Dirty Little Secrets

We all have a dark side, right? Things we're not proud of? Things we'd rather just let faaaaade into the background? I have oodles of dark secrets that should never, ever see the light of day.

However, confession is good for the soul and I hear that karma likes it when you come clean. What's the use of having a blog if you can't periodically use it to unburden your soul onto unsuspecting readers, right?

Deep, Dark Secret The First:

It appears that I really hate cleaning. In fact I hate it so much that, when faced with a display of shiny toilet seats in the discount store, I will lose all sense of responsibility. I will think, "You know what? It would be easier to buy a new one of these thingies than it would be to clean the old one."

This is not even close to true. Nor is it one of my prouder moments, but there you are. It is what it is. I considered buying a new toilet seat to be more efficient than wiping down the old one. My mother is beside herself with the pride.

To be fair, the retired seat came with the place when I bought it twenty years ago and you can't say it didn't do the job. And the new one is pretty darned spiffy. It took some wrangling to get it connected since my toilet is, apparently, not "standard size." But it's on and it's beautiful. Truth be told, when I sit myself upon what is sometimes crassly referred to as "the throne," I sort of do feel like a princess! I really, truly do!

It is shiny enough to put the rest of that particular household fixture to shame, but it seems a bit over the top to replace the entire toilet. Even if it probably would be easier than cleaning...

Deep, Dark Secret The Second:

First of all, let me say that the Olympics are amazing. They represent the world at its best and bring us all together in the spirit of competition and cooperation. I have great respect for the tradition of the Olympics.

However....

It's still sports. Worse, it's sports played outdoors. In the cold. Except for the ones that are inside, but there is still something of a "chilly" vibe going on there. I don't care for watching sports. I am even less inclined to watch sports that involved people wearing winter gear.

This year, I have watched nary an event. Not the opening ceremonies. Not skating. Not skiing. Nothing. I accidentally caught a bit of the curling but that was more of a problem with my remote not responding quickly enough rather than my suddenly developing an interest in the sweeping of ice. (which is, as you know, cleaning and sports put together...yikes!)

Don't get me wrong. I'm as excited as the next guy when we take gold and I've kept track a little bit. Sort of. I'm proud of our athletes. I just can't sit and watch sporty-type stuff without getting bored.

Besides, everyone is Twittering all over the place about it so it's almost like I'm watching, right?

Deep, Dark Secret The Third:

On Wednesday, I announced that I was really getting into the vacation schedule. I confidently stated that I was now ready to tackle all those projects that I'd left undone while I "adjusted" to this workless state. That was probably a mistake.

I started off strong. But then the whole "toilet seat" thing happened and it was pretty much all over after that. It's hard to keep to the schedule once you've taken a left turn of that magnitude. How do you top it?

I ended up sitting in front of a movie for the rest of the afternoon. (A training film, granted and one that offered a few helpful tips I may use in the coming Zombie Apocalypse, but still...) Most of the things I thought I'd get done this week while I had the time remain undone. Sheepie hangs her head in shame.

For what it's worth, I finished the stupid Mittens 'o Shame. But that hardly seems to make up for the sloth.

Deep, Dark Secret The Fourth:

You know what? It really does feel good to confess! In fact, it feels so good that I'm going to confess on behalf of another. I want everyone to feel as clean of soul as I!

Half-Priced Candy Day began on Monday and I fear I was a little over-enthusiastic. I always say I'm going to keep things within reason, but it's hard when you're faced with a whole table of half-priced goods. Why I thought I needed a bright pink fleecy throw covered in fancy hearts, I don't know. It goes with nothing in the manse. And I have enough blankets here, Lord knows. But I guess I blacked out for a minute in all the excitement and suddenly I had a hot pink blankie. With a matching pillow.

I don't much care for it, truth be told. It's a little too frou-frou for my tastes. But there is another who loves it. Someone who fancies himself a real man's man. Someone who names himself the Protector Of The Household and Lord Of The Manor. Someone who, in my opinion, clashes with bright pink and has no business swaddling himself in it.

Err...I can explain...um...

He's going on and on about how cats are color blind, but that doesn't explain his being so attracted to the heart pattern. He just doesn't want to admit that he's gotten in touch with his feminine side, is all.

He's feel better if he just manned up and spoke true. There's no shame in pink hearts. I wish I could say the same about new toilet seats...

SA

WNBP: As Intended

Hard to believe it is actually Wednesday. I had to check. I usually do. Days of the week only make sense to me when I think of them within the context of the prime time TV lineup and that isn't always something you can count on.

But Wednesday it is and it's time for some bullet points. So here they be:

*Today was the kind of day I envisioned when I thought about school vacation week.

*Did I mention it is vacation week? I can't remember...

*It is.

*I was very productive today. I did lots of things that a vacationing person who isn't going someplace interesting should do.

*I cleaned one shelf in the fridge.

*Then I got a tetanus shot.

*I steam cleaned my wool coat.

*I mopped the kitchen floor.

*I did rather well until about 1:00 and then I played computer games for four hours.

*We'll try for a longer session of productivity tomorrow.

*None of this productivity included knitting a thumb.

*I suspect that a great deal of today's activities revolved around the avoidance of that thumb.

*Tomorrow. The thumb will be knit tomorrow. It has to be.

*I like February Break. It's the first vacation of the school year that doesn't come with obligations.

*The Absurdly Gi-normous Kitty is also pleased to have Mommy home.

*This creates an obligation in that he wants to play while I want to not be obligated.

*I finally broke down and got out a new Dollar Store Cat Cave with which to divert him.

*He likes them when they're new. They still have a shape and aren't all tattered.

*Which is ironic given that it's his love of the Dollar Store Cat Caves that causes their ultimate destruction.

But how do you deny an AGK the thing he loves most?

*I stock up on the things whenever the Dollar Store gets them.

*They look at me funny at the Dollar Store.

*Not sure what was going on in this next picture. He might be yawning.

*Or grinning broadly.

*Or singing a loud, lusty love ballad in praise of the Dollar Store Cat Cave.

Or gearing up to take a bite out of my face...

*Yesterday's snowstorm was a bust, in case anyone was wondering.

*Three inches, tops.

*In my area. Others got more. Others got less.

*It all melted.

*I'm not the least displeased by this turn of events.

*Proof that knitting three rounds on a thumb will appease karma and keep it from dumping snow on my head.

*I hope...

That's it. Unless you want a detailed description of my plan to clean the toilet tomorrow, that is. And I'm assuming you don't. Hopefully, the siren song of the computer game won't lure me away from my dreams of a fresh, clean bowl. Again, though, I'm thinking you don't want to hear about that. I should probably just wrap things up now.

The End

SA

Paying The Piper

There is always a price for not paying attention to the karmic balance. I forget that sometimes and always to my sorrow.

I do stupid things. I ignore a mitten that should have been finished a million years ago because the thought of picking up those thumb stitches is just too much for my fragile psyche. I forget to clean the cat box. I send the car payment late enough that even I can't come up with a good excuse when the bank calls. (they no longer believe me when I say I have a chronic condition that causes me to break out in hives when I come into contact with stamp adhesive) I blithely go about my days as if there are no consequences. If the car needs an oil change, I'll get to it when I get to it. If the leftovers in the fridge have been there long enough to develop emotions and the ability to share them, I'll just consider them new friends. It will all work out. What could possibly go wrong?

