Blizzard

No ... Thankfully not the type that is made of feet of cold, unyielding snow ... But rather the edible Dairy Queen variety.

I'm not sure if it's because Valentine's Day is tomorrow, or because my husband is just awesome (it's probably because he's just awesome) ... But I'll be getting a delicious ice-cream treat when he returns home any moment now. Chocolate chip cookie dough. Yum!

And to think, all it took was a simple, "Do you know what you should do after we clean up from dinner?"

And off he went.

I'm a lucky, lucky girl. :)

If only the rest of my week (especially the parts where I am working) could go as wonderfully as this!

Stunted Silence

"If there were a little more silence, if we all just kept quiet ... Maybe we could understand something." (Frederico Fellini)

Being back at the hustle and bustle of school after a long weekend is always a hard adjustment ... For both students and teachers! Not only do I miss the extra sleep I tend get on my weekends and days off, I also miss the random little moments where I can just sit quietly and think about things.

A typical high school (like mine) is non-stop noise, so there is very little time for me (or anyone else for that matter) to pause and reflect. Finding the time to simply figure out if a lesson "worked" or not is difficult. Good luck locating a second to answer some of the bigger questions ...

I suppose that therein lies one of the main differences between my students and myself: I embrace the silence of the day, whereas they are fearful of it.

I always chuckle to myself when, as the class is working, the noise level naturally dies down to a very dull whisper, miraculously remaining that way for a couple minutes. "Wow! It's really quiet in here!" Someone will, inevitably yell out, giving everyone else in the room an excuse to get loud again.

It's almost like a protection mechanism.

When the room is quiet, one can actually think about things, gain insight and understanding ... And we wouldn't want that.

;)

Waiting

Many days, I feel like my life is just one long line after another. I'm perpetually waiting for something ...

A snow day.

My husband's arrival home from work.

The weekend.

The summer.

A planned trip or vacation.

A holiday.

A phone call from a friend.

A television show to come on.

Dinner to be done.

A better job.

My turn to be a mother.

This list could stretch on an on without fail ...

While, for the most part, I try not to cloud my daily thinking with the many things that I am looking forward to (or just simply waiting for), sometimes it just bogs me down. Maybe the cold, grayness of winter has finally crept into my thinking and colored the way I'm seeing things. Maybe the lack of sun and vitamin D has altered my mood and brought me down. Whatever the reason, I all too clearly realize that, if I don't stop and enjoy the moment, my life will pass me by before I know it.

Already, I can't believe that the Christmas holidays are behind us, that this school year is half over, that the long-awaited family trip to Mexico has come and gone. Part of me wants to ask, "Okay! Where is the next big thing? When will [insert event here] happen?" Yet, the other part of me just wants to slow down, put the car in neutral, and be thankful for all of the things that I have already, in the moment, that I don't have to wait for.

This life can not offer me a true moment of peace and complete satisfaction.

I may really have to wait a while for that ...

Leaky Faucet

For as long as I can remember, my Mom has always been a big softy. If she wasn't falling asleep on "family movie nights" she was crying instead, furiously wiping tears away from her face. I (along with my sisters) always found this funny and would talk about it for days afterward ...

I never had a problem with crying during movies myself until the past five years or so. I don't know what it is, but I tear up at least once or twice during just about every movie I watch ... And it's getting worse!

The best I can remember, it started with a comedy, The Wedding Singer. There's one part, toward the end of the movie where Drew Barrymore's character is talking to herself in the mirror and realizes that she's not in love with the man she's about to marry. To comfort herself, she starts talking to the mirror as if she's marrying someone else, a friend who has been there with her through everything, and realizes that she has feelings for him, instead. At that very moment, that same friend is watching from the street below ready to express his feelings for her, but, upon seeing her smiling and laughing, turns away because he doesn't want to ruin her big day if she is truly happy (which she isn't!).

I don't know what it was, but something about that scene hit me and caused a rogue tear to escape down my cheek ... From then on, it has only gotten worse. Any movie with "feel good" themes and/or an uplifting message gets me every time. It can be drama, comedy, animated. Whatever the genre, you name it ... I turn into my mother and lose it just about every time.

Even television shows get me on occasion ... A season finale of The Office where Jim comes back for Pam, an episode of The Biggest Loser where the contestants get to see their families for the first time in weeks, and (I hate to even admit it) even America's Next Top Model where a finalist says that she never felt pretty before, and now she finally does ...

