A nighttime conversation

A friend and I have been teaching our almost 3-yr-olds preschool in our homes. It's been awesome. It's little more than structured playtime, but every so often we see a light bulb go on, so we press forward. Lessons are based on one letter per day.

Usually on the nights before school mornings, we try to prep Tessa. She loves school, so the prep is totally enjoyable, like last night's conversation:

Me: Tessa, guess what tomorrow is!
Tessa: [eyes widening and grin slowly uncurling] Schoooool??
Me: Yes! And do you know what letter you're learning tomorrow? "R"!
Tessa: R. rrrr...rrrrr...
Me: That's right. "R" makes the "rrr" sound. What word starts with "R"?
Tessa: rrrrrr.......rrrrrr..........rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.....rrrrrrrrrrockettes!

Gotta Have It!

I was scanning this week's North Carolina grocery store ad, and there's a section called "Everyday Essentials." First of all, I get a kick out of the fact that Kingsford Charcoal (for all that NC BBQ) and cartons of Marlboro cigarettes are advertised in that section. I guess if you're addicted to nicotine, yes, those are essential. But charcoal? Really? An "Everyday" essential?? Do people grill every day? Or even every week? I'm happy if I just get grilled food once a season...

But then, in the same section, these were advertised:


Don't believe me?



Every. Day.

According to my mom, these are "vitamins", so of course we'd need to take a few of them daily, right?

Valentine's Day 2011

Ted was very sentimental in his annual Valentine's card to me. He was sweet in his words and his gift-giving, watching me unwrap things I absolutely wanted (a candy mold! Barefoot Contessa's newest cookbook! An etsy crochet pattern!), and I gave him fabulous food in his belly (can't argue with Chicken & Dumplings and a Bittersweet Chocolate Torte), a gorgeous new orchid plant, and these:

Can I be any more direct?

I know my mother-in-law reads this blog, but I'm okay with it. Becky, if you don't know me by now...

Flosstrophobic

You know that person who can eat whatever, brush whenever, floss never, yet every dentist visit yields the same phrase: "no cavities here!"? I've never been that person.

Until today!

About a year ago, I went in with a major toothache that ended up in a root canal. Plus 8 cavities. EIGHT. I was a twice-daily brusher, occasionally more often than that. I flossed seldom, but I was very good with my fingernails. I couldn't believe it - who gets eight cavities between dentist visits?? While the hygienist was scraping away, she asked about my flossing habits. I sheepishly admitted I didn't floss as much as I should. I could tell it was a common tale for her to hear - it didn't even phase her. But to cover her bases, she gave me a line she probably gives everyone who comes in with bleeding gums and missing teeth (no, I'm not at that stage). She said, "The more you do at home, the less we have to do here, and it's cheaper."

Cheaper??!? Well, why didn't you SAY SO??? No one had ever put it into bargain terms for me before, and Frugalese is a language I speak. From that day I decided I was going to floss daily. It's taken me how long to get that conviction? You'd think from all the nasty pictures and real-life ugly mouths I've seen, I'd be scared into the best dental hygiene possible, but it's easy to get lazy.

Today marks the second time that I've gone in for a cleaning and 1) the hygienist had very little to scrape, and 2) the dentist looked at x-rays, poked around in my mouth and said, "no cavities here!" It made me feel like this:

So if you're someone who dreads the dentist because you'll need two hands to count the number of cavities you'll have, come and join me on my bandwagon. I've been playing a different and awesome tune.

huge family concern

I made breakfast burritos this morning. They were quite good, if I do say so myself. Tessa and I were eating happily, and I had set aside Ted's for when he got done getting ready. We recently discussed how he had become a little bit burnt out on cold cereal every morning, so I figured he'd be pretty excited to have something different.

He came downstairs and saw what I was eating. He hesitated, then said, "I'm fasting today..."

I paused mid-bite to wait for the reason, admiring his tenacity when eggy, meaty, cheesy goodness was right in front of him. In all seriousness he continued,

"...that Bristol Palin doesn't win Dancing with the Stars."

Do you think we're perhaps a bit too invested? Nah....

Sure, I can laugh about it now...

When you visit one particular grocery store about twice a week (lots of ice cream sales lately!), you start to recognize or even strike up conversations with some of the familiar faces. And you begin to learn who's generally friendly and who to steer away from.

