TheHumanRace600

Moving!

Caution — Sat, 05 Jul 2008 10:25:13 GMT

Hi Everyone,

Some of you know I've had some frustrations with this blog and this host. Overall, things have been fine, but there were some not-so-happy times like those when I couldn't view my own blog. Go Daddy told me it was my computer, but Laura couldn't see it either. *sigh* I've loved having my own domain name, but am going the easy route now. And yes, Pam, I did try Wordpress again and struck out! So serious computer people, please stop rolling your eyes. I'm moving to Blogger.

Please remember, I haven't finished moving my old posts over and I don't have anything set the way it needs to be. But we have possession of the blog, and although we don't have any furniture yet, come on over. We'll order a pizza and just hang out in the empty blog.

The new address:

http://thehumanrace600.blogspot.com/

The Good E. Nuff Chronicles: My Neighborhood

Caution — Fri, 04 Jul 2008 13:33:43 GMT

Before we ever bought this house, I began to pray for the neighborhood. I wasn't sure where we would eventually buy a house, but I did know I wanted it to be place where

we could show the love of Christ to our neighbors
where my kids could be safe
where we would all have friends

Then we found our house and were so happy.

But after a while I began to notice and then focus on the fact that there were no kids living around us, and that maybe what I really wanted was land for our kids to roam and ride atv's, and neighborhoods like the ones near us where the neighbors did everything together and were such close friends.

When my thoughts began to be all about ME, things got increasingly more negative. All I could see were the newer houses a few streets away, the laughing/vacationing/golfing neighbors in the next sub, and all the people we knew who had land - spacious, spacious land - not a confining, fenced-in yard.

And I began to pester Checkered. This couldn't be the right house.

And I began to pester God. What about the things that I prayed about before we ever bought this house?

And when I couldn't stand the feeling of unrest in my heart, and when I realized that I was putting pressure on Checkered, and when my kids began to parrot my negative comments, I knew I needed to change.

I began to focus on scriptures about being thankful. Who knew there were so many verses admonishing us to be thankful for all we have? With each verse, I began to look at what the Lord had provided for us.

Slowly, over the span of a couple of years, something very nice began to happen.

My neighborhood and my house underwent a transformation.

Here's what I began to see: In my neighborhood there is very little competition among neighbors. No one is interested in keeping up with those proverbial Joneses. But we all work on our homes and yards for us - no one else. In our quiet neighborhood are lots of people who have already raised their families and who like having our four younger kids around. These neighbors know my kids' names. They pay attention to my children. These neighbors never give advice unless asked. They show tolerance when things get a little loud and crazy in my yard. And best yet, they've simply "been there" with us when life has been great and when it hasn't.

And over the years, there have been ample times to discuss our faith with each other. True, genuine talks about who we are and where we are going. Sometimes, as night settles around us, and the mosquitoes take ownership of us, we still stand at the fence and get to know each other a little better. It is perfect.

I have a wonderful neighborhood. A place just right for my children to grow up. And instead of wide open spaces, I have fences all around. So if you are ever looking for me, check out that fence line.

And one more bonus?

When my garden looks like this:

I simply look across the fence and see my neighbor's garden, which looks like this:

I do think Frost had it right about fences making good neighbors. And the Lord had it right about a thankful heart.

Help Me Figure Out What to Do With This Blog, Please??

Caution — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 08:35:36 GMT

I do apologize to Laura and anyone else who found my disappearing blog yesterday. My blog display was only the header and the sidebar. The actual posts were blank. After I contacted Go Daddy (I use their Quick Blogcast), I was told to recheck my settings and that I needed to empty my computer's cache. That leaves me not understanding two things:

Why, since I did not adjust any settings thingies, did my blog disappear yesterday and reappear today?
Why Laura couldn't see my blog either - if it was a backup in my computer's cache.

actually, there are three thingies:

Why the display on Checkered's computer is often down at the bottom of the page.