Like I said, it's getting worse.

It's not that a good cry doesn't feel good on a semi-regular basis. I just feel like, if I'm going to cry, it might as well be for a real reason, and not because a movie or television show has coerced it out of me. If you asked those closest to me, I can be sensitive, but I'm not an overly emotional person. For example, my husband has (lovingly?) described me as being the "coldest person he has ever known."

So, why movies? Why now?

Any hypotheses addressing the matter would be greatly appreciated. I always knew that I had the potential of "becoming my mother." I just didn't think it would happen this soon!

Internal Struggle

The longer I have this blog, the more I want to just let it all out there ... Tell detailed stories about my day, tales of long ago (college, high school, childhood!), post pictures that show more than just the back of my head or the side of my face.

Yet, my better judgement causes me to err on the side of caution.

Although I'm still getting used to the profession, I've come to understand that I am a teacher and anything that I post on the world-wide-web has a very real possibility of reaching the fragile young minds (ha!) of my students. It's not like I have any risque stories or skeletons to keep hidden (I will swear up and down that I am the most boring, well behaved, law abiding person on this planet), and while I wouldn't say anything on here and I wouldn't say offline, I feel that I have a real responsibility to keep up the facade ...

At least for now.

Despite the real need for me to be committed to that decision (to remain somewhat anonymous, although I'm sure I've left enough "clues" to be found out), it bothers me that this blog will always be missing something if that's precisely what I do.

As I've spent more time on other blogs, I've come to find that there is an honesty that comes with being open and truly "putting yourself out there." I realize that, as long as a part of me is hidden in the shadows, this blog will never attain that sort of honesty. It will always be incomplete.

I've chosen to write in this forum not only because a friend pressured me to do so, but because (I feel) I actually have something to say ... Whether it's simple blabber about my day, a photograph I've taken, or a commentary on the world of teaching as I know it, I post for more reason than to just eat up some of my time. Maybe selfishly, I believe that others could read what I write and be moved in some way. At the very least, whomever stumbles here might be entertained on some level.

I know this isn't award-worthy stuff, but it's me.

It just sort of stinks that as this blog progresses, and as I find my voice, I have to hold back in some respects ... Anonymity isn't easy!

It's a good thing I'm not a superhero.

Downtime

Since I'm not bringing as much work home with me anymore (read: none), I find myself sitting and putzing around on the computer for hours on end. It definitely doesn't help that my husband is off at his college classes two nights a week, and then, on the other nights, he's holed up in our bedroom listening to movie scores and studying ...

Left to my own devices, I've found a new passion for photography. I've always liked taking pictures ... But now, I find myself editing and altering them using the pitiful software on my computer.

For example, what do you get when you put your cat in a choke hold and snap a photo using your other arm?

This:


It's certainly not much in comparison with some of the photos I see on Flickr and other blogs that I frequent, but it's a start.

And it gives me something to do.

Hopefully, I'll have something better to photograph than the side of my face and my uncooperative cats one day...

Book Worm

Early this week, I paid a visit to my local library so that I might borrow some books for school. Once there, something about the crisp air outside, the early darkness, and the perusing down the "science" aisle made me think back to many of my past library adventures ...

In third grade, I remember walking to the library from my elementary school. It was only a couple of blocks away, but it was my first real time getting somewhere by myself. My parents even drew me a map with street names and arrows ...

Also in third grade, I remember huddling around a copy of "Where Did I Come From?" with my friends and learning about the wonders of the male and female anatomy ... And how everything fits together. One of the librarians actually came over and chided us for looking at it. I'll never forget the look on her face when I told her my parents had the same book at home and had allowed me to read it many times over.

Later, maybe in sixth grade, I acquired an obsession with the Titanic and actually went around the library taking every single Titanic-themed book (with pictures) that I could find and piling them on my table to look at. Never getting around to taking them out, I simply followed this routine, over and over, and insisted on creating that same pile (which probably made the librarians crazy). Looking back, I must have felt some sense of accomplishment as the pile shifted from a large one, into two smaller ones: "those books that I did not read yet" to "those that I finished."

Seventh grade began my "Outsiders" obsession, in which I took any S.E. Hinton book that I could find and read it ... Multiple times. This also began the Matt Dillon fangirling that I keep referring to and the hunt for any available VHS that had him in it. Thanks to the library, I got those videos for free! I had a very limited allowance back then.