I came through one day last week with a moderate-sized grocery load. I'm leaning over the cart unloading the things onto the conveyor belt while Tessa is flirting with whomever is behind us. The checker, a girl who looks like she's maybe in her early 20s (if not younger), is expressionless as she beeps every item across her scanner. She did her requisite "Hey. How are you today" sentence (I won't call it a "question" because it had none of the voice inflection of someone inquisitive, let alone sincere) as she carried on, and completely disregarded my chirpy response (I happened to be in a pretty good mood that day, considering).

But the defining moment was when she held up one of my produce bags containing some beautiful hand-picked greens to her face level and asked, in that same annoyed monotone, "What are these?" Except her version was, "whuddatheez." I half-grinned (which ticked her off even more) and said, "Brussels sprouts", and she let out the most exasperated sigh because that meant she had to look up the number on her sheets of paper. I mean, why doesn't each individual sprout come with a sticker to help out poor people like that!

Then she made some snide comment to the bagger about Cheetos when she saw I was buying some of those, too. Apparently, she hates "stuff with cheese on 'em". And of course I'm an idiot for enjoying those crunchy, neon orange love puffs.

Fast forward to yesterday. I was actually going to be in a public place (the hospital where I'm scheduled to give birth Monday morning), so I spent a little more time looking somewhat presentable, both for myself and for the sake of the nursing staff who will soon be my godsends. Once again, I was in a good mood. I got to have a lengthy phone conversation with my brother on my way to the hospital (for preliminary blood work), I looked relatively cute (which is a stretch to say considering the sheer mammoth of this belly now, AND my doubled chin that doesn't disappear when I hold my head up higher), and I was excited to be getting one step closer to meeting this little boy who has called my womb home for the last 39+ weeks. I called Ted on my way home and mentioned that since Tessa was still napping (he was at home with her), I'd go run to the store real quick for milk and bananas. And all the great cereals were 50% off. I consider it food storage.

Anyway, I see a line that has NO ONE IN IT! Every other line was full because of the 5:00 hour, so I waddle on over to it and start unloading. Then I realize why it's empty. Annoyed Monotone is there, sitting on her duff picking at her nails. I must not be the only one who knows what this means: I'm in for it again.

She's once again expressionless and insincere until I move from behind the scanner thing and she gets a look at my belly. Keep in mind that I thought I looked pretty good for 9 1/2 months pregnant. Her now famous line in our household:

"How many you got in there."

Again, not a real question. I wasn't sure I heard her right, so I tried to cover all my bases.

"I have one at home, and there's just one in here (pointing to belly)."

"Look like you gots twins. Cuz you big."

..................

......................................

Thought process: [Is she joking? Did she really say that to me? Don't females know to never insinuate largeness to other females unless you have a personal vendetta against them? Does she have a personal vendetta against me? How is that possible? I just buy groceries here!]

..........................................

Dash it all. And may God strike your skinny little body to blow up to balloon proportions if you're ever lucky enough to land a man long enough to get you pregnant, you rude little snot.

Being a mom kicks butt

Last year's breakfast by Ted: crepes and bacon. That's what I'm talkin' about.



I know there are women out there who hate Mother's Day for whatever their reasons (my own mother doesn't like it because she's never handled unbridled and insincere affection very well), but I tell ya, I love it.

We did a little revamping of Mother's and Father's Days this year because of money constraints and to change the focus from feeling like "I gave you a gift - what more do you want?" to "You mean so much to me and I don't just want to tell you, I want to show you." To be fair, we have never been so callous to each other as to have the "what more do you want?" attitude, but I really just wanted the day to focus on service and appreciation more than material things.

Ted did not disappoint.

I consider Mother's Day as spanning the weekend, so Saturday we spent at home together. We had company coming into town (not our own company - the father and brother of a friend in the ward needed a place to crash for the night before his graduation), so I had a loooooooong to-do list written out and after I made a breakfast of bacony eggs and seasoned hash browns (which I finally got right) we started to tackle it. I knew Ted had a Sunday night deadline for future job prospect interviews that he had to focus on, but instead, he took a look at my list and started in on it as well. He took the hardest jobs/projects - cleaning the entire guest bathroom on hands and knees because he knew I'd get major heartburn and poisonous fume effects if I attempted it myself, and tackling the bookshelf in the guest room that had become overrun with all the "stuff" you put someplace because there's nowhere else to put it.

