Neither Rain, Nor Sleet...

Add these to some of the many reasons I'm not a mail carrier.  Today I woke up to the odd pitter-patter of freezing rain flinging into my windows.  I was then greeted by the more pleasant sound of the phone ringing to tell me we had a snow day. 

I like snow days.  I think the teachers like them more than the kids.  I was thrilled to not have to brave what would have been a slippery and (as I am surrounded by giant SUVs who think they are invincible) scary ride.  And since we live in a co-op, we don't have to shovel.  (The Professor does dig out my car, for which I am eternally grateful.)

Unfortunately, since this winter has decided to get all out of control, this is our third snow day.  We have three snow days in our calendar.  It is only mid-January.  So, while I enjoy a day off as much as the next gal, this doesn't bode well for vacations, which start getting pulled the next time all that freezy stuff decides to fall from the sky.

I do need to remember to thank my mail carrier the next time I run into her, though...

Goodbye

Though it may be very natural for some people, it is extremely hard for me to write about my life when it is sad.  I had planned to write this blog more often this year, but I usually try to keep a humorous outlook on my life and family. I guess if all someone wrote about in a journal were the happy stories, you would never get a true picture of their life.  When Miss Serious was very young, my parents took her picture as she was pitching a fit in her high chair – she was shocked at the ensuing image of herself.  Previously she had only seen a cute, smiling Miss Serious, and this was not the picture she had in her mind of what she looked like.

On Monday, my mother called with the news that my grandmother had passed away.  We knew she was ill, and she was 87 – by all accounts that is a very long time to live.  But her mother lived to be 100, and as my grandmother was always healthy and a rather sassy broad, we expected nothing but the same from her.  Her decline was fast and of a speed that was unexpected. She had family around her at all times, and was at peace at the end.  We all knew she would not have wanted to linger and be in pain. 

But I’ve discovered that all those things don’t make it any less sad.  When I got to work on Monday, a colleague asked me how my weekend was.  I was still so thrown by the news that I just blurted out that my grandmother died this morning.  He asked me how old she was, and when I told him 87, he responded, “Well, that was a really long life.  Good for her.”  He is a kind, well-meaning person.  I know words much like those have come out of my mouth again and again.  They were not what I wanted to hear. 

I’ve realized that it doesn’t matter that you’re old, or that you had been given a diagnosis and those around you knew it was terminal.  It doesn’t make the people who love you feel anything other than sad.  And it doesn’t make them miss you any less.  And I know that I won’t use those words to anyone ever again.

We love you Grandma, and will miss you.  You were outspoken and opinionated and funny.  You could squeeze a nickel until it screamed and knit beautiful blankets for my babies.  You helped teach me to drive and to make perfect French Toast.  I still sleep under the lovely bedspread you embroidered for us when we got married.  We looked through all your old pictures and celebrated your life.  And we were happy and sad, and will be for a long time.  It was a long life, but now I know it will never be long enough.

But It's Sooooo Dark....

One would have thought the first day back would have been the hardest.  One would have been wrong.  When my alarm clock went off at 5:00 am yesterday, it was sort of novel.  Today, however, the crushing realization occurred that this was NOT a novelty, this was the way things are.  And it is very dark at 5:00 in the morning, my friends.  And cold.  And did I mention dark?

Luckily I love my job, and my room is toasty warm.  Very toasty - apparently my heater is malfunctioning, so my room was 82.2 degrees when I walked in yesterday.  Rather tropical. Unfortunately I was not sporting beachware, but instead a turtleneck cashmere sweater.  And every fifth grader that entered my room (and there were 96 of them) felt the need to ask, "Wow, do you know how hot it is in here?"  Because, you know, it's not like I've actually been in that room all day.

At least now I do know that I am definitely smarter than a fifth grader.

Missed the Possum Drop

The new year is here, and we celebrated pretty much the same way we have for 15 years - at home with Chinese food, wine, and general good cheer.  When I was young and thought you were supposed to, I used to go out on New Year's Eve.  The night always had a whiff of desperation about it - everyone trying to have a good time, because, hey - it was New Year's Eve!!!!  After many years of overcrowded restaurants, dangerous drivers, and realizing it wasn't actually that much fun, I learned to embrace the quieter, happier entrance to the New Year.

I also used to make resolutions, but as they never got me very far, I've become a bit more philosophical about the whole thing, and just have general thoughts for the new year.  Who knows if it works better, but at least it doesn't make me feel like a failure when I invariably do something on Jan. 3rd that I've vowed not to do do and decide that the whole thing's off....

I also no longer try to stay up until midnight - I'm not a late night person, and I never quite got the whole dropping the ball thing, so giving it a miss is a relief.  I would however, if only the misguided folks in the media would cover it, stay up for the possum drop in  Brasstown, NC.




Happy New Year!  (The possum is released at the end - I wonder if they release the ball into Times Square?).

Clearing out the Cobwebs...

Even though this place looks so dusty and unused because I haven't set foot in it since beginning my job, I'm going to try to get back on the blogging wagon.  Math and fifth graders have taken over my life for a bit, but now that I have a few months under my belt, I'm ready to get back into the habit of thinking about other things once in a while.