So here I am needing advice:

I would like to move this blog to a new host. Having my own domain has been great, and Quick Blogcast has been really easy, but lots of people have had troubles with the display issues on my blog. At times, it doesn't display at all. I have to use excerpts otherwise it won't load, and so on. Go Daddy has told me that I have lots of info on here, but this is only my fourth month with them and I imported only a portion of my previous four months worth of posts from Vox. I know of many other blogs with years worth of posts and pix and I can see their entire posts without trouble.

Please, anyone: advice??

Do I need my own domain name?
Should I reinvent this blog from the ground up: name, host, everything?
Where should I look for my next host?

I did try to start a Wordpress blog (self-hosted) prior to moving to Go Daddy. I could NOT figure out the coding, which lowered my self-esteem considerably!

Thanks for letting me learn from your experiences.

A Great Plan, But ...

Caution — Tue, 01 Jul 2008 12:56:23 GMT

Dear CMPL Librarians,
Thank-you for implementing a reading incentive program this summer. I know you do this every summer, my children are self-proclaimed non-readers, so the programs never have appealed to this family. Then we met your reference librarian named Lisa. She is a true extrovert and made certain that my kids were signed up to participate this year.

Here is the program you have going.

For teens: cross off a book for each hour of reading. After four crossed off hours, come in and get a prize. After the next five hours, come in and get a prize. After the last group of hours, come in and get a prize. Then the teen's name will be entered into a drawing for a Wii.

For elementary kids: the program is pretty similar with different increments for prizes.

Good enough for my kids. They were determined to get to those prizes.

My teen has been devouring the Clique series by Lisi Harrison.

My 10 year old has been reading How Angel Peterson Got His Name

My 8 year old has been reading The Day My Butt Went Psycho

And my 6 year old has been reading any book I put in front of him and call a chapter book.

Boy oh boy, did they read and read and read.

We crossed off lots of checks on the reading charts and finally three of the kids were ready to claim their prizes.

And here is where you, my CMPL went horribly, horribly wrong.

My 5th and 3rd grade boys got a sticker and a wind-up 1 inch car. It is actually inferior in quality to a McDonald's toy. They stared mutely at their "prizes."

My teen happily opened her first level of prizes: a pencil and a tiny post-it note pad thingie.
She had read so many clique books, she also qualified for the second level of prizes: even better things here.
She got:

a plastic spider
one piece of candy
and
a rub-on tattoo.

I am so very serious about these prizes. For a teen. Who hates to read. But read anyway in order to get the prizes.

We were so shocked at how inappropriate the prizes were that all we could do was laugh.

And then from the far back seat came the sonorous voice of the 6 year old:

"And THAT'S why I don't read!"

So thank-you, librarians for the program. Thank-you for Lisa, the reference librarian who got my kids to participate and who always finds great books for them. And thank-you for the laugh when we saw the prizes.

Sincerely,
A library patron who has single-handedly funded all your building projects through her overdue book fees

Moody Monday: Dog Adoption Gone Awry

Caution — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 07:54:33 GMT

Perhaps you remember Cookie, our crazy, possessive, aggressive Rat Terrier. Yes, the same one who would not allow anyone into our home, who would not allow any non-family within 16 miles of us. The same dog who was furious when any car, trash truck, or bicycle rode down our street. News: She has found a new family!

Perhaps you remember Ben, our beautiful, fun, playful Beagle. He was darling - right up to a surprising bite. A really bad bite. News: Ben has moved on to a child-free home.

Now meet Dozer. We thought the third time was the charm. We purposely adopted a slightly older dog. No more puppy chewing or housebreaking for us.  He seemed appreciative of our love. His foster mom said he wasn't aggressive at all.

So we made him ours. He took possession of the house and seemed to like it. At least he liked our furniture. He seemed glad to be here for a day or two. He tolerated "getting dressed."

But not everything here was up to his standards.
We didn't agree on food. We bought it; he buried it.
We didn't agree on water. We put it in his clean bowl; he preferred the dirty foot bath.
We didn't agree on his social skills. We baby talked him and petted him; he growled and barked at us.