But karma always gets you in the end. Any of the aforementioned things could have caught its attention. Each is worthy of a little bit of the smiting. I have a sneaking suspicion that it might have been something else though.

I think it could possibly be that it is a bad thing to torment your snowbound friends and family on Facebook with the fact that all the snow has melted where you are. It might be the sort of action that gets you into trouble later. It will seem funny at the time, granted. But a bad thing will happen. There are rules to the universe and one of them is this:

Taunting frozen relations will lead to snowstorms during your school vacation week.

There's nothing I can do about it now. What's done is done and I offer up my heartfelt apologies to all involved as well as to my fellow Mainers who must now suffer for my mistake. It isn't nearly enough, I know. But it's all I can do. For what it's worth, I'm chilly and didn't get nearly enough half-priced, left-over Valentine's Day candy to see me through an extended weather event. I'll probably run out and be left with naught but canned vegetables.

And I've learned my lesson. Truly I have! As I checked the weather report this morning and realized that the snow was coming, I did what little I could to make it right with karma. I picked up that mitten and promptly started the thumb. It felt good to do the right thing.

Of course, I didn't finish it. I just did three rows. But they were heartfelt rows and fairly dripping with contrition. I think karma will be OK with that...

SA

Fair Warning

I'd like to take a little break from the regularly scheduled excuses for not picking up thumb stitches and finishing that stupid mitten to address a very serious topic. It's that time of year again and we must be sure to remember the solemnity of the season.

I think that the best way to remind people of the occasion is to relay a conversation I had Friday afternoon as I was leaving school. In the interest of full disclosure, I should probably tell you that this is not an exact transcript. While it is primarily based on that exchange, it also includes elements from similar discussions throughout the day. Not that it really matters, but I like to be up front about these sorts of things, you know.

The Time: 2:35

The Place: The main office of A Very Happy Middle School

The Players: Ms. Sheep, Colleague #1 and Colleague #2

Ms. Sheep: I am leaving. I know it is early but I deserve it because I didn't kill the kid who is Gauged And Aerodynamic. He walked close to the line between life and death today but I didn't give in to my baser instincts.

Colleague #1: Nice job!

Colleague #2: Kudos!

MS: Thank you.

C#1: And have a nice vacation, too!

C#2: Yes! Enjoy!

MS: Vacations are good. Especially when they fall during The Most Exalted Of Holidays.

C#1: Pardon?

C#2: What's that you say?

MS: Sunday. You know...Sunday? It's Half-Priced Chocolate Eve!

C#1: Half-Priced...Oh! The day after Valentine's Day.

C#2: Aren't you clever? I think that should be a real holiday.

MS: It is. But you don't get to celebrate. Sorry.

C#1: Pray tell, why?

C#2: Yeah. What she said. The pray tell part.

MS: Half-Priced Chocolate Day (or "week" if you take it to extremes... and I do) is the single girl's holiday. It is the day we get to purchase some of the finest chocolates at reasonable prices and without guilt. We can stock up for months of single days and nights. It's our day. You get the day before.

C#1: That seems rather unfair.

C#2: Yeah. My husband doesn't remember to get me anything.

MS: You made your choice. You could have gone a different way with this. Besides, I seem to recall you saying something about him shoveling the driveway and helping you move the sofa. You went for brute strength. That is not my fault.

C#1: What about me? The voters of this great state opted to not recognize my civil union as a legal marriage. Don't I get something for that?

MS: I see your point. It's a valid argument. But no. Under the laws of Half-Priced Chocolate Day, you are legally married. It's an equal opportunity holiday and not subject to questionable/unethical TV spots aired prior to election day. For what it's worth, anyone in a relationship of more than 12 month's duration can't celebrate it either. It's for those of us who act as our own Valentines.

C#1: I have the right to buy chocolate whenever and wherever I want, you know.

C#2: Yes. As do I. You cannot stop me.

MS: Perhaps not. And I know it seems unfair. But I didn't invent the rules, you know. There are lots of things I didn't invent. Here's a partial list of those things:

1. I did not invent the Sad, Pitying Smile or the Accompanying Sorrowful Head Shake.

2. Nor was I the creator of the Hush Up Now, The Single Gal Is In The Room So Let's Stop Talking About Our Valentine's Day Plans game.

3. The words, "Don't worry, lots of people find their Special Someone at your age" were not first uttered by me.

4. I was also not the one who came up with, "I think it's so, um...great...how you live such an, um...independent life..."

5. I am not the great innovator who first conceived of The Blind Date As A Kind Thing To Give The Single Friend Who Has Everything Because Surely She Cannot Stand To Be Alone On Valentine's Day.

C#1: You've put a lot of thought into this, haven't you?

C#2: Yes. Lots of thought. When do you find time to teach?

MS: For the record, that last one has forced me to fake raging sinus infections and astronomically high fevers for the past twenty years. It's a great deal of work and takes away from the thinking of important thoughts.

C#1: Well...enjoy your winter break. However you celebrate it.

C#2: Yes. Enjoy. However you do that.

MS: Thank you. And I trust that our paths will not be crossing at the clearance tables next week.

In closing, let me say this. We The Single People are generally good sports about this day. Whether our singular nature is by fate or (as in my case) by choice, we have a sense of humor. Further, we maintain that jovial attitude when Half-Priced Chocolate Day, our holiest day of the year, rolls around. We don't deny others a bit of the bounty. But please remember that those crumpled, heart shaped boxes mean more to us than the shiniest of diamonds and that they smell sweeter than the long stemmed roses currently gracing tables throughout the world. We probably won't fight to the death over the matter. We are not likely to resort to hand to hand combat over dark chocolate truffles. We are civilized beings in spite of our somewhat misunderstood status.

But you can't be certain of anything. It's hard to say how these things will go. I'll leave you with this warning. Should you be of a mind to get yourself a some of that discounted candy tomorrow, please remain alert. The partnered among you are obvious, especially on February 15th. You have a look about you and are often sporting new jewelry. If you happen to be reaching for the last box of the good stuff, be sure to look both ways first. You just never know.

This may be the face you see coming at you.

If this is the case, drop the dark chocolate truffles and proceed to the nearest exit. It's not worth it. There's always next year...

Happy Valentine's Day!

SA

WNBP: The Art Of Misdirection

I normally try to think of Wednesday as a positive kind of thing. It is midweek. It marks the beginning of the end and puts us closer to the weekend. It's not Monday. That last one will work if you are really stuck for something nice to say about your day.

This week has proved itself to be endless. It might as well be Monday for all the good the passage of time is doing me. At least I have the Wednesday Night Bullet Post to look forward to. Let's see how things shook down today:

*No storm up here. This is good. I'm kind of over this whole "winter thing."

*Yes, a snow day would have been nice. Especially given the snail-like nature of this ridiculous week. I would have enjoyed that.

*But it's better to think about not having to make up the day in June at this point.

