Digital Age

A student came in from recess one day this week sobbing.  I swung into action thinking there must have been an altercation on the playground.  I was ready to take this on and seize that teachable moment to help these young learners resolve conflict by arming them with a few strategies for how to handle frustration. 

Too soon! - When I inquired as to what all the hub-bub was about I couldn't help but smile.  The child in tears managed to say the following through the sobbing.  "My cousin went to Washington D.C. and now we can't Skype."

We are living in the digital age.. How do I know this?  When a five year old is stressed out over when they are going to be able to Skype a relative you know it is for sure. :)

You Know School is Back in Session When....

You know you are back at school with Kindergarteners when….

-          You need toothpicks to keep your eyes open at 7:45 p.m. on a Tuesday night.

-          You come home with Scotch ™ tape stuck to your rear end.

-          You think a bug is climbing up your leg but look down to realize a five year old is “petting” your leg while sitting at your feet during a read-aloud.

-          You have indigestion mid-afternoon because you crammed down half of a cantaloupe, an apple, a few slices of chicken and a bottle of water for lunch in the span of 6 minutes.

A Nibble



It was the summer of 2004.  I flew back to the Midwest to see my family. (Who knows why?  The only member of my family that I like is my oldest brother. He is worth the effort, though.)  It seemed a necessary evil to go spend time with these people.  It was my duty.  I checked into my brother's house upon arrival. (The one I like).  Staying at his house is like staying at the Hyatt.  He always wants to make sure they have your favorite things on hand.  What soda do you want?  Any special snacks you prefer, etc? There are near nightly invitations to take a ride to the Dairy Queen. - Yes, thank you I will go!   I do like good hospitality and thus he wins the Gold Standard award for hosting family members.

It was July.  It was hot.  My oldest niece has been booted out of her room so I could have her bed for my stay.  I think she and my other two nieces like my visit.  They like to do risky things when I am around. (Insert - crack the lock on the bathroom door when I am in the shower and then scream, shove things under the bedroom door to rouse my attention, jump out and scare me as I come around the corner, etc.)

It must have been the second night of my stay when the following occurred.  I awoke in the morning feeling hot.  I wrote this off to the humidity and stomped to the bathroom to get ready.  What to my wondering eyes should appear?  A huge red bump on my bum!  It was the size of a quarter or so and hard like cement.  Where does such a thing come from I wondered.  Two days later it was the size of a baseball, bright red and extremely painful.  If you want to be knocked down a few pegs and humbled, this is what you do: Waltz into the emergency room and tell the agent behind the desk that you have a problem with your bum.  There must be some special training for hospital workers so that they know how to curb their laughter when people like me stumble in with a red bum.  It gets worse...

After swallowing every last shred of dignity and pride that I had by telling the intake desk personnel about my troubles I was then whisked away to a triage area.  I proceeded to tell the nurse assigned to my case the trouble.  She wanted a look.  The next level of humility happens here.  I drop my drawers and show her my bum.  It has a protruding red ball from the right cheek.  Her look of horror told me everything.  She rescinded into the hallway and rounded up a doctor.  Soon the doctor zipped in with a Sharpie in hand.  Mmm Hmmm.... You know where this is going, don't you?  Circles were drawn on my bum by the doctor while the nurse and some other people, who I assumed were emergency room personnel, looked on.  I don't mind helping the world of science and letting people examine my ailments, but there is something about having your ailment be on your bum that makes this cooperative attitude die instantly. He wanted his colleagues to see the fang marks in my bum so as to have confirmation that it was in fact a spider bite.  There was much concurring by the small crew of professionals gathered around and hunkered over my bum.  I was craning my neck as best I could to look back there behind me to see what they were seeing.  Try it. It's hard to lay on your stomach and see your own bum- You'll be surprised.

