Just Which Ones Are the Turkeys?

I just returned from our church fall supper. I have enough turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, and pumpkin pie in my body to last me for - hmm - a week, I guess, since next weekend is Thanksgiving weekend here in Canada.

Not only is our fall supper a delicious event, it is a testimony to teamwork. Just about everyone at the church does something toward the event. I donated food, and both #1 and #2 helped clear tables. There are three sittings for about a hundred people each. It is a huge event, and it generates quite a bit of money to help with church expenses through the year.

When people arrive with their tickets, the organizers have them wait in the main church until the tables are ready in the hall. Then they have people enter about twenty at a time in order to maintain fluid crowd movement.

I was sitting in the church, reading a book to #3 as we waited, when a group of adults, perhaps a family, sat behind us. I had never seen them before. To my knowledge, they weren't members of our church. They were talking loudly enough that I had no trouble hearing them. In fact, their conversation distracted me from our book.

Then I zeroed in our the meaning of their words.

They were saying things like,"Well, if you make dinner tickets cost $9.50, at least you could have some quarters in the cashbox!" and, "She didn't even know how much to charge me. She asked me how much it added up to. Now, that's clever - to put someone who can't do math at the ticket table!"

The lady at the ticket table was one of my best friends. Not only does she attend the same church I do, she teaches with me at my school. My boys call her "Auntie M".

Before I knew what was happening, my body was turning around all on its own, and suddenly words were pouring out of my mouth.

"These people are volunteers, and they are doing the very best they can."

There was a moment of silence as the people tried to process what I had said.

Then I turned back to my seat and continued my story with #3, still not quite believing I had done that. I hate conflict.

I heard murmurs after that about "eavesdropping" and "self-righteous Christians", and my heart beat a little faster for quite a while, but I still don't regret my outburst.

Frankly, I'm still having a hard time fully comprehending that it happened at all.

Bus-ted

We're encountering some transportation problems in our family. Too many activities - not enough rides to get to them. Main Man wondered aloud at supper tonight whether we should teach the older boys, especially #1, how to use the city bus.

I'm ashamed to say that I've never used our city public transit, so I replied, "I'm not sure I know how to use the city bus!"

#3, who has ridden the city bus to numerous daycare fieldtrip destinations, helpfully blurted out, "It's easy, Mommy. You just get on and sit down!"

Thankful Thursday

This week, I am thankful for...

... my teaching assistant. I have one special needs student, and my assistant helps with him and the whole class. I don't have her help full time, but every bit I can get, I am grateful for.

... my debate team. We have our first tournament after school today, and, what they lack in experience, they make up for with their enthusiasm. This year, the powers-that-be decided to allow fifth graders to enter. We have eight of them, ready to take on the world! This is the fourth year I've coached, and I feel like I'm finally starting to get the hang of it.

... picture day at my boys' school. We are not picture takers, Main Man and I, so we are grateful that society provides a means for people like us to have photographic proof that we have children. ;-)

... #3's kindergarten teacher. I met her in the grocery store after work yesterday, and when I said that I hoped he was behaving for her, she called him "interesting". (Okay, okay, I'm a teacher; I know the code. Think I should try to give her a call today, and find out exactly how "interesting" he's been.)

... our Stones tickets!

... my sister. She and her husband will also be going to the Stones concert, and will be staying overnight at our place that night. They live about 4 hours away, so I'm very excited to see her. I've only seen her once, for a brief lunch, since Christmas.

I know there is much more I should be thankful for, but must stop for now.

Have a great week everybody!

Satisfaction

Oh, by the way, there are some good things happening in my life.....

Main Man and I have tickets to see the Stones in concert next Friday - and we got them for half price!

Is that Broad Still Complaining?

I really hate to follow one complaining post with another, but I'm afraid that's just my life right now. I feel a little overwhelmed with everything. It seems life is just one rush after another. If I'm not rushing to work, I'm rushing to get the kids to lessons or other activities, or I'm rushing to church or to a meeting.

When I do finally stop for a brief moment, I open my eyes and I'm surrounded by dirty laundry and dirty dishes that need to be dealt with.

