Cum Grano Salis

BIG NEWS!

2008-02-16T10:16:00.002-06:00

We are...

(check out my NEW AND IMPROVED BLOG for the announcement.)

Update your bookmarks!

-Lindsey

Miracles do happen

2008-02-07T14:32:00.000-06:00

I witnessed an inspiring scenario last night at church. There was a little boy there, maybe 4 or 5 years old, who came to the adult class with his dad. For the entire hour lecture, he was the best behaved little boy I have ever seen! He alternated between playing on top of, in front of, and underneath his own chair, but never intruded into anyone else's space. He only left the room once to go to the bathroom. He never spoke a word, even to his dad, but entertained himself the whole time with--get this--two plastic drinking straws.

As a future parent, I am a little bit troubled at the growing acceptance among parents of the idea that Gameboys and TV are the only ways to get kids to be still and quiet. I was inspired by this child who could be completely occupied with such primitive instruments of amusement.

Empty Calories, Empty Promises

2008-02-04T17:47:00.000-06:00

A dietitian came to speak to our classes last week, and while I don't think my kids walked away with any new convictions, I left the assembly feeling like a walking lump of lard. The articulate, trim nutritionist impressed upon us all the waste of empty calories, inspired us with visions of bodies nourished by organic, vitamin-rich, non-processed foods, and shamed us with statistics about current American gluttony (average consumption of 150 pounds of sugar per year, up from 2 pounds 100 years ago). I walked away intimidated and inspired by the new science which recommends that all American eat nine, yes NINE servings of fruit and vegetables daily. Egad!

So that night I went to the grocery store to stock up on some nutritious snack foods. I was reminded again of why I have not embraced this habit sooner- yikes! Fresh food is expensive! So I bought some apples and bananas and called it a good start.

While I was there I remembered that I needed to get some groceries for our Superbowl party. So I added chips, cookies, candy, dip, and frozen appetizers. It was not long before my good start was buried beneath the Doritos and cheese sticks!

I vowed to re-commit myself to healthy living on Monday after the Superbowl. But today, we still have lots of leftovers from the weekend's festivities, and I can't justify wasting perfectly good food. Maybe next week...

Back on the Exercise Ball

2008-01-29T21:34:00.000-06:00

In fulfillment of my New Year's resolutions, I have been attending Pilates class for two weeks. The first time I tried to go to class, the instructor no-showed. Undaunted, I came back the following week.

I had been mistaken on the time the class started, so I showed up halfway through the workout routine. I started to turn around and leave, but the instructor encouraged me to stay. In fact, everyone stopped and waited for me to get my equipment out and settled. One older lady, Kay, recognized me from when I had been part of the class last year. She was laying on her mat with her head near my feet.

"When was the last time you were here?" she asked suspiciously, tipping her head back to look at me upside-down.

I admitted that I hadn't been in Pilates since Spring Break. Feeling the need to explain myself, I rambled on about switching to the aerobics class for heart health, and then quitting that to do Tae-Bo videos at school and take walks with Karen around our neighborhood. By the time I finished relating my exercise exploits to these women who had never left Pilates to begin with, I felt like Gomer explaining herself to Hosea.

Kay shifted back on her mat, and we began to do large leg circles. However, in the middle of the set, she craned her neck once more.

"Well, welcome back. Are you going to be faithful to the class this time?"

I honestly can't remember what I said, although I'm sure it was something hopefully affirmative, but I do remember being intensely interested in my leg exercises. How embarrassing to be called out on my exercise commitment-phobia by a sixty-five year old woman!

So, needless to say, I have been faithfully attending class on Tuesdays and Thursdays since. The class attendance has dwindled since the last time I was a participant, down to the point that there is not even a regular instructor. So it's me, Kay, and another sexagenarian named Pat conducting our own Pilates independent study course.

We meet on the fourth floor of our exercise facility, and Pat counts out our reps while Kay cracks us all up with her blunt and forceful opinions on all topics. My favorite so far is, "Men with families should not ride motorcycles. If a man with a wife or kids were to die in a crash, that would be so inconsiderate. Unless he had like two million dollars in life insurance."

I rub my youthfulness in the faces of Kay and Pat by doing a few extra reps with my five-pound weights, and in return they rub their life experience in my face by regaling me with stories about assembling puzzles and living with dietary restrictions. It's great inter-generational fun, and, even more, I can still feel my muscles toning even as I sit here typing. Here's to continued success in February!

Sad Day

2008-01-25T17:41:00.000-06:00

Every breakup party I have attended since high school wouldn't have been the same without Heath.

Oklahoma- OK?

2008-01-20T21:34:00.001-06:00

There is a funny episode of How I Met Your Mother that is all about re-thinking previously held opinions. One of the main characters, Ted, discovers that he has a fondness for an old shirt, food item, even an old girlfriend that he had disliked in past years.

This happens to me all the time. It's a great day when a hated shirt in the closet becomes the perfect complement to a new pair of pants, or when an old song pops up on my iTunes shuffle and I re-discover it all over again. Today I realized that my opinion has changed regarding the genre of the movie-musical.

Previous Opinion: I hate musicals.

With the exception of Sound of Music and My Fair Lady, I really could never stand them. The worst ones, usually set in the American West, featured calico-clad girls and men in suspenders breaking into song in the middle of a cotton field, among other awful pioneer cliches.

Updated Opinion: I love musicals, but I still do not like old musicals.

I thought through the musicals that have been made in the last ten years: Moulin Rouge, Phantom of the Opera, Chicago, Hairspray, even Enchanted, to an extent--I have enjoyed them all! It's fun to be surprised to learn that good actors are sometimes also good singers and good dancers (I'm not referring to "crossover artists" like J.Lo or Jessica Simpson- I think that those girls are lame and I'm not revising my opinion here).

I've gotten to the point where I look for movie-watching experiences that are fun and mindless- no thought-provoking, high drama for me. By Friday night, I'm ready for some mental cheesecake. The modern movie-musical is often just what I'm looking for.

Braced for the Worst

2008-01-15T19:46:00.000-06:00

I work very hard to convince myself and everyone around me that I am an adult to be taken seriously. In many ways, I still see myself as a twerpy little eighth grader who is still in desperate need of fashion and makeup tips. It's hard for me to understand that other people don't share my perspective.

My quest for adult actualization suffered a major blow yesterday. I went to the orthodontist.

I am only getting orthodontics for my bottom teeth, so it didn't occur to me to worry about the effect that this metallic adventure would have on the old ego. Bottom teeth don't show up in pictures, right? I realized my gross miscalculation as I sat in the waiting room with several twelve year olds and their parents. I felt my self-esteem balloon deflating rapidly.

It didn't help that most dental hygienists tend to be nurturing types who treat all patients like their favorite grandchild over to play for the afternoon. One of them kindly showed me around the office (unfortunately she neglected to show me the complimentary toothbrushes, which I regretted later on in the visit when the doctor showed me the close up digital snapshots of my teeth). Another helped me fill out my information forms. A third charmed me by offering me cookie dough flavoring when I had my impressions made.

The consultation was painless enough, once I got out of the view of the prepubescents in the waiting room. I answered questions about my dental history and let the nice lady take x-rays and pictures of me (dang! Should have fixed the hair today. Now a very unflattering digital image accompanies all of my information). It got a little awkward again as she explained the office's dental health incentive program which rewards patients with wooden tokens for such accomplishments such as wearing the office t-shirt to appointments, regular brushing, and making A's on a report card. These tokens can be cashed in for lucrative prizes such as CDs, mousepads, and gift certificates. I didn't know which was worse- her implying that I would be interested in such a juvenile extrinsic-motivational system, or the fact that I was kind of excited by the idea of getting a free t-shirt and an opportunity to win gift certificates just for brushing my teeth.

Anyway, due to the nature of my particular maxillofacial situation, I'm looking at 10-12 months of braces, which is not too bad in the long run. My dad, the dentist, has promised me that my smile will eventually sag ("just like everything else"), so I am happy to straighten up my bottom teeth before this becomes an issue. In the meantime, you can stay tuned in here to the blog for all the highlights of this little adventure.

Backsliding

2008-01-13T15:24:00.000-06:00

I had a good week of keeping resolutions. However, I impulse-bought some Oreos at the grocery store today in a moment of weakness. It's totally against all of my resolutions, but it's hard to care when this is so good...
Promise to blog for real soon. As you can see, I have been very busy today.

New Week, New Year, New Me

2008-01-07T19:58:00.001-06:00

Sometimes I like to imagine that I actually have the soul of a brooding and cynical artist, and that I would be most at home smoking cigars in a shadowy salon, lamenting the state of the world, and pronouncing my embittered words with a slight French accent.

However, brooding and cynical people do not watch High School Musical and Hairspray in standard and/or extended versions, they do not buy OK! magazine, and they do not make resolutions for self-and-world-improvement every January 1. I have taken great pleasure in all of these activities in the past week, shattering my illusions of melancholy once and for all.

So here are my sunny and optimistic resolutions for 2008:

1. Cook at home more often.
Game Plan: I have compiled a list of my favorite easy meals. I will cycle through the list, except on the rare occasions when I feel like trying something new. I'll grocery shop twice a week, getting groceries for meals no more than three days in advance.

2. Stick to an exercise plan.
Game Plan: Trying lots of different methods of exercise is so 2007. I will walk at least three times a week for muscle development and heart health. I have created a fun Power Playlist on my iPod to motivate me to walk by myself when necessary. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I will attend Pilates class for muscle toning and flexibility.

3. Keep up with grading.
Game Plan: Online gradebook must be up-to-date every Tuesday. This is Stephen's night out, so I can devote as many hours as necessary to keeping this resolution.

4. Develop friendships with co-workers.
Game Plan: Initiate bonding activities outside of school.

5. Purchase good-fitting pair of jeans.
Game Plan: Go shopping regularly. Before outings, remind self that inner beauty is most important. Plan trip to Houston to try on jeans in new stores with fashion consultant Laurashmaura.

6. Be organized.
Game Plan: Never go to sleep with a messy house. Break habit of throwing once-worn clothes across chair in bedroom. Keep kitchen counter clear. Use calendar.

7. Keep resolutions.

Iowa Schmiowa

2008-01-03T21:59:00.001-06:00

Although for all of our sake, I usually refrain from political commentary on this light-hearted and rarely controversial blog site, I decided to make an exception today due to the fact that we are in an election year and today was the very important first step in the process of electing a new American President. I am going to give you...wait for it...the official Cum Grano Salis position on all things political.

1. All political candidates are liars and flatterers. The few candidates who may actually posess principles will more than likely be corrupted by the intoxication of power within a month of taking office, and if, by some fluke, they actually try to accomplish anything they had promised to do, they will be thwarted by Congress and the bureaucratic red tape of the American political system.

2. Any Republican loser who wins the nomination would be less horrible than Hillary Clinton.

3. Of the Republican losers, Mike Huckabee is my least favorite because he taking advantage of evangelicals. I am equally unimpressed with evangelicals who are going along with it.

Now you can forego all political commentary between now and November and vote for the guy with the nicest tie on Election Day.

Not a Christmas Post Anymore

2008-01-02T21:25:00.001-06:00

I hate to admit it, but my brain is still lost in a stupor of excessive sleep, sugar, and movies due to the wonderful long holiday. Actually, I think it may have noticed that I only have four more days left until I have to go back to work and now it is in hiding. Not that I blame it.

I'll not tax myself too much, for all of our sakes, so I'll just recap some of the valuable lessons that I have gleaned from the last month of 2007.

-Last weeks of school are useless. No one expects anything to get done, so teachers who are "inflexible" because of scheduled assignments are looked down upon.
-Similarly, it is better to make a final average with only four grades in a subject rather than to count on grades taken in the last week of school.
-While teachers do not enjoy the highest of salaries, nor do they enjoy tangible benefits such as Christmas bonuses, insurance coverage, or a retirement plan, they DO get the pleasure of getting showered with gifts at the end of each semester. Gift cards rock.
-Going home to Mom's house brings out the kid in all of us, for better or for worse. I am glad none of my administrators saw me in a screaming wrestling match with my brother and sisters over whether we were going to watch XMen 2 or Hairspray.
-Families are a source of endless entertainment. There is no greater pleasure than laughing with family members at other family members.
-Food is always better when someone else has prepared it.
-TSO still rocks.
-It is possible to have a great time celebrating New Year's Eve while still managing to be sleeping by midnight.
-Despite what your mother may have told you, your eyeballs will not fall out, nor will your brain turn to mush if you watch television for six hours straight. (Hold that thought, the jury is still out on the brain thing.)
-Having to work during a vacation is unfair and cruel, even if I do get a vacation that is six times longer than most people.
-Other people's kids are really cute and fun.

Here's to '08.

May Your Days Be Merry and Bright

2007-12-25T12:34:00.000-06:00

Going Dark

2007-12-20T18:06:00.000-06:00

So I loaned my cell phone charger to my sister on Monday, thinking that my phone could hold its charge for a week until Laura was scheduled to come and visit me again. Wrong! My phone began its "low battery" beeping on Tuesday. We do not have a land line and Stephen was out of town, so I found myself in radio silence for several days. It was weird.

First of all, I found myself resorting to antiquated means of survival and communication, such as using the phone book to look up numbers and using the office phone at work. I had no way of telling time, except for looking at the clock, and I actually had to set a battery-powered alarm clock to wake up in the morning. When I wanted to dash off a quick text message, I had to go to the inconvenience of signing into my Yahoo! account and composing an e-mail. It was as impractical as sending a telegraph.

Convenience aside, not having a cell phone left me with lots of practical concerns for my safety as well. What if I had had car trouble? What if I got stuck in traffic and was running late to work? What if I had a really important question for my mom en route to the grocery store? I'd be up a creek! Also there was the looming threat of needing emergency aid when I was home alone. As a precaution, I told my co-worker friend that I was phone-less for the night, so that if I did not show up for work the next morning, she could send someone to come to my house and wake me up, or discover my body. (This comment was followed by a quick and desperate prayer that I would not be killed while taking a shower. I would be so humiliated to be found in this condition I promise I would feel the embarassment even post mortem.)

The ironic thing is, I hate the telephone. I do not like making phone calls; I don't even like getting them, unless it's someone I know well. Consequently, I do not get calls often. And yet I have missed my phone. It will set my heart at rest to have my fully-charged cell phone back in my pocket so that I can not receive calls in peace.

Winter Woe

2007-12-15T14:41:00.001-06:00

There are many wonderful things about winter. Fires, Christmas cards, presents, Secret Santas, my husband in the kitchen making pies...

But here is one thing that I hate: winter equals chapped lips. And it's incredibly annoying to put on chapstick, then to walk out into the cold wind and have my hair stick to my mouth. Sick!

Nails Anonymous

2007-12-11T18:29:00.000-06:00

While Stephen is back in school and while the primary benefits of my career remain "intangible" (as it was explained to me in my job interview), we've been trying especially hard to keep our frivolous spending to a minimum. I pared down pretty admirably, but ultimately I proved to be the weakest link.

I feel very vain and high-maintenance by admitting this, but this blog has functioned as a public confessional before, so I'll go ahead and spill. As I have perused my credit card statement, looking for places to trim more for next month, there is one very obvious frivolity that I insist on overlooking: regular charges to Escape Nails Spa.

I try to justify this expense: I wait three weeks between visits instead of the recommended ten days. I take myself to the low-grade salon that only charges $15 a visit, subjecting myself to chatter in a language I don't speak and the possibility of nail fungus every time. My current salon is running a 20% off sale until after Christmas. But the fact of the matter is that I can't bear the thought of attending holiday parties and visiting family with my nubby, mangled fingers in their natural state, undisguised by the lovely smooth layer of acrylic and polish. It would be as bad as the classic dream of arriving to class in my underwear.

People have asked me why I don't just stop biting my fingernails, as if it's as simple as a matter of willpower. It's as ludicrous as asking a compulsive gambler why he doesn't just stop playing slots. Nail biting is a harder habit to stop than smoking, because there are no patches. I can't even get rid of all temptation without cutting off my fingers all together, and that would be no good, for then how could I blog?

I can trace my nail biting goes back to a traumatic incident in my childhood--the time my parents made me stop sucking my thumb. Dr. Freud would say I must have experienced some trauma during my oral development phase to have such a strong fixation. (Think what you will about Freud, but this would explain my irrational attraction to the idea of smoking. Besides, Freud was a genius.) But unfortunately for this theory, my childhood was basically trauma-free.

I've tried bitter nail polishes, latex gloves, sheer willpower, self-bribery, band-aids, prayer, and basically every other home remedy I could get my hands on. Nothing works, except putting on fake nails. And that only lasts as long as the nails.

I don't know what my long-term solution will be. For now, my compromise is to keep my nails through the holidays, which happens to be as long as the sale continues at my nail salon. In January I will let them go natural, and I will be hoping for lots of opportunities to wear mittens.

Happy Family

2007-12-01T16:53:00.000-06:00

The Insecure Family Takes a Christmas Picture

2007-11-27T17:50:00.001-06:00

My whole family is exceedingly self-conscious about picture-taking. And by my whole family, I mean me, and occasionally someone else. In our family, Thanksgiving is always a time for celebrating God's blessings while also lamenting those mysterious physical flaws that seem to be exaggerated ten times in a photograph. The perfect encapsulation of both of these holiday sentiments is the family Christmas picture. To accompany a glowing letter of the joys of the year, we must take a photograph that represents an afternoon's worth of self-deprecation and digital touch-ups. It usually goes something like this:

Stage 1: The Discussion of Options Other Than Taking a New Picture

Family Member A: "What about that picture of all of us at [special event]?"
Family Member B: "Oh, no, I have a double chin in that picture."

Family Member C: "Well, we are all in the picture from [mid-year holiday]..."
Family Member D: "Oh, gross! My face is so pasty. People will think you've adopted Casper."

Family Member E: "I liked that picture from [different event]."
Family Member F: "Yeah, but my hair is curly in that picture, and I'm wearing it straight now."

...and so on, until the only option left is to subject ourselves to the torture of photography once again.

Stage 2: Preparation

All other options having been eliminated, Mom sets a color scheme for this year's pic, and we all go borrow clothes from one another in an attempt to find an outfit to best represent our true selves to the camera. And by we all, I mean that I wear a shirt belonging to Laura.

