Fruit, Stale Chocolate and Total Crap-No Really
I knew it was going to be one of those days when Mr. BBM sprayed Big I's hair with detangler right onto my arm and in the direction of my bagel. The smell of that detangler in all its fruity-non-goodness makes me hold my breath each morning when I spritz Big I. I was already irritated.
But when Mr. BBM decided to make her look like a grease monkey by dousing her roots with at least six sprays of the stuff, I lost it. I can drum up all kinds of crap in my head if I want to. "He was trying to spray my bagel. He's trying to make her look horrible so that I will do her hair from now on" etc. etc.
The last straw was me stepping in a puddle of the spray that had accumulated on my just mopped tile floor. I felt like I was going to explode.
It was then that I spilled coffee down my pants and coat. I was already running two minutes late. There was no time to change.
I arrived on campus and thought my writing students needed a break from the research part of things. So, I did the chocolate activity I do each year. I torture them with a Hershey's Kiss on their desk in front of them and then make them spend an hour writing descriptive phrases to describe what it looks like, smells like, sounds like and finally, tastes like. Last year, all of my students were coming up with these amazing similies and metaphors. Their descriptions were amazing.
This year I asked them what it looked like and someone said "tin foil." I asked them what it smelled like and one of them said, "lotion." I piled on the drama and told them I was looking for a little more description and definitely more, you know, words. Then, two of my boys complained about me giving them "stale chocolate." You know, the stale chocolate I bought last week, the sealed bag that I just opened this morning that has an expiration date of May 2010. Ingrates.
My speech class arrived and it was the first day for group speeches. I had two students show up late for their speeches, as in one of his group members had to call him to remind him to show up because he was still sleeping. What do they expect me to do? Sit and wait for them to show up? I made a mental note to subtract points from the speeches, and/or scream and yell profusely.
After meeting with a student after class whose group is a nightmare, I was off to my next event, a meeting with another board member of the country club to discuss some ideas. We met for over two hours and came up with some great stuff. It's going to be a lot of work though.
I came home, grabbed Big I and Lil C and got right back in the car to go get Big I some racing swimsuits for swim team. I made a wrong turn on the way and it took us an extra 10 minutes to get there. Upon arriving at the store, which happens to be located in my old elementary school, I told the girls how I used to go there. When we entered the building, it was like deja vous. The swim shop was actually located in my 1st grade classroom, directly beside my 2nd grade classroom where the meanest teacher on the planet happened to live. Yes, live, I was convinced she lived there in the basement or something. She was that creepy and horrible.
I told the girls the story about how I had a terrible stomach virus in 2nd grade. I needed to go to the bathroom badly but my teacher wouldn't let me go. I had no choice. I ran out the door and I didn't make it in time. It was one of the most embarrassing days of my life and being there just brought it all back.
I guess I channeled it to Lil C, because after eating a ton of "jumping beans" for dinner, Lil C came tearing across the house from the playroom, heading for the bathroom. But she stopped short and grabbed the back of her pants. She too didn't make it in time. It was a two-parent job that involved one of us balancing her while she stood teetering on the edge on the toilet (with the same one of us dry-heaving repeatedly,-a-hem, that would be me). It was a complete nightmare. My stomach is still doing flips from it.
With the exception of a good meeting this afternoon, this day has been totally craptastic and I'm not anxious to repeat any of it, especially the last part.
And in case you're wondering, it's totally legit for a parent to talk about her daughter's "stomach mishaps" when she has also, in the same post, revealed her own.
Bye Bye Bonsai
When Mr. BBM got me a small bonsai tree for Mother's Day a couple years ago, I had mixed feelings about it. Although a thoughtful gift for a martial artist and Karate Kid fan, I couldn't help but feel like I had one more thing I had to take care of. Taking care of everyone and everything all the time is exhausting.
I read the two pages of instructions, gave strict orders that no one touch it except for me and the bonsai and I became friends. Before long, it was thriving and I had to do some pruning. I did it with butterflies in my stomach, so afraid to hurt the thing, but it did fine and survived. I figured I had overestimated how sensitive it was, but I found out that I was wrong.