Anyway - that isn't really what this post is supposed to be about.

Remember my complaints about the weekend? Well, I left out one other fairly major bummer part of the weekend.

After school Thursday (there was no school for students on Friday - Professional Development Day for staff), I received a phone call from a parent, telling me that her daughter was "quite upset" that her map was not up on the bulletin board with all of the others on Open House night. The daughter knew that she had handed it in, and the mother could vouch that it was completed, as she, the mother, had put it in the daughter's backpack herself after she had completed it. Together, the two of them had searched the daughter's desk the evening of Open House, and it most definitely was not there. (Basically, without even veiling the accusation, she was accusing me of losing it.) I promised that I would search for it on the weekend (because, as you all know, I'm sure, that's just the sort of thing teacher's live to do on the weekends!) and get back to her on Monday.

I was out at the school Saturday, doing some catch-up work, and I did spend some time (about an hour, actually) looking for this map. I looked through many of the cupboards in my classroom, and I turned my library office (not the tidiest place in the world, as a rule) upside down.

Because nothing turned up, I actually lost sleep over it. I woke up in the middle of the night on Saturday, and tossed, turned, and stewed because I would have to make a phone call to this high maintenance parent on Monday morning and inform her that I had no idea where the map was.

Well, I didn't have to make that phone call after all, because the aforementioned parent walked into my room to follow up 15 minutes before classes began Monday morning. Had I found the map?

No, I told her. I informed her that I had been out at the school Saturday looking for it, and that I had looked everywhere. I said that I would mark her daughter absent for the assignment, thereby disregarding the project and neither improving or lowering her grade. Unlike the mother, I placed no blame; I simply sought a compromise.

The mother said she would check her daughter's desk one more time.

Well, lo and behold, guess what was found folded up and tucked into the girl's Social Studies duo-tang? Come on - try to guess. Yes - you, my blog friends are so smart - there was a beautifully coloured map of Canada!

But that's not even the end of the story. The most tell-tale part is yet to come.

Although the mother looked a little sheepish, no apology issued from her lips.

Not a word from the daughter, either. If fact, when I casually said to the girl, "Oh, I'm so glad your map showed up!" her reply was simple....

"Oh, yeah."

The Weekend That Was

This weekend started okay - but something happened along the way to alter the universe.

Friday evening was an ideal evening. The weather had been cold and dreary all day, so I made a beef stew for supper. It was the perfect comfort food, and everyone seemed to enjoy it, so I was pleased. Unfortunately, Main Man got a hold of the hot sauce, so it was ever-so-spicey for my liking, but I could live with it.

Main Man went monitor-shopping after supper. (He found a great one, by the way. All of my blogfriends seem larger than life now!) The boys were amazing! I think everyone was just so happy not to be rushing off to some sort of meeting or activity (including me). #1 sat in his bedroom, playing his guitar and reading. #2 and #3 played a very elaborate game involving action figures, hills and valleys in their comforters, and their imaginations. It was phenomenal that they played in the bedroom they share for over an hour and a half without one temper flare from either of them. I couldn't believe it! I, in turn, got a chance to get a head start on my weekend marking.

Saturday morning started off rather well also. I cleaned the bathroom (fairly) thoroughly before I even got dressed. Then, I cleaned out the fridge (because we were expecting a repairman sometime after 10:30 a.m. to repair a fridge leak). Then, because repairmen never arrive on time, I did come more marking as I waited for him to arrive. The repair didn't take long, and, although it cost us about $150, it's nice not to step in a puddle every morning when we walk into the kitchen.

This next paragraph is when the weekend took a turn for the worse.

#2 was very excited to start his group guitar lessons. His first lesson was to be held just after lunch on Saturday. As we didn't know exactly which room they would be meeting in, we arrived at the conservatory building a bit early. As we walked in, there was a sign informing people which rooms to find their classes in. No sign of #2's class on the list. We found a security guard and asked his help. He was an older man - a dear one at that - and, although he had no idea where to send us, he insisted on helping us find the room. He took us to every studio in the building, up and down many flights of stairs. Finally, twenty minutes after the scheduled start of class, we had to give up. I drove home, a despondent nine-year-old in the back seat. Main Man got on the phone and, after a few hours, got a hold of the teacher. The class had to be cancelled - insufficient registrants - and the teacher thought the conservatory office would inform us. Evidently, the conservatory office thought the teacher would inform us.