He organized it, then went a step further by putting pictures in books, finding old postcards to put into empty frames, finding nails, hammer and measuring tape in order to hang said frames, putting all dangerous stab-a-kid's-eye-out objects one shelf higher, reorganized all the sewing tools that had accumulated onto the sewing table and moved all computer-related accoutrements to where we keep the computer (usually - it is a laptop, after all). Meanwhile, I switched out all the clothes Tessa's too fat for, put those into bins, and brought out the next batch. No one ever told me about that part of being a mom. I guess I knew babies grow and therefore, their wardrobes must change, but I didn't connect the two with the fact that I would have to do the changing. I think it's my least favorite part of being a mom because every article of clothing requires a decision, which is a pain. But I did it. For Mother's Day.

We washed sheets, made the bed, tidied up the room, brought out towels, stashed the stuff we didn't have time for into Tessa's room, hid the R-rated movies and yarn pile (equally sinful to some), and I finally got to making dinner at around 7pm. The only problem is that I had started brining a turkey boob the night before and HAD to cook it, but since it had to roast about 2 hours, I feared we were going to be eating as the company walked in the door.

I was right.

Thankfully, they were as low-maintenance and kind as can be, so all my anxiety and stress was for naught. Ted is a wonderful sounding board to my stress levels (aka "bitching"), so he heard his share of earfuls yesterday. It didn't help that I was pretty darn grumpy and Tessa had developed a fever and rash from her vaccines the day before.

Ted made breakfast this morning. It's pictured below. It has "Ted's doing" written all over it: orchid that he's kept alive since my birthday (Feb), 10 orange segments all in perfect rows, his mom's fabulous German pancake recipe baked to perfection on his very first solo try, every available sauce in our fridge to put on said pancakes (homemade strawberry jam and chocolate sauce not pictured), BACON (wasn't off the stove quite yet, and actually, that has ME written all over it rather than Ted, but it is my day after all, right?) our fancy silverware, and goblets for the OJ. Oh, but there's more....

See the level of liquid in the goblets? The one closest to you with the overexposed flash is Ted's. The man loves his OJ. Mine looks like it's been half drunk already. This is not because he drank it before I could come downstairs or because he "ran out" after he'd poured himself a hefty glass already. He is fully aware that the one food that gives me heartburn (even when not pregnant) is any volume of orange juice greater than 4 oz. He didn't want to plague my morning, so 4 oz it was. Sooooo sweet.

German pancakes with some homemade strawberry jam and lemon curd was, in a word, heaven. And bacon and chocolate in the same meal? How can you go wrong? I was moaning in deep pleasure with pretty much every bite (what is it about meals you don't have to think about or make that cause them to taste even better?), and before ya know it, we hear Tessa in the kitchen (who was having a smaller version of our meal) moaning with the same intensity and intonation as her mom. Just that alone would have made my day.

But then we went to church. Both talks in Sacrament meeting were fantastic, with special attention given to women who have been dealt sour cards in life situations, and I appreciated the sensitivity that both men used in addressing their remarks. The primary sang (Tessa was riveted) which is always a treat, and my gift from Tessa (other than the moaning) was being fed tiny bites of a PBJ during the rest of sacrament meeting, just like I've done to her oodles of times. And then giving me a very wet kiss after almost every bite.

I taught in Young Women about how we strengthen our testimony through obedience to the commandments. The insight that these 13- and 14-yr old girls have is incredible. They get it - better than I ever did at that age. I related my experience of gaining my own testimony as a teenager and how much strength I've drawn from that experience ever since then, but we talked about how laziness and disobedience can take us farther from what we know or have known is most important. I fall into that category so often. I don't ever intend to flagrantly disobey; I just get lazy. I get discouraged, too, but more often, it's laziness. Building a testimony requires doing, even if that doing is just a desire to do (Alma 32). "Strengthening" denotes an action, so it's only appropriate that our greatest insights and "golden nuggets" (I like to call them) are solely gained by getting off our butts and getting to it. It was a wonderful discussion, and the Spirit was so strong, that it was a shame to see our time together was over for the day.

The rest of the day was just as great. Tessa napped, we ate courtesy of Ted again, and once we stuffed our gullets, we started making phone rounds. My first stop was my "other mother" - the mother of one of my best friends whom I've known since I was 8 and who really has been the main part of the village who had to raise me. She and her family are going through an incredibly difficult time right now, and I've been thinking about her and praying for her every day for over a month, but because of the regular reports I was getting from her blog, from my friend, and from my mom (who is best friends with her as well), I never just picked up the phone and called her myself. Well, today I did, and even though she's the one going through a "rough patch" (and that's putting it soooooooo mildly), she made me so happy. We laughed and cried and talked about boobies. Basically, a standard wonderful phone conversation for me.