Oh, he had issues. Big, big issues. Some previous owner really must have hurt him. When he was rescued, he had an infection from a chain collar. He seemed to believe he had to live in our basement. He was a destructive force when left in his crate. He didn't want to be touched. And then last night, he went a little crazy. He got under a bed and allowed no one in the room. No one.

We wanted to love him forever. He wanted to be left alone.

We are still in our trial period with Dozer, but we know we aren't the right family for him.

Maybe we aren't a dog family after all. Maybe we just have a special talent for choosing the wrong dogs. Maybe the dogs are just fine and we are the crazy ones ??

Vacation Bible School Week!

Caution — Fri, 27 Jun 2008 05:35:22 GMT

This has been Vacation Bible School week here. That is a great week in this house. I loved it as a child; I love it as an adult! I do believe all those years of attending VBS, teaching VBS, and now taking my own kids to VBS makes me a VBS expert. So let's take a look at how this week's VBS has gone. Do note, however, that I have never once been asked to organize it - and that's all the more reason I like to critique it !! Ha Ha!

I liked the love and kindness the adults showed all the kids. Sometimes I fear that Checkered and I are not as kind and patient toward children not our own as we should be. So when these adults who have no connection to my kids take the time to learn their names and are happy my kids are there? Very nice.

I liked the curriculum this week. Choose to believe. Choose to act. Choose to forgive. Choose to obey. Choose Jesus.

I liked the skit some of the kids did each night. I really like my own William the Frog son who impressed us with his ability to learn lines and perform.

I liked the fun incentives each night. The kids dressed like crazy tourists, they sported crazy hair, dressed

in one color.

I liked best of all that my 6 year old asked Jesus to live in his heart.

======

Now for what I would change.

Well, for starters....

There's....

Well, I guess when I think about my boy giving his heart to Jesus, all else pales in comparison, doesn't it?

A Must Read: The Shipping News

Caution — Thu, 26 Jun 2008 09:15:58 GMT

I love reading. Seriously love it, but don't buy me a book. Book ownership really doesn't hold any appeal for me. Contrary to what some say, books are not living beings nor are they a prudent financial investment or a great way to organize clutter. They do, however, collect dust and their calling voices never are sufficiently sweet enough to get me to reread them. That is why I lovelovelove the public library. The books are new. The books come home. The books get read. The books go away. Quick. Clean. Beautiful.

But once every twenty years or so, I meet a book which is beyond good or really, really good. It is brilliant almost to the point of leaving me speechless.

Meet that book: The Shipping News by Annie Proulx. The Pulitizer prize-winning novel has it all. The plot is sweet and easy to follow. The ending is happy. Once that is processed, you can begin to peel away the layers. There is history (of Newfoundland, fishing, maritime lore, some aspects of the Canadian social system,) there is psychological study, there is culture, there is the sweetest story of love and the importance of self-worth you might ever imagine. And if that isn't enough, look for Proulx's phrasing. Look for her deceptively simple, beautifully articulated insights.

"Petal Bear was crosshatched with longings, but not, after they were married, for Quoyle. Desire reversed to detestation like a rubber glove turned inside out."

For if Jack Buggit could escape from the pickle jar, if a bird with a broken neck could fly away, what else might be possible? Water may be older than light, diamonds crack in hot goat's blood, mountaintops give off cold fire, forests appear in mid-ocean, it may happen that a crab is caught with the shadow of a hand on its back, and that the wind be imprisoned in a bit of knotted string. And it may be that love sometimes occurs without pain or misery.

This book begs a second read and maybe a third. Then it begs a trip to Newfoundland. And maybe, just maybe, it needs to be purchased and kept. It's that good.

Caution Reprimands Her Recalcitrant Trees

Caution — Wed, 25 Jun 2008 20:35:31 GMT

To My Beautiful Six Ash Trees:

Do you remember that wonderful day so many years ago when Checkered and I became your guardians? We were so happy to own not one tree, but six of you! You were all grace and shade and weird groans, but you really broke our hearts when we learned that you were lousy listeners.