We decide on a faraway scenic location and pack into the car.

Stage 3: Photo Shoot

We all feel very beautiful during this phase. We arrange ourselves on various inanimate objects in the location that we have selected, striking mostly serious poses, with a few silly ones to show off our fun-loving side. After each shot, Laura checks the digital display and reassures us that we look fabulous.
"You look especially gorgeous today, Lindsey," she praises me specifically. (this turns out to be a lie)
After about twenty shots, we feel tired and cold, so we load up in the car and go home for...

Stage 4: Bitter Reality

Laura immediately loads the pictures onto her computer and we gather around to see if maybe this year the camera has captured our true inner beauty. Then the fun begins. One (different) person always looks great in every picture. "I like that one," the lucky person will say.

This comment is followed by someone else protesting: "No, I have a funny smile/look fat/am not looking at the camera/have my hair blowing funny/am slouching/am partially hidden by [insert name]/hate that picture of myself for no rational reason."

The picture is discarded as an option and we move on to more of the same. Photoshop, which is not on any of our computers, is offered as the solution to every problem.

Stage 5: Depths of Despair

When all of the picture attempts have been deemed disgusting, we all put on flannel pants and hoodies and eat ice cream.

Stage 6: Steel Resolve

As it starts to get dark, we resolve again to get a picture before nightfall. We put our Christmas Card Outfits back on and retreat to the back yard for a few dusky shots. These are quickly taken, quickly loaded onto the computer, and a winner is chosen. The urgency of the final hour has enabled us all to smile at the camera without any double chins or hunched shoulders or lazy eyes at exactly the same second. We order prints on walmart.com before anyone can change her mind.

And thus ends the saga until next year. God bless us every one!

*Personal note- exempted from all of this madness is my brother, Alan the Photogenic Prince, and my husband, Sir Stephen Who Does Not Care. They strike their poses and look exactly the same in every picture, willfully oblivious to the drama that surrounds them. Dad does not get this exemption because of his occasional references to his resemblance of his own father.

Whoop!

2007-11-23T22:16:00.001-06:00

Texas Aggies- 38
t.u.- 30

It's beginning to sound a lot like Christmas...

2007-11-13T20:20:00.000-06:00

I'd like to risk some vulnerability and let all of you strangers out there in on a recent conflict in my marriage. You see, my favorite day of fall is the first day when it is noticeably cold outside (the "brrr" factor, as I've heard it called). On this day, I like to celebrate by putting on my favorite Christmas tunes. This year, it's the wicked TSO CD that I got for Christmas last year and only got to enjoy for a couple of days.

I have a specific memory of when this became a cold-snap tradition of mine. The cold arrived in early October of my freshman year of college, and my soul was buoyant in anticipation of a much-needed breakup. I was driving to Temple to go to a football game with some friends, and the upbeat strains of Hanson's Snowed In on my Jeep stereo matched my mood perfectly.

Ever since then, the first combination of holiday tunes, long sleeves, and brisk weather has been the highlight of my year. This day makes me dance around the house with Yuletide joy, yes, even in October.

But back to the conflict. You see, Stephen still holds to the antiquated, "don't wear white shoes after Labor Day" belief that Christmas music is inappropriate until the day after Thanksgiving. He protests every time I start to belt out songs of holiday gladness, even as his own toes secretly tap underneath the table. He almost refused to be seen with me the other day when I wanted to wear my "'tis the season" long-sleeved shirt. He says I ruin the anticipation of the Advent season when I start it prematurely.

My argument is that I am getting my money's worth out of my super-soft red shirt and my festive music. You'd think that this would appeal to my husband's thrifty side. I also try to appeal to his inner minister when I claim that it is appropriate to celebrate the birth of Christ all year round. Stephen claims to be unmoved.

I say that, despite my indulgence in shirts and carols, I exercise a lot of restraint. I still have my fall decorations out, and I have not started lighting my cinnamon and clove candles yet. Also, I have saved all of my Christmas shopping for the "official" start of the season. Besides, listening to Christmas carols in October does not lessen my anticipation of the Thanksgiving holiday (hello...I'm a teacher.)

I am aware that there are some holiday purists out there. But I don't think I'm alone here. I'm following the immortal advice of "Uncle" Billy Mack..."If you really love Christmas, come on and let it show." (or was it "snow"? oh, well.)

Ed Classes Don't Prepare You For Everything

2007-11-10T17:32:00.000-06:00

So here's a note I never expected to need to write on a student's paper-

"Next time, please use a tissue to blot arm when your scab bleeds rather than your spelling test paper.

"Fondly, Mrs. W."

Forecast: Ice "Down Under"

2007-11-03T09:57:00.000-05:00

I went running yesterday. I was not desperately chasing an ice cream truck, nor was I being pursued by a bear, panther, or molester. I ran by choice. I am an honorary member of what is called the "Lindsey Watson Rickshaw Club," which is the group of teachers from my school who exercise together after school. The name comes from an offhand joke that I made about the conditions under which I would join a running club. Since it has been so hot, the LWRC has been exercising indoors with workout videos, and I have happily participated.

Well lately the weather has been beautiful, as you fellow Central Texans know, and so the members of the LWRC have started running. Yesterday, I agreed to join them. I thought that perhaps my loathing of running was exaggerated in my mind, since it has been many years since I've actually tried it. I thought that the peer pressure of running with my friends would inspire me to challenge myself. I thought that the social aspect of chatting would distract me from the running itself.

Wrong! I still hate running. First of all, it was a long run. We were going to run the "Bear Trail," which is the most famous running track in town (and which, by the way, is highly overrated. It's just running on crowded sidewalks around campus). But our run began at school. So, yes, we ran to the Bear Trail, and I felt ready to keel over by the time we reached campus. And I was breathing so hard, I was unable to chat, and so all of my attention was focused on my own fatigue. Finally I exerted my bad influence on one flexible friend, and persuaded her to finish the run with me at a brisk walk. When we had slowed down enough for me to catch my breath and actually participate in a conversation, I enjoyed myself very much.

So, the moral of the story is, if you ever do see me running again, you better drop your gear and hightail it too, because there's something deadly nearby.

Pensive

2007-10-29T19:06:00.000-05:00

In a certain novel of fantasy, a certain author of reputation develops the idea of an object that she calls a pensieve, which is basically a bowl that holds memories. When a person's brain gets too full, or when a particular memory is too intense to keep in a character's head, the memory can be stored in the pensieve. Any person can dive headfirst into the pensieve, where they can stand in the memory as an invisible observer and watch the events play out. Remember this concept.

I've been reflecting lately on friendship and memories. Now, I love my friends, and I have several dear friends that I have made since moving to Waco. My life would be very sad and incomplete without them. But there is something special and unique about friends that I have from past phases of my life. In a way, reminiscing with old friends (this includes sisters and family members) makes my memories come back alive. The Counting Crows sing that "memories are films about ghosts," and there is something to that. When I'm by myself, my memories are only as good as my own perspective. But when I am sharing memories with friends, it is as if those ghosts from the past come out of murky shadows and become flesh and blood once again. It's like friends are pensieves for one another, and when we dive headlong into our memories together, we can watch them in living color.

I have recently been reunited with a friend from my college days. I've been struggling with residual baggage from certain events from those years, and I have had a hard time fully dealing with my emotions and my faulty memories. Because I had lost touch with the friends that I was close to during that time, I felt disconnected from the very past that I needed to deal with. It has been a timely blessing to be back in touch with this friend who was close not only to me, but to the situation with which I had been wrestling. Today we sat over coffee and reminisced, and the conversation was cathartic. This friend was my pensieve; going back over past events together helped me to see my own memories in a new light.

Stephen and I are going through a time of tough transition now, and I am grateful for our good friends who are standing with us. They're giving us strength and encouragement right now, and one day when our lives have smoothed out, they'll be holding our stories of God's faithfulness. Any time we need them, those memories will be just a conversation away.

Lurker Appreciation Day

2007-10-23T20:41:00.001-05:00

Occasionally I'll get obsessive about my comments and start to worry that my blog has turned into little more than a public conversation with Karen. Or even worse, that I'm pontificating to an empty room or indifferent passers-by, like a crazy street prophet on the side of the road. The idea makes me extremely self-conscious, despite the fact that I still officially maintain that this blog is primarily for my own benefit.

Every once in a while, though, I discover a blog lurker (Hi, Katie!), or I get a comment from a semi-lurker like my mom and Abbey. I have decided that these people are my favorite readers. I have no idea when they do or don't come around, but I can always comfort myself with their presence. On a really insecure day, I can imagine an army of readers, peeking at the blog from the shadows, laughing hysterically at my jokes or stroking their chins thoughtfully at a serious point. Even as I write this, I'm reminding myself of the poor protagonist of A Beautiful Mind, but, it's reassuring anyway.

I have a fondness for lurkers not just because they shore up my own self-confidence, but because I am one myself as well. I comment faithfully on about two blogs. I read about ten, some of which are written by people I have never met. That's the beauty of this whole thing.

This post is not an appeal for lurkers to show themselves by leaving comments. If anything, this would probably ruin my illusions. But, to those of you who are out there (you know who you are), I'm glad you're reading.

Chalk Talk

2007-10-18T19:31:00.000-05:00

It occurred to me today that chalkboards are now as obsolete as Easter bonnets. You can find them in a few primitive communities and ancient church Sunday school rooms, but for the most part chalkboards have been replaced by the more classroom-friendly dry erase board. It's sad for me, as possessing supreme power of the chalk was one of the main reasons I wanted to become a teacher in the first place. Getting to be master of the markers is not quite as glorious, more like glorified kindergarten.

I remember staying in at recess and inventing writing games to play on the board, just for the sake of practice. I remember my eccentric science teacher in fourth grade showing us how you could make the chalk skip across the board making dots by holding it at a certain angle. And, saddest of all, gone is the childhood joy of banging chalk dust out of erasers onto the board itself, onto classmates, and into the grass outside of the building. I realized that this is a memory that I could share with Laura Ingalls but not with my own fourth grade students.

Aesthetically, the green board is a loss, for what better complements the red-apple decor of school days? The giant white board now dominating the front of most classrooms is impersonal and intimidating, evoking thoughts of arctic tundra, hospital corridors, and women's legs in the winter.

Besides, when you want to get the attention of a classroom full of unruly teens, scratching fingernails across a chalkboard was always a sure last resort (just ask Sister Mary Clarence). All we can do now is to keep the door shut and hope the fumes from the dry erase markers will eventually slow the pranksters down.

Meet Stephen

2007-10-09T21:33:00.001-05:00

Sorry folks...I've got no ideas! So I'll borrow from Karen.

1. Who is your man?
Stephen
2. How long have you been together?
married 2 years
3. How long did you date?
dated 6 months, engaged for 6 months
4. How old is your man?
28
5. Who eats more?
Stephen, unless it's cookies!
6. Who said "I love you" first?
He did.
7. Who is taller?
Stephen, even when I have my tall shoes on. That was a must.
8. Who sings better?
It would be a painful competition.
9. Who is smarter?
Depends on the subject.
10. Whose temper is worse?
Mine, probably.
11. Who does the laundry?
He does!
12. Who takes out the garbage?
Stephen.
13. Who sleeps on the right side of the bed?
Me. I tried to switch sides once and it freaked him out.
14. Who pays the bills?
Me.
15. Who is better with the computer?
Neither one of us is has very technical knowledge, but we can both figure out how to get the computer to do what we need it to.
16. Who mows the lawn?
Some strange man. Stephen used to, though, and proved to be a wizard with a lawn mower and baling wire!
17. Who cooks dinner?
Usually that's my job, although Stephen has been doing it a lot lately since I've started back to school.
18. Who drives when you are together?
Usually Stephen, unless we're in a hurry.
19. Who pays when you go out?
Stephen
20. Who is most stubborn?
It is a very tough call. He'll usually give in first to avoid an argument, though.
21. Who is the first to admit when they are wrong?
I am never wrong, so this hasn't really come up.
22. Whose parents do you see the most?
We hang out with both of our families a lot!
23. Who kissed who first?
I'm a lady...who do you think?
24. Who asked who out?
Ditto to the previous question.
25. Who proposed?
Stephen...it was a very romantic surprise!
26. Who is more sensitive?
Probably Stephen, although I have my issues.
27. Who has more friends?
Me.
28. Who has more siblings?
I do, but there are sisters-in-law and nieces and nephews on his side, so there are more people at Watson gatherings.
29. Who wears the pants in the family?
It's really a team effort.

Yet another dilemma

2007-10-02T18:37:00.001-05:00

So I've been spending a lot of mental energy trying to figure out exactly how many times I can go to Keva Juice in a week before it becomes irresponsible and gluttonous. Mmm, smoothies.

Reflections On Lost

2007-09-30T15:48:00.000-05:00

Stephen and I are on the hunt for a good new TV show to get into. We can beat the Friends characters to every punch line on every episode of every season, and we're caught up on 24 until all of Season 6 is released. We don't want to watch anything that's currently showing, because we want to be able to watch as many episodes as we want, at any given time, without any commercial interruption.

On Friday night, after being grossly underwhelmed by the selection of New Releases at Hastings, we decided to rent the first disc of Lost, Season 1.

Stephen loved it. I was so scared by the pilot episode that I ended up curled up on the couch, watching the last three-quarters of it through tiny slits between my fingers. The whole show premise is bad enough: 48 people are stranded on a remote island after a horrific plane crash. Within a few minutes, it becomes clear that some of the people on the plane are scary all in themselves, there are unidentified, giant wild animals inhabiting the island, and it is suggested that maybe other people have been stranded and died there before.

In the scariest scene of the pilot, a girl named Kate finds herself running through the jungle, chased by some unseen monster that has just chewed up another character and strung his bloody remains in the treetops. I tried to explain to Stephen how much I felt her panic. "I would rather drop dead than be that afraid."

Stephen said I was a coward.

I did agree to finish off the disc, and to suspend my judgment of the show until I had seen more of it. It did mellow out a little bit, and the mysteries surrounding the characters themselves have me curious enough to continue on to disc 2.

The thing that I do like about horrific shows like Lost and 24 is that they give me a comforting perspective on my own problems:

Maybe I'm hungry, but at least I don't have to pilfer through dead people's pockets looking for something to eat.
Maybe this hotel room is kind of dingy, but at least weaponized nerve gas is not coming into my room through the air conditioning.
Maybe my shoes hurt my feet, but at least I am not having to sew up my own gaping wound with a thread from someone's travel sewing kit and a needle sterilized by a travel-sized bottle of vodka.
Maybe my needy students were especially emotionally taxing today, but at least I didn't have to shoot my boss in the head to avoid giving away my undercover position as a member of a terrorist network.

Of course, after last Friday, I have had to add plane wreckage and uninhabited jungles to my list of fear-for-my-life locations (you know, gas stations, stopped traffic, red lights on deserted country roads; basically anywhere where my axles might get severed)...but that's another story.

Wake Up

2007-09-24T17:19:00.000-05:00

Mr. Darcy famously observed that every personality has a tendency to certain evils. One of mine is a tendency to be boring. It's easier to stay home and watch a movie than to think up an exciting outing. It's easier to say "no" to a risky proposal than to try it out. It's easier to order what I know I like than to try something new. Usually I coast along in my status-quo life, but occasionally I take some uncharacteristic initiative to try something new. This weekend was one such time.

My sister Laurashmaura played college basketball. My brother Alan was an all-star football player in high school. My sister Leslie is a cheerleader, which she claims is sport enough to qualify her as an athlete. I am commonly regarded as the family scholar, on a nice day, or else I'm the family couch potato. So when Stephen and I went out to the lake with my family last Saturday, I didn't even bother to wear my swimsuit, as I had no intention of getting my hair wet.

Laurashmaura and her friend Jayna took some turns tearing it up on the wakeboard. After they finished, dripping all over the boat in all their glory, I started to feel twinges of interest. "Next time we go out, I think I'll try that," I offered, imagining this blessed event to be next summer. The family was surprised but encouraged me. And so, to make a long story short, I jumped into the water in my tank top and shorts to try out the wakeboard for myself.

It was so fun! No one thought to take a picture of my proud accomplishment, so I've searched the internet to find a substitute picture that documents what I must have looked like:

Now of course, the down side is that no activity short of a car accident could have prepared my muscles for this kind of use. Today I wish I could have called in sick and laid on the bed with my whole body in traction. But it was worth it to be wicked cool for twenty minutes.

Inspiring Thought for the Day

2007-09-19T20:41:00.001-05:00

Everyone at my work, including me, is working on a major stomach ulcer, and we're barely halfway through our first quarter. The first of school frenzy has not died down yet, as we have been negotiating new teaching arrangements, a new special activity schedule, and, most of all, a new curriculum that is causing us to re-tool everything we've done in previous years.

I've had administrators in my classroom for observations twice already, and we're having weekly meetings to try to brainstorm the most effective ways to implement our new objectives.

Most of this is to be expected for a school that is less than five years old and that is learning to accommodate a rapidly growing student population. We all know it's worth the effort, and that we are working toward a valuable goal, but it doesn't make the daily work any less grueling.

Today I thought back on a memorable line from the first sermon I ever heard at my current church: in life there are no finished symphonies. I feel the truth of this statement during the stress of my school life. A symphony involves synchronizing infinite possibilities of instruments and notes and harmonies, and there are always ways to make it more beautiful than before.

I reflected that this is true of all worthy endeavors, from marriage to child raising to running a school--as some issues resolve, others will arise, but the work will never be truly complete. In some ways this is frustrating, because I feel like I'm running on a hamster wheel and not making any progress. But in other ways it can inspiring--every day there is a way to do my job better, or to love my husband better, or to learn something new, if I look for those opportunities. Now, if I would only look for those opportunities...

Practical Knowledge

2007-09-14T18:45:00.001-05:00

A couple of days ago I was leaving work later than usual, and the parking lot of my downtown building was empty of its normal traffic. As I walked toward my car, I was approached by a scruffy looking man who had been sitting on a nearby bus stop bench.

When he asked if I could give him some money to go eat dinner, I replied with my ready answer, "I'm really sorry, but I don't carry cash."

My heart started to race as the man's eyes narrowed in anger. "Let me see about that," he growled, lunging for my purse.