And then, my own dear mother. I waited for Tessa to wake up even though she just wants to eat the phone and press the buttons instead of blabber into it, but it was fun to have her there anyway. I talk to my mom all the time, so this was not an out-of-the-blue call for us. We just kind of picked up where we left off (from yesterday) and for the second time, she wished me a Happy Mother's Day, which is an incredible feeling.

Dear Mom,

I understand so much more fully what kinds of worries you were up against, what kind of love you felt for us, and how much we must have driven you crazy. I get why you streamlined your cooking, had a salad at every dinner, and switched to disposable diapers the second they were invented. I never knew about all the behind-the-scenes praying you must have done to keep your sanity, but I know now why you were either reading your scriptures or on your knees whenever I barged into your room at bedtime, why you cling so mightily to wise words and funny moments, and I am honored that you now turn to your own children for advice and a listening ear, even when, to us, you seem to have all your ducks in a row just fine. You've never claimed or given any indication that you think you're perfect, but to me, you are, and I'm so happy that I get to have you as my friend forever.

Love,

Allison

Dear Tessa,

Your Grandma D is quite a woman. She has raised me to be strong for you. She definitely taught me to be better than I am, but luckily, life is a process and God very mercifully gives us a little time to work out our kinks. I have a lot of kinks, but you don't seem to mind. The one thing I've got in spades (besides kinks) is an undying affection for you. I see little fun parts of your personality coming out, and I see some parts of my own personality that I can only assume will drive me as crazy as I drove Grandma D for so many years. But watching you watch me prompts me to be doing the things that are best, not just "good", because no one can ever expect someone to "do as I say, not as I do." Thank you for keeping me on my toes and for being so easy to love, you sassy little vixen.

Love,

Mama

Mother's Day 2009. Three months post-partum. Notice bags under eyes (both sets).


Mother's Day 2010. Main differences: we both have more hair (thank you, pregnancy hormones), her head is bigger but hair accessories are smaller, and lactating breasts turned into pregnancy rack. That necklace is following its path just like a river meandering through unmovable mountains...

Dear Undercooked Son,
I apologize in advance. But I promise I'll do my best.
Love,
Future Mama

What's in this?

Ted and I agreed that neither of us like Blueberry Jelly Bellies (do you write it "Bellies" because it's the plural of "Belly" or do you write it "Bellys" because "Jelly Belly" is trademarked? I couldn't find the answer to that in Eats, Shoots & Leaves). They kinda taste like soap and not like delicate, pop-in-your-mouth, slightly sweet but slightly tangy blueberries. Most flavors they just nail, and I loved seeing the process when I visited there some time ago, but Blueberry....sorry guys.

Then there's the color - and that's where today's story begins. They're a deep blue, not navy, but a little darker than royal. Kinda like a Duke blue. More reason to want to love them, but we just can't. So we decided to give the few that we had to our resident garbage disposal. She doesn't care about the nuances and notes of flavors so much, for she has yet to gain sophisticated palates like her parents (said tongue-in-cheek, but right now I wish I was saying it donut-in-mouth). She gobbled them up, and though she slapped Daddy's thigh for more, we were strong. She wasn't getting our root beer ones.

But these tiny beans! They must be made up completely of dye and sugar (not that I'm against those things)! I can understand these effects directly afterward:





But I was not prepared for the next day. Her diaper manifested that she had eaten very concentrated color pills. Though the output stank to high heaven (which is coincidental, since I was changing said diaper during church), I still got a few giggles out of it because I was reminded of when one of my mission companions and I bought blue dye for fish tanks and put them in some brownies and Kool-Aid for the elders. We nabbed the whole zone, and had a dozen or so of them calling the mission office with some "serious medical issues" because they were suddenly peeing green. You can understand why I number it among my greatest mission success stories.

Revenge

Our poor little girl has had congestion since the day she was born, most likely inherited from Ted. As a result, she snores as loud as any adult, which is actually somewhat humorous (especially during prayer time). It also makes it easy to hear that she's still alive in the middle of the night, allowing me to stay in bed instead of jumping out to watch her chest rise and fall.

Needless to say, saline drops and the bulb syringe have been at my fingertips since day one. Tessa is certainly one of the better-behaved children when it comes to that thing; instead of screaming and arching her back, she purses her lips, kicks her legs, and her eyes get even bigger than they normally are. However, one day last week, we weren't so lucky, and when I went to tidy up the bathroom, Ted brought her in. She was holding the syringe while Ted, in a tiny but shrill voice, shrieked, "Now it's YOUR turn, Mama! Gimme that nose!"

