Clocked

On this beautiful Memorial Day, I spent a lot of time outside with my buddy, Shea. One of my new favorite things to do with Shea is hit him his tennis ball with a baseball bat. I basically have batting practice, while Shea plays the field. 

Batting, made me think of the days I used to go watch Jeff play softball. He played in a slow pitch league representing a bar called Props. A bar that was so lovingly compared to Cheers. I think more for the fact that everyone knew your name, not for the deer heads on the wall. Anyways, Jeff had softball games every week. When I was in the area, I used to love to go and watch. 

I was so upset I was running late one day, heading over to his game. I was sure to miss at least one inning. And when it comes to slow pitch softball, you can understand why I was so upset to miss an inning. Pure action and excitement! As I hustled to the field, I noticed I did not see Jeff out on the field. What the heck? Maybe he was late too. As I got closer I noticed someone sitting in the dugout, injured looking. I said to myself, "that's probably Jeff," although I wasn't actually serious. The closer I got, the more I began to believe my declaration. This injured person was beginning to look an awful lot like Jeff. 

Turns out, Jeff had hit a grounder to second base. The second baseman, not only was nice and close, but had an arm like a rocket. As Jeff ran to first, the second basemen's rocket of an arm let go of an errant throw. An errant throw that hit my helmetless boyfriend right in the cheekbone/temple area. From the recounts of the event, he dropped like a fly. Just hit the ground like he was dead. After some smelling salts awoke him from his coma, he was in the dugout keeping score. His face had no ice on it, just a gigantic lump with the stitches of the ball etched in it. 

When I got up to him, he told me he could really use some ice. While Jeff had already been sitting there with another head growing off of the side of his face for about ten minutes, I felt that without the ice I was asked to get, he might die. I was sure he wouldn't survive another minute without it. I was not running in any races at that point, but I probably ran faster to the gas station on the corner than I ever have in my life.The ice didn't really help with the pain or the swelling. 

The night left me thankful for a few things. One, that Jeff was actually alive. Two, that all of Jeff's teammates bought us drinks at the Prop's afterward. It helped ease his pain just a little. And, three, that I was a few minutes late to the game. Lord only knows what I would have done if I saw the whole scene play out! 

Duathlon

Today I did a duathlon. A what, you ask. The duathlon I did incorporated biking and running. I had to run 3.1 miles, then bike 20 miles, then run another 3.1.

Let's just say, I was very much ready for the running. It did not phase me. Why would it? I run at least six miles almost every day. The biking, ready, not so much. Be it because this was only my fourth time on my bike this year, or that I have never actually ridden 20 miles on my bike before, or that I have weak, wussiful legs. Whatever it was, I was not ready. The 20 miles kicked my a$$!

Since wearing headphones warrented an automatic disqualification, I had a lot of time to think. The course was a five-mile loop we were required to go through four times. Throughout the first loop, I asked myself why the heck I was doing this. Why was I torturing myself? I pushed those thoughts aside as I finished my first lap. I could feel myself moving faster and starting digging the whole bike thing. Then, people started whizzing by me, deflating my positive thoughts. It was about this time that I began plotting a way to cheat and make this bike ride shorter.

The first thing that crossed my mind was maybe there was a street that cut the loop in half, that cut across the course. However, this was a pretty rural route, and I was not about to test it out. The next thought was to simply go three loops instead of the required four. Nobody would ever know. It was the perfect plan and I had convinced myself that was what I would do. I would skip out on the last loop, earn a decent time, and save myself the agony of the final five-mile loop. All was good and well, except, it wasn't true that nobody would know. I would know. And, I knew that when I called Jeff after the race was over, he would ask me how the biking was, and I would confess immediately. I was not about to let my husband think I was a cheater. So, I finished the entire four loops. And boy did it cost me time!

On the runs, I passed tons of people. On the bike, I was passed by everyone and anyone. I saw an old man with a belly shirt pass me twice, a fat lady on a pink bike passed me, and a man walking his 13-year old golden retriever passed me. The only two people I passed were off to the side of the road because their chains had fallen off. I'm sure once they hopped back on, they too, passed me.

Anyways, I finished the race. I was proud of myself for doing it, completing it, and not cheating even though I think I could have gotten away with it. I wanted to try the duathlon, and I did. At least it kept me busy for (over) 2 hours on this long weekend that I should be spending with Jeff, but am not. Thank you duathlon.