*Plus it's the week before school vacation so that kinds of takes the sting out of it.

*The Cheerful Teaching Assistant is sickly right now. She's sneezing. A lot.

*This is an issue not just from a "Sheepie's fear of germs" standpoint.

*She leaves for London early next week.

*London hates it when American tourists come over and sneeze all over the scenery.

*We are thinking healthy thoughts.

*And offering up preemptive apologies to the international community for whatever may happen.

*Several kids did very well in art class today and earned extra "choice" time. They "chose" to play computer games. The boy who is Gauged And Aerodynamic was pleased by this turn of events and, as a result, more chatty than usual.

*This resulted in The Best Conversation Of The Day:

Gauged And Aerodynamic: Did you know that if you die and no one finds you, your cats will actually eat you if they get hungry? That's just gross!!

Ms. Sheep: Well, they're not like people. You can't blame them. They're just doing what instinct tells them to do.

Cheerful Teaching Assistant: I don't feel so good...

GAA: I mean...dude! Seriously! Eaten by your cat! That's a bad way to go.

MS: Yeah.

CTA: (blows nose and looks wearily at the unmoving clock)

GAA: It just creeps me out. My cat starts nibbling on me if I just go to sleep...

(MS and the CTA immediately start mentally composing their respective Facebook updates, trying all the while to hold back their giggles)

*I am of the opinion that the manufacturers of whole wheat pasta should have to answer for their crimes against diners everywhere.

*GAH! I hate whole wheat pasta.

*It always seems so healthy and I get guilted into trying it.

*False advertising. Bad pasta. Bad, bitter, gritty, slimy pasta.

*Join me in a class action suit, people! Rise up against this injustice!!!!!

*The Absurdly Gi-normous Kitty seems perplexed by my having used duct tape to secure the cabinet he keeps opening.

*I wouldn't mind except he takes out all the pots and pans.

*The Big Fluffy Kitty refuses to do anything about it.

*She is immune to my waving around the "You Are The Big Sister And Therefor Responsible For What Goes On Around Here During The Day" clause.

*If I die and people find me, I'd appreciate it if someone steps up to explain all the duct tape.

*Looks crazy. And could be mistaken for bad decorating choices.

*That didn't come up today in the Dead At Home With The Cats discussion, but I'll be sure to mention it tomorrow.

And there's Wednesday. As this week trickles away towards its end point, I am finding little to celebrate. The pasta was whole wheat, the weather is drizzly (albeit not stormy) and the clock won't move no matter what I say. However there is one thing I managed to accomplish.

I avoided discussing the unfinished mitten with the gaping thumb hole sitting right in the middle of it.

SA

Me Vs. Actual Me

I have this image of myself. Sure, I know I'm flawed. But I like to think that the image is pretty close to what I envision.

I won't bore you with the details. You probably don't need to hear about how I am poised and clever in all social situations. Or how I can wax philosophical at the drop of a hat and that everyone is always fascinated by what I have to say. In my own personal view, I am also the type who regularly saves kittens from trees and little old ladies from mail fraud. I think I can also fly sometimes, but even I know that is a little over the top...

Yes, in my mind's eye, I'm pretty gosh darned nifty. And my greatest quality? Well that's an easy one to identify. I happen to be a Great Knitter Of Mittens!

Having a good self image is probably something for which to strive. Except for the flying and kitten-saving delusions, I think it is good for my character to think positively. What is not good is being faced with stark evidence to the contrary. That is something of a downer.

As much as I want to believe myself a Mitten Maven, I don't think I am. Would such a person take over a month to knit a pair of mittens? Would she take advantage of every excuse to not knit a mitten just to avoid getting to the thumb part? Would the High Priestess Of Hand Coverings consider not doing the daily ride on the little exercise bike because that is her usual knitting time?

Probably not.

I may have to rethink my Perceptions Of Self. Even if I get to the finish line with these mittens, I don't think that this will qualify me for greatness. A pair of plain mittens, especially plain mittens that are the sole project upon which one is working, should not take over a month. I'll get them done. I'll probably even get them done soon. That is something, I suppose. But it does not make me a Great Knitter Of Mittens.

Time to rethink my whole life and my list of good qualities. But I'm keeping the part where I save little old ladies. And I'll probably fill in the blank left by the mittens with something along the lines of "Lion Tamer."

That will help take the sting out of it...

SA

Safety Lapse

My being designated one of the school district's Safety Procedures Trainers has nothing to do with my skills. The decision was not based on my innate sense of safety. I was not handpicked from a list of eager applicants. This dubious honor came about by virtue of the fact that I was home when the secretary was cold calling people to see if they'd do it.

Essentially, the whole thing boils down to my being too lazy to get out of the house and too curious to not answer a ringing phone...

I swore that, after the first year, I wouldn't do it again. Unfortunately, I was one of several who made this declaration. Even more unfortunate was my failure to do so before my colleagues. By the time I got around to quitting, the pool of instructors had dwindled markedly and I was begged to stay on for just one more year.

I'm now in year three and have accepted that it is probably better to teach it than it would be to have to take the class from someone else. These are the sorts of things we tell ourselves when we are trapped at the bottom of a well with no hope of escape. "Gosh, it could be worse. At least it's not raining and I haven't seen any alligators yet..."

I normally teach the class a few times a year and with two other people. This year, however, I've had coverage problems in my classroom and, no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to make it work. I've had to abandon my fellow Safety Instructors more often than I've been able to help them out. I felt badly about that and offered to teach one of the classes by myself to make up for my poor attendance.

It didn't sound so bad, really. I'd have control over the timing and content. In fact, I told myself, I could probably have this whole thing over and done with by 1:00 if I put my mind to it. That would make for a nice, early start to the weekend!

I amaze myself with my ability to dream big. I really do...

As usual, I wasn't totally prepared. That was OK. I can fake preparedness. Of course, there was no way to get around the issue of people coming in late. Or how this happened to be a chatty group who could easily take me so far off course that I was nowhere near where I needed to be on the syllabus by the time they were begging me for a lunch break.

I suppose I could have thought more about how I was going to demonstrate two and three person holds when I was all alone. How I failed to take into account the need to observe everyone performing the various moves within this short time frame, I'll never know.

The 1:00 hour passed and we were nowhere near done. Despair gave me the energy I needed to push through, though. Never before in the history of Safety Instruction have a group of people extricated themselves from front and rear choke holds so quickly. Supported escorts and evasive maneuvers were executed at speeds approaching the sound barrier. I would imagine that anyone glancing into the room might think we were reenacting scenes from those old movies where everyone is racing about all herky-jerky. I didn't care. We were getting through this or we were going to die trying. I may have missed my 1:00 dream deadline, but 2:00 was not out of the question. An early end to this day could still happen!

And so it did. The final test was handed out by 1:40 and the trainees were all happily exiting the classroom shortly thereafter. While they agonized over the brief, open book test, I cleaned up the room so I wasn't all that far behind them. Most people said that they enjoyed the class and one even commented on how she learned more this time than in any other. It should have been a triumph on my part, but it didn't feel that way.