Now I know that you were of a mature age when we met, but we still felt responsible for your well-being and future. We made a promise to support you in your decisions and we found a peace in our symbiotic relationship. A little shade and breeze from you; a little pruning from us.

Then we noticed how some of your cousins were behaving. We saw the wild partying, the thirst for independence, the sassiness! And then we saw their guardians reduced to raw emotion as your tree cousins were eradicated from our town. And we feared for you.

We warned you about this beautiful guy (image courtesy of http://www.gurnee.il.us/public_works/images/EmeraldAshBorer_lg.gif)/

We told you he was nothing but trouble. A real heart breaker. We begged you not to be lulled by his looks or his quiet anassuming manner. He was a scroundrel of the worst sort.

We talked with you about choosing the right friends. We nagged you about your lifestyle. We tried to bribe you into submission, but it was too late. You were alreadly deeply under his spell.

And no begging, no yelling, no crying on our part could seperate you once you decided to move in together.

It hurt to see you neglect your job. It hurt when the neighbors gossiped about you. It hurt when the doctor told us it was too late to save you.

So here we are, your guardians, remembering that last look of sick you:

There will be no more trees to shade us or cool us down (but there might be trampoline to raise the ire of our insurer.) In years to come, we'll tell our children about you and your beauty and how your poor choice of a roommate ultimately brought you down. Then we'll wipe our tears and walk over to our six new wood piles and add another of your logs to the fire.

Yup, we're really going to miss you.

Sincerely,
Ma and Pa Flag

I'd Like an Ice Cream Sundae With a Side of Muffin-top, Too

Caution — Wed, 25 Jun 2008 09:42:35 GMT

When Checkered and I were dating, we loved a little ma and pa ice cream place called the Dairy Maid.

It was dirty, weathered, and crowded. While we thought that all those elements were very nice, what kept us coming back were the low prices and the big portions. Oh yes. I mean, truly gargantuan.

Then we got married, had babies, and thought we should live a little more highbrow, so off the Dairy Queen we went. "Higher prices, smaller portions." I think that's their motto.

Anyway, a few weeks ago we went to a graduation party at a hall fortuitously enough, right across the street from the Dairy Maid. We started to reminisce about the good old days. We laughed. We cried. We hugged. And it wasn't but a few nights later, we packed all the kids up and rendezvoused at our old haunt.

Now there are 6 Flag family members having a passionate affair with the Dairy Maid. We all have our favorites. Checkered likes their upside down banana split. The youngest likes something called the Super Bowl (because it comes with an American Flag toothpick.) And so it goes.

But the last couple of Friday nights we've been there, I've noticed a disturbing trend. I noticed some skinnies there. They arrive -- not in a car like normal people -- but on foot. And they walk really fast. And they pace while they order. And what do you suppose they order? No Super Bowls for them, baby. No. They order a thimble full of ice cream and then rev up their feet and walk 200 miles out of their way to go home.

I don't love those people. They are giving the Dairy Maid a bad, bad name. And it hurts me to see them so healthy, so vital, so disciplined. Don't they know better?

Moody Monday: CAN'T MAKE ME DO IT!!

Caution — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 08:19:37 GMT

What's wrong with this 8 year old? Is it a fever? A headache? A dizzy spell?

Has he been shunned? Abused? Forsaken?

No. No. And No.

He has been asked to make his bed.

He has spent the last hour refusing.

Is it Moody Monday time again so soon?

Teaching Is A Gas

Caution — Thu, 19 Jun 2008 21:58:11 GMT

I love teaching. When I think about other careers and furiously peruse the classifieds, I always return to teaching.

Maybe it's that proverbial "aha" moment when the student locks eyes with me and the smile comes from his/her heart because whatever we're studying suddenly makes sense.
Maybe it's the joy of watching the students that first day of the semester. Some are terrified. Some are belligerent. Some are simply lost. Finally the last day of the semester arrives, and some leave confident, some still belligerent, not so many lost.
Maybe it's classes where we laugh and as they file out of the room afterward, someone always says, "That was a lot of fun!"
And maybe it's those students who cry when they tell me it's the first time in a long time they haven't felt worthless.

