{Rubber-Sol: Why, hello there!}

Rip It Off. . . Quick!

Yes, folks.  Tomorrow is the day.  The official R.T.W.A.E.M. (Return to Work After Eight Months) Day.  After much deliberation and many sleepless nights of "Should I return to work" or "Should I extend my leave?" thoughts tumbling around my brain, I finally concluded that yes, I need to return to work.  I also concluded, after absolutely no deliberation, that YES, THIS SUCKS.  Um, yeah.

Click for larger

In a way, I'm kinda excited to see my friends at work.  So tomorrow should have a small portion of fun included in the mix, don't you think?  That honeymoon period of "How are yous?" and "What have you been up tos" should last for at least a couple of hours tomorrow, right? And won't everyone else be be suffering from the Monday Tuesday blues, especially after being off for the holidays?  Somehow I manage to feel better when everyone else around me is, well, miserable.

I think the worst part about going back to work is that I'll have to be ready two hours earlier than normal.  Just thinking about waking up that early is making me yearn for a nap.  Naps are golden.  Like dear George Costanza said, "The only thing that gets me up in the morning. . . is the thought of a nap."

And let's see. What else? Oh yes, my wardrobe. Um, last I heard spit-up on one's shoulder cannot pass for the grunge look, and sour-milk scented sweaters can't either.  The three-days-in-a-row-jeans won't quite suffice in the workplace so I'll have to explore the depths of my closet to find something decent for tomorrow.  I'll have to think of something quick. 

I'm hoping that I can stretch out this honeymoon phase of returning to work by feigning real work for at least a week.  Or two.  You know, the I'm carrying a manila envelope because I've got some really important documents that I'm working on trick.  When y'all know I'm really going to the bathroom to check my hair.  Again.

I just wish that I could get tomorrow over with quicklike.  You know, like ripping off a bandaid. Just do it quick, and get the misery out of the way.  A painless procedure.

Work.

*Sigh* 

Wish me luck, guys.  And you know, as the eleventh hour approaches, I'm actually thinking of filling out that Leave of Absence form afterall.  Stay tuned to find out what I do.

And meanwhile, Anne, good luck tomorrow!

Three Blind Mice...See How They Run

I've been feeling rather SKETCHY lately. A bit FRAZZLED. And even a tad FREAKED-OUT. I'm utterly and completely SPOOKED.

You see, our mouse problem has turned into a MOUSES PROBLEM (as Alison would call it). Every little creak of our house makes me cringe. Every movement of shadow, every flicker of light makes me jump out of my skin. I'm that scared of mice.

In fact when Hank came to bed Tuesday night, he accidentally hit the bed post, shaking me from a deep sleep. Apparently I screamed from beneath the covers and then cryptically asked, "What's the score?" Hank shrugged this off as mouse-induced insanity, I suppose. I don't remember a thing.

I do remember asking him to check things out at 4 in the morning when I heard "something out there" in the house. He came back to bed with three glorious words.

"We got 'em!"

At that point I think I heard angels in heaven singing. Relief overwhelmed me, and I actually fell asleep quite peacefully. Alison was quite excited to see our furry little pal "Mickey" entrapped in its tomb, and she didn't spare any details about size, color, trap position etc. I wanted to vomit, but was utterly relieved to know that our pal had passed.

Wednesday was spent in sheer relief and comfort of normalcy. Hank had cleaned up the kitchen (the death scene), and even threw away all of the traps. Wednesday night I bravely entered the kitchen for the first time in days, and as I was putting away some pans in the cupboard, a GRODY rodent came FLASHING out and ran towards my feet.

I screamed a blood-curdling scream. In fact, dogs responded by barking and howling at me (really). Hank checked out the kitchen while I quickly ran to Lowe's to buy THE SAME TRAPS. AGAIN! Oh the horror! I knew another sleepless night was ahead, and I wanted to run and hide.