The adrenaline surged through my body and my instincts kicked in. My right fist shot out and my assailant was startled by the force of the blow, the pain of which was compounded by the impact of my Aggie Ring on the bridge of his nose. He yelped in pain and staggered backward, clutching his face when I struck him again with a swift uppercut to the chin.

Taking advantage of his momentary weakness, I felled him with a roundhouse kick, no small feat in my tweed pencil skirt and brown high heels. He lay unconscious long enough for me to dial the police on my cell phone, and the police quickly arrived to take him into custody. As they loaded the vagabond into the back of the squad car, the cops praised my quick thinking and sure aim.

Okay, maybe not. But I like to tell myself stories like this often as I try to motivate myself to keep up the hard work with my Tae Bo videos. I never know...one day these wicked skills might come in handy!

Call Me Crazy

2007-09-11T21:20:00.000-05:00

I would consider switching careers and becoming a mid-level corporate boss just so that I could have a secretary who would make phone calls for me. On multiple occasions, I have driven across town to drop in on someone in person to ask a question or make a comment without having to initiate a phone call. Stephen has started threatening to stop enabling me after one too many times when he's had to call our friends to work out plans that were my idea.

In my personal life, my social engagements are limited to those activities that I can coordinate via e-mail or through a phone call from Stephen. It's cost me the occasional relationship or two, but I consider it a fair sacrifice for getting to avoid the telephone.

Unfortunately, I cannot be so discriminating in my professional relationships. My boss still does not understand the deer-in-the-headlights look that I give her when she casually asks me to call so-and-so to set up a conference. (But then again, this is a woman who thinks nothing of recording an outgoing message on an answering machine with a room full of people standing by--which is my equivalent of the nightmare about showing up to work in underwear) If I say, "I really hate calling people," she might sympathize, but she still expects me to make the call. She does not understand that that statement is code for, "Will you please call this person for me?" Actually, I think she does understand, but pretends ignorance.

So anyway...I've recently been battling my flesh on this whole phone-calling issue. There is a person in town that I would really like to invite to come talk to my class as a guest speaker. I have tried every subtle method of delegating this responsibility, and it keeps coming back to me. For two days I have had the phone number on a Post-It on my desk. For two days I have told myself to get on the phone. For two days I have given in to my weakness.

Since I would always rather psychoanalyze my problems than actually work through them, here is what I have decided is the base issue: I don't like to be told no. I don't want to call the lady and ask her to come to my class because she might be busy. I don't want to call my friends and ask them out to dinner because they might not want to. Even when the excuse is legitimate, I take the rejection personally. Don't ask me why.

Deep breath. I am posting this confession here so that I feel peer pressure to act. I WILL CALL MY GUEST SPEAKER TOMORROW. Or Thursday.

Back in the Game

2007-09-09T20:55:00.001-05:00

I have always been a big Caedmon's fan, and I've always taken it for granted that everything they put out in stores would be great.

A recent Google search of music review and CC fan pages made me aware that I seem to be one of few fans who still feels this way, after the past several albums which apparently have been poorly received.

However, Overdressed brings back Derek Webb, as everyone who has been within 10 feet of this CD already knows. It's a great project that has brought fans both loyal and disenfranchised back together in love and adoration of what I consider to be the greatest band still recording Christian music.

Buy it.

Always Improving for Your Reading Pleasure

2007-09-04T19:52:00.000-05:00

I have been inspired by Teresa, and I'm making my "Recent Reads" sidebar more up-to-date and more informative. First of all, I've cleared off the books that no longer qualify as "recent," so there went the whole bottom of the list. Second, I've decided to add more information so that all of you kindred spirit book-lovers out there can actually use this feature as a helpful tool. Because some of the books on there aren't even very good, I would hate to have you waste your time on them because you thought I was recommending them.

Next to the title I would like to place stars like a real critic, but I don't know how to work pictures into this template, so you will have to settle for a boring 0-5 rating. I may or may not provide further explanation, depending on whether or not I have anything to say. I figure that amazon.com is a great place that you can go on your own if all you want is a plot summary.

Ratings are as follows:
0- This book should count itself lucky if I use it to stabilize a wobbly table.
1- I read it. I am pretty sure it had a plot and some characters.
2- Not a bad choice if you're stranded in an airport and the only other choice is a car magazine.
3- A good story, but nothing overly memorable...this is the literary version of "wait for it to come out on video."
4- Pretty dang good. Worth reading at least 3 times, but not consecutively.
5- You'll laugh, you'll cry...you'll start back at the beginning as soon as you finish it just so that you don't have to say goodbye.

Why I Am Happy to be a Presbyterian Baptist

2007-08-30T18:15:00.000-05:00

As dissatisfied as we may be with church as a career opportunity, our enthusiasm for church attendance has not been dampened in the least. Since February, when we left the HOP, we have been double-dipping, so to speak, in church worlds.

On Saturday night we attend a contemporary service at a local Baptist church. The contemporary music is the best in town, and we enjoy worshiping with friends in the small and familiar crowd. On Sunday morning we have been attending a Presbyterian church, which we love for its liturgical style, simplicity, and meaty preaching.

Since we are no longer officially pursuing the church job track, we felt that it was time to really commit to a church. We have been visiting several congregations in our area, and we have yet to find one place that really has captured our interest.

It's been almost a year since I blogged about my own conflicting preferences in worship service styles. At the time, I was hoping to be part of a church that could reconcile my desire for casual and formal, comfortable and reverent, etc. Now that we've had the opportunity to sit in the congregation of many different churches (and many good churches, at that), I've come to believe that the only way I can reconcile the paradox is by keeping my feet in two worlds.

When I go to Saturday nights I feel the warmth of community and the emotion of jamming for Jesus. When I go to my PCA service, I feel the companionship of centuries of believers as I recite the beautiful words of liturgy and sing ancient songs of faith. The combination of these experiences makes my churchgoing experience feel complete. When I miss out on either one, I feel lacking.

And so it is not indecisively, but thoughtfully, that I choose both.

Men, Women, and Unborn Baby Luaus

2007-08-25T14:08:00.000-05:00

We recently were invited to a Hawaiian-themed couples baby shower. One afternoon while we were running errands, I coerced Stephen into accompanying me to Target to buy the baby gift.

We printed the gift registry from the little kiosk and set off for the baby section. Stephen glanced at the rows of baby paraphernalia. "How much are you planning to spend on this kid?"

I named the amount, and justified it by emphasizing the importance of the relationship that I have with the baby's maternal grandmother. Besides, my mom had agreed to go in for half.

"Okay," said Stephen, and skimmed the pages of the registry. "That means that we can get the Bumbo Baby Sitter Blue...and a Boppy slipcover. Oh, and one pack of assorted wash cloths. That will be just the right amount."

"No, no," I tried to explain. "We want to pick one semi-large gift to set the theme, but we want to have enough money left to buy a few other items that relate to the theme. Those things you said don't have anything to do with each other."

Stephen tried to look patient and understanding as it dawned on him that this would be no quick in-and-out trip. I prowled up and down the baby aisles in search of inspiration. My initial idea was a bath-themed gift, with a baby tub full of shampoos, lotions, and towels. But washcloths and shampoo were the only thing on the registry, and I wasn't going to go out on a limb for the most expensive part of the gift.

After much agonizing, I decided to go with a diaper-themed gift. We bought diapers and wipes, and a travel changing pad, some diaper rash cream, baby powder, and Purel hand sanitizer.

Stephen mentally totaled the items in our basket. "So, we're set, right? A basket full of themed baby stuff. Now we can get a big gift bag and go?"

"No, no," I contradicted, and proceeded to instruct him in phase two of the gift buying: Themed baby stuff is a good gift. But good is not good enough- we want to give the best gift. And the line between good and best is all in the presentation. "We need to find a cute container that fits our theme that we can put all this stuff in."

Stephen eyed the pile of diaper accessories. "Maybe a laundry basket?"

"You can't put diapers in a laundry basket!" Stephen knows my paranoia about mixing clean and dirty.

"Well, they're unused diapers in a brand new basket," he reasoned.

I was off to investigate what seemed like the only logical possibility for a container in keeping with my theme: a trash can. Voila! There was a perfect one, in a lovely hue of baby green, and for a very reasonable price. Stephen was skeptical, but willing to go along with anything at this point.

I got home, played with my ribbons and scissors and clear cellophane, and even Stephen had to admire my final product:

myMac

2007-08-25T10:27:00.000-05:00

My school is further cementing my loyalty by purchasing new laptops for all teachers. On Friday, my boss sent a couple of us home with a Mac Powerbook to test them out and see how we liked them. All of my computer experience has been with PCs, but I have heard a lot about Macs from friends who are loyal Apple fans. I was excited to explore the wonderful world of Macs for myself.

So on Saturday morning, I toted my pleasantly lightweight laptop up to Panera, my favorite wireless hotspot (for how much fun can it be to explore a computer with no internet?). I watched the "Getting Around Your Mac" tutorial and clicked around the brightly colored icons at the bottom of the screen. I took pictures of myself in Photo Booth (note the new profile pic), admired the lovely stock photography in iPhoto, and listened to the demos in Garage Band. I played with the settings as much as I dared on a borrowed computer.

It's a little bit like getting used to a new car, when you keep turning on the windshield wipers every time you want to use the turn signal. Obviously, there are many fun new features. But I am also a little clumsy, beacuse my keyboard shortcuts don't always work, buttons are not where I expect them to be, and I keep having to click the mouse button rather than just tapping the finger pad.

After an hour or so of playing with all the pretty toys , I decided to look for the software that I would actually use the most: whatever would let me do word processing and spreadsheets. I knew better than to look for Microsoft Office products right off the bat, but I couldn't find anything! I had to laugh at a computer that made it easy to create my own DVD but challenging to create a document.

After much searching, I finally found a Microsoft Office demo. It was a little anticlimactic (don't know if I spelled that right...and I can't figure out how to open a new window to check dictionary.com), because Word was basically the same. I also worried that having to pay a couple hundred more dollars for a software license might be a deal breaker for my getting to keep this computer. Of course, there may be a superior word processing program right underneath my fingertips and I just don't know where to look...I'm sure you AppleHeads will let me know.

Meanwhile, I'm going to keep exploring.

School Rocks

2007-08-22T20:48:00.001-05:00

I am happy to announce my most successful first day of school yet. I had the fewest recurrences of my first day of school nightmare (basically, that I show up for a work day that turns out to be the first day of school and I'm unprepared) during the last few weeks, and I felt the most prepared I've been going into today. My lessons went well, and I didn't have to use many of my made- up- time- waster activities.

In other school news, I'm joining an experimental group of lunch buddies. The idea is that on Sunday, this group (there are currently three of us) will cook a yummy meal and package it up in portion-sized containers. We all bring our meal to school and trade around, and we all end up with three homemade lunches for the week. We're hoping to expand our club to cover all five days. I'll let you know how it goes, but I'm thrilled at the prospect of fewer peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Finally, I have finally joined the most high-tech of teachers, and I have a school sponsored class blog. It's not nearly as interesting as my personal blog, of course, but if you are interested in the minutiae of my daily schedule, it's a riveting read. You can find it easily through my school's website. No stalking, though.

Okay folks, I'm off to soak my weary feet and rest up for Day 2.

Tag

2007-08-18T10:25:00.000-05:00

The Rules:
1. I have to post these rules before I give you the facts.
2. Each player starts with 8 random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog (about their 8 things) and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

Disclaimer: Thinking about this assignment made me realize I am not a woman of mystery. Most of these facts won't come as a surprise to anyone.

1. In case you haven't noticed, I am extremely paranoid. Last night we went to the movies and there were some noisy people sitting behind me. I got all freaked out thinking about how if they got really peeved at me, they could probably take a belt or a strong scarf and strangle me before anyone in the loud, dark, theater noticed. Needless to say, I did not turn around and shush them. (It didn't help that we were watching Live Free or Die Hard, which was full of innovative killing techniques.) Speaking of movie theater paranoia, I also try never to lean back against the seat, out of fear of contracting lice. And I always worry that I'm going to sit on a needle that has been infected with HIV.

2. I hate birds. I do not find their chirping to be melodious or pleasant; Cinderella is totally misleading about nature.

3. One time my friend Abbey told me that the last drink out of a can or bottle is backwash. So I never drink anything down to the bottom. Usually I leave about four drinks, just to be sure.

4. I love to wear bangs because they help to minimize my large head. However, I have trouble keeping them looking nice because I have a cowlick at either corner of my forehead along the hairline. Usually a straightening iron does the trick; if you see my bangs pinned back with bobby pins, you can be sure it's a bad cowlick day.

5. I am fascinated with celebrities. I love to read People and trashy celeb gossip blogs. My favorite famous people are all the Friends, Colin Firth, and Hugh Grant. I love the Friends because their show is so funny. I love Colin because he is Mr. Darcy. I love Hugh for his booty.

6. I realized in our most recent move how important I am to myself. It is hard for me to get rid of anything that represents a significant amount of my time and/or effort, even if the end product is ugly and/or non-functioning. I forced myself to overcome this attachment by throwing away old school projects, ugly hand-painted pottery, and worksheets made for classes I will never teach again. There's a fine line between sentimentality and narcissism.

7. Highlights of my year include: Start of school, end of school, Christmas, and the day I buy a calendar for the new year.

8. I read compulsively. I love books, magazines, mail, blogs, and articles of all kinds. Even cereal boxes and nutritional information on wrappers will suffice in a pinch. I have a very low tolerance for nonfiction, though. Unless it's a really entertaining narrative, I usually can't get past a few chapters in a story that I know is true. (This is how I can still enjoy magazines and blogs, even though most of those are true. They don't require too long of an attention span. It's also why I can read a million articles on Jennifer Aniston but would never read a biography of her. It would be too long, and it would be lame.)

If you have not done this yet, I tag you.

Mice and Men

2007-08-14T19:12:00.001-05:00

One of my favorite poems is Robert Burns' "To a Mouse." It's a really sympathetic poem about a mouse who has planned for winter by building a snug little house. The speaker is a farmer who has plowed through the mouse's nest, destroying it, and it's too late in the year for the mouse to build another one. So, despite the mouse's careful preparation, he is still left out in the cold for the winter. The poem is timeless and classic, not because it's a sad animal tale, but because Burns connects himself with the mouse in the last couple of stanzas with his famous summary, "The greatest plans of mice and men often go awry/and leave us not but grief and pain for promised joy."

As my careful planning for the future is often thwarted by circumstances beyond my control, I really bonded with this poem. The poet doesn't offer any sort of solution, but he is very sympathetic to both mice and people who are left wanting despite their best efforts.

Now this post is not as sad as it could be, but I've been thinking about Burns' little mouse for the past couple of days as we've gone back to school for our work days. I vowed at the beginning of the summer to use my time off productively so that I would be organized and prepared for the new year. And I did work, pretty steadily, all summer.

Yet, here I am, one week and counting from the first day of school, in panic mode. My room is not ready, my lesson plans are not finalized, I need to choose reading lists and order books, and I have school supplies strewn across my floor. There are parent letters to write, a classroom webpage to build, worksheets to create, and meetings to attend.

This is the time of year that I love to hate. Right now there seems to be more to do than I can possibly accomplish, and the hours of the day race by. But I know that somehow it will all be finished on time, and that when my room fills up with hopeful little faces, I will know what to do with them. And even if I don't, I know they can't tell when I'm bluffing.

40 Days

2007-08-08T13:07:00.001-05:00

On Friday it will have been forty days since I removed the comments from my blog. That means my Summer Lent is over! I am going out of town on a school retreat until Saturday, and I will be enabling comments on the next post after I come back.

I feel that after my time away from comments, I am prepared to put them back on my blog without obsessing about them. I will continue to write whatever I want, without regard for feedback, and you can all entertain me and each other with your witty responsive comments. So check back next week, and comment on the post. Or not...whatever.

Hello, Big City!

2007-08-06T18:50:00.000-05:00

Our move went smoothly and we're now official city folk again. Thanks to all of our friends and family who helped us with the move.

I've been very rudely single-minded for the past three days and we're basically unpacked. I have a couple of organizing projects left and I need to hang wall art and curtains, but other than that I'm finished! We're leaving the Moores' tomorrow and so we'll get to move into a clean and neat new home.

Excuses

2007-07-31T19:23:00.001-05:00

So, I know I'm due for another blog soon. But I'm not going to write one, but I think you'll forgive me. Here are my excuses:
1. Our wireless internet went out at the house. Bummer!
2. School starts in about three weeks and I've procrastinated AGAIN.
3. We decided yesterday to move this weekend and we're trying to pack all of our worldly goods.

Soon, very soon...

Slump Day

2007-07-26T08:50:00.000-05:00

I'm not going to therapy because I want to believe that this happens to everyone. I had a bad self-esteem day. Actually, it was two days.

Day 1: It all began when I tried to put on my favorite pair of khakis, (the ones I bought last year because my old khakis were too small, the ones with the baggy fit) and they were so tight the pocket seams made big distinct rectangle shapes on my thighs. It continued when we went to my in-laws' house and I weighed myself on their hospital scale. They have the brutal kind with the sliding weights, so there is no room for fudging about which tiny line the arrow is pointing to, and no excuses about alignment and scale differences. Anyway, the weight was my all-time high.

(I do realize that people who obsess about their weight are obnoxious to those well-adjusted people who have come to happy terms with their body image. But I have not been able to contain my neurosis, and I've asked around to selected diplomatic family members and friends if they can tell a difference. Everyone has diplomatically informed me that I am not visibly larger, except for my mom, who said she thought I looked more "healthy." Whatever.)

Day 2: the scale incident had been enough to shock me into action. I bought Slim-Fast shakes at the grocery store and ordered a salad at Panera rather than my favorite potato soup. I was excited to be taking action, but still in a self-esteem slump. It didn't help that all of my clothes had turned ugly in the closet while I slept, and that I happen to hate my new haircut. (The only redeeming factor was that my freshly cut bangs did sweep low enough to cover the new zit on my forehead--seriously, I couldn't catch a break on this day.)

So anyway, I did the stupidest possible thing on a day like this- I went clothes shopping. I was with my mom and sister, who wanted to walk around the Marketplace. I happen to be on a long-time search for a cute white shirt, and so I tried on a few items.