The death knell came early in the class. I looked over at one of the trainees, someone I know well from my own school. She seemed happy and serene. She was almost placid, despite the hurried pace of the course. And why was this? She managed to remember the thing that I forgot. Yes, I forgot many things but this one was my undoing. Watching her made it all the more painful.

She remembered her knitting. I did not.

SA

WNBP: Now With Hiccurps!

OK. We've got our Wednesday. That means we are on the downward slope towards the weekend and, if we ignore the fact that I have to teach a Safety Procedures class on Friday and my total lack of preparedness, we can feel pretty good.

And if that's not enough for you, then I'll even throw in some bullet points!

*Last night, I had a bit of a philosophical dilemma.

*Is it worse to spend three hours thinking, "Oh my God, am I going to throw up?"

*Or is it worse to actually throw up?

*Anticipation?

*Or Eventuality?

*Both were unpleasant.

*Still felt rather ooky this morning, but staying home sick was not an option.

*Short-staffed in the classroom.

*Fortunately, it was only a half day for kids.

*Mr. Principal was nice enough to say I could go home.

*Still wasn't sure, though.

*Then I got tired of worrying about what was going to happen every time I hiccurped.

*Hiccup+Burp=Hiccurp

*Hiccurps+Ooky Feeling=Possible Public Gastric Disaster

*Lots of hiccurps today. Each of which was fraught with tension and an ominous burning sensation.

*I came home early and didn't do my usual work out.

*Hiccurps+Cardio=Carpet Cleaning

*Hiccurps-Cardio=No Mitten Knitting

*Does anyone else ever watch the opening sequence to Friends and think about how it was filmed back when they didn't know each other very well?

*And wonder if they felt kind of stupid dancing around in that fountain?

*I'd probably get the hiccurps and embarrass myself all over the place...

*They'd have to clean the fountain.

*Zombieland came out on dvd yesterday.

*No. I am not even putting a link on that one. I've been telling people about this for weeks in my "real" life and getting lots of blank looks.

*I'm tired of explaining it.

*OK. OK. Fine. I'll link it. Sheesh...here I am not feeling well and hiccurping everywhere and now I have to do links!

*Zombieland. Be still my heart...

*Still need more? OK. I'll give you the trailer...but that's it!

And that is my day in hiccurps and bullet points. I am thankful for principals that let me go home early. I am also thankful for Mrs. Secretary Who Sits At The Front Desk and the fact that she spent most of last night watching Zombieland on an endless loop. This gives me hope for our future.

And that my hiccurps will remain just that and not evolve any further. The alternative is not something we should contemplate...

SA

Blog, Darn It!!!!!!

I was in the shower this morning when I heard somethng beeping. As the sound increased in volume, piercing the early morning silence, I realized that I forgot to shut off the alarm clock when I staggered out of bed. That little beep tore into my eardrums like a rabid bunny but there was nothing I could do from the shower.

Actually, I forgot to shut off the back up alarm clock, but that is neither here nor there. I don't want to talk about the level of paranoia I have about oversleeping...

After putting on my coat, gathering my commuter breakfast and making my way to the car, I suddenly thought that my arms were less full than usual. How was it that I had a free hand with which to take the trash to The Dumpster Where The Zombies Live? I finally realized that I'd forgotten my coffee. With a sigh, I made my way back inside and up to the stairs to retrieve my blessed beverage.

When I arrived at school, I realized that my quick escape on Friday afternoon hadn't included a check of the Monday Lesson Plans. I'd forgotten to copy much of the needed material and my prep period wasn't until the last block of the day. I had to "wing it." This generally works out but not as well as I'd like.

When the Cheerful Teaching Assistant arrived, I realized that I'd forgotten to bring the peanut butter cups I made for her over the weekend. I can bring them tomorrow, but the it won't be the same. I was going for "meaningful gesture." Not "I know you had a tough go of it last week so I thought it might be nice if I forgot to bring you some chocolate treats on Monday."

I generally don't bring much for lunch, just a couple of apples to tide me over. My daytime appetite is minimal. However, I have come to enjoy my midday snack if only for the pleasure that comes from having a routine. You can imagine how distraught I was to see no apples in my school bag. All my apples were still sitting at home in the refrigerator.

Don't even ask about Daddy Sheep's birthday card. That is so overdue that I can't even begin to come up with an excuse...

By the time I got home, I was thinking how easy it would be to forget a bunch of other stuff. The workout? What workout? I don't remember anything about the need to pedal a little exercise bike or lift heavy objects for an hour.

And the mitten? I know not about the mitten-thing of which you speak. I don't recall ever having started a pair of mittens, much less needing to knit them now.

As far as your belief that I should eat a healthy dinner that includes at least one vegetable, I can't help but think you need to lie down. I have no memory of saying that I would do that sort of thing come the new year. Clearly, you are hallucinating. Have you considered medication?

Yes, I thought about all of those things and the ease with which I could just delete them from my mind. Apparently, the deletion of important information is something I am rather good at. In the end, though, I decided that it would be wrong. I dutifully donned the stinky sweats and pedaled my way to nowhere. I lifted the little weights and did a few sit ups for good measure.

I also worked on the imaginary mitten. I was committed to the remembering of stuff.

I won't say that I felt better for having followed through. I actually rather resented it a little bit. It didn't seem fair to suffer through all that forgetting at work but still have to remember the stuff I don't want to do at home. But it was the right thing to do. I even remembered to run the dishwasher like I said I would last night after I realized I forgot to do it during the weekend.

Don't ask about the healthy dinner, though. I can't be expected to remember everything...

SA

Well, I'll Be A Monkey's Uncle...

Yesterday afternoon, I was standing in the school's main office and waiting for the clock to say it was time for me to leave. Or, at the very least, for the hands to reflect a time that might lend a little credence to my fleeing the building with nary a backward glance.

With me were Mrs. Secretary Who Sits At The Front Desk and Mrs. Secretary Who Sits At The Back Desk. Also in attendance was Mrs. Perma-Sub.

The latter is the very nice lady who covers 99% of the substitute teacher duties in our building. She's sort of "on call" most days and often works in the office when she isn't needed in classrooms. She is currently helping out with some of the gaps in coverage currently being experienced in my own room.

This has been a tiring week. The kids managed to get through it and we even learned one or two of the things that the government wants students to know. However, I'd be lying if I said the staff absences didn't make it a "uniquely challenging experience." I am tired and it is when I am tired that the stupidest conversations seem to happen around me. I honestly don't try to make stupid conversation. I really don't. I can't help it if I am a magnet for the bizarre.

Mrs. Secretary Who Sits At The Back Desk: I'm going to put this vacuum cleaner away now.

Mrs Secretary Who Sits At The Front Desk: That's OK. I'll do it.

Mrs. Perma-Sub: No! Please...let me. I'm the one who spilled the tea leaves. I should do it.

Ms. Sheep: You spilled tea leaves?

MPS: Yes. I was going through my purse and....whoops! They all spilled out! I was really bummed because it was my special Monkey Tea.

MS: Pardon?

MSWSATFD: You heard her.

MSWSATBD: Monkey Tea. The special kind.

