Thank You...

The boys' school year is winding down this week. They've brought home grimy crayons and pencil/marker boxes, and piles of papers. One had a little container of grape jelly smushed in the front pocket of his backpack; the other a pile of crushed acorn shells.

For the most part, the papers went into the recycle bin, but they had something that caught my eye and made me pause. Each had his own grade-level equivalent of a journal in one of those mottled-cover composition books.

His Highness had a second grade writing/drawing journal. Each entry contained half a page of handwritten words with half a page of illustrations. There were several that were obviously started by a teacher prompt, several relating to dinosaurs, and, I assume, several teacher prompts which were expertly finagled into dinosaur-related entries. Because, dinosaurs.

The Littler One had a reading journal. There were some handwritten words, but mostly colorful worksheets that had been cut out and colored and glued into place. Little matching games connected words to pictures. Flaps lifted to reveal words, pictures, and drawings. The progress of the school year, new papers being carefully glued in each week, doubled the thickness of the book. I could see what my boys had learned; how they had been engaged and thoughtful in their work (some days more than others).

Look, I'm no Common Core fanatic; at best my feelings are neutral about the whole thing. What I want to point out, though, is that amid a lot of controversy and argument and OPINIONS about how kids should learn, about how things are SO different than when we went through school, and a lot of what's going wrong (and yes, there's plenty to work on), there are things going right too. There are lots and lots of caring, gifted teachers who are teaching these children like a BOSS, and there are lots and lots of kids doing hard work and learning well.

I offer this up gently, knowing friends who have struggled mightily to provide their kids with the right educational options for them, and public school was not it. People failed them and "the system" didn't come through for them when they needed it. It is real and true.

But still...for others, it works. I read an article about a sad tale of a kindergarten where the children sit at desks and write all day, and I think definitely we should go storming into that school and shake things up a little, because it doesn't have to be that way, and it ISN'T that way in many many places. In kindergarten this year I watched kids sit and write a little. I watched them move around the room to different learning centers, working with their hands, advancing those fine motor skills with cutting and gluing and folding and painting while they learned about numbers and reading and writing. I had the immense privilege talking with them as they sat on the alphabet carpet, bursting to tell me ALL THE THINGS about the story we were reading together. I helped them take reading quizzes about stories they chose themselves. I watched them dance and sing and move. I also got to chase a group of them running like banshees on a scavenger hunt through the hallways before we worked out the logistics of how not to do that.

In second grade I got to take them to lunch a few times. I got to read to them in funny voices. They showed me how to work the smart board so I could show them the pictures on the projector. I got to give them reward points due to compliments from other teachers about hallway behavior. I got to see how their teacher taught them to care for one another, and how their teacher cared for them. She sent them home with a memory book of the year. They wrote entries about their field trips and projects, and she added photos and bound them into real, actual books using donations and her own funds.

In both cases, the kids oogled over Tiny E, showing the little visitor how things worked in the big kids' classes. I saw two young teachers caring about their students, pushing them to do hard things and cheering for them the whole way. I saw them correcting and being strict, sometimes with humor and always with an underlying gentleness that said, "I am FOR you, and you need to stop this nonsense right now." Because these children are capable of a LOT of nonsense.

You know what else these children are capable of, though? These children are capable of doing hard things. They are capable of building reading and writing journals over a school year. They are capable of attending 3 schools in 3 years (not ideal, but reality sometimes), making good friends, and thriving as they grow and learn. It also turns out they are capable of catching actual fish using some twine tied to a paper clip with a piece of hot dog on it (who knew??).

This is all to say thank you. Thank you, teachers of my kids, for those little journals, and for all the things this year. Thank you for letting me in and sharing a little of the process with me.  Thank you, friends of mine who are professional teachers, for staying in this hard profession and offering up your gifts to our benefit. Thank you for managing them well, so that you can spend more time teaching. Thank you for putting up with the nonsense of standardized testing, and conflicts, and paperwork, and all the extras that drain the joy out of the good parts. Thank you for challenging them, and for doing more than what is required to make learning more interesting, and sometimes even fun.

May your summer include lounging poolside with umbrella drinks...

REALLY Cool Toys...