Much later, in college, I had to venture into the underbelly of the school's library to find sources for my senior thesis. The feeling of being alone between the stacks was both creepy and oddly exciting ... If only the thesis itself had been as fun as the trip for information!

As you can see, I have many fond memories of my time in the library and/or the books that I would read there. My most recent visit to my local library seems to have rekindled all of those fond feelings. I literally found an interesting book, pulled it from the shelf, paged through it for a moment, and then plopped myself down in the middle of the aisle where I promptly lost myself in its pages.

It's been a long time since that has happened ... And after a long day at school, it was a nice experience!

A Confession ...

For the record, I don't talk politics ... So, I'm not one to get in a heated debate over a potential President (or Vice President for that matter).

As my previous post implied, I wasn't particularly thrilled with either of my choices this year ... And things haven't been much different in the past. I just can't understand all of the venom that is launched from either side of party lines in defense of a candidate. I mean, we are talking about people here ... Human beings. No human that I know of is infallible ... Not even the Pope (in my mind) and I'm Catholic!

So, this year was no different for me. I tried to research the issues and the proposed policies, keep things to myself, and (finally!) vote. My opinion is my own, I don't expect others to agree with me, and I have no qualms about keeping that information to myself.

What can I say? I'm stubborn ... And a good secret-keeper.

Despite making this point very clear, I don't think that I could count the number of times one student or another has asked me: "So, who did you vote for?" over the past two days since the election.

"I don't talk politics," has been my faithful reply. "Besides, I'm an Independent anyway."

Yet, for some reason, I feel like I can be honest here and say that, in the end, my vote went to John McCain. I admit this because I am troubled by some of the misconceptions and generalizations I see thrown around about those people that didn't vote for Barack Obama.

No, I'm not a Republican robot ... I like to form my opinion issue by issue, not because a group of seasoned politicians dictates what I should believe.

No, I'm not a racist ... I'm extremely excited at the reality of an African-American President. Maybe it will inspire some of my students of minority descent to get off their lazy butts and do something positive for their education and their future!

No, I'm not a Bible thumping pro-lifer ... While I would never abort my own baby (regardless of the circumstance), I believe that others should be able to make their own choices.

No, I'm not driven by fear ... The world today is a scary place, but I have to believe that people are good at their cores and that good will overcome evil. I also think that there is something to be said of "on the job training." While my first teaching job was hell because it was just that, I learned a lot and am a better person for it. Who is to say the Presidency can't function in the same manner?

No, I'm not happy with the status quo ... I agree that it is time for a change!

(Does that cover them all?)

To tell you the truth, I'm just selfish.

When it came down to it, I felt that John McCain would be more friendly to the small business owners (those in the $200,000 and above income range). That friendliness, and resultant lack of taxation, would selfishly help me by allowing my husband to continue his fruitful employment at a small business. There would be no lull in jobs to work on, no layoffs either ... Just gainful employment for the next four years while he returns to school and I rake in a teacher's wage.

That was it.

Honestly, that was the defining bit of information that swung my vote in its particular direction. So, I resent reading in other blogs and various forums, that all of the John McCain voters are inherently bad people ... Or just people that are just so stuck in their tired, old-fashioned ways that they are afraid of something different.

That's not me.

I'm just selfish.

Just Whelmed

So, I've spent the past two hours searching for information about candidates, issues, levies, and the like in preparation for my visit to the polls tomorrow. Not only have I acquired a headache and the distinct urge to scream and throw myself down the stairs in that short (ha!) amount of time, but I have also found a practical use for the topic of the following movie quote:

"I know you can be overwhelmed, and you can be underwhelmed, but can you ever just be whelmed?" (10 Things I Hate About You)

From this experience in voter education, I believe that being "whelmed" occurs when you are both incredibly overwhelmed and underwhelmed all at the same time (thus, the two cancel each other out). For example, I am extremely overwhelmed with all the propaganda that has been flung in my face lately (seriously, during my two hours of searching, the phone must have rung about five times with requests and reminders to vote for one person or another), but I am also incredibly underwhelmed by the choices laid out before me. It's like the South Park kids choosing between a "giant douche" and a "turd sandwich" for their school mascot ...

Thank God this insanity ends tomorrow ... Sort of.

Identity Crisis

For some reason, even though I've been teaching for over a year now, I often have a hard time describing myself as a teacher.