MS: You have tea made from monkeys? That seems kind of mean.

MPS: Of course not! That would be silly. This is tea that was picked by monkeys.

MS: Oh. Well that makes so much more sense. Thanks for clearing it up.

MSWSATFD: She's not kidding. It's really picked by monkeys.

MSWSATBD: And it's special.

MS: (thinks hard for a moment then has a sudden realization) I think you mean monks. Not monkeys. Monks pick tea. Monkeys don't pick tea. That's just science...

MPS: No. Well...yes. There are monks. Someone has to train the monkeys, after all.

MS: I still think you're misunderstanding your tea.

MPS: I can prove it. Look!

(She reaches into her purse and pulls out a packet of tea clearly labeled as having been picked by the aforementioned monkeys)

MS: Oh my god! They pick the tea!

MPS: I told you so.

MS: I wouldn't drink monkey picked tea.

MPS: It's really good. You should try it.

MS: No way. I know what else monkeys pick!

(Receiving only blank stares, Ms. Sheep helpfully mimes the picking up/throwing action seen in zoos the world over. Dawning horror settles over the office)

MPS: Why did you have to tell me that? Why?

MSWSATFD: Wait. Do you mean the monkeys throw their...

MPS: FE...

MSWSATBD: Stop! They're having a meeting in the next room! Don't yell FECES!!!!

MS: Why is it always me that gets involved in these conversations? And why is there always a meeting going on when I do?

I left the office with visions of monkeys dancing in my head and wondering if anyone thought to train them to wash their hands. Is there a sign in the monkey bathroom that reminds all employees about mandatory hand-washing? Do they make little monkey-sized rubber gloves? For that matter, has anyone considered the need for hairnets?

I barely slept last night for the worry of it all.

This could account for the lack of mitten progress today. I didn't once pick up the needles, although the mitten is well past the thumb gussets and could probably be finished by tomorrow if I could just get my mind off monkeys. I don't have good feeling about it, though. Once the monkeys get into your head, they hang on like, well... like monkeys. You just have to wait it out.

Monkey Picked Tea. If I hadn't seen it, I woulda never believed it...

And yes. I thought about monkey mittens. And no. I won't be knitting any. You can't pick tea in mittens. Which is the least of my monkey concerns at the moment, but you just know they'd bring it up at the union meetings...

SA

WNBP: Middle Is Better Than Nothing.

Today, I mentioned to one of the students that the week was moving along and that soon it would be over. An adult in the vicinity looked rather startled by that comment and said:

But it's only Wednesday...

I know. I am perfectly aware of the day. But it was after the noon hour and I need to find ways to put a positive spin on things right now. I didn't mention the fact that it is the day of the Wednesday Night Bullet Post. She wouldn't have understood that reference. It would have made things worse. Once you've identified Wednesday as something kind of like the end of the week, you are going to be the talk of the teacher's room. You don't want to make it any worse.

Here's this week's bullet points:

*This has been, at its best, a "trying" week.

*"Trying" is the nicest word I can think of right now.

*For the blog.

*The words I've used in real-time are not nearly so...polite.

*They are more colorful.

*Blindingly so.

*One staff member out due to surgery.

*Doc says she won't be back any time soon.

*That was all right. We could manage.

*Sort of...

*The Cheerful Teaching Assistant and I are an amazing team.

*Superheros, really.

*But now she has a family emergency.

*She never takes time off. I begrudge her nothing. She needs time, she gets it.

*Under the current circumstances, I will be alone in a room with middle school students for 7 hours a day.

*The same middle school students. They don't really go anywhere. They just sit there and stare blankly at me for hours and hours.

*All boys.

*With "adjustment issues."

*Please don't feel the need to say anything. I know. It's the sort of thing that takes the words away and leaves a person making naught but sputtering sounds.

*Still working on that second mitten.

*Got the thumb gusset done while I rode the little exercise bike today.

*It is not fair that I have to ride the little exercise bike after finding out that I have no staff with whom to share the joys of middle school teacher commentary.

*You should lose ten pounds automatically under those circumstances I think.

*The Absurdly Gi-normous Kitty is still completely enamoured with the felted mousie he got for Christmas.

*I give mousie another week.

*Then he'll be what we call in the fiber trade "a shapeless, soggy, woolen blob.

*The Big Fluffy Kitty doesn't seem to want the mousie so that all works out.

*She just wants crunchy treats.

*I emailed the Mr. Assistant Principal yesterday to let him know that I was hanging in there all alone upstairs in my classroom with The Children Of The Corn.

*I did, however, suggest that he send up one of those big dogs that carry cocoa in a barrel on their necks to the trapped skiers.

*He emailed back that we lost the dog in the budget cuts. He thought he might be able to swing the cocoa, though

*I, in turn, emailed that "cocoa" actually referred to the other beverage typically carried by those fabled doggies of yore.

*And that he should go see Mrs. Secretary Who Sits At The Back Desk because she knows how to write up the budget forms so the receipts go through without scrutiny.

*These are desperate times, after all. We can't be dithering around trying to find the cash for beverages.

*I didn't get any cocoa.

I can't think of anything else. That covers the highlights. Wednesday might be the middle of the week, but it's closer to Friday than Monday was. Tuesday is also closer to Friday, but it doesn't have the same "I can make it" feeling. Plus, my Tuesday was twelve days long so it didn't help me one little bit, thank you very much. Yup. In my world, Wednesday is just about like a Friday.

And that's the story I'm sticking with right now.

SA

Cooler Heads

I think I was 18 when my friend Beth gave me a teddy bear. I might have been 19, now that I think of it. It was one of those ages...

She gave it to me as a birthday gift, I believe. Or for Christmas. I know it was a gift-giving kind of occasion. That I'm sure of. I was 18 or 19 and it was either my birthday or Christmas. There was wrapping paper, I'm also certain on that part of the story.

Whatever the age/circumstance, I got a teddy bear. And I've slept with the thing ever since.

It's not one of those foolish, little squishy bears, either. He's firmly stuffed. I could use him as a weapon should that Bogey Man Scenario ever play itself out, although I don't think I would do that to a teddy bear. He came with fully articulated arms and legs and a jaunty red bow. There has never been, nor ever will be, a bear so fine as this.

I am now in my mid-forties and the bear remains an integral part of the bedtime ritual. I cannot sleep without him. Many is the night I have had to frantically search the wadded sheets and blankets in order to locate him so I can get the slumbering underway. I should probably take this as a sign and start making my bed every morning but I don't want to get into any bad habits over a bear.

I am also very particular about positioning. Each night, I arrange the bear thusly: First, the arms must be raised upright. This gets them out of the way. I lay on my side and hold the bear with my arms crossed around him. He must be facing outward so he can breathe. Lastly, I place my chin firmly on top of his head and push down.

Then I can sleep.

It's the chin thing that does it, I fear. It puts pressure on his poor, little noggin. And twenty or so years of pressure is going to cause problems. It doesn't matter if you're a bear or a person. Twenty years of someone pushing their chin onto your head and eventually...

Your head will pop off.

That's what happened to my bear. The first time was quite horrifying. I had no idea. I just woke up next to a headless teddy bear. There's really no way to prepare for that. None.