My friend Joe is a woodworker. He was also a big corporate financial guy until he & Mrs. Joe decided that he would stay home with their boys so they could all be together as a family more. Fantastic idea, I say. I'm all for more family time.

He builds tons of stuff from cabinets, tables, and shelves, to wooden toys. His toys are so cool that people have been clamoring to buy them, so he has opened up his own shop called Market Street Co.

I'd gush about how talented and creative he is, but you'd be going, "Oh come on Skerrib, you're biased." And maybe I am. So go to his shop and see if you don't agree with me. And if you find something you like, why not help feed the children (of Mr. & Mrs. Joe).

There's a link to his site over there under "Fantastic Finds," or you can click here.

UPDATE: Site's up & running. Yay for Joe. Now go see his toys!

Real Estate Haiku...

Cheyenne househunting
All thought, effort devoted
To the task at hand

Much to write about
Friend visits, 'caches with me
Protects me from snakes

Frozen blueberries
Chocolate covered strawberries
Summer fruits rule all

Tired body, fried brain
Houses prancing through the mind
Decision time looms

Real posts resume soon...

Today in a Nutshell: Really, Really Fun...

The T's...outlets...Jamba...Chipotle...Barnes & Noble...the Christian bookstore...The Underachiever's Manifesto...Stuff Christians Like...Cassandra & her half-a$$ed guidance...talking about Jesus, church, religion, boob jobs & tummy tucks, kiddos, why I need to try on running clothes, and mysterious store entrance alarms ringing...sober-calling friends & family...

What A Mess...

Well, there it is--The Dress. And notice the Cat Daddy in his smashing tux, known as the Mess Dress. He thought I might like to wear a navy dress, but I think the "apple" shade provides a lovely contrast, yes? I don't know what's up with my posture in that pic--I could've sworn I was standing up straight. Our yard is at an odd slope, so we'll just call it that. Or I'll say I was going for a Greek goddess pose. Even better.

The purpose of this one is to prove that I did make my toes all pretty, and that I did, in fact, wear heels. This is significant because I don't do heels. But I did for the dining out. Also important is the lack of nylons (something bothers me about pantyhose--both the item and the word). Mom was adamant that nylons must be worn to a (semi) formal event, but I was equally adamant that I wasn't doing it. So I didn't. I also like that you can see a little more of my hair in this one. I had it done, as I am more of the wash-comb-leave it type of person and wouldn't know how to go about making my curls cascade as they did.

So there you have it. The event itself was nice. Something interesting about the military--they have a tradition for everything. Printed in the program itself was the etiquette of the mess:

The following is a list of rules under which the mess will be conducted. They are designed to conform to tradition and promote levity. Violators of these rules are subject to the wrath and mischievousness of Mister and Madam Vice. All assigned penalties will be carried out before the members.

•Thou shalt arrive 10 minutes before the appointed hour for the call to order.
•Thou shalt make every effort to meet all guests.
•Thou shalt move to the mess when thee hears the chimes and remain standing until seated by the President.
•Thou shalt not bring cocktails or lighted smoking material into the mess.
•Thou shalt not leave the mess whilst the mess is convened. Military protocol overrides all calls of nature.
•Thou shalt participate in all toasts unless thyself or thy group is honored with a toast.
•Thou shalt ensure thy glass is always charged when toasting.
•Thou shalt not open the schoolhouse (talk shop) doors.
•Thou shalt always use proper toasting procedures.
•Thou shalt be painfully regarded if thy clip-on bow tie rides at an obvious list. Thou shalt be forgiven, however, if thee also ride at a comparable list.
•Thou shalt consume thy meal in a manner becoming of gentle persons.
•Thou shalt not laugh at ridiculously funny comments unless the President first shows approval by laughing.
•Thou shalt express thy approval by tapping thy spoon on the table. Clapping of thy hands will not be tolerated.
•Thou shalt not question the decision of the President (no quibbling).
•When the mess adjourns, thou shalt rise and wait for the President and guests to leave. Thou shalt enjoy thyself to the fullest.

I learned that this event was about four times larger than normal, so it was virtually impossible to actually enforce the rules. And Mister and Madam Vice didn't dole out any mischief, except to the President (the group's commander). During dinner I used my spoon to scoop the gravy out of my potatoes, so it got taken with my plate and I was left with nothing to bang on the table for the rest of the evening.