For the next four days I was to receive IV anti-biotics to fight this infection, which turned out to be a spider bite from a Brown Recluse. - Apparently some hungry Brown  Recluse slid up my boxer shorts and took a nibble of my rear end during my sleep in my niece's bed. - (I had no interest in hopping back in that bed I tell you.) - Each day the doctors and nurses would want to examine the "progress" on my backside.  They always had a Sharpie in hand and drew circles around the area as it grew larger and larger. By day three I had shown nearly every person in the hospital my bum and thought nothing of it when a new nurse or doctor would stop in to have a look.  Why not?  It's only a free show, right?  Finally the infection began to subside.  Visions of a rump-ectomy flashed through my head from time to time during these few days and wondered if such a procedure had been attempted before now.

So, when I told my brother and his wife what had happened we had to make an agreement not to tell my niece or she would never sleep in her room again.  Though we did tell her in time. 

You can imagine the number of "Spider Man" and "Spidey" names I was called for the duration of my stay.

My Mother is Rollin' Into Town

You know that feeling.  It’s a mix of dread with some sort of whimsical anticipation?  Yes, of course you do.  It is when one or both of your parents are rollin’ into town to pay you a visit.  Even though you are an adult who has lived on your own, or made your own family, for years you still find yourself reverting back to that ‘ I hope I don’t get caught” feeling from childhood.  Not that you are hiding anything or that you have done something wrong.  No, not at all.  It is just that as you have matured and experienced much in your adult life there is still an element of your mom or dad being omnipotent. Remember being a kid and getting caught doing who knows what. (Insert stealing a buck from your mom’s purse to load up on some candy at the Quik Trip, or for forging his or her signature on a letter from school that needed to be returned to the school principal, etc.) See…..You feel the memory yet?  Good.

So, my mum is rollin’ into town on Thursday of this week.  All I can think is, “Lord, give us strength.”  The flight of the bumble bee will begin Wednesday evening around 9 pm.  I will reacquaint myself with the vacuum. (God only knows where I last put it) I will do a thorough inventory of the linen closet and kitchen cabinets to be sure that I haven’t left anything in there that might be incriminating.  You know, copies of my work evaluations, letters from a long lost love or anything else that would give her any glimmer of ammunition to launch into a full on ambush of questioning.  Oh, your mum does that too?  Yes, the questions come fast and furious when a parental unit come to town.   I will wash the linens on the guest bed, which is really a futon.  (It is fun to feel like you are still in college.)  I have already bought plenty of caffeinated beverages for her.  We don’t want her any more cantankerous than necessary.  Long bouts of absence from caffeine tend to do this to people.  I will alert the neighbors that my mum is storming the city this weekend and invite them to go into lock down mode. She would surely hold them captive with her line of questioning to try and keep tabs on my “goings on” since the last time she flew across the country to visit.  It feels like only yesterday that she was here, but as I crunch the numbers I am shocked that it has been over two years.  I resign to the fact that I am due for a visit and convince myself that it is easier for her to come here than it is for me to go to the Midwest to see her. Your own turf makes it easier to tolerate your “loved” ones. Further, it is quite satisfying to leave as many lights on in my own home as I want.  This action is satisfying because I am using that tried and true strategy of passive aggressiveness to refute what my mom used to announce when coming home to a house with nearly every light burning.  “We are not supporting IE!” (IE: Iowa Electric Company) – Well, we WILL be supporting Seattle City Light this weekend!

The fury of Internet searches has begun! What can I cook up to do with her to keep the action moving and avoid as much down time as possible?  I congratulate myself that I have cooked up a full 8.5 x 11 inch sheet of paper (college ruled) with ideas.  I am good.  We will hit the ground running from the airport Thursday afternoon.  The agenda includes a casino stop, lunch in downtown, a concert in a local park and a movie. (Movies are always good because you can’t talk without getting kicked out of the theater.  That coupled with shoveling massive amounts of popcorn in your pie-hole guarantee a conversation-less evening out.) 

As I cleaned off the top of the refrigerator this afternoon to be sure she doesn’t sift through any of the last year’s paperwork up there I was thrilled to find several gift certificates. These are ones students have given me in the last year for the holidays, teacher appreciation and the end of the year gifts.  We will be going out to eat for every meal thanks to the generosity of the students who have been assigned to my tutelage.  I hope mum likes Italian.