Maybe it's the fact that I'm very limited in terms of what or how I can teach my content area (due to both a lack of materials and a lack of cooperation by my students), or that I'm not really loving the occupation as a whole (not to sound whiny, but, except for the summers, teaching is a lot of work!). Maybe it's the little nuances like administering student assessments, or writing discipline referrals, or educating myself and honoring Individualized Education Plans, or dealing with other accommodations in the classroom. Maybe it's the various education movements that seemingly put all the power in the students' hands, or the disjointed nature of things that won't allow me to truly plan for anything. Whatever the case, there are many things about teaching that I just don't want to deal with.

Seriously, why can't I just show up each day and teach?

Why do there have to be a million distractions hitting me from every angle, constantly distorting my focus?

On most days, upon meeting new people or seeing old friends from long ago, I'd much rather sit back and talk about my time in the research field. I'd almost rather refer to my past profession and say "when I was a scientist" or "when I was back in the lab" and cut out the science teaching altogether.

Sure, people often respect teachers for the hard work that goes into the field, but it's just not exciting or glamorous ... Not that working in a lab is glamorous either!

I don't really know why it is so easy for me to fall back on my experiences in the lab instead of gush about my time in the classroom. I mean, the lab was certainly not without its problems, yet, on a personal level, I just see myself as being a scientist much more than a teacher. I'm a science person, not necessarily a person that has a deep passion for being an educator and, while I never saw the "big picture" of my lab experiments come to fruition, I felt more accomplishment there than I currently do in the classroom.

I read in a National Association of Science Teachers mailing that a majority of science teachers (something like 80%) leave the field before they've hit their fifth year anniversary. At the rate I'm going, I'm wondering if I'll fall into that category ... I'm only at the beginning of year two! Yikes!

It's disheartening because, maybe three years ago, I was completely excited and optimistic about my prospects as a science teacher. I had these big ideas, these fun plans in my head, and I guess I'm just a little down over the fact that I haven't really gotten to use any of them. Sure, there are brief moments of exhilaration when I can tell that my students "get it," or when their excitement for a project becomes contagious ... It's just that those moments are so few and far between.

Teaching is a calling, plain and simple ...

I think my phone might be on the fritz.

Mrs. Meanie

In starting (and in naming) this blog, I wanted to keep the theme that my life is a constant series of lessons. Whether I'm teaching them in the classroom, or learning them from my everyday experiences, I am all too aware that seemingly mundane happenings have a huge impact on my life and, ultimately, who I am as a person.

I've touched upon this before in a previous post, but, today, I've finally accepted that, on a very basic level, I get a strange thrill out of being a goody-two-shoes and getting people in trouble ...

The occupation of "teacher" obviously involves some amount of being in charge and leading a classroom full of students along the path of knowledge ... And when those students choose to ignore the rules, consequences must follow. While I certainly don't enjoy confrontation and (many days) would much rather ignore the problems in my classroom than deal with them head-on, there is just something about having that power and authority that can be intoxicating.

For instance, today, I confiscated three cell phones from three students over the course of the day. At first, I was surprised that these kids actually listened to me and handed over their precious phones. Next, I was somewhat saddened by the dramatic reactions that each student displayed. Then, finally, after some thought, I realized that each student was breaking school rules and, therefore, they all deserved whatever consequences came from their actions. Upon processing that revelation, I became almost giddy ... So much so that, before leaving for the day, I happily announced my accomplishment and was promptly congratulated by my peers.

Teachers need to stick together, you know.

Later, as I recounted the story to my husband, he looked at me and said: "You know, you've always been a little like that. Finding pleasure in getting rule-breakers in trouble."

My first instinct was to stick up for myself and say,"No! I'm so much nicer than that!" but, the truth is, I'm really not ... My husband is absolutely, one hundred percent right: I do like getting rule-breakers in trouble!

I have a long history of it.

On one occasion during my late high school/early college years, I ratted out my own sister because she had her friends and their boyfriends spend the night while my parents were out of town. Yes, this caused my sister to despise me and seek revenge for many years, but never once did I regret it. I did the right thing. I told the truth. My parents deserved that much ... I deserved that much for being a good daughter for many, many years and following the rules!

So, call me Mrs. Meanie from now on ... I can take it. I think I'm finally coming to terms with my goody-goody nature and actually embracing it. It's funny that I come home some days and wonder why I ever decided to be a teacher, and others I get the eerie realization that maybe it's a much better fit that I think it is.