Then again, there are weeks like this one. We are nearing the end of the abbreviated term, so it's crunch time.

Last night, I overloaded the students with so much work, they could only look at me with terrified, glazed expressions. I know they wonder how they will get it all done before Monday. I feel terrible about that.
One student wrote an essay about her struggles throughout school. I still see some of those struggles in her skills this semester and I hinted that I wondered if she had ever been tested for a learning disability. She left the classroom in tears.
I graded two sets of essays this week. Approximately 8 hours per set, and as an adjunct, that's MY time -- not paid time.
And then, there was the adult student who asked to speak to me after class. It needed to be a private conversation. He was obviously very nervous. He wanted no one else in the room when we talked except for the very pretty co-ed who sits near him. I was wary. Classroom violence is commonplace now. The more we were delayed in our conversation by other students who needed my ear, the more nervous he got. He rocked back and forth. He continually twisted his hat. He never broke eye contact with me. I was considering my options: ask another student to remain in the room? Suggest we conference at the Campus Safety office? Ask that we meet another day when the building would have people in it? I delayed and delayed and finally he couldn't take it any more. This is what he had to say:

"I'm sorry, Dr. Caution, but I need to confess something. I have had gas all night in your class and I need to apologize. I mean, it was all night long, and that's a lot of gas."

Turning to the girl he had asked to stay, he inquired if the gas had been offensive. She simply looked blank (not an unusual look.)

He took that as a good sign that his gas was not potent enough to upset her, bade us a good night, and left lighter than when he had arrived for class.

Tag: I'm It

Caution — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 21:53:08 GMT

I'll fess up. I loved getting tagged. Love it. Love it. Love it! Now I'll fess up again, I'm a really slow runner and I rarely catch up to anyone else to tag them. About 16 years ago, Jenn from The Cotton Wife tagged me and I told her I would do it the next day. Ahem. Well, here we go. Jeannelle (Midlife by Farmlight) and Ann (From the Front Porch), you're IT next (sorry !)

What was I doing 10 years ago?

Getting pregnant. Having a baby. Getting pregnant. Having a baby. Getting pregnant....
I was also teaching at the same college and teaching the very same classes. Good thing I love those composition classes so much!

Five Snacks I enjoy:

1. Ice cream in a cup.
2. Ice cream in a cone.
3. Ice cream in a cup with a cone on top.
4. Cookies (especially my mom's)
5. Most things chocolate.

Five Things On My To-Do List Today:

1. Something about that mountain of clean laundry.
2. Something about that mountain of dirty laundry.
3. Grade essays.
4. Return calls and emails from friends who think I've forsaken them by never responding.
5. Laugh at least 10 times with my kids.

Things I Would Do If I Were A Billionaire:

1. Buy breathing room aka land.
2. Buy a trolling motor.
3. Shoot, buy a new fishing boat to go with that trolling motor.
4. Actually vest a college fund for each of my children and each of their cousins.
5. Make a housekeeper my new BFF.
6. Endow a fund for research for Oral Motor Apraxia and Duane Syndrome in honor of our precious boy.

Five (or Six!) Jobs I Have Had:

1. Legal secretary.

2. Receptionist at Chemlawn.

3. Library clerk.

4. Liaison between a university and public schools. My job there was to train paraprofessionals (teacher aides) and work to establish a program which would shorten their path to full certification. It was a wonderful job.

5. Director of Admissions at a college.

6. English teacher.

Five of My Bad Habits:

1. Blogging incessantly.

2. Failing to see the need for a neater house.

3. Fretting.

4. Dreaming without putting "feet" to those dreams.

5. Finishing sentences for other people.

Places I’ve Lived:

1. Massachusetts.

2. Missouri.

3. Kentucky.

4. Michigan

Five Random Things:

I love Nascar.