It's moments like these when it seems that God is watching from above, playing silly jokes on me. Chuck E. Cheese commercials kept airing. The House of Mouse eerily taped itself on TiVo. And then Alison chose Noisy Nora, a story about a loud little mouse who doesn't get attention from her family.

Thursday morning Alison and Hank checked the traps again to find mouse #2 (we'll refer to this one as "Chuck E.") with its head BLUDGEONED by a snapping trap. I think at this point I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Actually Alison was quite the heroine. She opened doors for me, peeked in cupboards, turned on lights, and checked out rooms for me. She has NO FEAR at all. On Thursday morning we came home from art class, and Alison dutifully checked the traps for me. She proudly announced, "Mama! I chased a mouse right into a trap!" And lo and behold, she had chased a mouse right into a sticky trap!!!

And then she gave me too many details.

"Awww, Mama....he's all bloody! There's blood coming out of him face, Mama!"

I was a bit curious to know why he was bloody, but I couldn't bring myself to look at the trap.

"He's still alive, Mama! Look at it, Mama! Look!"

I thought I was going to pass out so I turned my head and to my HORROR! I saw that a snapping trap across the kitchen had been triggered. Eerily there was NO mouse, but PLENTY of BLOOD. Apparently "Minnie" had pulled out of the guillotine-style trap, and then dragged herself across the room. And that's when Alison entered the kitchen and scared her into STICKY DEATH.

Fortunately my mother was present, and helped calm my nerves. She too was a heroine and cleaned out our entire pantry and reorganized our cupboards so that tiny critters cannot lurk and hide anymore. I'm still a bit freaked out. I haven't seen any furry little friends in over twenty four hours, but I am not going to let down my guard!!!

P.S. If you haven't checked out the comments from my previous mouse post, please do. Some of them are HILARIOUS! I think that Nurse Cox and Violetismycolor win for CREEPIEST stories! What do you think?

P.S. #2 My linklicious page has been updated! You may have to refresh your browser to view the new changes.

The Mouse is in the House

I really hate being startled and surprised by swift moving wee things.

So imagine my terror when I was busily knitting on the couch Sunday night. I heard little rustling noises coming from the heater area. Hank was in the office checking e-mail, and suddenly out of the corner of my eye I saw a black streak of movement. Horrified I stopped my "knit purl knit purl" and there before me was a MOUSE! A tiny, beady-eyed little thing. I screamed.

At the top of my lungs.

"A RAT! A RAT!" (of course the terror level was at its highest at this point...and this mere mouse transformed into a RAT! A toothy, gnarly RAT!).

Hank came running over to my rescue, and by this time, of course, hickory dickory dock. The mouse ran up the clock.

Actually it ran straight up the wall heater. That night Hank set out some traps and taped up the heater so that it would be forced into the tiny traps (the only kind available at 1 a.m.!). Monday morning I was hopeful as Hank checked the traps. No dice. No mice.

After work we checked again. Nada. It was 3:50 p.m., and I was dutifully checking my eBay auctions when I heard that darn rustling again. And then out of no where this damn mouse came scurrying right TOWARDS my feet. Now mind you, this was RIGHT AFTER Hank gave me a pep talk, "Now you're waaaay bigger than this thing....it's not going to run TOWARDS you....afterall you're much bigger than it...blah blah blah!"

I quickly packed up the kids and an overnight bag and headed to my parents' house for the evening as I wasn't going to spend another night of terror of tossing and turning like I did Sunday night. The mind is a horrible instigator of evil, spooky ooky thoughts. This morning I called Hank to check on the mouse status, and unfortunately there's NOTHING. 16 traps (excessive? Yes!) and not a sign of mousage anywhere!

I'm quite exhausted today as I slept with both babes in the bed, and trust me it wasn't a pretty sight. The evening involved kicked ribs, hair pulling, and 1 a.m. crying (Henry, not me). I know that if I don't go home today, that terrorist mouse will win. I must prove to it that I am STRONG and I will not succumb to his idle threats.