Maybe my student from last year (we'll call him Casper) was right.

Subconsciously, I became a teacher so that I could write detentions.

The Occassional Gardener

During the summer, I would go so far as to say that I hate (hate hate) working in the garden.

The following are among my list of complaints:

• It's too hot and I hate sweating.
• I don't want other people to see me squatting down or bending over in my "work shorts" (which may or may not be a little too short).
• The dirt gets in my fingernails (which really aren't that long to begin with) and remains there all day no matter how many times I wash my hands.
• There are bees and other bugs that dive-bomb me.
• It's a pain to keep unwinding and winding the hose, and attaching and detaching the sprinkler.
• The next door neighbor's cat often leaves little poopy "presents" for me, that I loathe cleaning up ... It's not my cat!
• The plants always look dead anyway (I wonder why!?) so I don't ever feel like I've accomplished anything.

While I could go on and on and really mean each one of them, all of these things seem to change the moment September rolls around. For some reason, after that point, all I want to do is dedicate my time to gardening. For instance, last weekend I planted flowers ... Perennials, new and old, were split, plucked, moved, and replanted throughout my front and back yards. Then, last night, I actually took the initiative and mowed the front yard, something I usually pawn off on my husband.

I don't know what it is about the fall ...

Maybe it's because the summer heat is fading and everything, for once, looks green and healthy and vibrant. Maybe it's because I like the idea of having a "fresh start," a time each year where the problems of the past are erased and whatever I do now can actually impact next year's appearance. Maybe it's because I want an excuse from grading papers.

Whatever it is, I wish I had this type of motivation all year round!

Psychology 101

This past weekend, I spent a little bit of time with my parents and some of their college friends. Since their graduations in the early eighties, this group has gotten together at least once a year to kick back and basically have a good time. Over the years, their friendships evolved into something closer, something more family-like, so my siblings and I consider these friends to be more like extended family ... Aunts and uncles, if you will.

Anyway, before everyone started preparing to go home, a conversation was held that revolved around my middle sister. Phrases like "her smile lights up a room" and "she's a beautiful girl, absolutely stunning" were flying left and right.

This got me to thinking ... What about me??

I'm perfectly happy with who I am as a person, but I started to wonder: Is my self-perception directly related to hearing statements like the ones listed above? Do I, currently, see myself as being quite average physically because no one ever complimented me on my smile or stunning beauty?

Thinking back, I don't think I was ever referred to as "pretty" when I was growing up (at least not excessively). I was skinny, freckled (as I have mentioned before), bespectacled, and something of a tomboy. My hair was always on the shorter side, certainly not long and flowing like the sister in question. I didn't care, though, I had it in my head that I was pretty anyway and, even better, I was smart. That word, smart, would probably be the one I'd throw out there if a psychologist asked me to pick a word to describe myself ... Pretty would be at the end of the list ... But I'd also venture a guess that that's what I heard the most of growing up:

"Look at Emily, lost in that book. She's such a smart girl."

"Ask Em. I'm sure she'd know the answer to that."

"Emily is getting straight A's again this quarter."

You get the idea.

Most compliments from my parents and/or other adults revolved around my brain. While that's just fine ... I like being perceived as smart ... I find it very interesting that it's carried over and embedded itself into my thinking. When with my sisters, I never feel like the "pretty one." I'm a little more self conscious and end up secretly wishing I had cooler, more trendy clothes and/or accessories and a better hair cut. I'm just Emily, the frumpy (but very smart) one. In fact, I think I only truly feel pretty when I'm away from my family ... When it's just my husband and me, or us and his family. He says I'm pretty, beautiful even, and he's seen my sisters. It's enough to give a girl an ego.

Very weird.

I'm not quite sure of my reason for this post ... The conversation this past weekend just jumped out at me and felt very blog-worthy. I like to think that I'm so independent and completely immune to what others say or think about me, but that really can't be farther from the truth. If my self-perception has been molded (unwittingly) by my parents and the other adults around me as I was growing up, I've really got to be careful when I get a couple kids of my own.

I want them all to be pretty or smart or athletic or sociable or whatever it is they want to be ... Even if they end up with freckles and glasses and a mouthful of braces.

Taking Inventory

I just looked back and realized that I've been blogging since the middle of March ... How crazy!