Later, Main Man and I went linoleum shopping. The cuts and nicks in the kitchen linoleum we've had since we moved in over ten years ago are finally getting to us. I have such a tough time with a job like this. I hate shopping - for anything. When it comes to something like linoleum, everything looks the same after a couple of hours. And, although he vehemently denies it, it doesn't really matter what I like; Main Man will end up talking me into whatever he chooses anyway, so what's the point of spending my valuable time "browsing"?

Anyway, I just have to tell you a story about our shopping trip. At one point, I felt very thirsty, so I said I would like to stop and buy a bottle of water or a Diet Coke. Main Man said, "What you need is an energy drink." I said, "No, I don't like energy drinks. I would like some water or some Diet Coke." Well, you guessed it - he walked out of the convenience store with a Rock Star Energy Drink. It tasted like medicine. I couldn't get past the fourth sip. His comment? "Awww, come on - you're just determined to mope today, aren't you? Drink it up. You'll thank me later."

Huh?

Sunday morning didn't fare much better. I was determined not to stress myself out getting ready for church. More often than not, I spend most of Sunday morning barking at my children to hurry up or they'll make me late.

(A little bit of background here: I am a Sunday School teacher. We have a co-ordinator who guides us and usually leads the opening, teaches the kids new songs, makes announcements, things like that. Unfortunately, she has many environmental allergies, and, because of some painting that was done in the church over the summer, she cannot enter the church for several months. Somehow, I have become chief cook and bottle washer on Sunday mornings.

And now - back to our regularly scheduled programming...)

As a result of my efforts, we managed to maintain some sanity in our Sunday morning, but we arrived slightly later than we usually do. Sunday School begins at 10:30; we arrived at about 10:18. I still felt I had time to set up, but I would be a bit rushed. As we started upstairs to the Sunday School rooms, a young mom and her daughter were just coming down. The mom's comment, "Oh, someone's here now." And I felt it was a bit of a snippy tone. I almost lost it - maybe it was just because I had been reining in my temper all morning - but I just about told that lady she could run the Sunday School for a few months. (I know, I know - not a very Christian sentiment.)

Anyway, it feels good just venting.

I will try to be a little more positive in my next entry. To all of you who lasted to the end of this diatribe, I salute you!

All that Jazz

Many thoughts in my head this morning. This will have to be a bit of a "stream of consciousness" entry. The thoughts are fighting to be first to burst through from my brain to the keyboard.

Last night was "Open House" at the school where I teach. Although on one hand, the idea seems all fuzzy and warm, on another hand, it's all quite bizarre. I spent most of the day yesterday hanging things up on the wall to impress our "company". Heck, after school, I was on one of the highest ladders our caretaker owns, just to hang art projects on the highest part of the wall because all the other wall space was already occupied. I don't even teach art! Maybe it's just the school where I teach, but there is tremendous pressure to have lots of "stuff" to show at Open House. And if you don't have a lot, you mustn't be worth your salt in the teaching department.

Anyway, it all went well. The parents seemed pleased. I had the computer on, so parents could view our classroom blog. I know some parents already visit it regularly, but some of them had never taken the time to visit, and I think some of them were impressed. I use it mostly for teacher/parent communication at this point. After school each day I write up homework, school announcements, that sort of thing. Eventually, I would like to use it to display some of the kids' work.

Our monitor here at home is slowly dieing. When it first became ill, everything had this pretty lavender tinge. Now everything is a dull orangey-gray. Guess we'll have to go monitor shopping on the weekend.