I stitched the head back on, but not very well. Still, it lasted for almost two years and, if my bear's head flopped around a bit, it didn't bother me all that much. Recently, though, the stitches pulled loose, I was faced with a teddy bear head that flipped back like a trash can lid. It didn't come completely off nor was it the total decapitation that so startled me a while back. But it was still kind of unnerving. It also made it hard to do the chin-press thing and, as I've stated, I need to do that. Sleep depends upon it.

I resolved to deal with this matter as quickly as possible. Which, in my world, means "wait a month then get around to it because there is nothing good on TV." Yesterday fit that definition rather nicely so I gathered my supplies and prepared for bear surgery.

It is not easy sewing my bear's head back on. There is no seam there. He wasn't meant to come apart at that spot and I blame the bear-makers for not taking into consideration the need for chin-to-head application. The fabric is dense and I had to work through the thickest of stuffings. The only way to make it work was to stitch at an angle then pull the thread tightly to close the seam. Wanting a firmer stitch, I sewed with the little sample pack of dental floss I got at my last cleaning. It was stronger than the thread I used before and allowed for vigorous tugging.

The bear was stoic throughout and I rewarded his bravery by giving him a new jaunty bow. His old one was so tattered that it didn't do much for his overall look. I think he was pleased. There's no way to know for sure since teddy bears don't talk. Even if this one did speak at one point in the distant past, the stitches that represented his mouth disappeared long ago. He'd be the strong, silent type no matter what now.

But he didn't complain when I asked him to hold the mitten-in-progress so I take that as a sign of his appreciation.

It was a delicate operation, but worth the time. I sort of wish I'd read the fine print on the dental floss package because I didn't know that my dentist switched over to the mint flavor. I'm not sure that I wanted my bear to smell quite so crisp and fresh, but there are worse things to smell at bedtime. I'm not going to complain. I now have a bear in my bed and a place to rest my chin.

I slept like a baby last night.

SA

Comparatively Speaking

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, I was a much younger version of the Sheepie you see today. I was teaching in a different school district and I wasn't knitting. I was what you might call "a knitter in remission." The combination of youth and not knitting might account for the slight arrogance I displayed back then.

Knitting humbles a person. That is just a fact. Nothing teaches more about humility than knitting.

My job then was pretty similar to the one I have now and, as such, it required that I have one or two Teaching Assistants. I interviewed several and ended up hiring a woman who was fairly new to the job market. She was more mature than most of the applicants, held a Master's degree and, due to a divorce, was now back in the job market.

She didn't so much need the work as she did the distraction. Her children were grown and her life was changing. She went from the big house, rich husband and career as wife and mother to a life she didn't fully understand.

We didn't communicate very well. I simply didn't "get" her, nor she me. The things that confounded her to the point of tears were the things I did every day. If the car needed service, the house needed maintenance or the bills needed paying, I did it. I lived on a budget and accepted that sometimes I didn't have the means to do as I pleased.

She, on the other hand, found these tasks and restrictions almost offensive. She didn't mean to be rude about it. Yet, she could come across that way. Even in her reduced circumstances, her life was easier than mine. She had resources at her disposal that I did not. Still, she found it all unbearable. It left her shaken to the point of clinical depression.

I was irritated by it. I was polite and professional but will admit that I made comments behind her back. The fact that she could dribble tears on her designer shoes and blow her nose on brand name tissues while the rest of us lived the exact same lives without drama frustrated me. As I said, I was younger then and arrogant. I didn't realize people aren't all in the same place on the learning curve. Even if I had known, I probably wouldn't have been too forgiving. And I didn't knit so I had yet to experience the humbling lessons the yarn has to teach us.

The whole thing was a good life lesson, though. I figured out along the way that misery is relative and that how a person feels is valid even if it isn't rational. The angst of a woman living in a nice house and with disposable income when compared to that of a person experiencing true loss is kind of silly. But that's just how it goes sometimes and comparing misery doesn't always make a person feel any better.

I also learned that eye-rolling is human nature in these kinds of situations. Who among us isn't going to want to rip the toilet plunger out of the murky water and hurl it at the person whining about how their new bathroom renovation is going slowly because the handmade tiles are on back order? It's a forgivable impulse.

Although why you would invite this person over to talk about handmade bath tiles while you plunge out your old, leaky toilet is beyond me...

It is in the spirit of this understanding attitude that I present to you my mitten. It is but a single mitten and yet it has consumed me. I have whined about that mitten and how it is trying to thwart me at every turn for a week now. Wait...it might even be longer than that. I don't remember. All I know is that it has driven me crazy. It is a humble mitten. I've knit more challenging things without these issues. There is nothing fancy about this mitten at all. In fact, it is a simple project and not something to inspire such drama. But mittens have always fought me and drama is relative to the person experiencing it.

And so is eye-rolling. You have my permission to roll your eyes with wild abandon. In your position and faced with the same simple mitten, I'd probably do the same.

I cast on the second of the pair this morning and am moving forward. I'm not going to let my mitten angst keep me from finishing them and I'm going to try to keep it in perspective. After all, there are people out there tinking back lace shawls from the fiftieth repeat to the third and you don't hear them complaining, do you?

Although, I might point out that shawls do not have thumbs...

SA

EEP! WNBP!

I just said, "EEP!" That's because I suddenly realized that it is later than I thought. And that it is Wednesday, not Tuesday. Short work weeks will do that to you. It's a nice surprise, but still a little disconcerting.

Let's get those bullet points up and running before the whole night gets away from me:

*I finished one mitten.

*Still need to weave in the ends.

*Mittens shouldn't have so many ends.

*These are not fair isle mittens.

*Regular mittens. Why all the ends???

*Also need to do magical things to the thumb. The thumb did what thumbs always do.

*It went awry.

*It's always something with thumbs.

*Thumb-thing"

*It's always "thumb-thing" with thumbs...

*I felt the need to write that out loud. Why, I don't know.

*I thought it would sound better than it actually read...

*I was discussing Very Important Life Decisions with The Cheerful Teaching Assistant today.

*Kids were off enjoying their gym class.

*Deep discussion.

*Overtones fairly dripping with import.

*Then I looked out the window and said, "Oh for crying out loud! It's snowing again!!!"

*Pithy Life Discussions don't stand a chance when more stupid snow starts falling.

*I lied. I didn't say, "for crying out loud."

*What I said was actually worse than that.

*Kids out of the room.

*Still...not the sort of thing you like to admit.

*More snow.

*It's Wednesday.

*That helps.

*Closer to Friday.

*I have no plans for the weekend.

*Should pencil in some time to knit a second mitten.

*I'm thinking that I'll do one without a thumb.

*One thumbed mitten is enough, don't you think?

*People who receive handknit mittens as a gift shouldn't get all judgemental about them.

*It would be impolite to question my thumb decisions.

*That's just good manners.

*Seriously. I'll do anything to not have to knit another thumb.

*Thumb=Dumb.

*Even weaving in all those ends that shouldn't be there on a simple mitten is better than knitting a thumb.