Even after all those months, I'm still not quite sure that I have "the hang of it" yet. I mean, part of me bemoans the lack of comments and wonders if I'm just that boring or inconsequential that no one feels compelled to respond. Then, the other part of me writes each blog entry and thinks: "Gosh, I hope that no one reads this!" It's like I want the recognition and the validation that what I'm doing is making some sort of difference, but I also want to fly under the radar.

I guess, you can't really have it both ways.

Anyway, to those of you that do routinely read my ramblings, thanks for sticking around! My sitemeter actually shows me that some of you come back ... On a consistent basis (!?), no less ... So I must be doing something right.

Hopefully, once (if?) I land a job for the fall, and get back into the swing of teaching, I'll have more stories and worthwhile anecdotes to share. Right now, the wells are pretty much dried up and I'm chugging along without much inspiration, but I do enjoy the challenge and coming up with something every now and again. I'll be gone all next week with the in-laws, so maybe I can accumulate some material there ...

Three Years

It's been three years and I'm still happily married.


I'm not surprised, really. I had a feeling that things would work out this way after our first, yet unofficial, date.

I was sitting at home, bored one summer evening and he called me.

"Do you want to go out and do something?" He eventually asked. "Grab something to eat? Catch a movie?"

At this point, we were merely friends (as I had the tendency to constantly remind him), and I knew he had other intentions. I didn't want to encourage him by going out, one-on-one, but I was really hungry and there was nothing good to eat in the house ...

"I guess we could," I said, as nonchalantly as humanly possible.

"Really?" There was a pause, like he hadn't expected me to take him up on the offer. "Okay ... I'll pick you up in twenty minutes."

Twenty minutes was about the time it took for him to drive from his house to mine. I certainly didn't need any time to get ready or primp or anything ... We were going out as friends. Strictly friends. No big deal. No need to actually look nice or anything.

When he showed up at my house, I was on the front porch waiting for him. I walked over to his parents' car (he had his license, but no car of his own) and got in. "Where to?" I asked.

He had it all planned out. He was taking me to a casual little restaurant that his parents used to take him to. It was movie themed (right up his alley) and everything had a catchy, if not corny, name. It wasn't much of a "hot spot," that evening, so we were seated in a cushy little booth right away. There was a piano player providing music and everything ... The mood was light. As always, we were having a good time.

We ordered our food: a "Humphrey Bogart" for him and some chicken fingers for me.

Things were going well (the conversation, the company, the food ) until the piano started a rousing rendition of The Entertainer. If you know this piece of music, you know that it starts slowly and builds and builds, getting faster and faster and faster until it just cuts off and stops altogether.

I found it to be an interesting choice of dinner music and made the comment: "This makes me want to start shoving food in my mouth," as I quickly brought the chicken fingers up to my face, one after the other, pretending to scarf them down.

Finding this particularly amusing, he agreed and we laughed and laughed as the song continued to play. Not more than five minutes after it had ended, he excused himself and disappeared into the men's room ... He was feeling sick.

Apparently, the laughter and the "Humphrey Bogart" didn't mix.

As I waited for him in the bathroom, our server brought the bill and I started going through my purse to find my part of the dinner.

A good fifteen minutes or so later, and he returned, looking pale and miserable. He apologized, and dug into his wallet, too, so that we could get out of there. Well, wouldn't you know, he was short on cash! In his excitement to get out of the house for our "date," probably with minimal questions, he didn't grab money.

He looked over at me sheepishly. "I'm short by a couple dollars," he mumbled.

"No problem, I've got it," I replied, going into my purse again.

I swear, his face went a little more pale ...

To this day, we look back on that date and chuckle about the "bad Bogart" he must have ordered, the quickening pace of the music, and the fact that he owed me money when all was said and done. I'm pretty sure that's not quite the event he had in mind when he called me that summer evening.

"Some date," I'd say, bringing it all back. "It just about sums us up, doesn't it?"

He'd just smile that quirky smile of his and sigh.

So, here we are, nearly ten years from that first, unofficial date, and three years into our life together as "husband and wife" and we're still together.

Maybe it's time to head back to that restaurant, for old time's sake, and give the "Humphrey Bogart" another try. ;)

Bragging Rights

My husband is kicking butt in his "Human Biology" class.