Work has been AWESOME, and this job is everything I could hope for (except, of course, the whole temporary thing).  I love my classroom, the kids are fabulous, and I even played in the school concert with the fifth grade band.  I've also been saddened by the prospect of having to job-hunt again in a few short months, but you can't have everything, right?

We all enjoyed Christmas, and the blizzard was an interesting surprise.  It upset our travel/family plans a little, but all in all it was more exciting than anything else.  After having no snow, a whole pile was dropped on us at once, and the kids have been enjoying the whole thing.  Not being a fan of the cold, I could do with it all melting and not snowing again for the season, but I'm pretty sure that isn't going to happen.  My body doesn't handle cold well, a fact that was documented scientifically yesterday at the NY Hall of Science.  This was a cool camera that detected your heat levels, and showed them on the screen.  I'm standing between the kids, and now have objective proof that I get REALLY cold, and this is in a well-heated museum (my gigundo blue muppet nose is especially fetching, I think):

Stay warm, and Happy New Year!

Through the Eyes of a Child

As the first day of school is approaching at an incredibly fast (and frightening) speed, I've been trying to acclimate my summer (read lazy) body to getting up earlier.  As I will be teaching in a middle school, the day starts early (kids arrive at 7:40), and as it's about 40 minutes away, my day will need to start quite a bit earlier than I'm accustomed to.

Thus, I've started trying to drag myself out of bed early, and setting my alarm back about 15 minutes every couple of days.  What I find fascinating is that no matter how early I get up, Big Trouble is already awake and sitting on the couch watching PBS (being the cheap frugal family that we are, his early morning choices are limited to morning news shows or the children's offerings on PBS).  He greets me with a happy smile, and I try to do the same, though I admit it's a struggle.

I've been feeling cranky and rather put-out that I have to get up early (while inside I know I should just be thrilled to have a job to get up for, my outside is TIRED), and as my classroom is a frightening mess, I've been going in to the school quite a bit.  Apparently, all the teachers from last year were so happy to no longer have to teach math that it seems they took ALL their math materials - I'm talking old photocopies, textbook series that haven't been used for 10 years, etc. - and dumped them in my room.  This week has been spent digging through everything, boxing up all the junk, and sending it to the vast abyss of storage.

When I got up yesterday and shuffled into the kitchen, Big Trouble followed me.  He stood in the doorway and announced with shining eyes and a supremely happy voice, "I love it when the light looks like this - it makes the whole kitchen orange! I wonder if the bathroom looks this way?" and he raced over to the bathroom to confirm that it, too, was bathed in orange light.

I couldn't have been more struck about what a different way this was to start the day.  Instead of lamenting that I have to get up with (or before) the sun, I could cherish the way it surrounds my kitchen in soft, beautiful light that can't be seen any other time of the day, and that this is a special moment I get to share with my seven year old son.

I can't say it will make me happy about getting up at 5:30, but I'm working on it.  Thanks, Big Trouble. 

And Now For Something Completely Different...

A couple of weeks ago, we took the kids to the NY Renaissance Faire; I wanted to write about it sooner, but it's taken me this long to recover.

I've never been to a Renaissance Faire - I thought it would be something like Old Williamsburg, with historical re-enactors and authentic buildings.  I was wrong.

Apparently, I'm the only one laboring under this misapprehension.  I also didn't realize that everyone and his brother would be going to the Renaissance Faire.  When we got there, we parked on a huge field labeled Lot Number 3, which was already almost full, and took a Shuttle bus to the fairgrounds, since there were already a zillion cars parked and the original parking lots were full. As we got out of the car, I noticed several people walking with us to the shuttle bus dressed in full Renaissance garb.  I assumed they were late to work.  Again, I was wrong.

We got to the fairgrounds, paid our pricey admission (but the kids were free that week-end, so it evened out ok), and started to walk.  I'm not sure how long the fair has been going on, but I think many of the buildings and all of the signage have been in use since the beginning.  Everything was a bit kitschy, and not exactly what one would call historically accurate - pretty much someone's version of what he thought the Renaissance may have been like, possibly under the influence of some sort of alcoholic substance, and certainly without much help from any reference books....

As we were walking, I started to realize something - we were surrounded by LOTS of people in Renaissance garb, some of them wearing such odd items as pointy elf ears to round out their flowing capes, and wildly tight and inappropriate Renaissance-style bustiers.  I quietly mentioned to The Professor that there seemed to be an awful lot of people dressed up, and was surprised that they had so many workers/volunteers.  He looked at me somewhat oddly, and informed me that they were all just fair-goers like us.  I was floored - so apparently this is a big deal - people have their own Renaissance outfits at home and slap them on in billion degree weather to walk around the Renaissance Faire.  I spent the rest of the afternoon in a state of shock and confusion, the remnants of which are still lurking in the corners of my mind.

There was lots of stuff to see, and the kids had a great time.  They got to see a joust, a crazy performer named Dextre Tripp who did wild things like juggling with a chain saw and strapping fireworks to his chest, saw some neat birds of prey, watched a glassblower, and generally enjoyed themselves.

Now I have to convince Miss Serious that we don't actually need matching Renaissance capes...