Studentisms 5.0

Time for another installment of those darndest things kids say!

I re-entered the working world last week, and I'd like to say I'm none the worse for wear, but I'd be lying. State testing is coming up next week, so I've been spending this week reviewing everything they should have learned since September. Oh, the horror. President Bush was off his rocker if he thought his NCLB program would ensure that all students would receive an equal education and reach the same levels of standards. Just for one week, I'd like for him to correct the work and listen to the answers I've been getting lately.

me: What is the density of a 15 gram block of aluminum that has a volume of 5.5 cubic centimeters?
Tito: 2 point something cubed squared?
me: What kind of unit is "cubed squared"?
Tito: Heh heh. Is it wrong?
me: Um, yes.

On second thought, our former President Bush just might have given an answer like that, so maybe he's under the impression that our inner city students are absolute geniuses.

I love this next one. It gives a glimpse into what kind of cultural background some of these students come from.

me: What type of organic molecule is DNA, and why is it important to life?
Anderson: Maybe you had a relationship and a baby is born. You're not sure if it's yours and you just do the DNA.
me: I really hope you're not speaking from personal experience.
Anderson: I'm just being hypothesis.
me: You mean "hypothetical"?
Anderson: Huh?

"Do the DNA" has become one of my favorite phrases now. I think I know what he meant (testing DNA for particular markers to determine paternity), but he has no idea what the process is, how it works, or even where someone's DNA can be found. He just knows you can "do it." I wonder if it's going to be a new nerdy version of doing the Hustle and if we need to come up with a dance for it. If so, I totally volunteer. As if my students don't think I'm the biggest dork already.

Sink or Swim

I went swimsuit shopping the other day. Did I just hear a collective, pain-laced groan? I know, I know, but during pool days, I want to get Tessa deeper into the water than just a toe-dip. That requires more of me getting wet than just my hands, feet, and my butt on the side of the pool.

So, as if swimsuit shopping weren't bad enough, I have now realized through experience what makes it worse: nursing. Here's my story.

My sister-in-law told me about a particular store that carries tankinis that have longer tops to cover my striped tummy but that also contain the most important element in any swimsuit I must purchase from here on out: underwire for my floppy boobies. Those of you who have a modest (read: so small it's hard to tell if you're a girl or a boy) rack and want a larger one, be careful what you wish for. I've been "highly developed" since I was about 12, and never did a perk grace their growth. It was like they just came in downward. Strapping them in and lifting them up and keeping the underside from sweating has been the bane of my existence ever since.

Anyhoo, so now that I'm nursing, Sag Bags is my name, and containment is my game. Hence the underwire and Spanx-inspired fit. If I could get a water-friendly corset, I would. There were only two tops in this store (I'm not telling the name for reasons you'll read about later) that fit the bill, and there was so much fabric it couldn't just be balled up in my hand like swimsuits of yore. That's what I'm talking about. I took one to the fitting room, only to discover a quandary I had not yet had to face. How do I do this when the only time I take off my nursing pads is to take a shower? Should I attempt to try on this swimsuit bare-breasted and chance that they would stay dry for one minute? That idea got thrown out real fast when I remembered what these things are capable of, so the pads went into the swimsuit, much to the relief of any future customers, I'm sure.

The top looked as good as it could when there's such a sad mess to work with in the first place. I ended up buying it, but I wasn't going to wear it out of the store, so off it came. I was tying the halter neckline back onto the hanger (I always hang up clothes I try on the same way I found them, which is why I hate bra shopping, too) when I felt the all-too-familiar tingle of milk "coming in." I only had one more pull to make on the strap - did I have time to finish it before I had to cover up my hanging pendulums? Answer: no.

I dropped the top and the hanger as the walls of this particular fitting room got a nice little milk bath. In turning to grab my pads and bra, the stream marked everything along the way, including the bottoms of the suit I had just tried on and the mirror that made me realize how suddenly grateful I am for the option of plastic surgery. I quickly got my bra on while holding those bad boys to my chest, and giggled the entire time. Poor fitting room. Thank goodness I wasn't trying on anything made of silk - that would have made for an embarrassing encounter with the manager. "I don't want this, but I have to buy it because...this piece of clothing just got soaked with my boob juice." As it was, all I had to do was a quick swipe of my shirt sleeve across those swim bottoms and no one could tell what had just transpired. To my knowledge, the store doesn't have a "You Spray, You Pay" policy, but they might want to look into it.