What began as a very tentative, I-might-have-to-drop-this-if-I-can't-figure-it-out course, has now become something of a confidence booster. With his accelerated summer session nearly over, he is scoring 100% on all of his assignments and continuing to achieve high 80-90% on his lab practicals and written exams. Other students are coming to him for advice on test-taking and general questions, and, instead of me acting as his 24-hour tutor, he has figured out how to hash through the material, get it, and study for himself ...

And this is the same guy who mumbled and muttered about how he could never understand science or do biology.

Ha!

I married a natural, a genius, if you will.

Let's hope that next semester goes as smoothly ... Right now it seems as if the bridge is strong and true.

Old and New

A couple of weeks ago, while shopping at Target for a birthday present, I took a peek over at the shoe aisle. My absolute favorite summer sandals were in dire need of retiring, and I knew that I wouldn’t have the inner strength to trash them if a worthy replacement had not been found. As I perused the shelves, looking for something that might be worthy of taking their place, a quirky slip-on caught my eye:

It was colorful, cute, and reminiscent of the Keds I used to live in as a kid. I could see myself wearing it with shorts, Capri pants, jeans, skirts … Anything!

Perfect!

Upon finding a pair that fit my big feet (success!), I happily scooped them up under my arm and brought them to check-out.

Although my original sandals had been retired and removed from my house (so that I couldn’t have any second thoughts), and I was excited to wear my perfect new summer shoes, they sat in their Target bag for at least another week. Visits to houses with dogs would mean dirty footprints, a cluster of rainy days meant mud … And I was not keen on getting my new shoes messed up so quickly. I told myself to be patient. The glorious day would come …

When the opportunity finally presented itself in the form of some evening errands, I happily popped on my new shoes and made my way out the door. I paid a bill at Lowes, looked for cabinet door pulls at Home Depot (because Lowes didn’t carry the ones we wanted), and then took a trip to Wal-Mart …

Gosh darn it if my “perfect” shoes didn’t give me two, nasty blisters!

As I made my way home, I mourned my original sandals. Never had they given me a blister. Never had they done anything detrimental to my flat, somewhat gross-looking feet. I cursed myself for letting them go, for throwing them away because they were dirty and old. I should have known better. I should have known that these new shoes, no matter how lovely and cute they were, could just not compare. How could I have been so foolish? If only I could retrieve my original sandals from the dumpster!

Today, now that my blisters have healed, I've decided to adopt a different outlook. I peek into my closet at my new shoes and a small smile creeps across my face. They are cute. I do like them. They certainly deserve a second chance … I mean, you can’t blame a new friend for being different than an old one, that’s just the way it goes. No two people are exactly alike, so why would shoes (something even simpler) be any different?

As I wait for my next "new shoe" opportunity, and try to push the negative thoughts from my mind, I can only hope that my feet have accepted this new "friendship" as well, and have toughened up appropriately so that my heels will not be rubbed raw.

Reminiscing

I was trying to use my time wisely yesterday by actually cleaning and organizing the catch-all bureau that is in our dining room. For only having four drawers, I was amazed at the amount of crap my husband and I have stuffed inside ... Pads of paper, pens and pencils, rulers, rubber bands, miniature novelty license plates, pocket knives, a Magic 8-Ball, an address book, address labels, blank "thank you" cards, to-do lists, calculators, old folders and notebooks, a dissection kit ... The list could go on and on.

Even though I was able to rid our lives of piles (and piles!) of needless stuff, I did find a little gem that I hadn't realized was there at all.

Take a look:


This page from an assignment planner (from my senior year of college) is pretty much unassuming and unnecessary for keeping except for one little thing.

Do you see it?

I'll give you a hint ... The heart drawn on the 25th.

If you look closely, that metallic heart says "9:56" inside of it. That marks the exact time my husband proposed to me, on one knee in my dorm room, and asked my in no uncertain terms to be his wife and make him the happiest man alive (his words, not mine).

It has been more than four years since that day and, hopefully, I'm still keeping up my end of the bargain. :)

Baby Boom

Practically everyone around me of child-bearing age is having babies.

My friend from college, my sister-in-law, two of my cousins ... I know that measly little list may not sound like "everyone" to you, but for me, that is a lot of people in my small circle of friends and family.

I, personally, (for now we'll leave the husband out of this) have felt ready to have a baby for a little a while now. That biological clock that everyone talks about has certainly been ticking a little bit louder. However, being the ultra-logical person that I am, life has, up until this point, always gotten in the way.