Throughout the evening, any time an individual squadron was mentioned, that squadron would give their chant. The President and the Vices exchanged witty remarks...most of them scripted. An interesting combination of silliness and solemnity.

I can take or leave all the pomp and such, but my favorite part was talking with people we've met here. The two ladies I shopped with were there (Mrs. Fashion was quite pleased with my dress choice), and we met another lady and all got along famously. So well in fact that the four of us kept the husbands waiting at the very end while we put each other's numbers in our cell phones. Always a nice thing, to hit it off with people.

The guest speaker had recently returned from deployment and had some interesting stories to share, but we were not able to stay for the dancing, as the program ran over and we had to pick up His Highness. The local girl scouts were a couple buildings over--they provided childcare as a community service project, and did a great job. The Cat Daddy said when he went in to pick him up, His Highness was sleeping on a couch, with several of the girls sitting around him, admiring his cuteness. Of course they were!

I liked this event because it taught me a lot. Sadly, His Highness is sticking his nose in my eye, so my list of things learned will have to wait...

Day 1--Off & Running In Syracuse...

We did it.

We had what might've been the best moving party ever today. All told, there were 15 people lifting, loading, and cleaning various things throughout the house. The result was a little boy on the way to AZ to spend a week with his crazy grandmas, a 26' truck packed tight with our belongings, and a spotless house relinquished to our landlords. Lots of memories throughout the day. Lots of heady, pensive moments, which I have yet to fully process and get out in writing...another day. We were up by 7am; folks started showing around 8, we were done by 3, checked out by 4, put the car on the trailer and ate some dinner, and found our way to Syracuse NY by 11pm.

But now, being midnight, and being that I'm freshly showered with clean teeth, it's time for me to stretch my tired legs and head to bed. Bossing people around is hard work...

Proof That I Have Smart Friends...

Oh right, the quiz. Smiller got it right away--each letter can also be a name:

• (Aunt) Bea
• Dee (Snider)
• (Homer) Jay (Simpson)
• (Mary) Kay
• Elle (MacPherson)
• (Auntie) Em

Some might argue that Em is pushing it, but it takes just one parent to name their kid the nickname, and it'll stand on its own.

You can get into some of the double initial names, such as Cici, Gigi, Opie, Casey and such, but I don't think it's quite as elegant as the single ones.

So, as promised, high praise and esteem go to my dear friend Smiller...and here's hoping she finds time to keep a blog of her own one day...

An Inside Joke?

The Scareys were in town from OH this week with their daughter, who is 3 months older than His Highness. We had a grand old time, taking in the Boston Children's Museum, a couple of geocaches, and other random fun. Mostly we just enjoyed each other and hung out with the kiddos, sharing funny stories and stories of baby poop.

This morning the kids were playing with the popper-car while the Scareys were packing up to head home. Little Scarey was sitting in the driver's seat, while His Highness was pushing her from behind. Yesterday they both had a blast doing this, but today Little Scarey just wasn't into it. She wanted to drive the car with her own feet. His Highness didn't notice, however, and just kept pushing with a big, goofy grin on his face while Little Scarey became increasingly vocal about her distress.

The Cat Daddy noticed this and commented, "Look, His Highness is going along all happy-go-lucky, completely oblivious to the fact that she is on the verge of a breakdown."

Then we caught each other's eye and burst out laughing...

Pseudonyms...

Pseudonyms have been a recurring issue for me in this blog. My blog is open to public perusal, but those I write about don’t necessarily know I’m posting information about them for all to see and read. Plus, you never know who might come across my blog, and I certainly don’t want to get anyone in trouble with my ranting, especially myself. Consequently, my rule of thumb is to use pseudonyms for everyone except the pets.

When writing about work folks, I decided to use names from the Brady Bunch (in case you didn’t pick up on that before), with the exception of my officemate, to whom I referred simply as “Officemate” (and except for Ms. Gillian, whose story you’ll have to read for yourself in my archives). This could have become quite complicated when I moved offices, except that now I work in a cube, so my new officemate is more accurately “Cubemate,” thus eliminating most of the confusion. Come to think of it, I don’t know that I’ve mentioned Cubemate thus far, so don’t even worry about it yet.