Oh somebody help! I don't wanna go home!

Huffy Puffy Mood

Today was my first official day back at work. I have a new title: Academic Intervention Specialist. A rather long, somewhat hoity toity title, but in reality I'll be at the mercy of my leaders. Hopefully I won't say, "Yes! Mastah!" too much this year. Nevertheless, I was blessed this year in that I was able to land a half time position which will allow me to do all the fun SAHM stuff with my kids. So my work schedule will be as follows:

Mondays, Wednesdays, and alternating Fridays

And my vacation times will be: November 24 - January 4; all of April, and July 25 - September 1 (or so). Hank will have the same vacation times (for the first time in three years!) so we're hoping to go on a real, bonafide vacation in a few months. Yay!

On a not-so-happy note, I was extremely irritated to find that the teacher (who is now in my old classroom) had taken liberty to pack up all of my personal belongings. It was awfully nice of her to do that, yes, but I felt like she had taken over my room before I even had a chance to clear myself out of there. And what bothered me the most is that she chose to KEEP some of my items!

I saw her today and she mentioned in passing, "Oh I know you're not teaching this year.....so I have some of your supplies in my room that I've kept."

"........oh?"

During lunch I went to my old classroom (with her permission) to see what she had horded as her stash. And here's what she took ownership of:

1. My ENTIRE personal video collection (10 or so videos, even one home video of my kids)
2. Hundreds of dollars of my prizes, candies, pencils and other assorted knick knacks that I award as prizes to students. (She had opened up all of the packages, and put them in a basket to give to her students!)
3. My extra computer ink cartridges (both color and black and white).
4. My entire collection of raffle tickets.
5. A kitchen timer, calculator, picture frames
6. Pencils engraved WITH MY NAME on them!
7. My LCD projector (HELLO! Can't have a lawnchair extravaganza without that!)

I can go on and on....you get the gist. Luckily I was able to retrieve all of the items, but I just feel kinda funny now towards her. I did the nice girl thing, and went out and bought her a small gift for packing up all of my stuff. I'll present it to her tomorrow with a thank you card, but in reality I feel rather icky and resentful (?) towards her. Am I right to feel like this?

And now on a happier note, I wanted to THANK everyone for such positive e-mails regarding the photo album password protection. I feel fortunate that you understand how I feel about posting photos on the internet, and it was never my intention to alienate anyone from this site. I hope no one feels that way.

I did, in fact, add more pictures to the album! Take another peek, if you wish. And before I close, here's a snapshot of the flirty apron I'm knitting for dear MIL. I'm quite excited with the progress. Pretending that I know how to knit is paying off, it seems. Click! for larger view.

I'm Gonna Go, Like, Postal

Visiting the local post office is right up there with going to the dentist. Actually I think a shot or two of novacaine® would probably do wonders if they could, you know, NUMB OUT THE PAIN I must endure while standing in line. Yesterday was kinda chaotic because the whole family was present with me while I delivered my goods. Just imagine a family of four walking in with a Rite Aid cart full of boxes. Hank steered while I frantically tried to fill out the customs forms for several packages that were headed abroad (Finland! England! Sweden!). Henry was entranced with the doorbell that notified the workers behind the counter, and Alison busied herself by looking at the stamps.

The lines there always inch along painfully slow, and the workers are always so CHIPPER! I mean really. Does it really hurt to smile? And could they move any S-L-O-W-E-R? By the time I reached the front of the line, I was sweating like a pig because it was like a freakin' oven, and the clerk kept telling me, "You know if you have to tape up the package like that.....this package might not pass customs.....if you were in another clerk's line, they wouldn't let this slide.......*sigh*...but I will."

Domo Arigato. Mrs. Robato.

Today's trip to the local P.O. was a bit more entertaining despite the fact that the line snaked all the way out onto the sidewalk outside. The man in front of me felt a sense of obligation to entertain fellow customers, by asking quirky questions, like, "If the doctor gave you three pills and told you to take one every thirty minutes, how long would it take to consume all three?"