*Of course, I need the ends near the thumb so I can stitch up the stupid holes.

*Karmic. Sort of...

*When the Cheerful Teaching Assistant arrived to start her shift today, I was glad to see her.

*I needed someone to watch the kids so I could go to the bathroom.

*And I said so.

*The Great Debater, who was working diligently at his laptop, looked up and said as only a 14 year old boy can, "Um...thanks for sharing."

*Teenage boys do not understand or sympathize with the fickle nature of the middle age bladder.

*In fact, they will roll their eyes and make the owner of said bladder feel rather decrepit.

*EEP!!!

*I'd have spoken up in defense of the trembling bladder except I didn't really have time for that sort of thing.

*Two cups of coffee...

*I'm not knitting mittens for that kid. Not even the thumbless kind.

And that's the news from here. At least the stuff that's fit to print. And a little of the stuff that's not exactly fit to print but which sometimes slips through anyway. I must now head off to stare at a finished mitten and make up some excuses for not dealing with the thumb. That should take up a good part of my evening and then it's off to bed. I need my rest.

There's still another mitten left to go and I'm pretty sure I'm going to end up knitting a thumb.

SA

Truth Be Told

There are lots of jobs that look simpler than they really are. I know this. I am aware. I have insight into the situation even if I don't have expertise.

I know that just because I only ever see the pharmacist counting pills, that her job is actually far more complex. I can count. That doesn't make me a pharmacist.

I know that air traffic controllers only seem to be passively watching dots on a screen. There is no way on this earth I would ever want that job. Air travel as we know it would cease to exist. No one would fly. It would be safer to just roll the planes around on the ground.

I often hear that teachers have really short working days. People think that the day starts when the kids sit down for the first class and ends when the last bell rings. I am, in fact, a teacher and I know this to be untrue. There's lots of vacation time, granted. But not the fabulous day to day schedule that people see on the surface of it all.

As a result of all this great insight, I know that the guy doing the weather every night is not just a big smile with the ability to "put the map in motion." The whole thing is a science and maybe a little bit of an art form. You don't just guess at the forecast. You study stuff and use big words. Meteorology is hard work. While everyone else is looking out the window for a clue, these fine men and women are casting their gazes further.

This did not stop me from calling everyone involved in the profession a liar at least fifty times over the past week or so. One minute, I'm told to batten the hatches for a big ol' storm. The next, I'm directed to stand down because it's not going to be a big deal. And then it's Monday and I'm clearing a foot of snow from my car.

Today, I was told to expect a few snow showers. These, as I recall, were the last few remnants from the big storm that came in spite of a forecast that kept changing and lying to me every few days. I should have learned something from that experience. I should have known better.

I was still surprised by the endless flakes falling from the sky. No, it wasn't the sort of thing that left piles of snow all over the place. However, it did make for a tricky ride home this afternoon and forced me to resort to that short work day that everyone thinks teachers have. Once the last kidlet was on a bus, I was out the door. I know that the meteorologists weren't lying to me.

It just felt like it...

I suppose that, in the spirit of honesty, I should admit to not finishing that mitten yesterday. I should further confess that it was the thumb. I hate knitting thumbs. I either think I know better and ignore the pattern notes at my peril or I go against my better judgement and do what the pattern says. Again with the peril.

Thumbs thwart me. Thumbs are as tricky as weather forecasts. You can use all the science in the world to figure them out, but they still sometimes end up doing something unexpected.

I feel better for being honest about it, though. I knit some thumb while I was riding the little exercise bike this afternoon. The minor snow showers that weren't supposed to be a big deal fell like mad outside while the thumb took ever more interesting turns and, somehow, the world seemed to be in balance.

I hear that the weather will be improving later in the week. And the thumb seems to be nearing completion.

Quite honestly, I trust neither of these eventualities.

SA

Deleting The Truth

Three day weekends are pretty awesome. They are also just a little bit deceptive. They seem bigger than they really are, the ultimate optical illusion. You think you can fit lots and lots of stuff in there. And you can. However, you have to be honest with yourself about how many hours are truly in a day and how many of those can be spent sitting on the couch playing computer games.

If you let yourself get fooled by the illusion, you might start thinking that sitting and playing computer games is a fine thing to do. You'll tell yourself that you have plenty of time in which to do all the things you put on that list you made back when the weekend was all fresh and new.

Suddenly, you will glance up at the clock and cry out in horror, "6:00? How the heck did that happen??? I just got out of bed...I think."

The fact of the matter is that I did not just get out of bed, although I did sleep in a bit today. I had plenty of time to do a few things on my list. Instead, I failed to account for the fact that clocks move in a forward direction and I let the hours slide away while merrily playing computer games.

A few things got done. I can honestly say that I didn't waste the entire day. But I'd be lying if I said I used my time well. Mopping the kitchen floor? No. That is not done. Finding my favorite brown sweater that disappeared a week ago? No. Didn't even bother looking. Knitting one whole mitten?

Well, you tell me. Does that look like a whole mitten?

Even using the loosest possible definition of "mitten," this does not qualify. It's not even a fingerless mitt, really. It's a thumbless thing and lacking most of the features one looks for in a hand warming accessory. It is also of a singular nature, but I don't want to compound my feelings of failure so we will not dwell upon this any further.

Fortunately, I make my lists using a computer application. I can delete stuff and there won't be so much as a trace of my failure unless they bring in a data retrieval team. Further, I am using a trial version until I can decide which program I want to purchase. Even if I don't delete my scheduling flights of fancy and failure, the whole thing goes away in fifteen days. Again...like it never happened. Sort of like the hours disappear when you are playing computer games on a gray, snowy Sunday.

Plus, there's always tomorrow. The pressure of the last day in a three day weekend sometimes spurs me to greatness. There is every reason to hope for shiny floors and finished thumbs. It will just take some concentration and the will to turn off the laptop.

Unless, of course, I fail to finish the game before bedtime. Then I'll have to put in a few more hours tomorrow. After that, though, I'll be the most efficient doer of stuff you've ever seen!

SA

A Cupful Of Trouble

I'm a little short-staffed in my classroom at the moment. The Organized Teaching Assistant recently had surgery and is home recuperating. That leaves The Cheerful Teaching Assistant and me to keep the peace for the foreseeable future. Or the end of the month. Or less. Or longer. It's all up to the OTA's surgeon and he won't take my calls. Or my bribe money.

I had a number of students absent on Friday so we divvied up the assignments for the day fairly easily. The CTA would travel on the bus so that our two eligible students could enjoy a morning of bowling as a reward for all their hard work and not being too horrible. I would remain behind to play video games with The Kid Who Doesn't Have An Off Switch. We don't have days of such fun and frivolity all the time, but every once in a while we like to kick up our heels. It helps. We say it's for the kids, but I don't think we're fooling anyone.

It is debatable who got the better of the assignments for that day and I'll leave it up to you to decide for yourself whether I won or lost that coin toss. There was no "ideal" in this situation.