I couldn’t think of a cutesy theme broad enough to encompass friends and acquaintances, so I stuck with initials. Surprisingly, this worked fine until the new Mrs. B. got married last month, creating a duplicate with our other good friends the B's.

I have spent the past week trying to think of a new name for the B's and have yet to come up with a fitting and clever pseudonym, so I shall have to resort to the plain and unoriginal.

Thus, henceforth and heretofore, our good friends and next-door-neighbors shall be known on this blog as the "Bees": Mr. Bee, Mrs. Bee, their daughter Little Bee, and their pets Sydney and Tokyo. The new Mrs. B. and her husband, married over a month now, shall remain the B's.

Thus saith skerribee--um, I mean skerrib...

Dream a Little Dream...

I am hit-or-miss when it comes to remembering my dreams. While they are often bizarre, they are not usually all that detailed; or rather, the details are not describable in any way that remotely makes sense. That said, I do have a few standard stress dreams which seem to repeat themselves, especially when I’m anxious about something.

There’s the snake dream. Often many of them will be in my yard and I’ll need to get into or out of the house. Plenty of times the setting has been the house where I grew up, but more recently I tend to find myself in a new house and discover that my yard is in fact a habitat for poisonous snakes, and I have to figure out how to co-exist with them. Once I was on some sort of camping or mountain-climbing trip, and a giant snake the color of those reddish garden hoses, with bright yellow and blue diamonds along its back, pretty much followed me the whole way. Come to think of it, just last night I was traveling along some kind of path, lined with cobras that were spitting and lunging at me. Thankfully the snakes in my dreams have almost never tried to hurt me. Even the cobras were all about intimidation, and didn’t try to actually touch me. The only time in my dreams that a snake intended harm was when I was in the desert with the Von Trapp family. Maria was singing in the background (of course). I was kneeling down, and a rattlesnake was headed my way while my legs were stuck to the ground. It made sense at the time. The only thing I could do was lie backward with my legs still in place, folded behind me. The snake didn't get to me, however, because I woke myself up. It was one of the few times I've sucessfully woken myself up from a dream. Woken--is that a word? It sounds weird...
Then there’s the one where my teeth are falling out, one by one. It starts with one of my bottom front ones wiggling loose. The ones with the retainer cemented to them. Then another, then a top one, and so on, until my molars start coming out too.

And the one where I'm trying to dial a phone number, but just can't get it right. Not just once or twice. Like 10 times. And usually it's for something important, such as calling the fire department. And there is no such thing as 9-1-1 in this dream, it's a full number I'm trying to dial. It's maddening.

There’s the one where I’m teaching a class and mutiny is afoot. One kid will be loud & raucous, or refusing and stay put. Just as I get him/her under control, someone on the opposite end of the room does the same thing. It gradually gets worse until I’m desperately screaming for everyone to sit down and shut up, and the entire class thinks it’s a great game, messing with my head. I had this dream regularly when I was an actual teacher, usually in the weeks leading up to a new year or semester. Even today, I dream of classroom mutiny every so often.

Another school dream started popping up when I was in grad school. In this one, I’m registered full-time, or working full-time while registered for a class or two. Either way, somehow I'll totally forget to attend one class, until about halfway through the term, when I’ll realize it and make plans to catch up and pass the class, but somehow I keep forgetting to show up. Once I was back in high school, needing one class to graduate, and I just couldn’t seem to get to the dang class. It was dreadful.

The one good thing about stress dreams, if such a thing exists, is that they very rarely come true to their full extent in real life. I did forget to go to a lab once in grad school. I left school after class, completely forgetting that lab was held right after the lecture. It wasn’t even the first class of the quarter…I simply forgot. I was very fortunate in that I didn’t miss anything. Even if I had, it would have been a pain to make up the work, but it would have been do-able. I have seen a snake in my yard, but it was small & harmless. We left each other alone, and it went away, and I never saw it again. As an adult, I’ve lost a crown, but never a tooth, and even my worst classroom days never came close to full-scale anarchy.

Being a nervous-type, I deal with stress dreams by talking myself down from the anxiety. Usually a quick pep talk about how it was all a dream will suffice. When that doesn’t work, I devise a plan of action to prevent the events in the dream from ever coming true.