So, as I gear up for a weekend of dodging any deep conversation with my mum I can feel my blood pressure rising and the desire to put up the emotional walls so that I can deflect any and all uncomfortable conversations that will inevitably creep in during the tightly planned, action packed weekend………Though I suppose this only reflects my own immaturity.  Wish me luck!

Casino Tournament~

I am pleased to write and inform you of my good fortune last night.  A friend of mine is in town and wanted to do some "investing".  Naturally, I agreed and took a C note with me.  I was playing, playing, playing slots.  It seemed as though there was nary a bonus round to be won last night on any of these slot machines.  I was down to less than half of my allotted gambling dollars for the evening when I heard them call my name over the loud speaker.  "Please come to the main entrance for the Slot Tournament!"  This was unprecedented, people!  Never had I been called via a loud speaker for any prizes.  So, I stomped up to the front. They verified my identity and told me to wait to the right until the 12 members who had been called had all assembled.  Naturally, you can imagine the buzz of the 11 others and myself as we discussed the excitement of being called out of ALL of the peeps at the casino at that time.  It was simply something to behold.

Then they gave us the instructions.  You sat down at the slot machine that had your name flashing on the screen.  You hit the MAX bet button repeatedly with vigor and tenacity.  There would also be balloons that came up on the screen that you had to tap with your other hand.  Each balloon you popped gave you extra points.  Whomever had the highest point score at the end of 3 minutes would be awarded $300.  2nd place was $200 and 3rd place was $100.  The other 9 contestants would leave empty handed.  You can imagine that I was longing to be a winner in 1st, 2nd or 3rd place.  After all I was down $70 and needed to re-coop my cash so I could leave and be made whole.

The game began and I was pushing the MAX BET with vigor, people!  I pounded it over and over while simultaneously popping balloons all over the screen getting these extra points!  Then my screen would flash "BIG WIN!" every now and then because of what I had rolled on the screen. (Yes, I am amazing.)  From time to time it would say "2nd place!"  "1st Place"  "3rd Place"  I surmised that this was to entice the players to play harder and with more fury.  I rose to the occasion with grace and humility. -

 The three minutes felt like a half an hour as the crowd behind the 12 contestants grew.  People were cheering, shouting. Obviously these were gestures that signified simply jealousy that they had not been called for this once in a lifetime opportunity.

Then, as quick as it started the game was over.  I sat at my slot machine and wondered how we would know who the winners were.  Then I saw a message on my screen "CONGRATULATIONS!"  There was also a live camera feed of my ugly mug on not only my screen, but every slot machine in the tournament area and on the BIG screen above the bank of slots.  Still, it is not registering in my pea sized brain what is going on here.  A woman behind me said, "You won!" and poked my shoulder.  I say, "I did? - Oh, this is fantastic!" 

Then the workers descended on me with much fan fare and "Congratulations!"  I imagined this is what it would be like to have Ed McMahon show up at your door with the prize patrol!  Then she produced a voucher for $300 and asked if I had fun playing in the tournament to which I replied, "Oh, yes great fun!  Thank you!"  I then scoobied off to find my friend who was at the Cheetah slot machine.  Apparently when he heard my name called he didn't want to uproot and come check out my master playing at the tournament! -  I stomped up to the cash cage and they cashed in my ticket for 3 fresh C notes!  We then high tailed it out of there!

It was nothing short of a miracle, people.  I tell you it was great fun!

That's all for now.... Just deciding what I will blow the $300 on.

Inquiring Minds

People have said, “You are private.”  Yes! Yes I am!  I pride myself on it for some reason.  I have mastered the skill (insert synonym: strategy) of avoidance by asking lots of questions about situations and not revealing anything about my own experience when weighing in on something with someone.  I perceive that people, friends and colleagues don’t really know much about my past, where I have been or what I have experienced except for the minuscule tidbits that I carefully expose. (No doubt I would be surprised to know what people really did know about me.  It is all about the illusion of thinking I have them all at bay.)  I like it that way. It gives the illusion of control, which is something we all need, whether we think we do or not.  The pickle is that some of us hold onto control like grim death. (Guilty)

It wasn’t until recently that I had an understanding of why it is that I maintain so much privacy.  If you are private you don’t run the risk of others getting to know you and therefore save yourself any risk of being rejected, disappointing someone else and being exposed.  It makes sense.  So, the question I was faced with a few days ago was “What is this privacy costing you?”  I didn’t like that question.  So, I pretended not to hear it.  You know that move….We all use it.