I really, really love Nascar.

Pulp fiction typically calls to me louder than classic literature does.

Thunderstorms frighten me in a most illogical manner.

Checkered drove 350 miles to be able to propose to me in my parents' front yard.

I only discovered that I was pregnant with my youngest child because I was too thrifty to throw out an old, unused preganancy test when I cleaned out a closet. Had no idea at all....none.

Is This What Outing Feels Like? Part 2

Caution — Tue, 17 Jun 2008 00:09:38 GMT

Every Christmas and end of year, I am left in what I perceive to be a quandary. Each fall, the room moms request a donation for teacher gifts, and multiplying that times four children leaves me seriously bereft of gift funds. But I contribute the requested amount - always. Yet when the Christmas parties begin and the last day of school arrives, and sometimes at Valentine's Day and the teacher's birthday, my kids are in the minority because they haven't brought in an additional gift for the teacher.   I don't believe the teachers are disappointed in not receiving an extra gift from my kids, but my kids are disappointed. I thought my district was generous, but my sister, Red, who ~~crushes me by never commenting on this blog~~ at least does read this thing, tells me that her daughter's 2nd grade teacher received a $400 purse this year as a class gift. Got that, new teachers? Move to Texas. Things are bigger there.

I really don't have a problem with not contributing an extra gift when my child's teacher is, in my opinion, mediocre or worse. But it's those teachers who are exemplary that pull at my heart strings.   It gets even worse for me when I've loved a teacher and found myself a minority opinion. Anyhow, we are now to the great reveal of the Caution teacher-gift.

One year, one of my kids worked with a teacher who came to hold a very special place in my child's heart. This teacher was really bright and interesting and direct in her communication. My child loved her then and still does. She was very much the type of teacher my child needed. As the year ended, I wondered what would be an appropriate gift for such a deserving teacher. Nothing seemed right. Ultimately, I wrote a positive letter about the teacher and sent it to the principal. The letter was then forwarded to the teacher, who in turn, seemed to appreciate it.

I was onto something with that letter!  It was the perfect gift for a beloved teacher. So, in the following years I employed the same letter-writing "gift' to a handful of other teachers who had really made a difference in the lives of my kids. Forget the trinkets and crafts and baked goods; these letters were absolutely the ticket. And because I assumed that few people would ever share a letter of that nature with their colleagues, I thought I was safe for the next dozen years.

A big kibosh on that plan!!

Last week I learned from another teacher (yet another letter recipient) that a teacher requested that THE letter be read at her retirement party.  Oh yes, they did announce that I wrote it.

That was nice. That was sweet. I was thrilled to think that a letter meant so much to her. I was also delighted to know that she really understood how special she was to my child.

But you know my stories are never without a glitch. You see, in that audience were the other teachers I've sent letters to. I think each letter has been unique. I know each letter was sincere. I am certain that each teacher was special to my children. But now they all know!!

So what does that really mean?   It means that my letter-writing has been curtailed indefinitely. It means my little Caution teacher-gift no longer seems unique. It means that I've been outed. It means I need to buy some gift cards for next year. *sigh*

A Week-End of Birthdays

Caution — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 08:57:26 GMT

Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday dear nephew #1, dear nephew #3, and Mom.
Happy birthday to you!!

P.S. Sorry I didn't get a card to any of you

Moody Monday : Mr. Cotton Candy

Caution — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 08:17:13 GMT

I know that Wordless Wednesday already exists, but around here we have Moody Mondays - and lots of them. You know what I'm referring to: those mornings when you have to contend with not only a new week, but some project that holds absolutely no pleasant motivation for you. Now that summer break has begun, some of those Moody Monday memories are fading a bit for my family, but I think we have an ample supply of memories to share. So let the Moody Monday project commence:

I'd like you to meet Mr. Cotton Candy. Each year the kindergartners in our neighborhood school choose a letter to dress up as. Each letter comes with a guideline of what that letter person should be. Now I am not a crafter nor am I artistic so these activities can be trying for me. Take that enthusiasm from me and mix in a shy boy who does not enjoy attention being focused on him or things touching him. And there you have it: Mr. Moody Monday.