"An hour," I sighed.

"Oh you're smart!" The man's face lit up. He had an audience now.

Damn...shoulda stayed quiet.

And then he proceeded to throw out random zip codes to get people to guess the location. Like I care, mister. Then he started muttering something about the Mason-Dixon line and time zones, and basically at that point I checked out (as I'm sure you already have while reading this).

So what's the point of this post? Lawd knows! Except the fact that I hate the post office. All I do is spend time and money there.....this week's tally was almost two hours....and two hundred dollars in postage fees. Heck! For that much time and money, I'd rather get some sort of spa treatment at Burke Williams!

Oh yeah. A spa treatment. Yeah that's it. That's the ticket.

****Ed. Note Okay so I just went and re-read through Giao's post office post, and I noticed that I had commented on it. My comment read, "Going to the p.o. is right up there with going to the DENTIST." How original. SHEESH. I need to get some new lines in my repertoire.

Wednesday Blahs

SEE the GROUCH!When I woke up today, there was a slight, eerie mist in the air which threatened to frizz out my freshly straightened hair (I'm the girl with the fickle hair -- not quite straight, not quite wavy). Not even Frizz Ease and my flattening iron could combat this mysterious mist (Grouch-Inducing Incident #1). Arriving to work, I realized that I forgot to wear my flag shirt, so I found myself surrounded by chipper, patriotic co-workers (Grouch-Inducing Incident #2). Our fearless leader even added to this fiery inferno of grouchiness by snapping, "Ms. Saito.....where is your flag shirt?........We told you about it yesterday....."

....Uh excuse me? Wasn’t “Flag Day” on Monday?

So yes, I admit it. I'm kinda grouchy. If my husband were here right now he would mostly likely remark, "Are you on the Grouchapalooza tour today?" Then I would most likely giggle.

Instead of giggling, I'm here at work (G.I.I. #3). We have this crazy-a** testing schedule which forces me to entertain my students for loooong stretches of time (on Monday I had my students for 105 minutes). They're busy taking their tests right now, while I rant in this here blog.

To add to the circus fun, there has been a helicopter (G.I.I. #4) circling above our school grounds for the past four hours. FIVE HOURS!!

Oh not to worry, it’s just a gunman roaming around town.
That cop over there by the cafeteria? He’s here to protect and serve.
Just mind your own, now.
We're gonna have a lock down soon. You'll have to stay with your last class until the coast is clear. We'll send snacks around if it gets too close to dinnertime.

Grouchy Girl font provided by dinc!

Stitch N Bitch N Bitch N Bitch

I've known how to crochet since I was in single digits (8? or 9? years of age). My maternal grandmother taught me, and in fact, my first project was a sweater for her dog (shall I mention that she lives in humid Hawaii?). My daughter and I have matching scarves, and I've made my share of afghans, potholders etc. So I figured, if I can crochet, I can knit, right? Well, err.....I don't know about that!

Today my eager hands got hold of a hot copy of Stitch N' Bitch, and I read the opening chapters of the history of knitting with much agog. Entering into the heart of the book, I found it most difficult to train my crochet fingers to become knitting fingers. The "casting on" portion was fairly simple, but learning how to actually create stitches had me in complete frustration! Ugh! Is it me or should there be a hook on the end of the knitting needles? I mean how are you supposed to "grab" the yarn?! Where is that crochet hook when I need it?

Taxes....Schmaxes

Click! for tax grumpies

If you drive a car, I'll tax the street
If you try to sit, I'll tax your seat
If you get too cold, I'll tax the heat
If you take a walk, I'll tax your feet
Tax man
Well I'm the tax man
Yea I'm the tax man

-The Beatles

Today is a yucky day. A yucky, yucky day. A day when my husband and I forked over two grand in TAXES. Ugh! Bah Humbug! Why I'd rather spend all that ca$h on shoes. . .or clothes. . .or a new computer! *Sigh* The list goes on and on. Did you have to pay? Or were you a lucky duck who got a tax return?!