The night before last was #2's first Cub meeting of the season, and #3's first Beaver meeting in his life. Some confusion occurred, because our own troop, who used to meet across the street at our elementary school, has disbanded, so we had to drive to a new location and our boys only knew one or two of the boys in the new troop. So, we arrive, and the first meeting is basically to deliver flyers to residents informing them of the bottle drive, to be held tomorrow. Yup, the first two meetings our boys attend, they don't get a chance to meet and get to know their troopmates; instead, they get to deliver flyers and collect bottles. I completely understand the need to do the bottle drive. I just wish they could have waited a week or two to let the new kids get to know other kids first. I mean, some of the little Beavers are as young as 4; how 'bout a little fun before the work?

In the middle of typing that last paragraph, I realized that it's Thursday. Oops - I'll have to take a few minutes later in the day to do a Thankful Thursday post.

Well, there are more thoughts fighting to get out, but I should start to get ready for work. Hope everyone out there is well and happy.

And the Madness of Adolescence Begins

#1 got a phone call from a girl on Sunday.

No, I'm not talking a girl from his class, wondering about a homework assignment.

This was a real live girl whom he had met at camp. She called long distance to speak to him about nothing in particular.

It was the call I longed to make when I was that age, but my father would never let me phone boys. "It just wasn't proper."

I hate to think of how much courage it must have taken her to punch his number onto the phone keypad. And the sad thing is, when she phoned, no one answered. I was in the middle of fixing Sunday dinner, and the call-display on the phone indicated a number I didn't know, so I let the answering service pick it up.

#1 was out at a movie anyway, so maybe it was easier for her to talk to a recording than the mother.

When I picked him up after the movie and gave him the news, he got a bit of a silly grin on his face.

He put off returning the call, though. I finally made him call back a little after 8:00. I think his nerves were beyond a-twitter. Still, I told him, it was only good manners to return the call.

They talked for over 20 minutes. I finally shut it down.

He looked relieved to have survived it.

I'm relieved I survived it too.

Life at the End of the Tunnel

When I became Library Mama, I made a vow to myself that I would post each day. It was simply about discipline. And with a husband, three active boys and a hyperactive dog at home, and a multitude of stories at work, not to mention a myriad of material to read and review, surely I could come up with enough blogger fodder to post every 24 hours.

I had forgotten about something very important.

Life.

Yes, especially now that school is up and running once more, now that I have 27 Spelling notebooks and 27 Spelling tests to correct every week, now that I have thirty lessons to plan every week, now that I have three boys to help with homework every evening, Life is getting in the way of blogging.

And really, isn't that the way it's supposed to be?

I haven't been keeping my vow lately. And I've given myself permission to take a day off once in a while - sometimes two or three - because Life is what I'm meant to do.

Thank you to those of you patient enough to continue to check in. I so appreciate your presence and your comments.

And I'm so sorry I'm not visiting you as often as I would like. I'll be there as soon as I can - as soon as Life lets me.

Thankful Thursday

This week I am thankful for...

... Main Man's garden. It isn't huge, but we've had our fair share of bounty. Tomatoes, cucumbers, jalapeno peppers - all of them are "hanging around" our kitchen, trying to find a home. Eventually they'll be safe and sound in somebody's tummy!

... our little dog Ruffy. He is a very important part of our family. No one loves me as much as he does. I saw a bumper sticker over the summer that summed it up perfectly: "May I someday become the person my dog thinks I am".

... our neighbourhood. It's like a small town in the middle of a city. We live across the street from the boys' elementary school. The daycare the boys used to attend is in the basement of the school. We are within walking distance of our church and the high school the boys will attend. When we attend school functions, we encounter people we've known for years from daycare, church, and from around the neighbourhood. We are also within walking distance of a university, which fills our community with interesting, intelligent people. Several of the boys' friends have professors or lecturers for parents.

... Main Man's recent pat on the back from his boss. The magazine that he's been editting for the last few issues is at deadline right now. In Main Man's boss's last readover before it was off to the printer, she scratched out her own name as editor-in-chief and wrote in Main Man's name. It's official. He passed his "trial period".

... #1 making it onto the volleyball team at school. He worked so hard, and was so nervous! It seems he's a fixture on the team now, though. He's been up and at it, ready for 7:30 a.m. practices three days this week. And, if you knew him, you would know that that's saying something. I'm afraid he hates mornings even more than his mother does!