Big mistake! Everyone knows that the Devil installs the lighting in dressing rooms, and that there is no worse image than your own body clad in underwear and socks in a full-length mirror. And of course, all the shirts I tried on made me look/feel dumpy.

The dressing-room employee makes his way down the row, checking up on all of us. A little chirpy wisp next door is disappointed that the size zeros hang a little loose on her. The employee knocks on my door and wants to know if I need anything in a different size.

I wish I could hand over my rear end and thighs. "Can you get me some of these in a Small? You should be able to find them somewhere around 2004."

Mmm, facts

2007-07-24T15:10:00.000-05:00

I love knowing stuff. I'm not determined enough to accumulate knowledge that is actually complicated, like quantum physics or microbiology or fourth-dimensional mathematics, but I do love to stuff my mind with simple, fluffy facts. I am pretty good at Jeopardy (depending on the category), I am almost always smarter than a fifth grader, I can get the pies in Trivial Pursuit, and I could hold my own in a discussion with a member of the paparazzi regarding celebrity comings and goings. (This last wealth of knowledge is because I've recently become hooked on a celebrity gossip blog that is often trashier than my old standby, People magazine, and almost always funnier.) Oh, and I always know the right answers on "Jaywalking."

I've recently been challenged to employ myself in more scholarly fact-gathering than what I happen to glean from quiz shows or late night television. Here are my three inspirations:

1. We are living in a house with an incredible study. It is a room with a big window on one wall that lets in natural light. The other three walls are filled with built-in bookshelves, which are full of heady books, some of which do not interest me (The Encyclopedia of Philosophy, Yugoslavia as History), some of which I wish had a movie version or Cliff's Notes (The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire: Vols. 1-3, A Manual of the Writings of Middle English), and some of which I like to pretend will interest me some day (all the works of T.S. Eliot, Chaucer, Shakespeare, and most other authors of note).

The pile of things that I brought to read while we were living here includes In Her Shoes, Harry Potter, and my Real Simple magazine. It's a little humbling for a person who imagines that she is smart.

2. We just spent a weekend with my friends John and KarenD. John is the type who reads Wikipedia and listens to NPR for fun, and we could always count on him to revive a lagging conversation with his favorite words, "You know what I just read/heard?" This question was always followed by some sort of trivia usually concerning fractals, technology, or what small percentage of the brain is utilized by the average human. As if I needed mathematical proof of how mentally lazy I actually am.

3. I am totally digging my latest book, as I've listed in my "Recent Reads." The Know-It-All is a surprisingly hilarious memoir of a guy who decides to read the Encyclopaedia Brittanica from A-Z. The first chapter is titled "A," the last chapter is titled "Z," and it's a witty commentary on the funniest, most random, or most interesting facts that he stumbles across along the way.

The story begins when the author, who is wanting to become a parent, pictures himself being asked a question like "Why is the sky blue?" by his child, and he realizes that he doesn't know. Now for a man who imagined himself to be smart and well-informed, it is sad and shocking to realize that that he could have told his child the names of Julia Roberts' children, but that he could not satisfy little Junior's first query about the world around him.

This story really hit home for me, and when I have not been waking Stephen up in the middle of the night by laughing out loud at this book, I've actually been contemplating delving into the EB myself. So if you call me and I don't pick up, or you notice that I'm a little slow to blog, it's probably because I'm engrossed in a scholarly article about the use of symbolism and irony in eighteenth century French literature. Unless I'm reading up on which celebrities attended the Beckhams' "Welcome to America" party. It would be a tough call.

When Are We Having a Baby?

2007-07-18T11:12:00.000-05:00

The Baby Question seems to have come up a lot lately, since we are young (but not too young) and have now managed to stay married for two years, it seems like the natural next step in most people's minds. Certain members of my family are now especially interested in this question as they now have a financial stake in the answer (ahem, ahem, Watsons...).

I've been pondering the Question some myself, and I feel very strong pulls in contradicting directions. One one hand, I'd like to wait. Although I never thought I'd think this way, I actually am enjoying my full-time job and I don't feel ready to give it up, which I would want to do if we had a baby. I feel like I'm just hitting stride as a fourth grade teacher, and I hate the idea of quitting just as I've learned how to do my job well. Also, my ambitions at LO have not even come close to running their course. I'd like to gain enough clout there so that I can stay involved in committees and decision making even after I've gone to working part time.

Also, as you know from previous posts, we're in major limbo from Stephen's perspective, and we're looking seriously at the idea of him going back to school for a couple of years. It seems like a less-than-responsible decision to choose to have a baby at a time when neither one of us could devote our time to bread-winning OR staying home with Junior. It would be possible, but less than ideal.

On the other hand, I love the idea of having a baby. Many of my other young married friends are thinking about getting pregnant or have already had babies, and I hate missing out on the bandwagon. I'd like it if I had kids at the same time as my friends, so we could do play dates and our kids could be in the same school grade and could grow up and marry each other. I love hanging out with my little nieces and nephews, and I enjoy the babies of my friends. I've really had Baby Fever since I was about thirteen, and now that I'm good and twenty-five it seems like surely I've waited long enough. Not to mention, I would like four kids, and unless I can be really efficient and have twins, I need to get going or I'll be too old for the last one.

On top of all of my mental confusion, there is the very inconvenient fact that often bodies don't cooperate with the deadlines that are set for them. Some people get pregnant before they mean to. Some people don't get pregnant right away, even if it is time according to The Plan. So even if I had a set date in mind, there's no guarantee.

So...here is your answer: I DON'T KNOW. I'll tell you when the test is positive, and nothing before then. No speculating!

Watch Cable, Learn Stuff

2007-07-17T08:20:00.000-05:00

There is a strong belief that comes to light especially in the idle days of summer, and that is the idea that television numbs the mind and wastes precious hours. I would like to offer another perspective.

As you know, I have had access to cable for the past two weeks in our temporary digs, and I have taken full advantage of this opportunity to increase my knowledge on many subjects. Here is what I would not have known if it weren't for the tube:

A pencil skirt is a must-have in any working woman's wardrobe.

You can't get an epidural if you arrive at the hospital already dilated past a certain point.

It is a big deal that Victoria Beckham is moving to L.A.

Natural births are overrated. Drugs are good.

There are at least three new Sonic commercials out.

Christian Slater is one of the forty sexiest people in the entire world.

Most people who pluck their own eyebrows are doing it wrong.

Kate Hudson's brother Wyatt plays hockey for a team in Vancouver.

The proper way of using an eyelash curler is to squeeze it close to your eyelid, pump once, pull out a little, pump again, and pump a third time on the very tip of the lashes.

Joe Kennedy was exceedingly ambitious.

The Oreo was not the first chocolate and cream sandwich cookie introduced in the U.S.

One expert believes that J.K. Rowling is going to kill off Fred and George Weasley in the final book. Another predicts that Harry will die.

Fascinating facts like that, my friends, are what you won't read in your local paper.

Questions, lighthearted and otherwise

2007-07-10T09:48:00.000-05:00

When I used to work in the big high school, one of the recurring conversations that would come up over lunch in the English teachers' work room was, "If you were going to have a career other than teaching, what would you do?" Answers varied: "novelist," "art dealer," "comedian," "chef;" basically, a list that was as realistic as the career ambitions of our delusional students on the other side of the self-locking door. It always struck me as sort of amusing that all these women had such a ready answer; I guess sometimes daydreams of another life were the only thing that could give them the strength to go on.

Well, I found myself thinking through the same question, though, as the year wore on and the hellish start to my long-planned-for career never improved. By mid-spring, I had decided that I hated teaching and would not, for any amount of money, set foot in the classroom again after my contract was up. It was a very disconcerting thought, because since I was in first grade teaching had been my career ambition. I had never seriously considered doing anything else, and I certainly was minimally qualified for any other job, despite what my academic advisor in the English department promised.

When I moved to Waco, I pursued a job as a secretary. They were all at Baylor, and most of them included some amount of writing and/or editing, which I thought sounded do-able, and not too demeaning. Plus, I was attracted to the idea of a "professional" job- the smart business attire, a cubicle desk to call my own, phone calls from one brilliant scholar to another.

Due to some unexpected turns in my job search, my quest for a job as an administrative assistant ended when I accepted a position as a fourth grade teacher at Live Oak. So, for all my exploring, I ended up in the same career that I had started with, although in an extremely different context.

Recently in my home, the question of "What would you do if you had to pursue another career?" has been a topic of discussion yet again. This time, it's Stephen on the hot seat. Due to a variety of reasons, we've been tossing around lots of options about what sort of path we might take next. And, while this is fun conversation around a lunch table among people who are firmly entrenched in their actual careers, this topic can be very unnerving when you really mean it. And it brings up a lot of scary questions: What would he do? How do we know when to pursue this? How do we know our motivations are right? Could we really do this?

Stephen asked me two weeks ago, on our two year anniversary, where I saw us in another two years. I had to answer honestly, "I have no idea." We're at a significant crossroads with no clear answer. God only knows where we're going. We're going one day at a time, not always because of great faith, but because that's all we can do!

Dog Days

2007-07-06T10:19:00.000-05:00

Well, we moved into our temporary house in town on Tuesday, and we've adjusted quickly to life in the Big House. We're enjoying cable channels, someone else's CD and DVD collections, and a grocery store that is less than a mile away.

I only had one concern going into this move, and that was how well our dogs would adjust to the new environment. Because the real inhabitants of this house suffer from pet allergies, Phoebe and Callie are not allowed inside. To add to the shock of becoming around-the-clock outside dogs, they would be having to share the backyard with the Moore's giant, hyper boxer, Molly.

I was afraid to leave the house for the first 24 hours of our stay because I was worried that Callie would pick a fight she couldn't finish, and that Molly would kill her and strew her limbs around the back yard. On that front, things seem to be going okay. The dogs don't love each other by any means, but they coexist peacefully for the most part. My two dogs have actually commandeered Molly's doghouse and Molly now sleeps on a bench nearby. In return, Molly asserts her dominance over Callie by drooling all over her face and back about once a day, and they call it even.

The other possible conflict is with the back-fence neighbors. Apparently they have no patience toward barking dogs. They called the police on Molly one time on a night when she was barking at an opossum in the yard. Another time, they threw loaves of bread at another neighbor's barking dog to shut her up.

Now that there are three dogs in our yard, I worry constantly that they will provoke this testy neighbor with their barking. Any time the girls make more than three barks in a row, I run and beat on the windows to make them stop. I'm especially paranoid late at night or in the early morning, when these people might be trying to sleep. Having to get up late at night or early in the morning is also especially annoying when I am trying to sleep myself.

I have to laugh at myself on the rare instance when I go in the back yard and yell at all three dogs at once: "Molly! Callie! Phoebe!", and it sounds like I am running some sort of boarding school for cheerleaders. The odd one out is my fourth pet responsibility, which is a rabbit named Oreo, but it doesn't really spoil the motif too much, because I don't ever really talk to it.

So, in sum, we're almost one week down and no new enemies or pet emergencies. All is well with house sitting and menagerie maintenance.

Yay

2007-07-04T21:59:00.001-05:00

Who Needs Scrapbooking?

2007-07-02T18:15:00.000-05:00

Stephen and I recently resolved to be more diligent about keeping up with our finances. Last weekend, we sat down with a year's worth of bank statements, checkbook registers, and credit card bills. Carefully we reviewed each one to track our spending habits and also to find places where our checkbook register did not match the bank's records.

The whole project took about three hours, and it was a great trip down memory lane. Typical conversations looked like this:

Stephen: "July '06 was a big month. Here is our check to the mortgage company for our new house...and, oh, look...my first paycheck from the HOP."

Lindsey: "This statement says we spent $XX dollars at Lowe's last September. What was that for?"
Stephen: "Remember? That was when we bought our new refrigerator."
Lindsey: "Oh, yeah...the old one was making those terrible noises."

Lindsey: "Hey, a bunch of charges in DFW. This was the time that we went to Hurricane Harbor with Josh and Abbey."
Stephen: "And mine has our charges from the day we spent with Cliff and Teresa at the zoo."
Stephen and Lindsey: (reflectively) "Those were fun days..."

So you see? This was much more fun than looking at unflattering photos of myself in various locations, and the preservation of these memories was as quick as the time it took to swipe the Mastercard or write a check. Let the fun times continue!

A Sweet New Tea

2007-07-02T09:36:00.001-05:00

Empowered by my newly comment-less blog, I made one more change: I removed my endorsements from the sidebar. Now any time I'm particularly thrilled about a product, I'll just give it a little mention in a post. Here is the first one:

I am always on the lookout for tasty things to drink other than soda, which I'm trying to cut back on. I tasted something yummy and new yesterday: Lipton Raspberry White Tea. As I am lazy, I bought a bottle of ready-to-drink tea, but it also comes in powder packets you can add to a water bottle.

It's light, sweet, and refreshing--just right for a hot and sticky summer day.

Summer Lent

2007-06-30T10:58:00.000-05:00

I have decided that I care too much about comments. I crave them, I check obsessively for them, and I choose topics that I hope will generate more of them.

Enough.

I am going to try an experiment to break my comment craze: I'm turning off that feature on the blog for the rest of the summer. I will continue to write, and I hope you will continue to read. If you really want to talk to me about something I've said, you can talk to me in person, send me an e-mail, or message me on Facebook.

What do you think of my bold move? Well...I guess I'll never know.

Speaking from No Experience

2007-06-27T17:24:00.000-05:00

Normally blog posts are a place where I share my opinion about a subject. But in this case, I am not sure what my opinion is. Three times in about ten days, I have witnessed this strange phenomenon that I honestly do not understand. In my ignorance, I think it's weird, but I seek enlightenment.

As I have mentioned in various contexts before, I am a frequent patron of public restrooms. Here is what I have seen:

1. Grandma and grandson (maybe age 8?) in the same stall in the Ladies' Room at a restaurant. Based on the way Grandma's espadrilles are sticking out from under the stall door, I can tell she is on her knees facing the toilet.
2. Mom and son (again...age 8? 9?) emerge from the same stall. This was in the women's restroom of my church-owned-and-operated exercise facility.
3. I was waiting outside the women's room (a one-holer, as my dad would call it) at Camille's Sidewalk Cafe. A man and his son (age 7?) emerge from the bathroom. The Dad apologized to me and the rest of the ladies-in-waiting in the hallway as he walked away.

Okay. I get that a) little bitty boys need help going potty, and it's easier for Mom to help Junior in the ladies' room than the men's; b) Mom can't abandon her kids outside while she answers nature's call; and c) there is some concern about sending even independently potty-ing young boys into men's restrooms alone due to the risk of pervs and predators.

But it also seems to me that at some age it's weird for boys to be in the girls' room, and especially weird for boys to be in the same stall with Mom (or Grandma, ugh!), no matter which one needs the relief.

Sorry if the potty talk is awkward, but I'm really curious. I hope this can be less a conversation about bathroom habits and more about child safety and parent/child boundaries. So, for those of you who have opinions about either of those issues, what are your thoughts?

Yay Vacay

2007-06-25T09:21:00.000-05:00

It was summertime. The Texas sun was hot as usual, and the air was filled with the sounds of happy children enjoying their long break from school. As kids and moms visited museums and built ships-in-bottles, and teachers caught up on their sleep on poolside lounge chairs, those people left in the working world found it hard to get excited about their office cubicles and project deadlines.

Lindsey was a teacher, but she really wanted to be productive with her time off. Karen was a freelance graphic designer, and she enjoyed the freedom of being able to work anywhere where she had her computer. The girls agreed to meet at Starbucks, so they could enjoy expensive coffee and free wireless internet while they encouraged one another in their productivity.

Of course, one can't work online until one has already checked all of one's friends' blogs for any new posts. The girls noticed a trend in their pre-work reading: Jill had posted pictures of the beautiful beach in Cancun where she was going to vacation. Lydia posted pictures of the beautiful waterfall that she would explore with Teresa on their camping trip. MAB posted fun details of her extended stay in the city. (And even though she doesn't have a blog, they also knew that their friend Brandy was going to California and Hawaii in July.)

"Wow, it seems like everyone is going on vacation this summer!" remarked Karen.

"I know." agreed Lindsey. "Lucky." (She always tries not to sound too much like the whining Napoleon Dynamite when she says this.)

"Hey...what if we go on our own vacation?" Karen suggested.

The idea sounded like tons of fun to Lindsey. Since Lindsey and Karen are both dutiful and submissive wives, they called their husbands first to make sure they would approve of such a venture, which of course they did.

A few clicks of the mouse later, a plan was in effect. Karen helpfully made all the phone calls, and now they are looking forward to a long weekend away from home at this beach:

(It's Corpus Christi...the most beautiful and affordable beach within reasonable driving distance!)

Lydia Asked for It

2007-06-19T21:15:00.000-05:00

Here...watch this until I get something new put up. I'm planning to be inspired tomorrow.

Buying Time

2007-06-18T14:33:00.001-05:00

No inspiration today. Maybe tomorrow.

Blog in Review

2007-06-13T08:14:00.000-05:00

Next week will be my one-year blogging anniversary. In the spirit of remembrance, I looked back at my first post, in which I listed ten reasons why I started the blog in the first place. A year later, here's how well CGS has fulfilled my expectations:

Top 10 Reasons Why I Wanted a Watson Blog

10. I have failed to keep my "journaling" New Year's Resolution for the past 8 years. Maybe this will be the mode of journaling that sticks!
Here I am, one year later! It's a Lindsey Record! Although the blog has become less of a journal than I pictured. I've tried to write posts that are slightly more universally appealing than mere facts about my day, for reasons of privacy (of others) and also because extremely personal blogs don't get any comments.

9. This is easier than mass e-mailing friends and family with latest updates.
This might be true, depending on who is still reading. Based on my comments lately, it seems that I might just be talking to myself around here...which does not accomplish this. But if my lurkers are still lurking, then we can check this off! The down side is that I've already told my great stories here, so I end up with very little to say at family get-togethers.

8. A bunch of people I know have one.
This is true. Three cheers for jumping on the bandwagon!

7. I need something to put as my website on Facebook.
Check.

6. I need another hobby.
Check.

5. Writing is therapeutic.
This is generally true, except whenever my obsession with comments leads me and those around me to think that maybe blogging makes me need therapy rather than blogging being my therapy.

4. Sometimes people get rich from blogging. I'll get on the bandwagon just in case.
We can go ahead and call this one a failed objective.

