Lesson for the Teacher

No, your eyes are not deceiving you. That, that down there, yes it is! A real-life entry in PARAGRAPH FORM! Amazing what a sick day will do for the ol' thought processes.

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OK, so here's the story: I'm a teacher. Not that that's any big secret, though. The thing is, I love teaching. In a way, it is what defines me as a contributor to society. It's my Life's Work, my Purpose, my Calling, if you will. I love it so much that I would probably refuse to quit teaching to stay at home with Al, if that were an option. Which it's not, so it's easy to sing the "I love teaching" song. Having said that, I'll go on and tell you that sometimes, it sucks every bit of life I've got out of me. Kids are demanding (Duh.), and when you're charged with ensuring that their physical and emotional and mental well-being is trucking along as scheduled despite the fact that they live in a three-room "house" with their mom, dad, six other siblings, an aunt, an uncle, and their four kids? It can get a little exhausting.

Every school year, about this time, I start to feel that I'm about tapped out. I've given of myself every single day for ten months, and I'm running out of shit to give. But yet, I suck it up and give a little more and then the Last Day of School arrives and I sleep for a couple of days and we're back on track. This year, things haven't quite worked out like that. First off? I now have a toddler at home who demands every single drop that I have left at the end of the day. Not that I mind, of course. Just saying. But THEN, I decided to take an intense online course during those last two weeks of school, thinking that I could dig deep and find just a little bit more to give. Guess what? I couldn't.

Don't worry, I have officially completed all of my assignments, and I think I'm going to be able to whip out the last couple of school days in regular celebratory fashion. That is, if my body will cooperate. Here's a bit of the conversation we've been having for a few days:

Body: Hey bitch, how about taking a break?

Me: But I have to get finished with these assignments and put away laundry and play with Al and bake cookies and go for a jog!

Body: Look, woman, I've tried to drop hints, I've tried to tell you nicely--those body aches, headaches, and stomach issues? Take it easy already. There's only so much I can take. Oh, and those 4:45am wakeup calls? Not funny. Not funny at all.

Me: That wasn't meant to be funny. It's just that I can't seem to fit it all in. Hey, at least this week I got on the computer instead of the treadmill at 4:45. That should have made you happy.

Body: ARGH! Woman, when will you understand? The treadmill? That was play. That was fun. That was invigorating. The assignments and paperwork and the other crap at 5am? That's the kind of shit that brings a body down.

Me: Well, Soooooory.

Body: So, you gonna slow down? Give me a little rest? How 'bout a day off, boss-woman?

Me: Eh, no can do. We've still got shit to do.

Body: Fine then. We'll play hardball.

Hardball indeed. By 12:40am this morning I had fever, chills, aches and a fiery raging sore throat. I just got back from the doctor's office with a diagnosis of tonsilitis and a prescription for Ketek.

Maybe next time, I'll listen.

What day is it?

1. You moms who work at home, Dear God in Almighty Heaven, how do you do it? I've managed to write 2 lines of a paper today. And lemme tell you, they are two very sucky lines.
2. The Mr. made it home from helping his mom move at a surprisingly reasonable hour. So reasonable, in fact, that he still had time (and energy) to mow the lawn and get in some quality snuggle time with Al while I tapped out a few more lines of my paper.
3. There are some things that will never, ever make it onto the pages of the internet, but I will say this: If Al grows up to be just half as forgiving, generous, gentle, and patient a son as his father is, then I am set.
   

Numbered lists are just glorified bullets, you know.

My tasks for the weekend:

1. Get over this God-awful virus/food poisoning/whatever-it-is shit (Hah! A pun!).
2. Work on projects for Hell mini-May semester course.
3. Entertain toddler.
4. Wish that the Mr. was around to help me with toddler.
5. Curse the reason that the Mr. is off helping someone move hours away when that person initially asked the Mr. to help her "just load the stuff because there will be plenty of help unloading at the new place thank you very much." Yeah, she didn't bother mentioning that she didn't arrange for the "plenty of help at the new place" so he and his brother will be doing all of the moving. On Memorial Day weekend.
6. Try not to be bitter.
7. Count hours until the Mr. returns.
8. Entertain toddler.
9. Work on projects some more.
10. Pray that toddler does not contract God-awful virus/food poisoning/whatever-it-is. Because that would be the effing icing on the effing cake.
    