My bonsai has gone from being a thriving little plant to a nightmare. Leaves started falling off, first one by one, and then non-stop. I accused Mr. BBM of watering it, but he swore he didn't touch it. The bonsai only gets watered once a week. Last week, when it felt hopeless, I scoured the web for advice on bringing it back to its former grandeur.
So I went to work, carefully prying the plant from its pot so I could examine the roots. I cut back the ones that were no longer white, sat the soil on paper towels to let it soak up any excess moisture and then returned it to its pot with hopes that it would recover.
Today it dropped another grouping of leaves and it's looking more hopeless than ever.
I've lost plants before. Although I've definitely become more of a green thumb over the years, by self-teaching myself how to not blow all our landscaping investment, I know that I've had problems with indoor plants in the past. I even thought that maybe the bonsai didn't like my new little basil plant so I moved it away from the bonsai to give it some space.
Still, nothing has worked.
I've had no trouble tossing out plants in the past, but this one bothers me. Maybe it's because I'm seeing a parallel between it and me and my knee.
Despite surgery and careful care afterwards, my knee has been awful lately. It's bruised again and sore and I've been avoiding karate because my brace hurts where the bruising is and kneeling is next to impossible for me. Despite "surgery" and careful care of my plant, it's not thriving. It doesn't look nice or exotic anymore. It just looks sad, kind of like my knee.
I want my bonsai to survive and I want my knee to be completely healed, but wanting something and reality are often quite different. I'm frustrated with my bonsai tree, and I'm frustrated with my knee.
Right now, both are on a downward spiral that I'm not quite sure how to fix. And if there's one thing I can't stand, it's not having control over things that I want.
From Nothing to an Officer in One Afternoon
On Sunday, while enjoying the wedding reception and hanging out with my karate people, I noticed I had a voice mail. I went outside for a minute and heard my neighbor's message. This particular neighbor is a jokester. He's always up to something. In fact, even when he's not up to something, his smile makes you think otherwise. The message I heard cracked me up.
My neighbor was congratulating me on my being elected to the board. He then went on to say that I had also been elected as an officer, secretary. I walked back into the reception laughing out loud. I told Mr. BBM and he laughed too. Then he said, "maybe you were elected secretary." I told him it wasn't possible; I wasn't even there. I had left the meeting immediately after voting to get to my friend's wedding reception.
I sent a text message to my neighbor's wife and told him I was calling his bluff. Nice try and all that, but I wasn't buying it. For hours afterward, my neighbor was insistent that he was telling the truth. I still didn't believe it.
The next day I got a call from one of the board members, and guess what? I'm the secretary. I don't know how I'm supposed to raise hell and shake things up when I have to be the one writing everything down, but I'll find a way.
I will find a way.
There’s Always One
It happens every semester so I should expect it, but it doesn't bother me any less when it does happen. Today, one of my student's sealed his fate. He skipped his speech after I had already given him special permission to give it late. Students must complete all speeches in order to pass the class. He was already in trouble.
On Tuesday, he stood up for a story-telling activity with another girl in class and told his story, of being coddled in high school and doing well and then coming to college, drinking too much and "smoking too much pot." During his impromptu story, he talked of a teacher who tried to get him back on track (that would be me), and although I've been able to see those kids through and help them on some occasions, this time it's too late, and I am so disappointed.
I don't know why I allow the one kid in class like this to bother me so much, but they always do. It is such an amazing thing to be able to help a student through a rough patch and get back on the right track. I did it when I taught high school and I did it last year at the college level too. I just think some kids aren't ready to be "reached" yet. He's clearly one of them.
These university students share so much information with me that they're not sharing with their parents. I had one student write about her rape, something she's kept from her parents for years. I've had others talk about their drug and alcohol use and abuse, and it's heartbreaking and frustrating. It's not high school. There's no guidance counselor to enlist to help. I've contacted advisors from time to time, but when all is said and done, there is little I can do beyond what I'm already doing, listening, being available, and offering to help whenever I can.