3. I'm a teacher. I need somewhere to keep up with all my hilarious and/or inspirational experiences so that I can write my book someday.
I did this some, when the story was irresistible. But concerns for privacy made me more cautious about this than I first thought. Even with my very arcane nicknames, I still worried about parents stumbling into my storytime and getting offended.

2. Stephen is a preacher, and we're just starting out at a new church. I need somewhere to keep up with all of those hilarious and/or inspirational stories so that I can write a book about that, too.
Well, as the stories related to the church tended to be less hilarious/inspirational and more annoyed/frustrated, I did not feel at liberty to post those here. You know what your moms always say: "If you can't say something nice..." It's especially true in a public, online forum that keeps archives.

1. I just spilled coffee on my white t-shirt. (Not actually a reason, but it did just happen.)
Blogging has done so much to help me become more aware of the people and situations around me, I do feel that incidents like this happen much less than they ever did before. As I have honed my skills of observation and intuition, I have developed a oneness with the universe in the manner of a Jedi, like my friend Josh. The coffee no longer has a chance of landing anywhere but on my appreciative taste buds.

A New Dang Post

2007-06-08T12:46:00.000-05:00

Following a one-day break for Memorial Day, school life has not slowed down since the kids were released. We have been doing a two-week training for a new language arts curriculum that we have been teaching. Class has met from 8 AM-1 PM every day, and we have had homework to complete in the afternoons. We have also been having endless "debriefing" meetings and doing end-of-year projects like moving classrooms and creating curriculum maps and plans for next year.

I have also been attending my exercise class regularly, and I am very excited to announce that I touched my own toes during our flexibility exercises this week. Hooray!

We took the final exam in our Spalding class today, so that is over, which also means that I no longer have an excuse to be in town every day. Regular blog posting should be resuming in the next couple of days. I hope that you have not all given up on checking in here!

Short Summer Thoughts

2007-06-02T15:21:00.000-05:00

It's summertime and I'm taking a two-week long class on an intense language arts curriculum, so I'm taking a break from profound thoughts. Snippets are all I've got at the moment.

My 2007 calendar theme is "Nuns Having Fun." The June picture is of about 10 nuns fishing with their habits pulled up to their knees. Summer is the time of year when I am most happy not to be a nun, because even I would tire of the black sheath in 100-degree heat. The rest of the year, a multi-layered uniform has its appeal for its simplicity and warmth. But to me, June is the month of shorts and halter tops, and I'm glad not to be encumbered by strict guidelines of modesty and solemnity.

Our latest Netflix was The Guardian. It was good. Yay for the Coast Guard.

I've noticed how certain groups of people tend to have the same conversation over and over again. When it's a group I'm happy to be with and a conversation that I am interested in, this is infinite fun. When it's a group I'm annoyed with or a conversation that does not interest me, it tries my patience.

The curriculum I'm learning to teach is called "The Spalding Method." The inventor is a lady named Mrs. Spalding, who is now dead. The teacher of my course reveres Mrs. Spalding like she is the fourth member of the Trinity. It's kind of funny, and occasionally scary.

I'm reading a book about a man with two children. The son is named after his father, and the daughter is named after the grandmother. This strikes me as the most boring way of picking names, but I notice that many people actually do name this way. When my girlfriends and I talk about baby names, we almost never discuss family names, unless they happen to be unusually cool. It's more about finding a name that reflects the personality and style of the parents. We dismiss many names for being too boring: "I'd fall asleep calling my kids in for dinner," or too trendy: "I like that name, but we're just not hip enough to pull it off." I wonder when this new naming philosophy became popular. I think it might have been with the Hippies.

Despite my regular exercising and semi-consistent attempts to eat reasonably, I am still growing out of my pants. This is very annoying and disheartening. Maybe my aerobics class is causing me to gain lots of muscle mass in my thighs and buttocks region?

We've agreed to housesit for one of my work friends for five weeks in July and early August. I'm excited to be in town, in a nice house, and in a new environment for part of the summer to avoid summer doldrums. Look for the Adventures in the Moore's House series coming soon.

Grocery Guilt

2007-05-27T21:50:00.000-05:00

I have always hated going grocery shopping. I really prefer to have food magically materialize in my pantry and refrigerator, like it used to do when I was young and living in my parents' house. I never bought fresh fruit in college because I could never eat it fast enough and it would go bad. I remember on one particularly emotional night, I cried watching a Sonic commercial that featured fresh peaches bouncing across the screen. Oh, for the simplicity of a life when peaches would just be available for the eating, through no hard work of my own!

So anyway, as I am saying, grocery shopping has always caused me a certain amount of angst. But lately I've been feeling the pressure even more as I have struggled to reconcile my desire to achieve four mutually exclusive attributes in my grocery purchases:

1) Organic. I am very compelled by the argument that Christians should be leaders in responsible environmental causes. Additionally, I am genuinely unsettled by the idea of consuming processed and chemically enhanced food. I like the idea of free range chickens and farmer's market tomatoes and such.

2) Healthy. This is a dilemma all in itself, because I am a consumer of women's magazines which always inform me of the latest health news. I can't ever remember what I should be looking for- high protein? high fiber? low in saturated fat? low in carbohydrates? low in calories? calcium enriched?

3) Convenient. If it does not come in a pre-rationed package, it will usually sit in the pantry until it is stale. If it is an ingredient in a recipe that takes more than twenty minutes to prepare, I will probably not use it more than once. If it does not have a shelf life of at least one week, it will rot in the fridge because I never stick to my meal plans.

4) Inexpensive. I like to imagine that I am a responsible, frugal, housewife and I think that two normal eating human beings should not spend outrageous amounts of money on food. I am inspired by people who have a food bill of $100 a month.

So every item that goes into my basket adds the extra weight of some sort of guilt. These 100-calorie packs will create so much trash! This spaghetti is made from white flour! These plums will rot in the produce drawer! These salad ingredients will double the total bill!

Alas.

What I Have Been Doing Lately-Narrative Assessments

2007-05-18T17:06:00.000-05:00

Report Card Says:
X brings such joy to our classroom. I appreciate his love of learning and the enthusiasm that he brings to his tasks. I encourage him to work on his classroom habits of orderliness and self-control.

Teacher Means:
Your kid is bouncing off the walls. His only volume is "extra loud" and he refuses to sit his bottom on his chair. Have fun trying to keep him under control this summer, sucka!

RC Says:
Y has been given the gift of a gentle and quiet spirit. I appreciate her attentiveness to instruction and her care to comply with classroom rules and procedures. Y has excellent attendance, and she is consistently prepared for class with assignments and projects. She is a sweet friend to her classmates, and her kind words are a blessing to all.

Teacher Means:
I see this name in my gradebook, but I am not even sure which child this is; she must be one of the quiet ones. I am not missing any grades for her, so she turns in work, which also means that she is in fact present on most class days. I cannot recall any other student tattling on her, so she must not be too offensive to others.

RC Says:
Z is an eager and diligent student. He is attentive to instructions and does his best to meet expectations for his academic work and his personal behavior. I appreciate his careful work and his thoughtful answers.

Teacher Means:
Your kid is actually kind of a suck-up, and I don't really blame the other kids for resenting him. But honestly, while I do sometimes judge your child as a person, I appreciate obedience and attentiveness under any circumstances at this time of year.

RC Says:
I will miss having your child in class next year.

Teacher Means:
This is actually true. Most days.

My Stats

2007-05-12T15:07:00.000-05:00

I took the personality test that was posted on Margie's blog a while back. Here are my results...many of them sad but true, I'm afraid.

Stability results were moderately low which suggests you are worrying, insecure, emotional, and anxious.

Orderliness results were very high which suggests you are overly organized, reliable, neat, and hard working at the expense too often of flexibility, efficiency, spontaneity, and fun.

Extraversion results were medium which suggests you are moderately talkative, outgoing, sociable and interacting.

In other words...
neat freak, organized, worrying, phobic, fears the unknown, irritable, pessimistic, emotionally sensitive, fears chaos, risk averse, fragile, unadventurous, depressed, frequently second guesses self, likes to fit in, does not like to stand out, perfectionist, hard working, does not like to be alone, clingy, dependent, practical, ordinary, cautious, takes precautions, good at saving money, suspicious, heart over mind, busy, altruistic

Here is the test.

A Story of Rational Judgment

2007-05-09T15:39:00.001-05:00

Recently I was in a small place crowded full of people for a lengthy period of time, and I happened to notice an old friend smushed nearby. It is a person (I'll refer to this person as "it," not because of questionable gender identity, but to conceal identity of any kind) with whom I have been acquainted since elementary school, and we have been close during various seasons of life. Although I have been aware that we now live in the same town, this person and I have not stayed in touch or spoken for several years.

So anyway...I saw this person in the crowd and tried to make eye contact. After several minutes without luck, I began to grow suspicious. A couple of times I was positive I saw it see me. A couple of times I thought we had eye contact, but when I smiled it turned out that it was looking right past me. I began to think that this person was deliberately avoiding me ("Typical snobbish behavior," I consoled myself). I took it as a confirmation of my hypothesis when this friend physically moved itself (no small feat in such a crowd) so that its companion was a human barrier between us.

I tried a few more times, even walking directly past this person when I had to pilgrimage to the bathroom. Not even a glimmer of recognition. I judged this person in my mind when I saw it leave before the rest of the crowd.

Yes, the story ends there. I am pretty sure that I was right in my assessment of the situation. I am pretty sure that my husband's assessment ("You're paranoid") is too simplistic. But it occurred to me that if many people had been in my shoes, they would have approached this person and said hello, and carried on a friendly conversation. They never would have questioned if this person (or any person, for that matter) actually wanted to talk to them. I've always wondered what it would be like to live with that kind of self-assurance. Obviously, I wouldn't know.

Bathroom Troubles

2007-05-05T17:36:00.000-05:00

I used to be a snob about public restrooms. I claimed that I would rather risk a bladder infection than expose myself to the parasites and bacteria that were found in those unsanitary little rooms. For several years, however, I have become reconciled to the reality that sometimes I just can't be choosy. I consume beverages almost continually, and so I have become acquainted with all manner of restrooms in gas stations, restaurants, department stores, and Starbucks statewide.

I have a pet peeve regarding public restrooms that I believe many of you might share. The traditional labeling of restrooms is very simple for me to understand: it's a little picture and the word "MEN" or "WOMEN." In that case, I have no problem at all making the appropriate choice. I am not even bothered by bathrooms that accommodate both sexes, except for hygienic reasons. But it really throws me for a loop when certain establishments choose to label the restrooms in accordance with their decorating theme, and come up with keywords that are not immediately obvious to the non-enlightened public.

Sometimes I have to know to use the door labeled "Sheilas." Other times I have gone into "peach" door or the "Trudy" door. My sister claims to have seen bathrooms labeled "innies" and "outies." By far the most baffling choice I have ever faced was last night at Shivers' Frozen Treats in College Station: Was I a "Cup" or "Cone"?

Thoughts on Womanhood

2007-05-01T21:24:00.000-05:00

This is my favorite quote from the Bridget Jones book. It's been resonating with me lately...

"Being a woman is worse than being a farmer- there is so much harvesting and crop spraying to be done- legs to be waxed, underarms shaved, eyebrows plucked, feet pumiced, skin exfoliated and moisturized, spots cleansed, roots dyed, eyelashes tinted, nails filed, cellulite massaged, stomach muscles exercised.

"The whole performance is so highly tuned you only need to neglect it for a few days for the whole thing to go to seed. Sometimes I wonder what I would be like if left to revert to nature-- with a full beard and handlebar mustache on each shin, Dennis Healey eyebrows, face a graveyard of dead skin cells, spots erupting, long curly fingernails, blind as a bat and stupid runt of species as no contact lenses, flabby body flobbering around.

"Ugh, ugh. Is it any wonder girls have no confidence?"

Post Hoc

2007-04-28T13:09:00.000-05:00

Six weeks ago, one of my school administrators asked if I would write a script for our fourth and fifth grade end of the year play. We had purchased a script from a children's theater company, but we weren't very happy with the product, and there wasn't time before the performance to try to order another one. It was Spring Break, and I was feeling intoxicated with all my free time, so I accepted the offer.

I chose the topic of Texas history, because it was a unit that was on my scope and sequence for the year, but one that I knew I'd run out of time to cover thoroughly. Unfortunately, Texas history is not an area of my expertise, and so the first two weeks of my writing project were devoted to research as I narrowed down my possible topics and then learned as much as I could about the seven events and figures I'd chosen.

The next week and a half were full of frantic writing as the script took place. As had been the case since I began the project, my free time was spent at the computer, including most of the daylight hours of my weekends. Lesson plans, grading papers, all of my other normal responsibilities were an afterthought (and forget about cooking dinner or cleaning house, where my uncomplaining husband graciously picked up the slack). Finally, the Thursday before we released for Easter break, I passed out final scripts to my eager students. It was three weeks from our scheduled performance date.

The past weeks have been filled with frantic rehearsal, as the fifth grade teacher, Jennifer, and I devoted all of our expendable class time to the play. All of our twenty-five students had to memorize lines and deliver them convincingly, in addition to learning six new songs for the final production.

I've fretted over details of stage blocking, decorations, costumes, props, and transition times, and I spent more hours than was necessary on a program. I thought through details of the script to distract me from ab crunches in my aerobics class. I have had Texas-themed songs stuck in my head for weeks, and have dreamed about Sam Houston and the Alamo since Easter.
We did two shows this past Thursday: one at two o'clock for the rest of the school, and one at seven for parents and grandparents. Both performances were fantastic, and I could not be prouder of my students, who worked hard, did a great job, and do not seem to harbor any lasting resentment for my impatience and stress of the past weeks. I received lots of affirmation for all of my work, which I won't pretend I didn't appreciate.

On Friday, as Jen swept down the stage and I picked up wadded-up programs from the floor, I felt a very strange sense of loss. I think it must be like postpartum depression or the letdown some brides feel the day after the wedding is over. There's so much buildup for one moment, and even when there's plenty of work left to do afterwards, it's hard to
let go.

I came home almost in tears, put on my sweats, and watched about four hours of television. Today I'm going to think about the rest of the school year. And if I get to pining away for some fourth grade theater, well, there's always next year's play to think about...

Webby Thoughts

2007-04-23T20:07:00.000-05:00

We've had the opportunity for some cooler-than-usual activities lately, ranging from a Shakespeare play in a beautiful intimate venue to a rocking outdoor concert courtesy of Baylor BYX. Sandwiched in the middle of this was a last-minute concert that we attended in Common Grounds, which is a tiny little house-turned coffee shop adjoining campus.

Anyway, the featured artist is Derek Webb, who I have loved ever since his Caedmon's Call days. Now that he works alone, his music controversial enough to make me feel very hip and edgy when I listen to it. His lyrics are very thoughtful, though, and I appreciate the challenge of his ideas even when I don't completely agree with his conclusions.

Knowing that Common Grounds would be packed if only thirty people showed up, Stephen and I decided to bring some books and the computer and we camped out about four hours before the show (we actually only meant to be three hours early, but I had been mistaken about the actual starting time). It was pretty exciting, because from my seat I could see when Derek Webb got there and listen to the sound checks. I admit, only a little bit sheepishly, that I am fascinated by celebrities, and it thrilled me that DW had to walk right past me to get to the bathroom and also that I walked close enough to his guitars to read his phone number on the luggage tag. (I didn't write it down or remember it, I promise.)

Anyway, once the whole thing started, we were within spitting distance from the mic. There were lots of people crowded in around us, and after a couple of songs I was reminded of my least favorite kind of concert patron: the wannabe band member. This person knows every song word for word, and sings along with the artist at full volume. I think that the underlying desire of this fan is for the artist to hear his or her beautiful music and invite said fan to come sing on stage, and maybe even to come along for the rest of the tour. Unfortunately, this was not this fan's lucky day, despite his best efforts.

The whole thing got started late and ran even later, but the experience was worth the groggy eyes and general crankiness the next day. Concerts are fun!

Long Awaited Easter Pictures

2007-04-19T19:34:00.000-05:00

Outside Pei Wei

On the way home

Photo shoot- coldest bluebonnet pic ever

Close up of the snowy "blubes"

Harrises come over for games and fun

Back yard snow

Alan marks his territory

Further Adventures in Exercising

2007-04-14T14:01:00.000-05:00

My search continues for a form of exercise that is both productive and enjoyable. KarenD and I have faithfully attended Pilates class since January, but we both began to feel the need for something more. We decided to try an aerobics class, which meets at the same facility and which conveniently starts thirty minutes earlier.

I'd been congratulating myself for my new healthy lifestyle of (usually) attending two classes a week. Unfortunately, after a couple of weeks of (usually) regular attendance of aerobics, I am forced to accept the reality that I am still grossly out of shape.

This is a women's class, but aerobics is like Pilates on a major dose of testosterone. Many of the moves are similar, but intensified in speed and repetition. Class begins when the instructor turns on a CD, and blasts very up-tempo instrumental music that sounds like the audio tracks for Miami Vice. This music sets the pace for the whole class.

Many of the moves are the same as I did in Pilates: bicep curls, crunches, leg lifts. The difference is that we used to do one or two sets of eight or ten. In this class, we do five or six sets of twelve, always to the manic beat of the music. We do some exercises in sets of fifty. Usually after the first twenty-five I feel ready to die.

The thing I do not like about the class is that I am the least in-shape person in the room. This is especially embarrassing because most of the other people in the class are middle-aged ladies with pale, wrinkly skin and tired hair. And yet they keep to the beat with their giant weights, adding extra kicks and hops to our routine to make it more rigorous. I struggle to keep up with my three-pound weights, and occasionally lay flat on my mat, lifting my head and only pretending to do crunches after my abs have given out. It's very humbling.

Despite this, I love the way this class makes me feel very powerful (when I am able to tune out the ladies around me). We do lots of kicking and punching exercises, which are even more fun than real fighting because there is no pain of impact with air the way there is with a human being or punching bag. Also, the music is quite invigorating, even as my biceps are screaming from curl number eighty-five. Most of all, I like to imagine how fit I must be getting from all this physical rigor.