Studentisms 4.0

I began maternity leave last Friday (hallelujah!), so that means I have ALL the time in the world to blog before baby comes, right? Um, not so much. However, I thought that to commemorate my very first maternity leave, I'd put in another installment of studentisms to honor those little Bs and Bs I have left behind for the next couple of months.

During a discussion on atoms, I made an electron orbital that was far from a perfect circle. As I was erasing and correcting it, I began to ask the class if they knew what a tangent was, since that's what my sad attempt looked like. Right after I asked it, I realized they wouldn't know what a tangent was until they got into geometry (if at all), but wondered if they might know what it was in reference to a conversation instead. Here's how this one went down:

me: Do you guys know what a tangent is? Like, in a conversation?
Darius: Yeah. Ain't that a fruit?
me: Uh, that's a tangerine, smarty pants.
Darius: whatever.

The next choice conversation happened in the same class, and it had to do with a little piece of equipment I introduced to them that day. It looks like this:



It's called a spring scale, and you use it to measure the amount of force an object has by just attaching it to the hook at the end. The spring stretches, and you read where the plunger stops. So I hold up this little piece of gadgetry and ask:

me: Has anyone seen one of these?
Class: [various murmurings, including "no", "yeah, I think", and "who cares?"
me: What do you think it's called?
Marvin: A springer!
Chelesey: A scale?
me: You're getting close!
Gabby: A hooker!
[dead silence]
[teacher breaks out in laughter]

The last one was a great story my sister told me last night. My sister has taken over for me as the long-term substitute. It was a long story, so I'll spare you, but I'm really glad I'll have the constant contact with my students over these next several weeks. She and I have been planning together during the nights, and she reports to me how that day's lessons went. Currently, the students are learning about crystals and polymers and how they're bonded together in repeating patterns. Shannon introduced the topic thusly.

Shannon: Okay, class, tell me everything you know about crystals.
Leslie: You can smoke 'em!
Carlos: [turns around and whispers] Hey, good one!

You see what I've been dealing with? Gotta love urbanized 8th graders.

Necessity = Mother of Invention

I've discovered a dual purpose for an old standard.

The other night, as we were getting ready for bed, I put on a pair of red satin pajamas that I a) love and b) am getting too paunchy for. Ted watched me, got a sly grin on his face, and asked, "Baby, are you feeling sassy tonight?" And with a completely straight face, I looked at him and replied, "I can't get comfortable when I sleep anymore. I toss from one side to the other at least 18 times per night. These pajamas reduce friction so I can swing my belly around easier." Ted's response: "Oh."

See, according to the equation F=M/a where "F" represents the net force of an object's motion, "M" represents the mass of the object, and "a" represents its acceleration, the relationship between mass and force is directly proportional. Therefore, if mass (my large fanny and larger tum-tum) increases, so must the force required to move that mass. If the force is a large one, acceleration is small (meaning the movement happens slowly - a fact all late-term preggers women know). That force/acceleration relationship is an inversely proportional one.

So to increase acceleration for the same amount of mass (because I'm only going to be getting bigger), I'd have to reduce the force. And since friction is the force that acts in direct opposition to the force of motion (think of sliding a heavy box across a carpet vs. putting it on a dolly), that's what I had to focus on reducing - hence the miracle of THE SATIN JAMMIES.



I should use this example during our force unit next year...

Celebration of Womanhood

I'm not a morning person. I have to force myself to get up between 5 and 5:30am (depending on that day's level of hair cleanliness) so I can catch the train to get to work with a little breathing time before the kids start marching through the door. Therefore, my face remains pretty stoic (and usually unmoisturized - crap! forgot again...) until someone in my first period cracks a joke or I get into entertainment mode.

So imagine my surprise when on my drive down to the train station, I spotted a car with this on the bumper:



Not only did I get a giggle just looking at this new variation on breast cancer awareness, but I kept a smile on my face from then until work started, remembering all the nicknames that my thesaurus-esque husband has just for women's breasts. I've written down a list that is by NO MEANS exclusive. I welcome any additions.

YA-YAS: a close relative to the ta-tas, but with an added component of ability to be "covered up" when overheard making comments. Example:
Man to male friend: And then the global economy is just going to skyrocket!
Male friend: Ya. Ya.
Man: (whispering) Where?

And don't think I didn't giggle (and still do) when the Ya-Ya Sisterhood movie came out. Hello!

HOOTERS: Made popular by that chicken-wing restaurant.