There's much more I am thankful for, but I'm also thankful for my job, and I can't afford to be late, so it's time I signed off for today.

Have a great week, everybody!

Good Morning

I hate mornings.

I hate waking up naturally about 20 minutes before the alarm is due to ring. I hate wondering if I should go back to sleep or if I should get up. I hate that I usually go back to sleep. I hate that, 20 minutes later when my alarm goes off, I wish I had gotten up when I had awoken earlier.

I hate the sound my alarm makes as it jolts me awake. I hate the way the snooze button feels as I push it down. I hate the fact that my snooze alarm works.

I hate that it is beginning to be darker and darker outside when my alarm goes off.

I hate that foggy feeling I have for the first half hour of every day.

I hate that I used to love mornings. I hate that, as a teenager, I was often showered and dressed before my parents were out of bed. I hate that I'm not still like that.

I hate that, for my own sanity, I must be up and showered, dressed, and breakfasted before anyone else in my family arises. I hate that I get no time to myself otherwise.

I hate that #1 now has volleyball practice at 7:30 every morning. I hate that I love to sit down with him and share stories over breakfast. I hate that it cuts into my blogging time.

I hate that, because of our varying schedules and the fact that I have a longer commute, Main Man is often still in his bathrobe when I leave for work.

I hate that our dog cries when I leave for work. I hate that no one else cries when I leave for work ( anymore). I hate that I think like that.

I hate mornings.

Oh - right - good morning.

Update: Actually, #3 woke up in a terrible mood just as I was leaving after I wrote this. He did cry when I left for work. I won't wish for that again.

Butt You'll Love This One

#1 and #2 and I were working on homework at the kitchen table last night, when all of a sudden, we heard a terrible crash.

I'm not sure what #3 was trying to reach, but he had fallen on his back while climbing up the coats in our closet.

He had had the wind knocked out of him, and he couldn't really move yet. Slowly, though, he regained his breath and his motion, so I knew he wasn't hurt too badly.

I carried him to the couch, turned him over, and investigated his back. Turns out, he had landed on his tailbone.

I sent #2 for some ice, and when he returned, he had a can of frozen orange juice in his hand. It was the first thing he could grab from the freezer.

Being a flexible woman (What mom isn't?), I placed the can gingerly on the red mark at the base of #3's spine.

At this point, the older boys began to cheer #3 up with jokes about his situation. #1 commented on what a Hallmark moment it was - all of us sitting around comforting #3 while his bare butt pointed up in the middle of us all.

Still, #1 had to admit that his little brother was a tough one. It was obvious that he was in pain, and he still hadn't shed a tear.

Half sincerely, half for a laugh, #1 leaned over and planted a gentle kiss on #3's tailbone.

#2, never short of a witty remark, quipped, "Does it taste like orange juice?"

All Growed-Up

We had internet problems this morning, so I haven't had time to respond to yesterday's comments (I will soon) or to visit any one else's blog.

This entry was just too important to leave for another time though.

Yesterday was #3's first day of kindergarten!

Unfortunately, I was unable to leave work, but Main Man was able to walk him to school and get him settled. Not that there was much settling to do.

Chronologically, #3 was eligible to start kindergarten last year. His birthday is in late October, though, and he was born 6 weeks premature, so he had been trying to catch up from the beginning.

We made the decision to wait a year.

My mother-in-law thought we were insane, and would say (in front of #3), "Oh but he's so smart! How can you say that he's not smart enough for school yet? Well, Grandma thinks you're a very clever boy."

Grrrrrrrrrrrr!

I would smile what I call my "primary smile" (for dealing with naughty primary students), and calmly reply, "Well, being a teacher, I do have some experience with this situation."

And do I ever! When I taught Grade 3, the poor little ones with late birthdays would often struggle behind their classmates, while those whose parents made the decision we did in #3's case would sail through almost effortlessly.

Well, he is definitely ready now - and willing - and able.

I guess the question now is - Is his mom ready?

The Power of Prayer

On the weekend, Main Man and I were discussing an experiment he had read about which, after years of study, determined that prayer was useless.