Yesterday was a banner day in the history of stress dreams, as I had what apparently was a sympathy-stress-dream. I’ve never heard of this occurring before, but there’s a first time for everything, I suppose. My dream involved my friend, the future Mrs. L., who is getting married in 2 months. Some background info: the Cat-Daddy and I will be helping out, making sure that the schedule runs as smoothly as possible. It will also help to know that Mrs. L. is currently storing her dress in my guest room, until it’s time to have it altered and pressed before the big day. Understandably, Mrs. L. is busy with plans & preparations, but my role is easy. I get to show up in nice-ish clothes and boss people around. Very little stress on my end. You'd think so anyway...

So in my dream it was suddenly Mrs. L.’s wedding day. To begin with, I wondered how time had passed so quickly, as we had completely skipped the month of April. I had been looking forward to bossing people around, ala “What are you doing here? You were supposed to be over there ten minutes ago!!” but again, time had gotten away from me, and it was now just a couple hours before the wedding. I got my butt to the church, and when I finally got there it was an hour prior to the wedding, and pretty much everything seemed to be in order, except that Mrs. L. wasn’t in her dress yet. I asked her about it, and it turns out it was my job to bring the dress from my house to the church for her, and I’d completely forgotten! So we tracked down the Cat-Daddy, asking him to drive home and pick up the dress. But it wasn’t just the dress; there was the slip, the veil, and accessories. So I started to write out a list so he would know to get everything. Well, I tried & tried, but my writing was totally illegible, so Mrs. L. and I finally decided to go ourselves so we’d be sure to get all of the necessary accoutrements.

We got to my house and started grabbing the dress and accessories, but as we grabbed stuff, there was more & more for us to take. Flower girl dresses, flower girl gifts, entire suitcases of clothes, towels, & shoes (for the honeymoon?? I have no idea). And I'm almost certain there was a lava lamp in there somewhere. Soon Mrs. L.’s mom showed up and volunteered to pack & take most of the stuff for us so we could get back to the church and start the wedding ASAP.

At this point my house was no longer the house I live in now, it was some random house in extremely west Phoenix, and it was my parents’ house and I was just staying with them for the wedding. Or something like that. Whatever it was, it made sense at the time. Mrs. L. and I loaded up the car and were getting ready to go just as a strange couple drove up to the house asking about the wedding. We told them everything was being held at the church an hour away, and they could follow us there if they wanted to, all the while thinking, “duh, why would they come here??” We got into the car & headed down the street. The couple got into their car & started to pull out. I watched for them to follow us in my rearview mirror, but they never did, so I was worried that they were actually there to rob my (or rather my parents’) house, and had just pretended that they were going to follow us to the wedding, when in fact they were going to stuff my parents' belongings into their tiny 1985 Honda Accord hatchback.

Consequently, I decided to drive back around the block & check on the house, only I wasn’t at all familiar with the neighborhood and got all turned around. I never did make it back to check on the house. Eventually I ended up on a main road a good mile away, except that we were now in extremely east Phoenix. Nothing was familiar, but we did make our way up to Loop 202 so we could catch a commuter roller-coaster back to the church.

Yes, a commuter roller-coaster.

An interesting concept, but terribly inefficient, as we kept having to debark and get back in line at several of the stops. And as we crossed into different cities, the coasters were very different. The Scottsdale portion, for example, was bright & shiny & new, and had loops & turns, etc., while the Mesa portion was old & dingy, with crappy seats (sorry, Mesa) that kept ejecting us out of them so we'd have to get back in & try to get going again. This went on for quite some time, and became pretty convoluted. The last thing I remember is being stuck in a warehouse-setting, waiting for one of three doors to open and the coaster to whisk me through it to wherever was next. Mrs. L. walked up wondering what on earth we were doing here when we had to get back to the church for her wedding. From there the dream got fuzzy, and I think it transitioned into a whole other theme involving bikes, snow, and a very strange amusement park. Anyway, to summarize, we did not get back to the church for the wedding.

As a result of this dream, I made two major decisions:

1) Mrs. L. is to retrieve her dress from my house long before an hour prior to her wedding, and I will not be responsible for it.