Occasionally, I get tired of sweating and exerting myself, and think about returning to my formerly stagnant life. When the temptation hits me, I have to think of two things:
1. The dance that is now required to pull on my freshly washed jeans
2. The eyeful I got on the one unfortunate day I did my crunches in gym shorts--developing cellulite and varicose veins on my own youthful thighs.

And I am empowered to crunch on.

Classic

2007-04-12T07:57:00.000-05:00

School is still going, and I am continuing to shape and mold children's lives by teaching them valuable information and life lessons. Consider the following conversation, which took place yesterday afternoon as we waited for the students to be picked up from school.

Student X tugs on my pant leg to get my attention. "Mrs. Watson, Student Y is tooting and he won't stop."

I turn around and lean down, and the foul air confirms the accusation, as does the fact that all students nearby have their shirts pulled up over their faces like bandits. "Y..."

Y is all innocence. "I can't help it! Why are they so mean to me about it?"

I try to be patient and supress my gag reflex. "Y, they are being mean because you are making them uncomfortable. You need to hold it in."

Y: "I can't!"

Me: "You need to try. If you absolutely cannot hold it, you may ask to be excused to the restroom."

It was a glorious moment. After almost eight months of not understanding his classmates' aversion to him, the lightbulb comes on for Student Y: Malodorous gas does not a friend make.

God Hates Easter Dresses

2007-04-09T14:39:00.000-05:00

I had planned to regale the blogging world with pictures of our snowy Easter, but the pics that I would have put up are on my mom's camera and I don't have them yet. So you will get only my commentary, and perhaps the pictures will be posted as a treat for you to enjoy at a later date.

Now, the non-religious reason that I love Easter is because I generally hold to old-fashioned rules of fashion, and I look forward to the official unveiling of white sandals, floaty skirts, and Easter-egg-colored shirts. Even in years where I haven't bought a new Easter outfit, I enjoy pulling my bright clothes out of the back of my closet.

For this reason, I take it very personally when the weather delivers a freakish cold front for Easter weekend. And those of you who have a memory like mine (selectively fantastic) will recall that we have experienced these cold fronts for several years running. In years past, I have powered through with my Easter outfit, spending the morning miserable and cold and dreaming of fleece. This year I wised up and just wore warm clothes.

For this meteorological phenomenon to occur with such regularity, I must conclude that it is sent by divine design. God does not want us to parade out on Easter morning in beautiful and flowy new clothes. Of all the Sundays of the year, this is one where we absolutely must not be thinking about our clothes. Or maybe it's just a coincidence that this year, in my black pants and black closed-toed shoes, I heard the most meaningful Easter sermon ever.

(Regarding Easter snow...I'll just mention the other angles I could have taken on this topic. For those of us who regard global warming as little more than hot air of politicians, the weekend provided lots of opportunities for jokes. Also, it was a fitting end to a week of insanely strange weather. In 10 days, Waco has been hit with flash floods, a tornado, monsoon rains, sunny spring days, and now many inches of snow. To borrow the words of Anne Lamott, it's been like a movie trailer for a whole year of weather.)

La Mesa Mas Fantastica

2007-04-04T20:29:00.000-05:00

Every year, my school puts on a Grandparents' Dinner and Silent Auction. Each class is asked to contribute something to the auction, and conventional wisdom suggests that items that represent the creative efforts of the students sell for the most money. I stumbled upon inspiration in the form of a black wire table frame at Laverty's a few weeks ago, and Stephen was given the mighty task of attaching a table top to the frame so that I could do a tiling project on top of it.

I took my seventeen students to Practically Pikasso, where they each painted a tile with one of their initials. The color choices were strictly limited, so the resulting tabletop was nicely coordinated. KarenD and I went back to the studio and painted three more tiles (our masterpieces are the d, H, and W in the third row) so that we'd have an even twenty to make a grid. We used small matching tiles to fill in the border when my measurements turned out to be a little on the small side.

I did the decorative arranging, and Stephen did the hard work of spreading the mortar and grout, and the result was a personalized, yet quite attractive tabletop.

The students each brought money to pay for their own tiles, and the rest of the materials cost about $100 or a little less, but it was worth the investment when the table was auctioned off for a whopping

one thousand dollars.

Watty's Wild Underwater Interstate Adventure, Part 2

2007-04-01T09:07:00.000-05:00

continued from yesterday...

So I set out on the highway, driving slowly and carefully but very pleased with the road conditions. It is still raining, and the roads are certainly soggy, but there are no river rapids to ford, so I drive peacefully.

Just on the other side of West, I notice traffic slowing down. I can't see far enough ahead to see what is causing the delay, but it is definitely a bona fide traffic jam. I sit back in my seat and a little worriedly watch the cloudy sky darken into night. I call Stephen, who is waiting in Hillsboro to report my slowed progress.

8:30. It is dark, and to call the traffic "slow-moving" is generous. Every ten minutes or so, I might get to take my foot off the brake and move forward a couple of feet, but this is not a great consolation. The local weatherman breaks into regular programming with a news bulletin. "Traffic backed up for 8-10 miles on northbound Interstate 35. Avoid at all costs! Repeat, do not attempt to drive north on I-35." Thanks a lot.

Now as you may know, I tend to worry about morbid and tragic events happening to me. I begin to imagine how vulnerable I am, sitting here in the middle of nowhere on a dark night, hemmed in on all sides by traffic and flooded ditches. I picture carjackers and molesters coming out from underneath my car and bashing in my windows. What finally distracts me from that possible threat is a much more immediate concern: I now have to go to the bathroom. Dang it!

9:00- I have been avoiding talking on my cell phone because of the hazardous road conditions, but I figured I am safe enough now, since my car is in park. I call my sister to distract myself from my worries, real and imaginary, and we talk for 30 minutes, until she is ready for bed and I begin to worry about killing my phone battery. I am excited because I get to inch forward and I can see a sign for an exit 1/4 of a mile ahead. It is a country road I have never heard of.

9:45- At this point, most cars around me have shut off their engines. People are beginning to mill around in the road (I'm keeping a close eye on them all). Several cars nearby seem to have been caravaning, and the occupants of the cars get out, pull snack food from the trunks, and begin having a tailgate party. A man in the car behind me walks to the grassy median beside the right-hand shoulder and proceeds to take a leak. Lucky! The empty plastic cup that I used for breakfast is looking tempting for my own needs.

I stay in contact with Stephen. We're both worried about dying cell phones, but we check in periodically. He is talking to his parents and brother, who are watching local news and confirming that traffic situation is bad. I-35 has been temporarily shut down just ahead of me. I turn my own engine off and try to enjoy John Tesh's intelligence for my life on the radio, as I can't take any more of the ranting late-night talk shows. I learn that women are more comfortable with talking face-to-face, and that men prefer to stand next to each other and talk sideways. I fight sleepiness.

10:50- Traffic begins to move! I finally drive away from the county road exit sign. For the first time in almost three hours, I can accelerate to more than 10 mph. I call Stephen to let him know I am moving again. I have clearly woken him up.

11:02- Traffic stops again. I think that I am now close to whatever it was that caused the delay in the first place. I can't tell much of anything.

11:20- Traffic is slow, but moving steadily now. I begin seeing signs for Hillsboro, and I begin to feel joyful.

11:30- A roadside sign makes me want to go postal. "WARNING: SLOW TRAFFIC AHEAD. 40 MPH."

11:40- I pull into the parking lot where Stephen is waiting. The store has closed, so he is sleeping in his car. There are no signs of life. I wake him up and we drive toward home. It's a country road, so I drive very slow, but the way is passable. Judging by the way the lights reflect off of my surroundings, I can tell that there are fields that are entirely under water. But my road is not, so I am happy.

12:30- Arrive at home. The dogs are happy to be let in. I take the world's fastest shower and get to bed at 1:30.

The End.

Watty's Wild Underwater Interstate Adventure, Part 1

2007-03-30T11:40:00.000-05:00

It was 6 PM on a typical Thursday. KarenD and I had just finished aerobics class and I was looking forward to hurrying home and getting to bed early. Dinner was sounding better by the minute, also, as all I had consumed that day was some breakfast yogurt, a Starbucks mocha, a granola bar, and four Saltines. I planned to cook when I got home, but to stave off my dizzying hunger pains, I stopped in at my favorite Skinny's gas station to pick up some water and peanuts. As the weather was cloudy but rain was barely sprinkling, I barely even paid attention to the National Weather Service bulletins on the radio announcing thunderstorm warnings and alerting the public of the fact that motorists account for almost all flash flood deaths.

Snacking on my peanuts, I set off down the country road that would take me home. The rain was falling steadily now, and I noticed with some concern that the drainage ditches were getting pretty full of water. A little further down, I crossed a dip where water was spilling across the road. I was part of a great caravan of cars, so I kept an eye on the vehicles in front of me as we drove into worsening conditions. I began to hit panic mode when the water was rushing across the road fast enough to have developed rapids. About halfway to my house, I was stopped by a volunteer fireman who told me the rest of the road was closed. Somewhat relieved, I turned around and drove back through a couple of rapid water crossings. But before I got very far, I was stopped again. The road was also closed going back into Waco.

I rolled down my window and shouted through the downpour at the fireman directing traffic. "How can I get back to Waco?" He pointed at a small farm to market road and gave me complicated directions, which of course I did not retain in my memory. This new route turned out to be just as treacherous as the road I had just been turned away from. The weather bulletins had my full attention now, and I began to cry as I imagined myself being swept away to my death by the muddy water. Apparently I am not as reconciled to the idea of my own demise as I might have guessed, as my tears quickly escalated into a full fledged panic attack. I began to hyperventilate, and at one point even slowed to a stop on the side of the road because of dizziness. But the rain kept falling, and I tried to force myself to calm down. As I resumed driving, I recited all of the Bible verses and sang all the hymns I could think of. (If you've ever seen the original Little House movie, and remember the scene where Caroline thinks that Indians are attacking while Charles is gone, and she sings to comfort herself as she sits in her rocking chair holding the shotgun, you can imagine what I sounded like.)

Approximately an hour and half later, I was back in Waco, and I called Stephen from the safety of the Beatnix parking lot. I asked him what I should do. I did not want to spend the night in Waco, because I did not have any clean clothes or makeup with me, and the next day was Grandparents Day at school. But I was also terrified to try to drive home another way in case I ran into similar difficulties.

Stephen assured me that my safest bet was to try to drive up I-35 to Hillsboro. Since I was afraid of the condition of the country road that would take me home from Hillsboro, Stephen agreed to start driving that direction from our house, and promised to call me and tell me to turn around if the road ended up being impassable. He was going to put the dinner he so kindly cooked for me into the fridge, lock up the dogs, and get on the road. I was to carefully make my way north from Waco, and we planned to meet at the Hillsboro Starbucks in about an hour.

This post is getting long and my allotted time for recreational writing is up. Stay tuned for Part II of Watty's Underwater Interstate Adventure, which will hopefully be posted tomorrow. I have disabled comments so that if you already know the ending of this story, you can't spoil it for everybody else.

Hop on the Crazy Train

2007-03-28T20:10:00.000-05:00

I have had a sneaking suspicion for quite a long time that I might be just a bad night's sleep away from becoming a raving lunatic, and this time of year always seems to give me lots of evidence to support that hunch. Take, for example, the fact that I have been trying to think of an awesome blog topic for several days now, and I still can't come up with anything more than fragments. But, since that's all I've got, and I am wanting to post, it's what you're getting today.

...the post-spring-break blues always bring out the worst in both students and teachers. Teachers go into panic mode, trying to cram as much content into the last nine weeks as humanly possible, and then go into hysterics when confronted with the reality that the students have been replaced by brainless yet behaviorally uncontrollable drones for the remainder of the year...

...and all of the sudden, I have no sense of humor. I feel my instincts regressing to those I have been fighting in my students. I want to roll my eyes, cover my ears, and deliver a well-timed kick to the shin of any student who crosses me at the end of the day...

...meanwhile, the end of the year events are piling up on the calendar. This weekend is Grandparents Weekend. This means that I have to finish my class's homemade auction project (okay, Stephen has to finish my class's homemade auction project), prep my seventeen drones to recite "Casey at the Bat" with flair and finesse, and attend two showings of excerpts from "A Midsummer Night's Dream." Then we're running full steam toward the 4th Grade Play, Live Oak Classic Track Meet, Academic Decathlon, final report cards, a character award ceremony, and convocation...

...meanwhile, I am plagued by personal distractions...

...my cool brown plaid pants are officially too short to wear again...and besides, I think they're too fall-ish to be wearing right now anyway...

...it is only March but I have June bugs swarming around my front porch and shuffling off their mortal coils in my entry hallway. Did you know that June bugs ooze black liquids as they expire?...

...now that Daylight Savings has come, or gone, I'm back to leaving for work in the pitch black. It's dark, and I can't get good reception on my favorite AM radio station, which hasn't mattered too much because my favorite wake up on the morning guy has thoughtlessly taken a vacation for the past week...

...my entire faith in humanity is being shattered by the fact that Sanjaya is still in the American Idol competition. Not a confidence-builder amid all this talk about the 2008 election...

...I am noticing that I only have one disk left until the end of Season 5 of 24. There is no way that this plot is going to resolve to my satisfaction in four hours, and I'm starting to vaguely recall the viewer outrage I heard as this season concluded on TV last spring...

...So, amid all of this trauma, I'm falling back on my never-fail comfort objects:
-Starbucks coffee: even though it will contribute to waistline trauma in the near future.
-vintage DC Talk: it's like musical Red Bull. It makes me want to sing and dance and rap into my Talkboy (oh wait, that wasn't me...)
-wildflowers: so pretty
-my dogs' ears: so funny
-denial: my personal favorite for serious problems that are outside of my control anyway
-social time: especially when it's AT Starbucks!
-a good night's sleep: and I'm heading that way now.

The 100th Post: the Josh Report

2007-03-20T21:57:00.000-05:00

The first time I went to see Josh Groban, I was overwhelmed not only by his swoony voice, which is just as magnificent in person as it is on the CD, but also by his rather awkward and...okay, dorky...sense of humor. He seemed very much like a regular guy who had not yet mastered the art of stage presence. He talked too fast, used a circus-announcer voice to introduce his band members, and his expressions and jokes, which might have been funny among close friends at summer camp, fell very flat.

Last night I attended my second Josh concert at the American Airlines Center in Dallas. He sang a lot of new songs from his AWAKE CD, which I happen to really love, so I was happy. And here was the shocking news: he was funny! There was still a hint of dorkiness about him, but I almost didn't notice it because I was so busy laughing with him, not at him.

I was actually a little disappointed. I had been looking forward to talented-yet-awkward Josh. This was just a smooth guy with a great voice. What a letdown...until...

...there was a long instrumental song where Josh disappeared for a few minutes, and then he showed back up onstage wearing a long sleeved t-shirt and a black vest. Not the cool puffy kind, or a sporty fleece kind, but a regular old, suede-y black vest with a cinching clasp in the back. It was completely uncool!

It took me a while to pinpoint why this was so important to me. Here's my hypothesis: It is much more fun to be a fan of a person who seems to be genuinely likeable, the kind of person who would be fun to chat with at Starbucks. If Josh Groban had the voice of an angel and was also a debonair conversationalist, he would be absolutely unapproachable. If he was all of these things and arrogant on top of it, no one would want to approach him anyway.

I probably say this because I'm a little bit of a dork myself, but Josh Groban's awkwardness is part of his appeal. It makes him seem like a normal person. If we were ever hanging out and singing, he he would be much more awesome than me. But then, I could answer, "Well, maybe I can't sing, but at least I'm not wearing a suede vest," and then we'd be even.

So, anyway. The concert report is that we had an incredible time, and it was entirely worth getting in late on a work night. And if Josh Groban ever did invite me to be his friend, it would still be cool with me.

He Rocks My Face Off

2007-03-19T16:57:00.000-05:00

I'm off to see Josh! Yippee!

Writer's Block

2007-03-16T14:04:00.000-05:00

I'm embarrassed at how long it has been since my last post, but I've been hit with a severe case of writer's block. I've had ideas float in and out of my mind for the last week or so, but when I sit down and stare at the blank screen, all profundity escapes me. It was an act of supreme willpower to type up summaries of my past nine weeks of lesson plans for my third quarter assessments, which are due next week.

The timing of this block is quite inconvenient, as I had planned to use my gobs of free time over spring break for completing many writing projects I've had simmering for a while but haven't had any time to really think them through.

Lots of these projects are personal, including some brilliant blogs, personal reflections, and a written account of our experience at the establishment formerly known as the HOP. Also, as I have mentioned, my job requires a lot of writing. Very little of it is of any interest to people other than my students and my curriculum director; these projects include worksheets galore, lesson plans, parent letters, and curriculum planning documents.

Occasionally, a work-related project comes with very high stakes, and I've recently gotten myself into one that is a little overwhelming. We're down to the wire and out of options for the fourth and fifth grade end-of-year production. Since I did some very small script writing projects last year, I was nominated to come up with something golden, on a topic of my choosing.

So now, after four freezing hours, three Starbucks drinks, six breaks to watch Hugh Grant on YouTube, and forty million relevant Google searches, I'm still staring at a blank page. If you happen to notice any Muses floating around with nothing to do, please send them my way!

Hello Nurse

2007-03-07T17:38:00.000-06:00

When we first got married, all of our counselors were quick to warn us about an inevitable adjustment we would have to make. As a child of a healthy family, and as I enjoyed a close and trusting relationship with my own father, Stephen and I would have to skillfully navigate the unavoidable comparisons and possibly conflicting expectations as I transferred my healthy dependency from dad to husband.

Yesterday, when I came home from work with what is now acting suspiciously like the flu, Stephen was confronted with a comparison that neither one of us saw coming. As I lay on the couch, pajama-clad and wrapped in blankets, depending on my husband for comfort and sustinence, he was forced to compete with the best nurse I (like every child) have ever had--my mother.

It got to be dinner time, and Stephen asked me what I wanted to eat. I stared back, incredulous. Did he even have to ask? I'm sick, what does he think I want to eat? I patiently expressed my desire (chicken noodle soup, with a side of saltines).

The tragedy of misunderstood expectations continued: Stephen did not know that sick people will die if they are not hydrated with lemon-lime Gatorade and Sprite, or that chocolate ice cream heals all diseases, or that homemade ice chips make a great snack.