Unluckily (Is that even a word?) for me,  the counselor I see pulled her usual move and ignored what I was rambling on about to avoid the topic and reiterated her question. “What is it costing you?”  (Is she crazy, I wondered?  I don’t like to be pushed.)  I furrowed my brow with a few extra crinkles and wrinkles up there.  This is how I let her know I am not interested in exploring the topic she has laid on the table.  She just stared back at me. She has those piercing kind of eyes that are like lasers, burning holes in your skin.  It isn’t my favorite look from her.  She knows this ritual and is no longer moved to try another angle when I implement such a strategy. We sit in silence for a while, which is me maintaining the illusion of control again.  (I am good at it, if I do say so myself.) 

Then she starts on this quest to have me link experiences from the past and my childhood that would have led me to this highly sophisticated strategy of protecting myself via privacy.  I don’t like all of this “linking” today’s behavior with the past. I remember vividly feeling my heart begin to pick up the pace of beats and knew that I was being asked to venture out into the crocodile infested waters.  No thank you!  The “tick-tock” of the clock on the table next to me was drowning out the silence in the room.  That irritates me too.  So, I caved in and began to identify experiences from childhood that may have a connection to today’s rigorous strategy of maintaining privacy.  She noded, concured and pressed for more details.  Of course this is not how I like the sessions to go.  She wants every dripping detail of every moment of my life. The details of my life really aren't all that exciting and so I am compelled to know how anyone could really want to know all the ins and outs of my past.  I tell her as much and how I am a little irritated with her “need to know”.  Again, she ignores my push back and skillfully asks more detail oriented questions.  She must have gotten a “E” for Excellent in perseverance and tenacity on her report card in grade school. After I begrudgingly dole out some details I am relieved to see that the ticking time bomb clock on the table next to me indicates the session is over.  Hallelujah! I stomped out of there quicker than a jackrabbit.  “Buh, Bye.  I’ll see you next time,” flies out of my mouth as I scurry around the corner. Free at last.

So, I have made some connections from the past to the present day.  Sometimes that old saying that “Ignorance is Bliss” really is true.  Now I am faced with a new dilemma.  What does one do with these connections?  Where do you go from this place of awareness?  - The good news is I have a whole week to figure that out before I stomp back in there and have to face the “inquiring mind”.

Guilty Pleasures

Every so often you hear people talk about “guilty pleasures”.  I have been putting myself first and giving in to guilty pleasures my entire adult life.  I highly recommend it!  I have gobbled down half a flat of Krispy Kreme doughnuts in one sitting.  (Guilty, but delicious)  I have often passed up the skim milk at the market and stocked up on 2% chocolate milk.  It tastes great with Honey Nut Cheerios and the sugar buzz from this mix isn’t one to be missed.  I nap nearly every day in the summer.  Why not let the rest of the world crank out the hard work? Yet, the one guilty pleasure that stands out the most in my mind once I hit adulthood was to order dessert first before my meal when out at a restaurant.  There are two reasons why this guilty pleasure is just what the doctor ordered to keep the blues away.

1. You have earned this right as an adult.  For your entire childhood, and for some of you even during your courtship or marriage, you were told that you had to eat ALL of your dinner before you could have dessert.  This is not true. As an adult I say throw caution to the wind, people.  Order up that Crème brûlée and gobble it down before the appetizer hits the table.  You’ll be glad you did.
2. If you don’t order dessert first it is likely you won’t have room for it after the meal and who doesn’t want to imbibe a delicious piece of Vanilla Bean Cheesesecake and suck it down like water? Not me. Extra whipped cream, please.

Try it.  You’ll be glad you did.  Once you get past the second look from the server and sometimes your table mates, you will be a trend setter.  We can turn this convoluted and long standing practice of eating dessert last around with some determination.  Who is with me?