2) I’m not going anywhere near a commuter roller-coaster unless I have ample time to spare.

For the New Mrs. B...

A very good friend got married over the weekend. I enjoyed the wedding immensely, which is saying a lot since I'm not much of a wedding-person. I didn't cry...I told my bride-friend that she looked hot, and I got to have crazy fun with some friends from college. We temporarily forgot that we were supposedly-mature adults with real jobs and real bills and insurance, and we ran around & told goofy jokes, and giggled about what our newly-married friends would be doing that night (wink, wink). The best thing about the night was all the laughing.

And I had a very important duty. I was one of 3 gift attendants, the other 2 being said college friends. We took our jobs very seriously, as you can see in the pic. We even took very (un)serious oaths to defend the gifts against those who would damage or steal. And when no one tried anything, we made up fake stories to add some drama to the day, but Mrs. B. didn't fall for it, partly because she's pretty sharp, but mostly because she was rightfully caught up in being a bride.

During the ceremony all my cynicism flew out the window and I just sat there with a goofy grin the whole time, thinking about what a gift this marriage is. It seems especially wonderful, since my friend has gone through significant pain in her life, probably more by the time she was 20 than most people encounter by the time they're 60. For me, and everyone else who has known her, it is so special to look back over her life and see where God has led her, how he has redeemed the pain in her life into beauty, strength, and wisdom beyond her years. Her husband has also had his share of lows and such...part of the ceremony included a video the B's made of their stories, how God has shaped them through the years and eventually brought them together. I've gotten to meet Mr. B. He is strong, wise, kind, caring...and appropriately warped enough to complement my friend's (and my) sense of humor. I hope to know him better, and to know them as a couple...IF he promises to behave; that is, if he promises to be a good sport and put up with our silliness.

The wedding was held at the church I grew up in, which also happens to include the school I attended through 8th grade. There were so many memories for me, and even some people from "back in the day," whom I got to surprise simply by walking up to them; and when they said, "SkerriF!! You haven't changed a bit!!" I got to say with great enthusiasm, "It's SkerriB now!" That was fun. I told grade-school stories to my college friends and one of them commented, "You weren't kidding, you really grew up here!" It's true. Between church and school, I was there as much (and sometimes more than) I was home in those years.

Ms. G. was one of those people. She was in charge of the reception. Despite her disappointment in not receiving the promised "Yes I am the boss of you" shirt, she did a spectacular job ordering people around, making sure the evening went off without a hitch. We were 2 years apart in school, so we only knew of each other, and I don't think I'd seen her in about 15 years. It was neat to see her as an adult, a very capable leader with a wicked sense of humor (I hope the word "wicked" means what I want it to mean--hilarious, slightly warped, and something I get a kick out of). She made a great boss; and as a gift attendant, I was pleased that she was, in fact, the boss of me.

Ms. K. was another. She was the maid of honor. We were in the same class, although we didn't know each other well, as during those days she was in the cool-group, while I definitely was not. Frankly, given my social status back then, I've been relieved to find that, all things considered, the social "coolness-tiers" pretty much flattened out by college. Ms. K. and I reminisced some, mostly updating each other on the classmates we knew about. We sort of kept grinning at each other. I can't speak for her, but I know there was so much I wanted to say but didn't have words for. It is interesting to me that, even knowing each other only a little, we share such a complex history over just a few years of our lives. Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but then again maybe not. I think if we lived in the same state we might be friends. Although maybe that's not all that profound, since we're both friends with the new Mrs. B.

It was her wedding, but it felt like such a gift to me, having known her for several years now, getting to share in her 'process' through these years and to participate in this special day. Plus, they served Mexican food, which is probably my all-time favorite. And no birdseed or bubbles. No, the B's gave out TOYS as wedding favors. Squishy light-up toys. There was no chicken dance; in fact, there was no dancing at all. Just dinner and conversation in a cool, dusky evening with zillions of little white lights strung about and Norah Jones crooning away in the background. A perfect evening.

Ahh, I feel like quite the cheeseball now, but I don't think I care. OK maybe I care a little bit, but it's worth it.

So thank you, the new Mrs. B., for including me in your special day, and for all the unexpected gifts I received from it as well.

A beautiful day, indeed...