A Cousin Visit

Caution — Fri, 13 Jun 2008 07:57:34 GMT

Summer afternoon - summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language. ~Henry James

Yesterday was our first day of summer break. It was also a day to spend with one of our Texas cousins. We, like so many others in our global society, like in a state without any cousins to call our own. In some ways, that's good. (I'm working very hard here to put the positive spin on this for my kids!) . You see, when we have a visit with a cousin, it's a time of great discovery.

There's the tentative verbal tap dancing where we begin to assess each other. (Does she laugh when I say this? Does he like hockey as much as I do?)
Then there are some memories to revive (Remember when we rode horses last summer? Remember when we went out to eat at that restaurant?)
Then there are the first forays beyond the past and into the future. There are new memories to make, new connections to discover, new secrets to share.

And by the time we say good-bye, we realize that we share a connection which will not be broken by time zones or parallel lives. It's then that we are reassured that cousins are friends for life - no matter what their zip code. That's when we know that 1200 miles isn't so very far.

What greater thing is there for human souls than to feel that they are joined for life - to be with each other in silent unspeakable memories. ~George Eliot

Is This What Outing Feels Like? Part 1

Caution — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 08:22:36 GMT

When my first child began school I was stricken that first Christmas when I saw parents and children arriving at school bearing all types of teacher gifts. I'm not talking about little cute pictures the children had drawn. I am talking about elaborate gifts. I am talking about gorgeous crafts and big city style baked goods. I am talking about gifts so valuable and nicely thought-out that the parents had to carry them. I looked at our little interpretation of a teacher gift and was intimidated. Then Valentine's Day arrived and there were other gifts. The teacher had a birthday somewhere in there and there were still more gifts. Finally, the last day of school and here came those same parents lugging their end-of-the-year gifts. Well now, I felt a little sick and decided we were at the wrong school.

Some time later, my kids entered public school. At that school I was asked/strongly encouraged/frequently reminded to contribute to a fund to buy the teacher Christmas, birthday, and end of the year gifts. I was so happy that the burden of choosing an affordable but not junky gift would be no longer mine. Christmas shopping that year was wonderfully burden-free. Then the school party day arrived and guess what those sneaky families brought in? Yup. Gifts by the armful. BUT I ALREADY PAID INTO THE CLASS GIFT!!!

So for a couple of years, I did the double gift thing, too. Every Christmas. Every last week of school. The $$$$ started to add up as our second, third, and fourth child began school.

Then one year, an epiphany! "No more," I announced. "If I contribute to class gifts, we will not buy any thing extra." Don't you know? My kids were some of the very few who gave nothing extra to the teacher and the kids felt terrible.

I was confused. Really, really confused. Teaching at the college level, I don't typically receive many gifts from students. There are some, and the thought they represent is greatly appreciated, but I think my reward is my paycheck and that proverbial light that flashes on when a student connects with the subject matter.

I began to ask my teacher friends and they told me stories of appreciating the gifts, but sometimes wishing they had space for the things they were given. They said they loved the gift cards, but sometimes had a fist full of cards in $5 denominations - all from different stores.

Yesterday was my kids' last day of school, and once again, they came home embarrassed to be the one student who brought nothing to the teacher. *sigh* Before I continue this post, I am curious. What do you send for teacher gifts? Do you send gifts more than once a year? Do you also contribute to a class gift? Am I just a tightwad??

A Cookie Recipe Just Because I'm So Good to You

Caution — Wed, 11 Jun 2008 08:04:14 GMT

Because I am a lover of precision and organization... BWAHAHAHA!

Sorry for the false start. Let's try again.

Because I love to eat cookies but don't love the precision of cooking and baking, I need lots of thought-not-needed recipes. Last week I had a few brown bananas, limited time, and a craving for something sweet. This recipe turned up on Cooks.com.