In just three weeks, the semester will be wrapping up, and as of January, I'll have a new group of students. I'm sure there will be at least one that does this to me yet again.
When Heels and Nylons Save the Day
Yesterday was the election for the board of directors at my country club, which is actually more like a swimming club that happens to have a clubhouse. There were five available positions and nine candidates. Some of the candidates running for election have been members of the club longer than I've been alive. I figured my chances were slim to none. The only other time I ran for office was during one of my high school years. I ran for a class officer position and lost. I was humiliated and destroyed from that loss. I was expecting the same feeling at the country club elections.
At the country club, there are two factions if you will. There are the very much older people who go for the inside stuff and there are the families who join for the pool and show up at the clubhouse primarily for wing night and "beef and beer" night. The younger people get upset because although we make up the majority of the club, the minority rule. Although I can't speak about all of them, there are a great many of the older faction that are mean about it too.
The younger people get resentful that although we are the majority, we're ruled by people we deem "out of touch." Yesterday at the meeting, a younger mom suggested that the club sponsor some kid friendly bus trips to local amusement parks, zoos, etc. in addition to the Ladies Auxiliary sponsored bus trips to the casinos at 12 noon on a Tuesday which obviously don't work for younger women and you know, teaching our kids to gamble at young ages probably isn't a good idea. The poor woman's suggestion was met with so much disgust, and then she was told she had to join the Ladies Auxiliary if she wants to make suggestions like that.
The Ladies Auxiliary meets on Friday nights. They have keyboard entertainment, coffee and desserts and then plan bus trips and singles dances that happen at 12 noon on a Sunday. I'm not saying they don't do some good for the club; but it's not exactly an environment friendly to younger women.
Because Mr. BBM and I had a wedding to go to immediately after the meeting (actually during, but we'll ignore that), we were very dressed up. I wore a black dress with a wrap sweater and shiny black heels. I felt extremely over-dressed, but Mr. BBM didn't think so. When I looked around the room at the two factions of people, the older people were dressed up. I'm talking skirts, sweaters and blazers people. Many of the men wore suits.
When the candidates were introduced, I stood up there and looked around. The younger people smiled at me and probably wondered why I had dressed up so much; they probably weren't, but I felt as if the older people were trying to kill me with evil glares.
Then we voted and an older lady walked right by our row of people and didn't give us ballots. Then someone cried foul and said that only 170-some people had signed in but they had to make extra copies of ballots. So, they collected all the ballots, made a new one from scratch, ran fresh copies and we all had to vote again AND hand our ballot directly to the collection people. It was insane. It felt like a crazy episode of "The Office" or something and it took forever.
Other highlights include my friend sitting behind me who declared she was going to take her shirt off because it was seriously about 105 degrees in the place. Also, a young guy wearing a baseball hat stood up and said something and the old people started SCREAMING at him to "have some respect" and "take off your hat." A couple times, friends of mine leaned over to me and asked me if I was sure I wanted to do this. Another friend told me I should run. Yet another person told me not to get my hopes up. Our faction seemed to be outnumbered.
I voted and left before hearing the results. I had already been there two hours and was really late to my wedding and reception. On the way out the door, an older couple was standing there. The woman looked at me and said, "You're what this club needs on the board. Young blood." She grinned ear to ear and told me she hoped I got elected. Her husband gave me some well wishes too. Mr. BBM told me that thanks to dressing up for the wedding, he thought I had a fighting chance. The older people would appreciate the fact that I had worn a dress and nylons.
About 15 minutes in to the drive, my neighbor called my cell phone. I believe her words were "Oh my God! You Won! You Won!" and then the other text messages of congratulations started rolling in as well. So, I'm now a board member and there is a lot of work to be done. First order of business will be getting them to turn the damn heat down to save some money and keep people from taking their shirts off. Second order of business, figuring out a way to get the two very divided factions to peacefully co-exist, while making the inside a more desirable place to frequent for families.
Clearly, I've got my work cut out for me.
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