BOCCE BALLS: A new entry, inspired by the woman in this post

MELONS: And all variations on the fruit theme - casabas, cantaloupes, mangos, coconuts, pineapple (hey, I've heard it), peaches, apples, lemons, pears (shape matters), etc.

CANS: The non-recyclable kind. But VERY earth-friendly nonetheless.

CHESTICLES: For those with a particular kind of envy.

HEADLIGHTS: Still trying to figure out where the switch is.

BAZONGAS: Or bajongas. Or bongos.

MAMMARIES: The list wouldn't be complete without the anatomical name. For that matter,

TEATS/UDDERS: Utterly appropriate for nursing days. Also recently heard: "milk machines." I have creative friends.

THE TWINS: Closely related are "the sisters" and "the girls".

JUGS: Usually reserved for a large set, or in reference to a new mom whose milk "just came in" (the letdown reflex), resulting in porn-star boobs.

FRONTS: Ted's personal favorite.

CHI-CHIS: This is really the only foreign language one I know. I like the name, but these aren't the kind I have, unfortunately.

LOVELIES: Nor these.

PILLOWS: This is more my style. Especially lately.

TUNE IN TOKYO: No explanation will be given here.

FUNBAGS: No explanation necessary.

MOSQUITO BITES: All apologies to my small-breasted friends and family. Solution: get pregnant and keep nursing until you die. And...

RACK: You didn't think our blog name was in reference to baked goods, did you? hehehehehehehe

Ladies, be proud of your sets, whatever ya ya got.

Good for a Giggle

Target was already one of my favorite stores for obvious one-stop-shopping reasons (new reason: cute maternity clothes!). And now I love it for people-watching and overhearing conversations.

You know what I'm talking about: the couples who argue over what toothpaste is better, the Spinal-Tap-esque morons who turn up the volume on the stereos just to see which one is louder, the kids screaming in the toy section. I made a trip there on Labor Day and had two amusing encounters, which I'd love to recount just for fun. The first was in the food section. As I walked down one aisle, I saw a girl bent over to pick up a 12-pack of Diet Coke (aka "Sweet Nectar"). A man I couldn't see was telling her in quite a feminine voice, "Sweetie, ugh. Diet Coke is SO much worse for you than regular Coke. There have been studies, fer sure." She didn't heed this advice (good girl), but as I came around the corner I saw where the comment came from - a dude who looked a lot like this:



Can we say, severe case of pot calling the kettle black? No wonder she disregarded him.



The other instance was in the Health/Beauty section which is right across from the Lingerie section ("Ropa Intima" if you're Spanish-speaking, or Ted). I had just picked up my contact solution when I spotted a distracted mother pushing her toddler daughter in a cart. The toddler saw the display of colored bras and exclaimed, "Mama, look! Covers for the milkies!" Her mom, not even half-listening, responded with "Uh huh..." as I passed with my hand over my mouth in glee.

And speaking of funny things kids say, I have to relate another story that has nothing to do with Target. I called an old mission companion a couple nights ago and we just laughed and laughed for over an hour. She told me a story of her 4-yr-old boy's discovery. As she was cleaning up from dinner one night, he came into the room stark naked, lifted up his "peter" (her term) and exclaimed, "Mom! Under here are my nuts!!" She glared at her husband who was in hysterics. His only defense: "What was I supposed to tell him??" Ah, anatomy.

Ahh..foreign accents

I have a student whose first language is Russian. When she speaks English, she has the gutteral "h" and everything (which always gives me a giggle whenever she says the word "homework") and substitutes her "w" with a "v". She speaks fluent English which she claims she learned from cartoons, and she has a very curious and amusing personality while also being extremely vain. I completely adore her.


Today I was allowing them to watch a movie, so as I was getting it ready I heard some whispering and snickering behind me. It doesn't bother me when my students talk if I'm just getting ready for the next activity, unless they completely get out of hand. So I didn't think anything of it. Then my little Russian friend (Aziza) tells me to turn around and I see this lying on the floor in front of me:

It looked like a big fuzzy rat. I made an "ugh!" sound which of course made the class laugh, and then they asked Aziza why she has it. This is a phonic transcription:

"Ven I vas talkink vith my grrrendmahther she esk me vhat I vant for my berrrthday and I telled hkher I vant the hkhair clip but she thinked I said HKHAIRY clip."

I was dying.

I remember these pictures!

In Allison's May 23rd blog entry she mused that due to her naughtiness I might have, "considered backing out while there was still time." Um, I knew FULLY what I was "getting [myself] into," and I embraced it wholeheartedly! Here's a picture (also not sent in with her resume) she posed for while we were merely engaged.