Before the bus arrived and while the kids were in other classes, I spent a little time perusing the interwebs in search of a new coffee maker. Mine has been leaking all over the counter for a year now. I felt that living with this situation was a just punishment for buying the thing in the first place. I knew better. The last one I had didn't work any more efficiently and I felt that making the same mistake twice deserved my being taught a lesson. However, even I can't punish myself forever. I needed a new coffee maker. And I was willing to pay as much as fifty whole dollars to remedy the situation.

That's right. Fifty. Whole. Dollars. I'm nothing if not dedicated to my morning java and am a mighty big spender. I even knew what I wanted. There's a miracle machine out there with the grinder right in it so you don't have to waste so much as a second in between wanting coffee and brewing it. It does it all. You just put in the beans and presto! I even found one for less than fifty whole dollars!

I mentioned this to the CTA who suggested that I might like one of those fancy, one cup deals that comes with the cool little cups of pre-measured coffee. I declined. One cup coffee makers aren't enough. I need more. Much more. Besides, they cost more than fifty whole dollars. They cost almost two fifty whole dollars and that was more than I wanted to pay.

The CTA left for the bowling trip and I played a few games with TKWDHAOS. Then he decided that I wasn't enough competition for him and I was free to shop for coffee makers again. I would have done some knitting, but I forgot it. As the only other choice was paperwork, I thought that looking for coffee makers was the better time killer.

To appease the CTA, I looked up the machine she suggested. Surprisingly, I found several features that met my needs. It worked fast so I could actually brew the morning's coffee for the day pretty easily. It had an auto-start option and you could even buy a filter that let you use your own coffee instead of the packaged stuff. It was more than fifty whole dollars, but it was becoming more and more appealing to me.

The CTA returned and I told her what I'd learned. She is a shopping enabler of the highest degree and made several good points in favor of spending more than fifty whole dollars on something as important to my day as coffee. I was 90% won over by day's end. I checked the store's website to make sure that the item was in stock before I left school and headed out. I still wasn't sure. Except for the part where I was...

I arrived at the store with that 10% doubt factor nagging at me from the back of my head. However, I was so entranced by the thought of the fifty whole dollars times two machine that I quickly pushed that little voice aside. I was going to do it! I really was!

I located the little filter in the coffee section and put it in my cart. I was going to need that. It would add twelve more whole dollars to my bill, but would mean my coffee at home wouldn't be going to waste. Then I began searching for the coffee maker of my dreams.

They didn't have it. Not anywhere in the store. I looked and looked. They had the little filter. But not the big fifty whole dollars times two machine. I got that frustrated, grumpy feeling I sometimes get when I am thwarted in my quest to spend more than fifty whole dollars. I ended up putting the little filter back to make room for the coffee maker that was less than fifty whole dollars. The one that I was going to buy in the first place back before I got all sidetracked by tales of fancier coffee makers.

The whole thing made me tired. It seemed like a lot of work just for a cup of coffee, although I suppose I can always make a cup of coffee to wake up from it all. Still...it's a long way to go to end up where you started.

Even the Absurdly Gi-normous Kitty was tuckered out from all the excitement.

I suppose it could also have something to do with the fact that he spent four hours playing with the box the coffee maker came in. It was a big day for everyone. He really should rest up, though.

The grinder on the new coffee maker is stupidly loud and scares the ever-lovin' daylights out of him. Mornings should be fun from now on...

SA

WNBP: Babies And Ten Years In Therapy

Ah, Wednesday! You might get a bad rap from others, what with being the middle of the week and all. Some people don't see your beauty. They don't understand how you have a certain "something" that makes the day just a little bit brighter. You may not be Friday, but you ain't chopped liver. You are the day of the Wednesday Night Bullet Post! How can I not love you for that?

Here's what I came up with for this particular beauty of a Wednesday:

*As I headed out for today's commute, the car told me that it was -4 degrees.

*I often think that my car is overly hysterical about the weather. It gets all worked up.

*Today, though, I felt that it was being somewhat optimistic.

*Cold out there...

*I started anew on the mittens for Mrs. Secretary Who Sits At The Back Desk.

*There is a cuff.

*And a little bit of not-cuff.

*There will be no further flights of fancy with these mittens.

*Plain mittens will be finished. Thrummed mittens will only lead to tears.

*I just started Chris Wooding's Poison.

*Even if you don't care for Youth Lit, I'd still suggest you give this author a try.

*Magical...

*The Kid Who Doesn't Have An Off Switch didn't want to eat lunch in the cafeteria today so he ate in the classroom.

*He's my only 7th grader.

*Why he suddenly felt that the dining experience would be improved by my having a baby, I don't know.

*But that's what he felt we needed to discuss. He even drew a picture of my future child on the board for me.

*He's not a great artist so he had to get creative.

*Round baby with flippers.

*Then he decided it looked like an alien baby so he made it green.

*And wrote, "Happy Pregnancy, Ms. Sheep!"

*The Cheerful Teaching Assistant was quite amused.

*She's not getting any mittens from me.

*I am not going to explain menopause to a 12 year old at lunch. That is not in my contract.

*The entire episode ended thusly:

TKWDHAOS: (looking happily upon his round, green flipper baby) Ms. Sheep, I really enjoyed making a baby with you.

Ms. Sheep: (only capable of making incoherent gurgling sounds as she watches her career crumble around her)

TKWDHAOS: No! That's not what I meant! I meant drawing a baby! FOR you! Not WITH you!

MS: Please stop talking.

TKWDHAOS: (adolescent voice cracking as hysteria overtakes him) For you! Drawing! No making babies!!! C'mon! You know what I meant! Right?

MS: Stop. Talking. Now. I need to call my therapist. I suggest you do the same.

(By now, the Cheerful Teaching Assistant is beyond help and must leave the room before she laughs herself into an injury. In the other room, the boy who is Gauged And Aerodynamic is sitting slumped over his computer because he has been sick all day. Even from this position and in the throes of his infirmity, he can clearly be heard to say, "You are one sick little dude...")

TKWDHAOS: You KNOW what I meant! You know... drawing...baby...

MS: For the rest of the day? No eye contact.

TKWDHAOS: (collapsing in a chair) Agreed.

*In all the excitement, I forgot to erase the board.

*One of the subs came in to ask a question and now there is an unquashable rumor going around the building regarding my being With Child.

*Not true.

*No alien baby. With or without flippers.

*Just years and years of therapy ahead of me.

*It's still really cold out there.

*I'd go ask my car what the actual temperature is, but I don't trust it.

*And I probably shouldn't go out in my delicate condition anyway.

*There's a three day weekend coming up.

*Which seems sort of wrong considering that I just finished a long vacation.

*Not going to quibble, though. I like a three day weekend.

*I can knit mittens.

*And read my book.

*And not have to talk about alien babies.

Another Wednesday settles quietly into twilight and Sheepie is going to see about getting herself some dinner. Nutrition is important for we alien-flipper-baby-mommies, after all. I should probably eat something with folic acid since I hear good things about that. I don't know as I have anything with folic acid in it, but it's worth a look in the ol' cupboards. Failing that, I'll probably just go with something from the bourbon shelf.

At least until I can find a therapist who specializes in Unfinished Mitten/Temperature Sensitive Car/Alien-Flipper Baby Issues...

SA