mountains, or she survived the blizzard or some other heroic event.

Nice to meet you (and what a wonderful post!)


From Me....
Don't know how I managed to offer TWO posts today! OOOPS and DARN! but I'm glad someone found this one

Hello, Kristin! Thanks for popping in. I think I lived back in the day, too; I'm just drawn to olden times, for some reason.

Gayla, that is a cool story about your aunt's prediction; very spooky but kind of cool. I would love to look like one of my ancestors; wow.

DM-yes, that would be an interesting trip back (to see your ancestors). I think it would be good for everyone to see their parents back in the day, too.

Another Reason to Love My Job

I don't know what this creature is called, but it never leaves Charlie's side (see When Middle School Boys Plan Vacations for more background) . This little man goes everywhere with him; an extension of Charlie, often resulting in his getting in trouble for not paying attention in class. However, if Charlie does not have his action figure, his emotions become extremely fragile. Every day is an emotional struggle for Charlie; he is often in distress, and it somehow goes better when his action figure is in his hand or pocket. It's as though this powerful character is personally responsible for Charlie's mental health.

One dreary day recently, I decided to turn off all of the fluorescent lights in my classroom and turn on the warm glow of a table lamp in order to change the "mood" of my room and to help me focus on some work I needed to get done during my prep period. The change in lighting calmed me and helped me hole up in the corner at my desk.

I don't have a lot of time in the school day to get my work done, so when Charlie showed up, unannounced and five minutes early to class, I was mildly annoyed. So, when he asked if he could "draw something" on the overhead, I said yes. (Charlie's second favorite activity is drawing.)

I hit "send" on the final email and finally turned to address Charlie, who had busied himself at the overhead. Here is what I saw.... I was struck by the artistic effect Charlie had created, but moved even further by the words in the bubble:

"I love it here."

I almost cried.

Love/Hate

This is one of those times that I love having a blog! It gives me a place to vent. Today, I'm going to vent two LOVES and one HATE. [FYI-I have not been approached by any of these companies, nor am I getting a kick-back for talking about them :) I just have strong feelings about them (good and bad) and want to share]

First, I signed up for an on-line calendar last week, and I LOVE it. It's called Cozi.com. I love it because....
*It's web-based, so I can open it anywhere (home, school, phone, etc.)
*Color-coding (everyone in our family has a color)
*Aesthetics-It's colorful, but clean looking. See?*Grocery list-You can keep your list on line, print it out, or even dial a phone number to have it sent to you via text when you forget your list at home! (I haven't used this yet, but I might!)
*Family Journal feature (haven't used it yet, but how cool is that?)
*It is almost ready to be synced with Outlook (There a bugs with this; I would wait a few months to try this feature, but they're working on it, so some day, you'll be able to easily transfer work stuff to the home calendar.)

So, that's that.
Now for the HATE. If you see this,run like the devil! Do not buy H---- "Compleats," unless you're a huge fan of flavors not typically associated with food. I was hopeful when purchasing the Swedish Meatballs and the Chicken Breasts & Gravy. However, both varieties are just plain nasty. They not only look nothing like the photos on the packaging, but they both have a strange taste that I have a hard time articulating. I guess it's just safe to say that the "flavor" is like no food I have ever eaten. I called the company to express my distaste (What a perfect word!) for the products and was told, "Well, these products are quite popular. As a matter of fact, we are expanding operations in order to accommodate the demand." I have no idea who, other than rabid dogs and people with no taste buds, would be "demanding" the products I tasted. (I'm just sayin'.)

Mr.4444 said, "Well, what do you expect when you buy a "shelf stable" product. (He sells factory automation, so he's been in a few factories and knows food industry lingo.) I don't know what I was thinking. He warned me years ago about a certain canned "Beef" Stew, having visited the factory and swearing off of the product for the rest of his life as a result. If you like stew in a can (the name rhymes with "minty whore,") I suggest you stop reading right here.

Okay, don't say I didn't warn you. For the rest of you, Mr.4444 warned that the "beef" in that canned stew is not "meat as we know it." In the factory, he passed vats of beautiful-looking vegetables and gravy before coming to a huge vat of "meat protein," otherwise known as "anything left after the bones and steak are removed from the cow; "anything that's not hair or skin." he described it as a "big vat of pink." They grind it all up, add a chemical to make it "stringy and meat-like," dye it a meatish color, and then shove it through a screen to make "cubes of meat." (I sure wish I didn't know that, because I loved that stew. BTW, the "Swedish" meatballs? They looked/felt suspiciously like the "beef" in that stew.)

Okay, I'm going to wrap this up with another LOVE, LOVE, LOVE. If you like a nice, healthy, guilt-free but yummy snack, try these. I am now addicted to these vegetables (yes, vegetables!)I've seen them sold in slightly different packaging, and they were equally delicious. (Click pic for details.)

So there you go; you know what to eat, what not to eat, and where to record your grocery list. Happy Shopping!