I'd like to tell you how challenging the recipe was. How clever I had to be to master it. How I had to use calculus to work the recipe. But I can't.

What I CAN tell you is that the cookies were pretty easy to make and eat.

2 1/2 cups flour
1 cup sugar
2 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. soda
3/4 tsp. salt
2/3 cup butter
2 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
1 cup mashed bananas.

Mix all ingredients. Drop by spoonful on ungreased cookie sheet. Sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar before baking. Bake for 10 minutes at 375 degrees.

I had two or three times the required bananas and the cookies came out great. Without them, I think the recipe might have been a bit dry.

Go on now. Mash the bananas. And whatever you do, DON'T follow the recipe exactly. That would break my heart. You know, the precision and organization thing and all that...

Unbridled Enthusiasm Erupts at School Concert

Caution — Tue, 10 Jun 2008 07:45:05 GMT

We ~~sat through~~ enjoyed yet one last middle school concert this week. I am sad that my girl has opted to discontinue her choir participation next year, but based on the enthusiastic performance of the entire choir, it might be a small miracle that anyone signed up again.

You be the judge: Who shows the most enthusiasm for the concert?

The singer?

or her audience?

Growing Plants: An Excursion into Childhood

Caution — Sat, 14 Jun 2008 12:55:02 GMT

Hello! Summer is upon us, the pool is actually over 70 degrees, and I am way beyond childhood.   But I've been watching my own kids and think it's time to stop living vicariously through them and start jumping into life. To do that I've decided to master some things my kids already have. They make it look so easy, I'm sure I'll bypass them in no time at all.

First on the list of this second childhood is PLANT LIFE!

Just so you know: It must be easy to grow stuff. All my kids at multiple times in school, scouts, church have been given a styrofoam cup, a couple of messy tablespoons of dirt, and a seed. Two minutes later, they have held a beautiful flower already blooming. If they can do it, I can, too!!

So with Rechelle's advice, it's off the nursery to get the easiest rose to grow: the Knockout. These are even easier than the kids' school plants. I'll be the envy of all the green thumbs. Maybe Mr. Knockout Inventor will let me win his contest for best knockout! After all, who couldn't grow these things? According to the knockout site,

"This absolutely carefree landscape rose has all of the same wonderful characteristics of its sister seedling, Knock Out® with twice as many petals per flower. Fluorescent double, cherry red blossoms attract attention all summer and give way to deep purple fall foliage coloring your garden with three seasons of interest. You don’t have to waste time removing old flowers from this blooming machine. The Double Knock Out® Rose takes the maintenance out of roses. Hardy, drought tolerant upon establishment, this rose is a carefree, show-stopping Star®!"

A-may-zing! Six knockouts have found their way into our landscaping; although I am not one to brag, here's how they typically look now:

Look at those blossoms!   Look at that hardy health! Look at that profusion of color! These things are incredible... incredibly bloomless. Just so you know.

Next on the planting list is the tree. How about we copy the next door neighbor and cut a branch off of her dwarf Maple and root that?

Okay, she's outside with a new puppy, so that plan is kiboshed.  All that means is we'll have to buy our own. $800 for a six footer? Naw. $300 for a three footer? Not. $30 for a 15 incher from Meijer? SOLD!

"Maples are easy to grow and do not require a lot of maintenance and have a long life span making them a good investment for the yard."

We dig and transfer and water and water and water and water, and then we water some more. Look what we have wrought:

Check out the withering leaves. Did you know new Maples need a soggy bed once a week - not every day of their lives ?!?! Just so you know.

Then we have the Petunias. I decide to add these to the planters in front of the house because,

"Petunias are easy to grow."

Wonderful! They CAN look like this:

I can count 20 blooms! This is indeed the plant for me. Hardy, easy, prolific.

Now, here are my Petunias:

Number of blooms? 10.

Well, that's done! Check it off the list. Child skill mastered: Plant Life.

Next on the childhood list? Falling off my bike or fistfight with my siblings?? Tough, tough decision.