Of Angels (hers) and Demons (mine)

Her comments are turned off, but I want to tell her that I'm sorry and that I hurt for her and that knowing how she and her family sent her Grandpa off makes me want to still Believe. How fortunate her Grandpa is to have been surrounded by family during his final hours and minutes. To have people who love him whispering him on and telling him it's OK and holding his hand and speaking to him of the angels and of his parents who were waiting There for him.

I want to Believe. But it's been a long time since I really, really did and I don't know how to fix that. I suppose it doesn't help being married to a skeptic, but that doesn't take away what I know. What I know I once felt for my God and for my Church, in whatever I form it may take. What I know of my responsibility to my Son.

I want him to Believe. I don't want him to wonder or to doubt or to fear.

I need to Believe again.

TV, Thou Hast Forsaken Me

Just in case you live under a bigger rock than I do, or have even more crap on your plate, and have not yet watched this week's episodes of "Veronica Mars" or "Ugly Betty," go away.

Really.






So.

After the another week from Hell, my beloved son actually decided to throw his ol' mom a bone and take a nap when we got home this afternoon. For almost two whole hours this afternoon, we lay on the couch in the TV room, he a'snoozing and I a'boozing (well, not yet, but it rhymed, so I couldn't resist). Needing a little lift and a break from reality, I decided to catch up on my stories.*

Big mistake.

#1. Isn't the whole appeal of "Veronica Mars" the fact that she is not a professional PI? You and I both know where this crap is going--FBI internship, PI licensure test, blah, blah, f-ing blah. Just call it "CSI: Neptune."

#2. If Santos is dead, I'll never watch "Ugly Betty" again. Asswipes.



* That's what my grandmother calls her favorite television shows with plots, such as "Fantasy Island," or "Alf." It should be noted that stories are not to be confused with "programs," the television shows without plots, such as "Card Sharks" and "Let's Make a Deal."

More Bullets: Breakfast Edition

If I only commit to bullets, I can actually manage to write something. What a revelation. Maybe one day I'll string together some coherent sentences for y'all. For now, I have to save all my coherent and organized writing (not that it's all that coherent and organized) for my professor.

So, off we go:

• Ian fought a good fight, but I think the best three DWTS contestants are the ones that are left.
  
• Clarification: I get up at 4:45 to walk/job on the treadmill. Y'all must be crazy to think I'd hit the streets at that hour, even in our po-dunk town! The treadmill time is my "me" time--how pathetic is that? I hop on the treadmill, play my recorded TV stories, and chug away.
  
• Except not this morning. Al is having some sleep issues, just when we thought we were done with those. It's probably his teeth, but how would I know? The kid is 16 months old and he still only has two (TWO!) teeth. Anyway, everyone knows that if the kid is having sleep issues, the mama is having sleep issues. 4:45am seemed like a really good time to roll over and get a few more winks this morning.
  
• Mini-may session: Still kicking my butt, but my head remains above water. For now.
• 10 days until summer vacation. I get giddy just thinking about it.
  

Bullets: They're All I've Got.

• Apolo Anton Ohno.
  
• Mini-May semester (aka all the Hell of a 12-week semester rolled up into 12 days) is kicking my ass. And today is the first day.
• By the way, if you've never taken an online course and it sounds like it might be fun and not so hard, HA!
• You. Yes, you over there--the one that did not slap some sense into me when I decided that HEY! I'm going to be a LIBRARIAAAAANNNN! It'll only be SEVEN courses! ONLIIIIINE! Fun! Yeah, you--you are on my list.
  
• My 16-month old is SO not loving his highchair. Or any of the culinary sacrifices that I offer upon it. Except for cheese. Or Cheetos. Also on my list. Grocery list, that is...Get more cheese and Cheetos lest the boy go hungry. (Kidding. Kind of.)
  
• I dropped out of the "Bulge Blasters" at work when I realized that I had managed to gain two pounds during the first 4 weeks of the competition. During the stress of The End-of-School-Year Paperwork Extravaganza, I, too, resorted to eating only cheese and Cheetos. (Again, kidding. OK, not really.)
  
• Despite the stark lack of activity on this here site during the last two weeks, I am not dropping out of blogs.
  
• But I have found a way to fit more torture walking and jogging into my schedule. 4:45am alarm, baby. Dudes, the state of the ass is That Serious.
• So yeah. A little tired, a little drained, a little too much going on all at once.
  
• And only 12 more school days to go.