Stephen has patiently indulged all of my my needs, and has even come up with some good ideas of his own, like moving the TV into the bedroom and feeding me mashed potatoes for dinner.

While obviously the flu is no fun, there is something to be said for the intangible healing powers of regressing to childhood. And on that note, I'm going to have a Sprite while I watch Stephen make dinner.

Hips Don't Lie

2007-02-25T20:47:00.000-06:00

We went and saw Music and Lyrics today. I'm not predicting any Oscar nominations for it, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. It's predictable and at times, corny, but it's a good flick. And, my favorite part: more footage of Hugh Grant dancing!

Stephen does not understand my fascination. He has tried all sorts of tactics to make me feel guilty for enjoying movies for this reason, but to no avail. I don't completely understand it myself, but the little hip-shakes make me laugh.

And since I am all about sharing the love on this blog, I am providing a clip for you to enjoy first-hand.

The Ghost of Valentines Past

2007-02-20T19:50:00.000-06:00

I am grateful that my dad didn't stop sending me Valentine packages just because I got married. They're always a great combination of gifts both sophisticated (this year, a nice Starbucks mug and gift card) and whimsical (a red pen with a topper of troll hair and giant plastic lips). This year, however, the gift medley also included a blast from my past which Mom must have discovered and printed out when she was cleaning out the document files on her computer. I cringe a little bit when I imagine the laughs that she and Dad must have gotten at my expense.

It was basically a blog...a slightly humorous attempt at pithy, insightful nonfiction. I had written it on Valentine's Day of 1998, which meant that I was 15. I observed that Taylor Hanson (made famous by "Mmm-bop"), who was my same age, had made a lot more money than I had that year. The writing was not very clever, my arguments were cliche, and other than a nice closing line, the overall effect was unremarkable.

I can dismiss this particular piece of writing (and the boxes of similiar material stashed in my garage) as being the product of a immature and inexperienced mind with illusions of greatness (the essay was written under the letterhead of "CrossWords Publishing," of which I was president). But what is much more disturbing than my high-school fantasies or even my parents laughing at me is this nagging fear that not much has changed, except that now my pithy nonfictional thoughts are posted in a very public forum and archived in cyberspace.

Reading old things I've written is always a reality check. I actually remember writing the Hanson money piece, and I remember the satisfaction and awe I felt when I re-read my finished product. It's the same sort of feeling I get when I skim over my favorite blogs on this website. It's humbling to admit that the self-expression that I now find to be so witty and poignant represent a self that I will condescendingly pity ten years from now. It is also helpful to remember that the issues that seem so stressful and urgent to me now will only make me laugh in the not-so-distant future. It's a little bit sobering to recognize the ways that I am still very much like the dorky girl writing essays to nobody on Valentine's Day.

One of these days, when I am fifty and too big for my britches, I am sure that my parents or one of my siblings will be happy to pull up Cum Grano Salis and remind me of all the silly ways I used take myself so seriously. So...hello, middle-aged Lindsey. Laugh all you want, but at least be grateful that I'm doing Pilates for you.

Friday Beef

2007-02-16T22:43:00.000-06:00

On my favorite radio show, the week always ends with "What's Your Beef Friday." I never call in to share, but today I have one: the fact someone else's irresponsibility made me a murderer today.

One of the hazards that I encounter almost daily is the fact that there are stupid people who live along the highway between my home and my job who do not keep their dogs safely barricaded inside of a yard. As my own two dogs have proven to be escape artists from time to time, I am sympathetic to the fact that sometimes dogs get out. But I think that as a pet owner, it is my job to fortify my yard fence by whatever means necessary to prevent habitual wandering of dogs, especially given our proximity to the highway. There is one bend in the road where four or five dogs are always lazing around in the grass mere feet from the edge of the paved road. These dogs (as well as many others who live along the way) usually stay out of the road, but they do not always, and I have had more close encounters than I am comfortable with.

So this morning, I took a different highway route so that I could drive by Starbucks on the way to work. I do not drive this road often, but a rural highway is a rural highway, and the dangers are the same, as I was to find out. Since it was a workday/conference day rather than a regular teaching day, I was not in a hurry to arrive early, so I was driving attentively down the road at a moderate 65 miles per hour. All of the sudden, somehow, there were several dogs trotting across the street. I slammed on the brakes, but I hit one anyway.

This was the first time I have ever run over any kind of a living creature, to my knowledge, and I didn't know what the etiquette is for one who has just, in all likelihood, killed an animal. I was slightly worried that either the dog that I had hit would still be alive but would now be viciously defensive, or that the other dogs in the pack would attack me in defense of their fallen comrade. Plus, it was seven in the morning, and I was not about to go knocking on people's doors, possibly waking them up, to inform them that I might have killed their dog.

I called Stephen and he said that as long as my car seemed to be running smoothly, I should keep going, so I did. But I deliberately took another route home, and I worried all day as I drove around that I had some sort of incriminating evidence of my hit-and-run on the front of my car and that I would be arrested for animal cruelty.

So, if you are reading this and it was your dog, I am deeply sorry, and I feel really bad. If this story was not about your dog, but it could have been, let this be a lesson to you! Please don't make me a repeat offender.

Thugs in the Parking Lot

2007-02-14T21:40:00.000-06:00

This latest cold front hit just after I cleaned out my closet and disposed of all of my warm sweaters that had mysteriously shrunk into midriff-baring crop-tops. After this purge, I literally had one warm sweater left. (Mom, it's the black one from Christmas. THANK YOU!) Since all the stores are now featuring springy sundresses and swimsuits, I thought I might be able to find a warm sweater on sale at Old Navy.

I get my nails done at Happy Nails in the Central Texas Marketplace, and last week I had a few extra minutes before I had to drive across town for Pilates. So I zipped across the parking lot to Old Navy, and as I pulled into an empty spot, I noticed several high school kids of the sullen, non-conformist variety standing around an old Geo smoking cigarettes and bobbing their heads to some music.

I was blasting Michael Medved in my own car at the time, so I couldn't hear the exact tune, but I assumed that when I shut off the engine my ears would be assaulted by some sort of non-edifying whining from the latest indie band.

Imagine my surprise, and my complete amusement, when I opened my car door and was greeted by the familiar strains of...Kokomo.

It was funny. Just thought I'd share.

Flex

2007-02-11T19:20:00.000-06:00

When I was able to opt out of high school P.E. by taking a business co-op class, I thought that the awkwardness of forced athleticism was behind me. Unfortunately, I went to A&M and discovered the "core curriculum" which included four hours of P.E. credits. The first class I took was step aerobics , which I really enjoyed by pretending that the aerobics routines were actually synchronized dance steps, and that I was in the background of some cool music video. The part of the class that was not enjoyable was a series of physical fitness tests such as a mile run, sit-ups, push-ups, and flexibility.

Yes, flexibility. We had to sit (with the whole class watching) with our feet flat against the side of a wooden box, and reach down past our toes to a mark three inches past the edge. I still remember my embarassment when my instructor K.B. called out to the class-volunteer secretary that I could not even reach my toes. My memories have all come rushing back as I've been attending my new Pilates class, which involves lots of stretching and laying with one leg sticking straight (as if!) into the air.

When I shared my experience with my sister Laurashmaura, she said that she also has inflexible muscles, which means I can build my case for the mother of all excuses: genetics.

But as I've been complaining to various people about this, I've heard my own voice repeatedly declaring "I'm just not flexible!," and it's forced me to confront the fact that this is really true of my life in ways that are deeper than hamstrings.

It's the time of year on the school calendar when we start to look ahead to next year. I'm getting questions like, "Would you be willing to teach a different grade next year? Move to another classroom? Re-organize your class schedule? Take on some new responsibilities?" Stre-e-e-tch.

Or, even worse, with my husband's professional life in transition, "Would you be willing to sell your new house? Move to a new church? In a new town? Move so far away from your job that you can't commute? Start your life over somewhere else?" Stre-e-e-e-e-e-e-tch, and at times, snap! Those are the times that you can feel bad for Stephen.

They say that the way to become more flexible is to just stretch a tiny bit further every day. When it comes to touching my toes, consider it done! I'll be making beautiful large leg circles by spring break. When it comes to flexing my life...well...I'll have to let you know how that goes.

Bibliophiles, Unite!

2007-02-07T20:59:00.000-06:00

I've been gratified by a decent number of comments on my previous post, and so I'm feeling like indulging myself in a little nerdy online wallowing in my favorite topic: books. My friend the Crazy Squirrel has invited his readers to make up the first sentence of a debut novel. I couldn't think of my own brilliant sentence, but the idea got me thinking about some of my favorite first lines from books that I have loved. I've decided to share them with you here. Bon appetit!

"Dr. Iannis had enjoyed a satisfactory day in which none of his patients had died or gotten any worse."

"For the first fifteen years of our lives, Danny and I lived within five blocks of each other and neither of us knew of the other's existence."

"I went back to the Devon School not long ago, and found it looking oddly newer than when I was a student there fifteen years before."

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife."

"Last night I dreamt I went to Manderly again."

"No one in Shiloh saw it coming."

"James Gould's eyes stung from the heat of the fire he had tended through two days and nights in the strange house at Petersham; his blistered hands stung too, and for the first time in almost twenty years, he didn't know what to do."

"The Opera Ghost really existed."

"There was once a boy named Milo who didn't know what to do with himself--not just sometimes, but always."

"The book was thick and black and covered with dust."

"An author ought to consider himself, not as a gentleman who gives a private or eleemosynary treat, but rather as one who keeps a public ordinary, at which all persons are welcome for their money."

"My mother did not tell me they were coming."

"Ugh. The last thing I feel physically, emotionally, or mentally equipped to do is drive to Una and Geoffrey Alconbury's New Year's Day Turkey Curry Buffet in Grafton Underwood."

"Of Mans First Disobedience, and the Fruit
Of that Forbidden Tree, whose mortal tast
Brought Death into the World, and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man
Restore us, and regain the blissful Seat,
Sing Heav'nly Muse, that on the secret top
Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire
That Shepherd, who first taught the chosen Seed,
In the Beginning how the Heav'ns and Earth
Rose of out Chaos."

List Mania

2007-02-05T16:55:00.000-06:00

We've had a lot of stuff going on lately, but as most of it concerns crumminess at church and my continued resentment of the cold weather, I've got nothing too blog-worthy. So I'm going to fall back on this fun thing, which went around the blog circles a few months ago.

10 Random Things About Me
10. My closet is organized by color
9. I won't eat the the crust of sandwiches...or cookies...or brownies...or crackers...
8. I want to name my children after literary characters
7. I am my mother
6. I de-stress by cleaning
5. My childhood nickname was Leonard
4. Seventh grade was my favorite year in school
3. In high school, I won a pair of free concert tickets off of the radio
2. I have wanted to be a teacher since before I started first grade
1. I used to have a crush on Dean Butler, who played Almanzo on Little House

9 Things I Love
9. My family
8. My friends
7. My job
6. My dogs
5. Chocolate
4. 24
3. *F*r*i*e*n*d*s* (not to be confused with #8)
2. E-mail
1. Magazines

8 Things that Annoy Me
8. When no one is listening
7. Drivers who go faster than me
6. Needing to get gas
5. Radio deejays
4. When the shower curtain billows into my space and sticks to my leg
3. the rooster across the street who crows in the morning
2. Britney Spears, Paris Hilton, etc.
1. Politicians

7 Favorite Foods
7. Chips and dip, incl. salsa
6. Chicken
5. Potatoes
4. Cheesecake
3. Corn Pops
2. Steak
1. Chocolate

6 Stores I Love
6. GAP
5. Starbucks
4. Barnes & Noble
3. Old Navy
2. Pay Less
1. Target (despite my boycott)

5 Things to Do Before I Die
5. Write a book
4. Have kids
3. Travel
2. Ride in the big swing at Six Flags
1. Read everything that's good

4 Favorite Quotes
4. "You think that, Jane, if it makes you feel better."
3. "If you really love Christmas, come on and let it snow."
2. "I truly believe that happiness is possible... even when you're thirty-three and have a bottom the size of two bowling balls."
1. " Shelves in the closet...Happy thought indeed!"

3 Favorite Authors
3. Jennifer Weiner
2. Bodie Thoene (old stuff)
1. Barbara Kingsolver
1. Donald Miller
1. Jane Austen
1. Brian McLaren
1. Colleen McCullough
1. Chaim Potok
1. Tracy Chevalier
1. John Grisham
1. Robert Frost

Oh wait...just 3?

2 Places I Love to Go
2. Starbucks
1. to sleep

1 Thing I Say A Lot
"Do I have any new comments?"

Good Riddance, January!

2007-01-31T21:45:00.000-06:00

January is the worst month of the year. It is very wrong to follow up the comforting white lights and wassail of the holiday season with a month that made up of 31 short, dark, cold days. I am tired of my winter clothes. I am tired of having cold feet. I am tired of driving to work in the pitch darkness. I am tired of trying to teach seventeen kids who have mysteriously and universally undergone freakish personality mutations.

Tomorrow is February 1. I can feel my spirits lifting already. February brings Valentine's Day, which is a great excuse for mid-winter presents and a delicious meal. February brings us one more month closer to spring; in just 28 days, it will be March, the month of Spring Break and flip-flop frenzy at Old Navy.

But most importantly, February will be NOT January. I am taking Beth Moore's advice, as posted on Prophecies, to start fresh on my resolutions at the start of each new month. So February will be the month of organized housework, pre-planned meals, and increased distinction between my gluteals and upper thighs.

Goodbye, January! February, bring it on!

Road Hog

2007-01-27T21:51:00.000-06:00

I have a particular area of giftedness in determining the maximum safe speed for a given road, taking into consideration the weather, road conditions, posted legal limit, and freqency of law enforcement patrols. Therefore, the maxim that some quote as a joke is actually true for me: anyone going slower than me should speed up, and anyone going faster than me is a maniac.

Take, for example, my daily commute to work. For most of the way, the road is a narrow, winding, two-lane highway. The calculations work in this way:

Posted speed limit: 70 mph (+ 9)
Road conditions: no shoulder, frequent sharp turns, possibility of sudden
animal obstacles, limited long-range visibility. (-10)
Police Presence: rare (+ 10)
Conclusion: Safe driving speed for normal driving conditions is between 75-80 mph.

I share my highway with a black truck whose driver does not utilize the same thoughtful planning when it comes to driving speed. Every day he passes me like I am an overized combine. It doesn't matter if the yellow line is solid or dotted, if we are on a curve or a bridge, or if the weather is inclement. This never fails to offend me. (And, regrettably, he will never be caught, because of aforementioned policing of said road.)

One recent morning, I had slowed down to the low end of the maximum safe speed for my highway, because it was foggy and raining. And I was passed by not only my arch nemesis, the truck, but by a minivan, as well! What I really want is to be given authority to make citizen's arrests in such situations. (The option of making citizen's arrests came up months ago in a heated game of Imaginiff and has fascinated me ever since). I would love to slap a temporary siren atop my SUV and chase down the irresponsible driver and deliver justice.

Instead, justice works in this way: one day I failed to slow down according to the posted speed limits as I entered the great population center of China Spring, and I got slapped with a ticket. I had to make a special trip to a very depressing temporary building/court in the middle of the sticks (I missed it on my first time past it on the road because it looked like a storage building belonging to the gas station next door). There, I found out that the county does not take checks, and so I had to make a special trip to my bank in Waco to get a cashier's check, and then deliver it back to the court trailer.

Today I spent six tedious hours at Ryan's Steakhouse for Defensive Driving. The idea that the six hours of instruction have any redemptive effect for the traffic violaters in attendance is a joke that we all play along with. We the convicted filled in the blanks of our booklets and watched video clips, and the little old lady who runs the whole operation enthusiastically delivered the information, and we all pretended that we were not just there for the certificate of completion at the end. This filled the requisite six hours only because Glenda announced at the beginning of class that she encouraged class members to share their personal driving stories as they became relevant to the topics that we were discussing.

And then, when my penance was finally complete, I sped home. Ha!

Extreme January

2007-01-24T20:24:00.000-06:00

One of the joys of non-digital photography is unearthing and developing a long-lost roll of film. It's often a fun and unexpected trip down memory lane (followed always by a resolution to be more faithful to clean the desk drawer, or under the couch cushion, or wherever the stowaway film had been located for all those months...or years). On the rare occasion where I even take a picture, I use my digital camera, and so I never expected the joy of finding forgotten pictures.

Well today I plugged in my camera to unload some of our snow day pictures, and discovered photos from my trip to Florida (most taken by Leslie, which explains why I "forgot" about them so easily).

So here is our hotel, followed by me lounging in the pool:

(I'm lounging, not dead. This weird picture is here to prove how hot it was!)

And, ten days later, back in Texas...

Lean, Mean Pilates Machine

2007-01-21T20:02:00.000-06:00

I have never bought anything off of an infomerical, but the closest that I have come is one time in high school when I watched a pitch for a little exercise machine called the Pilates Performer. After three hours of watching a very trim girl demonstrating how easy it was to exercise on and store underneath a bed, and hearing many testimonials about how frumpy chip-eaters attained ballerina bodies WITHOUT SWEATING, I was ready to shell out the three hundred dollars plus shipping and handling to get myself one. Unfortunately, I was with my mom, and although she was equally impressed, she said that my dad might never forgive us. Maybe if we had showed faithfulness in using the Body by Jake machine that was already in the garage, we would have a better argument. As it was, we had exhibited more of a love for the idea of exercising than for the actual activity itself.

I've stayed interested in the idea of Pilates ever since then, particularly because it is an exercise program that does not involve sweating, which is one of the huge deterrents that keeps me from more traditional forms of activity. I also like the fact that almost all of the exercising is done while laying down on a cushioned mat, which evokes happy memories of nap time at Mother's Day Out. The non-prone exercises are done on a bouncy ball, which is also fun. I could have taken Pilates classes at the Aggie Rec, to which I paid exorbitant fees each semester, but I didn't, and I have regretted it ever since.

So I was pretty excited when my friend KarenD proposed the idea of taking a Pilates class together at one of the billion workout facilities in town. I have been looking for some way to trim up a little bit, as you know if you read this blog regularly. So far I have really enjoyed taking a trip to Academy to buy some cute and comfortable workout pants, and the class itself has turned out to be pretty nice. I have gone two times.