Working Hard? Or Hardly Working?

"All [white] all around, we are safe. But watch us drive into a neighborhood of another color and our knees go shakity-shake and our car windows get rolled up tight and our eyes look straight. Yeah. That is how it goes and goes." -Sandra Cisneros

I work in an urban middle school in a not so hot neighborhood. I've worked there for 9 years, and frankly, I can't imagine working anywhere else. Usually when people realize that I work at School X, in Neighborhood Y, they can't seem to fathom why I've remained there for so long. At the onset of my career, I could have chosen a more illustrious school, one with high performing students, but instead, I chose School X. And I'm happy with my choice.

Occasionally, though, it's difficult to field insensitive remarks that are made. Ones like, "If you had to go to another school [implying a high performing school], you would have to work a lot harder."

Excuse me?

Or, "We [at Illustrious School] have a lot higher standards for our students. . . ."

What?

Talk about invalidating. I work my arse off with kids who come to school unbathen in unkempt clothing, with kids who come from single-family homes (either their dad is in jail, dead or missing), with students who come from families so blended and mixed up, I don't dare ask why they have four siblings with varying surnames. I work with kids who eat Hot Cheetos for breakfast and then they feast on the free lunches provided by the state.

These are the kids who go home to empty apartments, the ones that stay vacant and lonely until their parents come home late in the evening. Or most often, these students are found loitering the campus premises after school hours, simply because home is an unhappy place.

As a teacher at School X, I am forced to be a surrogate mother, friend, confidante, counselor, nurse, psychologist.

"But our teachers at Illustrious School have to do that too" they say.

Well, Illustrious teacher. How many of your students have died/become pregnant/committed suicide? How many of your students are drop-outs? And how many of them hear bullets go off at night? every night?

Not too many, I presume.

And do your students have to worry about rent money? The phone bill? Babysitting younger siblings while mama works the nightshift? Do your students have to worry about what other kids will say because they've worn the same, dirty shirt three days in a row? Or what about having to pull out their hair weaves because the money it would cost to take them off is too burdensome on the wallet?

I don't think that your students have any of these worries.

Oh I know your students have problems and worries too. But your students are pre-packaged and ready to go to college. Because society expects them to succeed. And they will.

But don't get all high-falutin' on me.

"Well what about test scores?" you ask. Excuse me, but haven't you noticed? My students have more imperative things on their minds. Like, say, will I get to see my dad this month? Or I hope we have electricity tonight.

I work my arse off to give my students a safe haven, a place they're happy to be, even if it's in the 20' X 20' space of my classroom. Getting them to enter the classroom and work past their problems and issues at home is HARD WORK. I invite any teacher from Illustrious School to work in my classroom for ONE DAY. ONE.DAY.

Then we'll see who has to work hard.

Island Hopping

As it stands right now, I have to hop over islands of laundry that are sprinkled all over the living room floor. Washing, drying, and (heck!) sometimes even folding the laundry doesn't bother me so much as putting the laundry away! (Oh let's not get started on that one).

And once, just once, I would like to sit down on my couch without having some toy truck or baby doll ram me in the bum. And those battery operated toys? Those scare the living bejeezus out of me, especially when I'm getting a midnight glass of water, and a careless kick in the dark sends Elmo singing or Pooh giggling. I hate that.

Anyhow, I have proclaimed today as THE DAY. I'm set to do some heavy "spring cleaning." It's only 10:30ish, and I've already cleared out ELEVEN A TRUCK LOAD of bags (18 gallon size) of junk from our abode.

So does my house look airy and light? Hardly! I do have dreams, however, of having a tidy home, one that comes right out of the pages of Pottery Barn. But with two little humans in the house, the dreaming will have to continue for a tiny bit longer I suppose.