Evidently, in this study, there were three groups of ill people studied - a control group who were not prayed for, a group who were prayed for but not informed about it, and a group who were prayed for and were informed of it.

Main Man said that the group prayed for and informed actually worsened in health. They think it may have been because they felt further anxiety about their conditions because they didn't realize they were sick enough to need prayer.

I think the experiment studied the wrong thing.

I pray. When someone I love is ill, I pray. When I'm worried about something, I pray. I'm not sure it will help them, but I do know that it helps me.

It helps me. It lets me feel that I am doing something when there is very little I can do.

And I have to ask - what kind of sicko conducts an experiment basically designed to prove that prayer is ineffective? What kind of person does it take to stamp out the one hope that some people have at such an intensely difficult time in their lives?

And how dare they take away that one thing I thought I could do to help!

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Yesterday was my dad's 82nd birthday.

He is such an amazing man. And he still leads such a full life. He still farms with my brother. He and his wife still travel, go dancing, and enjoy movies and dinners out.

My mom had a stroke about seven years before she passed away. She still did very well, but it paralyzed her right side, and she was in a wheelchair for the rest of her life. Dad cared for her faithfully and tenderly. They managed to have a very happy existence despite the challenges she faced.

Mom passed away in February of 2000, the day after she and Dad returned from their annual trip to Hawaii.

My dad was 75 years old and alone - and lonely. We three kids who were physically distant called him regularly, and he saw my oldest brother every day when they worked together, but his heart was probably breaking with loneliness.

Slowly, we began to realize that he wasn't at home as often when we called. And when we did get a hold of him, he seemed to talk about a certain someone a little more than other people.

My dad had begun to date.

Although the feeling was a little weird, I was very happy for him. And we four kids were very fortunate in that we knew Dad's "friend" very well. She had been a close neighbour as we had grown up. Her kids had gone to school on the same school bus we had. And she had been widowed a month after Mom had died.

In the spring of 2001, Dad phoned me one evening to chat - not an unusual occurrence. Since he had become more difficult for us to get a hold of, he had started calling us more. He was clearing his throat nervously, though, through our small talk and finally got to the point. "I've asked Ruth to marry me," he said uneasily.

I assured him that it was very happy news - as long as she had said yes!

They were married in June that same year, and I not only gained a stepmom, but also three step-siblings and their families. We were all overjoyed for our parents.

I like to think that Mom is okay with things, wherever she is. She and Dad had over fifty years together, and their chief concern was the other's happiness. If that still goes, Mom is definitely okay with things.

I phoned Dad last night to wish him a happy day. It was a bit of a bittersweet conversation, as he was surrounded by family - all three of my siblings and Ruth's two daughters and their families. We live a little too far away to have made it for the evening.

But how wonderful for Dad!

I hope I can be surrounded by rooms full of family on my 82nd birthday.

Book Review: Clear Your Clutter with Feng Shui

I am a clutter queen.

I blame the boys (although that isn't really fair). Whenever #1 or #2 tires of a toy, finishes with a book, or outgrows a piece of clothing, I feel compelled to keep it, just in case #3 wants it someday.

Of course, that doesn't explain the dozen or so candles in my china cupboard that have gone unlit or the women's magazines in the pile beside my bed, waiting to be read.

I reserved Karen Kingston's Clear Your Clutter with Feng Shui at the library because it was recommended by my friend Flylady. Coincidentally, it came available just before we went to the cabin. I found this coincidental not only because I would have time to read while away, but also because the cabin offers one of the finest examples of living without clutter. Isn't it amazing how when you are away from home, you can quite easily live without all those things you have hoarded because you simply couldn't live without them?

This book not only gives the standard tips to how to get rid of clutter, but also probes more closely into why people accumulate "stuff", and the emotional effects of that accumulation. It really struck a chord with me when it described the energy drain clutter causes.

I found this book extremely informative. However, the chapter on "Clutter Clearing Your Body" was just a little over the top - especially the part where Kingston describes "the ideal bowel movement" (I kid you not!)

Despite the body chapter, I highly recommend this book. It's motivated even me to do a little clutter clearing, and - remember - I'm a clutter queen.