And lest you think Allison's the only naughty one in this relationship. She wasn't the only one interested in that shell (see below).

I remember that picture!

One of my fellow blogging friends does a spot on her blog called "Flashback Friday" that has been a lot of fun. It's always great to find out the inner workings of how someone came to be.

I'm not attempting to mimic that spot at all here, but I had to share something just silly. Yesterday I asked Ted to forward me all the pictures of me that showed a) how beautiful I am, and b) just how charismatic I can be. I had to include two of them for a little email I sent out today. I found an ad on craigslist that was making a casting call for female scientists who were smart, energetic, and charismatic. Hello!! Yoo-hoo!!! HEY, MORONS! I'M OVER HERE!!

So I did it. I sent in what they wanted. Hey, you never know, and I didn't want to watch some cool science show in the future with a dry hostess and think "I coulda done that WAY better". I have a problem with that most awful of phrases: I wish I would have...

I guffawed at the pictures Ted sent me. I had totally forgotten about most of them, and that's where the flashback comes in. This one cracked me up. Can you imagine opening up a resume email and seeing this?

I look like such a perv! Or that I just found the most interesting shell-shaped toilet in the world and I'm concentrating on using it. Which, of course, is also perverted.

Oh, and this was on our honeymoon. Ted and I had been married about 4 days. The boy knew what he was getting himself into, but it's things like this that make me wonder if he ever considered backing out while there was still time...

Studentisms 1.0

As an 8th grade Science teacher, I happen across humorous exchanges from time to time. Some of them are between a couple of 13-yr olds, and some of them are between a 13-yr old and me. I'll be posting every now and then to relate these conversations for a couple of purposes. First and most important: entertainment value. Secondly, I won't have to remember them if they're written down somewhere. And a factor that just came up one night over dinner with Ted's sister and brother-in-law was that there are kids just coming into their teen years and we, as adults, often know little about what they're like, let alone how to relate to them. These "isms" should shed a little light.

Luis: (6th grader, pre-pubescent) Hey miss - I just saw you have a sweat mark on your shirt. I just saw it right now when you raised your arms.

me: Oh brother. It's just sweat. Everybody sweats - it's a fact of nature.

Luis: I don't sweat. I got people.

Next:

me: I have an announcement to make that actually doesn't concern any of you, but which I'm very excited about.
Jennifer: Are you having a baby???

entire class: AAAGHHHH OH MY GOSH YOU'RE PREGNANT THAT IS SO AWESOME ARE YOU GOING TO NAME IT AFTER ME YOU'RE NOT EVEN SHOWING ARE YOU GOING TO FINISH THE SCHOOL YEAR I'M GOING TO MISS YOU IS IT A BOY OR GIRL???!!!?

Milton (a boy, of course): I'll take care of it! You can bring it to school and I'll breast-feed it! [makes motions of holding and nursing a baby]

me: [laughing hysterically] Um, no, I'm not pregnant. I just wanted to tell you guys that I passed all 3 of my CSET exams, which means that part of my teacher certification is over.
Jennifer: Oh. It'd be better if you were having a baby.



Next one:


Sandra: (after I explained a project we'll be doing called "Adopt an Element") When I turn 18 I'm going to adopt a boy who's 19 and call him my baby.
me: Hm. Well, for now you've got the responsibility for an element baby.
Sandra: But an element can't love me back...


Next one:



Ionie: Miss Allison, why did you put "Asses" in the test? Aren't you supposed to not swear? You always tell US not to.
me: That's "assess". It means "analyze" or "evaluate." Learn to spell.
Ionie: Oh. hehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe
Surrounding students: hehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe
me: Okay, okay, calm down. Get your assess back to work.
Students: hehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe





me: (Teaching about objects in space) If the moon doesn't give off its own light, and the planets don't give off their own light, what's in space that does give off light?
Students: The Sun!
me: That's one object, yes. What else gives off light?
Juan, also known as Man Whore: (grinning like a Cheshire) Your smile.
me: Kiss-up.


A follow-up to that one:


me: How does the moon give off light?
Silence.
Steven: A bunch of people with flashlights shine them on it.


Back in February:

Milton: Miss Allison, could you keep this present in your closet until Valentime's Day?
me: I'll keep it here, yes, but you know it's ValentiNe's Day, right? With an N?
Milton: Valenti..Vale...ValentiMe's Day. Yeah, that's what I said.


You get the picture of the darlings I get to hang around with daily... More to come, I'm sure.