• First, it was the education program that I was a part of ... I wanted to finish so that I could make the career change from scientific research to science teaching.
• Then, it was finding that first teaching job.
• Then, it was completing (scratch that, surviving) my first year and all the various tests that go along with it.
• Then, it was making sure I'd be able to go on my family's first ever out-of-the-country Christmas vacation to Mexico ... Without a newborn baby in tow.

Now, I don't really have any excuses.

I am looking for that new job (and a spring baby would certainly cut my school year a little bit short) but I'm starting to see that, if I wait for life to settle down to a point where it seems ready to accept a child into the mix, I'm fooling myself.

Or am I just speeding up the natural process of things because "everyone else is doing it?"

I've never been one to follow the leader, I always was the leader, but it seems that, with babies, there's that little voice (or is it the ticking?) that gets louder and louder when other people are where you'd like to be. As a first time mother, I'd imagine that you need all the help you can get, so what is better than an already established support group of family and friends toting around kids of their own?

But, there I go being logical again.

It is all very strange to me that I'm even spending parts of my days thinking about this (and, believe me, I have way too much time to think on my summer vacation). At 25, I don't necessarily feel like I'm old and mature enough to even have a baby, but, somehow, I just feel ready. I felt ready to get married at 22 and I feel ready now ... And the marriage is working out pretty well so far, maybe the baby stuff will too.

All that said, the whole thing is null and void if the aforementioned husband isn't on board ... He's much more afraid of giving up his little freedoms than I am, and he's concerned about how being back at school and looking for a new career will fit in to the picture. I hear him loud and clear, but we would be waiting forever if every little detail had to be ironed out first ... And then we'd be too old to have kids! Of course, all this is assuming that conception happens without a hitch ... And who knows how that will go? All the statistics that I see, say that 9 out of 10 couples of child-bearing age that are trying to conceive will be able to do so in the first year ... But what if we are that 1 out of 10?

You truly never know.

Life just contains so many "ifs" that it's impossible to really plan anything. It's funny that I even give this any thought because, deep down, I know that what is meant to happen, will happen. Current baby boom or not, my (our) time will eventually come.

Maybe we should just keep doing what we're doing until that margin of error eventually catches up to us and ... POOF ... Hello unplanned pregnancy!

On second thought, that might create more problems than it solves. I don't think my husband would ever recover from the shock. :)

Other-in-laws

Yes, you read that title correctly. It is not a typo.

Often, when a couple is engaged and planning to get married, most people offer warnings about the dreaded "mother-in-law." I have been lucky in this respect, because my mother-in-law is a wonderful woman. She's not without her flaws, of course, but things could certainly be worse!

The thing you are never warned about, however, and the thing to which you have absolutely no control, are the "other-in-laws." I'm talking about the extended family that becomes related through the marriage of one of your in-laws. In my case, my sister-in-law. This group of family is slightly removed, and most of the time you don't even have to deal with them, but, when you do, it is like treading into some crazy, new territory.

This past weekend, I had the extreme pleasure (please note the sarcasm) of attending a birthday cook-out for my sister-in-law's husband. Being that they had reason for celebration as well, the entire group of other-in-laws was there. As I've mentioned in a previous post, I'm not the most social of beings, so making small talk with these strangers isn't the easiest, and/or most pleasant, thing for me to do. Even so, I tried to make the best of it.

For example, coming up the driveway and into the house, I noticed one of my other-in-laws and her husband signing their card in the car.

My husband and I had just done this ourselves, so I smiled and made the passing comment: "I guess us oldest siblings have the same idea," as I held our card in the air.

I was met with a mostly blank stare.

I just kept walking.

You see, it is things like this that seem to define this set of other-in-laws. With the exception of the other-in-law mother (my sister-in-law's mother-in-law for those of you trying to keep track), they don't like to make any effort to strike up a meaningful conversation. They sort of sit there, talking with each other, and pretend that you aren't even in the same place. Just like my brother-in-law (it must run in the family), the most contact you get is a look and maybe a smirk or smile ... Or a "hello" or "good-bye." Nothing in between. It's this standoff-ish attitude that makes me wonder if they're just shy, too, or if they are actually stuck-up.

Unfortunately, I'm not the type of person to throw caution to the wind and make the first move. Especially after my little comment about card-signing didn't even warrant a smile or a chuckle. I guess only time will tell how our relationships progress ... And as my sister-in-law brings her new baby into the picture, I'm sure we'll have many more opportunities to figure things out.