The class has been surprisingly difficult, even though it is true about the laying down and sitting on a bouncy ball. This class has forced me to confront (and display for others) my embarassing inflexiblity and also my frequent confusion with "right" and "left." I have also awakened many muscles that have long lay dormant, and they have angrily protested over the last week. But burning pains must mean that the exercise is working, and I am sure that I can tell a difference already. So the next time you see my husband, don't worry, he's not sneaking around town with a tall and willowy ballerina. It's just me.

Warning: a Serious Post

2007-01-15T22:43:00.000-06:00

It is a little depressing to think of the amount of time I spend each day doing tasks that will either become undone or disappear the very next day. I get up each morning and make my bed, wipe down my bathroom counter, start a load of laundry, let the dogs out. I go to work and plan creative and meaningful ways to fill my school days, but no matter how good any given lesson is, I'll still need another one for the next hour, or the next day. I go home and shop for groceries, and cook dinner, and wash dishes.

Reflecting on this, I wonder how anyone ever gets around to having time for saving the world or leaving a legacy for the future. It can feel a little bit like being a hamster on a wheel, and I have been thinking recently about why it is that I keep up all this seemingly fruitless work. I don't have a choice for a lot of it. I keep finding food to make into meals because we keep getting hungry. I do the dishes and clean the bathroom and make the bed every day because it's a matter of daily sanity for me to keep my house clean. These are tasks that recreate themselves every day, and provide no benefit beyond their immediate completion, but they are worth the time that they suck up nonetheless.

But not everything falls into this category. I am willing to repeat many of my tasks, day after day, because I believe that eventually my work will produce some eternal result. It's what Andy Stanley calls the "cumulative effect" of a million tiny installations.

It's why I keep swiffering underneath the bookshelves in the living room, even though I know that a million spiders will shrivel up and die there, and an entire Phoebe worth of hair will accumulate in that same spot within twenty-four hours. I have faith that each small cleaning will produce the result of my home not being condemned by CPS one day.

It's why, STARTING TODAY, I force my body to exercise even though my fat does not immediately diminish and the Jennifer Aniston within does not immediately emerge. I have faith that one day, all of these Pilates 100's and Barrel Rolls will give me the energy to be a good mom, and minimally-incapacitated twilight years.

It's why I tell my students a million times a day to raise their hands before they blurt out their thoughts, or to be more thoughtful with their friends, or to sit up straight in their chairs. I have faith that each day brings them a little closer to a life that is characterized by self-control, thoughtfulness, and self-discipline.

It's why I keep struggling with questions of my own spiritual journey, even after years of feeling like the answers are long in coming. I have faith that maybe this conference, or this book, or this devotional will unlock the secret that I have been searching for.

And so the metaphorical wheels keep turning, and I return to these tasks each day, like Edmond Dantes chipping away at the walls of the Chateau d'If.

One day, I'm going to break through.

Practical Theology

2007-01-13T12:39:00.000-06:00

The debate about man’s basic goodness vs. natural depravity may seem like a debate that is best suited for seminary classrooms and coffeeshop discussions between people like JohnD and my husband, but as I sit here in Starbucks, my beliefs on this timeless controversy have very practical, immediate (even urgent) effects on my behavior.

You see, I am here alone, working on report cards, and I have set up a cozy arrangement that includes such valuables as my laptop, school-issued flashdisk, purse, grade book, and the remains of a grande mocha. And now, I have to go to the bathroom.

I’m in the little living room section by myself, which means that while there are fewer potential thieves, there is also no one that I can ask to keep an eye on my things. I don’t really want to pack up everything and schlep it fifteen steps away and into a crowded bathroom stall, but I feel a little nervous about just leaving it here unattended.

The question is: are the twenty or so people nearby in the line for lunch at Chili’s Too more likely to see my unattended belongings as the sacred property of another, or an opportunity to pilfer some credit cards and some free, middle-of-the-road used technological equipment?

In the event that someone tried to take my stuff, slip a date-rape drug into my water bottle, or make complimentary long-distance calls on my cell phone, would the people nearby be more likely to step in and intervene for the well-being of a stranger, or look the other way and hope I was smart enough to figure it all out when I returned?

The ever more pressing question becomes: are any of these belongings important enough to me to risk the humiliation of soiling myself in this nice purple velvet chair just because I couldn’t decide one way or another? I’m thinking not.

Turn It Up

2007-01-10T17:05:00.000-06:00

Just about everyone believes in the power of music, so I won't really go into much of an argument here, except to share my own experience from back in the days when I had all the free music that I wanted at my fingertips, courtesy of the Original Napster. I loved making playlists for all occasions, from "Girl Power!!" to "8AM Classes" to "Clay is my American Idol." I endured a breakup during my freshman year of college thanks to the great song by Sister Hazel called "Thank You" (chorus: You were the one/who taught me what I don't need/and I thank you for that/Now just leave me alone).

I hadn't tapped into to the power of music lately, until I bought the January issue of Real Simple for my plane trip to Florida. One of the articles made the case that everyone should have a "theme song" that they can sing at times when they need reassurance, such as on the way to a job interview or in preparing for a difficult conversation. The idea is that you choose a song that makes you feel energized and confident, and helps you to put your best foot forward, like listening to Jock Jams in the locker room. The author had chosen "I Will Survive," and she also suggested such songs as "Footloose," "Let's Get it Started," and "Life is a Highway." It can either be just a peppy song, or a song that reminds you of a particularly powerful moment in your life.

So I've been trying to think of my own theme song. I think I can use one especially now, where I'm facing going back to work after a holiday, significant personal transition, plus the regular January blahs. Here are some of the contenders, along with audio tracks if they were available:

"I Have Confidence in Me" from the Sound of Music

"Tub Thumping" by Chumbawumba (high school classic, mainly for the chorus)

"Ode to Joy" from Sister Act II

"Jump (for my love)" by the Pointer Sisters
(if you've ever seen Hugh Grant shake his booty to this one, you know why this makes the list)

See? It's working! I'm energized already.

New Year's Non-Post

2006-12-31T09:24:00.000-06:00

We have had a great post-holiday week, but we have really been on the run. Not counting sleeping hours, I am pretty sure that I have logged at least twice as many hours in the car as I have in my own home this week. I have actually had several great ideas for blog posts, but I haven't been home long enough to write them out! Now I'm all backed up and about to leave town, and by the time I get around to thinking through these holiday insights, they will be old news. So here you go: all
my thoughts.

1. I am a huge fan of New Year's resolutions. I love the occasion for self-evaluation, and to make promises to myself that I will do better. Obviously, some resolutions stick better than others, but as long as I keep a couple each year, I'm heading in the right direction.

2. One of the things that I admired the most about the musicians at the TSO concert was their complete lack of inhibition. At one point, there was a girl singer on a mini-stage way back in the audience, and she was dancing all by herself, and not even doing a very good job. But she kept at it, even though she was in the spotlight and a thousand eyes were on her. I have always wanted to be a little less self-conscious, and I had my first taste on Christmas Eve. My brother-in-law Tom got a karaoke machine for Christmas, and we had a girls versus boys karaoke competition. I took my turn every round, despite my lack of confidence in my singing, regaling the family with such classics as "Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?," "Smells Like Teen Spirit," and "Crocodile Rock." It was very fun, and the overall success of the game further proved my theory that every human being has a secret desire to be a rock star.

3. I got a temporary promotion at my parking job on Saturday. I got to drive the courtesy golf cart around the parking lot, offering rides to the unfortunate people who got stuck way out in the back lots. It was very fun, and I was much appreciated.

4. When I found out that my charming brother drew my name for my family's sibling gift exchange, I decided not to offer any gift-buying suggestions. Alan has great taste, and knows how to treat a girl, and I wanted to see what he'd come up with. Well, he came through with a gift certificate for a pedicure at a highly-recommended shop in T****e. Mom and I went together, and enjoyed the pampering. But, as usual, our pedicurists chattered away almost the whole time in what I think was Chinese. The last time this happened, Mom asked right out if they are actually talking about customers the whole time, and they basically said yes. "Wouldn't you?" one pointed out. We sat quietly the whole time, trying not to provide the ladies with any fodder for their discussion. Oh wait, I guess this defeats my lose-the-self-consciousness resolution.

5. We've finally joined the rest of the world in iMadness. Stephen bought an iPod with his Christmas money, and I am having lots of fun with it.

6. I got the new Josh Groban CD, and it is excellent. Maybe my favorite so far, even though there are not as many foreign-language songs. Speaking of Josh Groban, I had gotten my heart all set on going to hear him when he came to D****s in March. But when I looked more closely, I learned that the concert is on a Monday night, the week after spring break. Bummer! I'm thinking about going anyway.

7. I'm leaving at 3:45 on Tuesday morning for Florida with my mom, sister, and a bunch of cheerleaders and their moms. I'm looking forward to some fun and relaxing time to read and take naps, and enjoy some quality time with Mom and Leslie. Unless there's unusually good computer access, I won't blog until I come back, and then I will write panicky blogs about how I should have done more school work over the break so that I would be prepared to go back to work! Resolution: stop procrastinating!!

See you all in 2007...

It's My Body and I'll Cry if I Want To

2006-12-28T22:45:00.000-06:00

I took my gift cash shopping on the day after Christmas, and in about the third dressing room, I came to a sobering conclusion: I do not have the body I had when I was twenty-one. I have a picture on my bulletin board of my sister and I on our boat one summer. I look very firm and trim in my swimsuit top and shorts, and it reminds me of what I used to be. As I studied myself between outfits in the poor light of the Aeropostale clothes closets, I conclude that firm and trim are no longer the first adjectives that come to mind. I'm a little squishier around the middle, definitely less defined in the upper arms, and I am pretty sure I have cellulite on my thighs. To be young again!

I anticipate two responses to my lament:
1. "You are still not a large size, so quit complaining."
2. "Twenty-one was not so far away! Wait until you are 40 and then you'll know what it means to pine after the body of your youth."

To both of these, I say, "I KNOW!" The changes I have noticed so far have not been dramatic, but they have been steady. Innocent bystanders wouldn't notice, probably, because my frame hasn't actually changed shape (yet). It's just a little thicker and squishier all around. Now this is a bad thing precisely because twenty-one was only three short years ago. In three years, I have kept the same habits, have had a clean bill of health, taken the same sorts of medications, and I have not been pregnant. In other words, there is no good reason for an increase in weight and squishiness.

I attended a sprawling university where walking was a necessity of life. Although I had very irresponsible workout habits in college, I burned a lot of calories just walking from one class/Coke machine to another. I had been warned that graduating to a sedentary desk job would be bad for the waistline. This would have been true for me, except that my first job after graduation was a stressful, exhausting horror that sapped me of all appetite. However, after that year was over, I quit that job, got married, and found a job that was fun and satisfying. Good-bye stress, hello pudge. It is my theory that I am just now experiencing the "New Employee 15" at the exact time that my body is hitting its mid-twenties metabolic slump.

Now, in the timeless words of Mr. Bennet, two unhappy alternatives are before me: I can either resign myself to unrelenting physical expansion, which will only accelerate as I enter into my baby-bearing phase, or I can start changing my habits, which means less ice cream and more aerobic activity.

I'll tell you what doesn't work, and that is the South Beach Diet. Other than that, I'm open to ideas of how to avoid either of my "unhappy alternatives." Healthy food that tastes delicious...Exercise options that don't involve sweating or exposure to the elements...Magical pills that develop muscle definition as I sit at the computer...I'm open to suggestions.

The Second Annual Watson Christmas

2006-12-22T12:57:00.000-06:00

Last year was our first Christmas together, and so we were both on our best behavior. This year was much more revealing. Here are some highlights.

1. The Advent season is all about building anticipation for celebrating the birth of Jesus. The enticement of the presents under the tree is supposed to add to that effect as you delay the gratification of opening (or shaking, or peeking into) the packages. We did not do so well on this. We broke down last week, and opened just one (each). Every night since then, the presents have been an elephant in the room. "Want to open them tonight? We're grown-ups. Who can tell us not to?" Stephen persisted for a week, until I broke down after church on Wednesday. So Christmas is over for us until we go to our parents' houses. (Hence, this post)

2. I finally broke down and bought Stephen his first game system since his grade-school Atari. It's a Super Pac-man joystick game that plugs into the TV. Now as I sit here, listening to the blip-blip-blip of Pacman eating the dots and avoiding the ghosts, I'm wondering what sort of beast I have unleashed.

3. Although Stephen enjoys guessing the contents of the packages with his name on them (and consequently, robbing me of all the joy of giving), he does not want me to be able to guess what my presents are. So I opened several packages, only to find the that I had to sort through tissue paper, books off of my own bookshelf, and crap from the junk closet in order to find the actual gift itself.

4. Yes, Callie and Phoebe were included in our celebrations. They each got two rawhide sticks and new ID tags with our new phone number on them. But since they are the children, they are having to wait until closer to Christmas to enjoy their gifts.

5. We have a tradition each year of buying a new ornament for our Christmas tree. This year we are buying our ornaments from Starbucks, since that is where at least half of our discretionary income ended up.

6. The highlight of my end-of-year traditions is buying a new calendar. For the past years, I have bought ones with artistic photographs for each month that I can convert to wall art after the year is over. I now have more wall art than I need, so I got one purely for laughs: its' called "Nuns Having Fun." I've already put it on the wall, which is really throwing Stephen off. I love new calendars. There's so much potential there...who knows what sorts of things I will be writing in by the time we get to November or December of '07?

Some TSO for You

2006-12-20T22:07:00.000-06:00

Updates

2006-12-19T07:54:00.000-06:00

1. We went to see the Trans-Siberian Orchestra's Christmas concert this weekend, and it was incredible! Unfortunately, I think you had to be there to fully appreciate it. I tried to type up a long blog about it, and it just sounded like one of those awful amazon.com reviews that I always laugh at ("OMG, it was totally awesome! If you don't know this band, you should!"). So it's in the trash. I'll just say, the music itself was great, and the visual effects were really cool, including strobes, laser lights, fake snow, and other cool stuff that I don't know how to describe. The most interesting musician on the stage was a girl who could play her violin (very well) while running up and down the stage and dancing.

2. We got our Christmas cards in from Wal-Mart, and they are great.

3. Anyone who wants to be discouraged from teaching should come be my substitute for the next two days of school. There is nothing less productive than a fourth-grade classroom in the wee days before a big break. The fun thing is, fourth graders are young enough to want to shower their teachers with gifts. So I gratefully accept them, but I also think, "If you really want to give me a gift, why don't you stay home for this week?"

4. We're having our Christmas Nativity service for school tonight. My kids are in all the lead roles (you know...Mary, Joseph, shepherds...) and it is going to be special. Fun, fun.

5. I went to Cheddars for a girls' night out dinner with some of my co-workers. We had a great time chatting without having to worry about our conversation getting cut short by the tardy bell.

Okay...duty calls.

The Road Home is Littered with Good Intentions

2006-12-12T18:39:00.000-06:00

I have great intentions of being a productive, industrious person. Unfortunately, some of my other intentions get in the way, such as my intention to read my magazines in a timely manner, to get at least eight hours of sleep each night, to keep my house clean, and to read as many books as I can in a week. I find myself in a vicious cycle that goes something like this:

Arrive at school at 7:45. Make a list of tasks to complete during the day. At first teaching break, check e-mail and new blog comments. Check teacher mailbox for gift from Secret Santa (disappointed again!). Grade a few papers, organize thoughts for class immediately after lunch, and eat sandwich. Resume teaching until 3:30.

After the kids have been safely delivered into their minivans, I return upstairs to the rest of my to-do list. It usually features immediate items such as "make quiz for Latin tomorrow," "Read up on William and Mary for history lesson tomorrow," and long-term ambitions such as "pre-plan Christmas Around the World event for next week" and "chart out weekly schedule for history lessons in the spring."

I sit down in the computer lab with my notes and textbooks and find myself distracted by all the teachers' kids singing along to Barbie.com until their parents are ready to go. I decide to take my work home, where I can cozy up in some fleece pants, heat up some hot chocolate, and work in the peaceful quiet of my study.

Unfortunately, somewhere along the 40-mile commute, I lose all urgency for the tasks on the to-do list. By the time I arrive home, warm from the greenhouse effect and eyes tired from squinting into the sun, Latin and the English monarchy are the last thing on my mind. I am easily wooed by the siren song of my unopened Reader's Digest on the couch.

Before I know it, it is 5:30 and time for King of the Hill, and then dinner needs to be made and cleaned up, and then it is time for shower and hair maintenance. By the time I have given Callie her daily nurturing and posted a blog, my whole evening is gone, and it is bedtime.

So I arrive at school at 7:45 the next morning with too much work to be done, and I find myself scrambling around trying to stay five minutes ahead of myself, as usual.

It's time to begin planning my New Year's Resolutions.

Christmas Joys

2006-12-10T21:21:00.000-06:00

This is my favorite time of year. Here are some reasons why:

1. New Christmas carols, especially "Winter Wonderland" by Jason Mraz, "Manger Throne" by Third Day, and "Christmas is All Around" by a fictional artist named Billy Mack. And, of course, anything by the Trans-Siberian Orchestra.
2. Great friends who offer to take me to hear the TSO in concert this Saturday in Dallas.
3. Old Christmas carols, especially "O Holy Night," O Come, O Come Emmanuel," and "O Come, All Ye Faithful." And "Carol of the Bells" in every variety.
4. Wassail.
5. Beautiful and nutrient-free snacks, and lots of excuses to eat them.
6. The Advent Wreath
7. Christmas cards with pictures in them.
8. Christmas gifts from students.
9. Christmas gifts from everybody else.10. Online shopping.
11. Two and a half weeks off.
12. How clean my house is right before a party, and about an hour after.
13. My tree, finally finished and with gifts underneath.
14. Finding the perfect gift for someone else.
15. Parties with friends.
16. Parties with family.

A few things I don't like about this season, just to keep this from getting too warm and fuzzy:

1. Classic Christmas movies such as "It's a Wonderful Life" and "White Christmas." Yawn!
2. Going back to school after a long break.
3. Standing outside in the sleet parking cars to make some Christmas gift bucks.
4. Saying thank you for gifts that aren't really my style.
5. Still eating leftovers after three days of eating leftovers.
6. Taking down decorations.