Pool Please

All I've asked for since the age of three was a pool. I was a good kid. I loved swimming. It only made sense for me to want a pool. And boy, did I ever! 

Nick did too. Maybe not as badly as I did, but he still wanted one. So, I began asking incessantly from the age of three on. When my friends started getting pools put in their backyards and mine was still full of nothing but green grass, I got angry. I demonstrated this angst by wearing my bathing suit everyday. When that didn't work, I got my green squirt gun, and threatened. 

It didn't get the job done. Twelve, fifteen, seventeen, still no pool. I'm not sure why. Like I said, I was good. I never really caused any trouble for my parents. The worst thing I did growing up was drink a little bit too much of orange juice and vodka and threw up on the driveway. But, I even hosed the driveway clean afterwards. I have given twenty seven good years, and have never earned that pool.

Shea, on the other hand, has done many things wrong. He's peed on the carpet, he's ripped the screen door, he digs up the mulch, he steals breakfast bagels off the table (even though they shouldn't be left out in the open for him to grab!), he's eaten all the bars of soap in the house, and he jumps on the couch when he is wet. Yet, my mother, dog-hater extraordinaire, came home the other day with this cute little puppy pool. Had dog bones on it and everything. 

Shea never even asked for this. My mother simply felt he would really like it. So, after 27 years of being a good daughter, nothing. After 2.5 years of being a mischievous, yet lovable, grandpuppy, Shea gets a pool! 

At least he enjoys it. When my baby boy is happy, I am happy. I can't wait until he sees Jeff again, then we all be beyond happy! 

"Goodies"

Today was the last day of our puberty lessons. With the conclusion of the program, the kids are given some "goodies." Us teachers think of them as goodies too! For a main staple of the goodie bags is deodorant, which is much needed and rarely used in the fifth grade.

I had the honor of passing out the goodie bags to the girls. They were very excited as the goodie bags looked nice and had a lot of good stuff in them. Things these girls can really use.

The boys, simply got a small stick of Old Spice deodorant.

You can imagine the jealousy that roused among the boys once the girls walked in with their bustling bags. The boys did not necessarily realize that they needed nothing that was inside of the girls' bags. They just were envious because this is what they saw in comparison to their little stick of antiperspirant:

Once the girls put their bags away and out of the sight, the boys somehow got over it. They however, did not put their Old Spice away. Well, not before running to the bathroom and secretly putting it on. If they did it secretly, how do I know? Because for the rest of the day my room had an overpowering smell of Old Spice High Endurance deodorant. 

I didn't mind this for three reasons. 1) The deodorant, no matter how overpowering it is, smells better than the alternative. 2) I thought it was kind of cute how the kids were so excited to run and put on deodorant. The simplicities of childhood! And, 3) because Jeff uses Old Spice High Endurance. These kids had a little more piled on their bare underarms, but the smell, nonetheless, brings happy thoughts. 

Old Shoes

Shea and I ran down to the softball fields down the street. They are about a mile away. We used to go there and play, but today, the state high school softball tournament was taking place on all of these fields. Oddly enough, my high school alma mater was playing, so Shea and I stuck around and watched a bit.

My 9th and 10th grade English teachers were married, Mr. & Mrs. P. Mr. P was also my softball coach. So, there he was, out on the field leading his team, while Mrs. P sat in the stands cheering them on. Chatting with Mrs. P, we reminisced about my wonderful days playing softball for her husband. We talked about the time I got hit in the head with a line drive. Mr. P said, "you ok?" As soon as I began to tell him I felt a little light headed, he simply said, "you're up next, grab your bat." Then, there was the time I got ran into by a base runner and lost all feeling in my arm. I had no idea if my glove was on or off my hand. Again, I got the, "you ok?" When I explained that I had no feeling in my hand, he simply responded by saying, "well, you're up. Grab your bat. You can bat one handed if you need to." Needless to say, he didn't let me miss much action.

Anyways, after the game I got a chance to talk to my old buddy Mr. P. It was so great to chat. He shared that he would be retiring from coaching after this season and asked about every aspect of my life. This included asking how my parents are doing. When I revealed that they were doing well, he wanted me to give a message to my father. I found this odd as I never really noticed them having any sort of relationship. He wanted me to let him know that when he cleaned out his classroom for retirement, he found a pair of his shoes. What? Why would Mr. P have a pair of my father's shoes?

Well, turns out, back in 10th grade when we read To Kill a Mockingbird, I did a project. There was a line in the book fed by Atticus Finch as he defended Tom Robinson, "walk a mile in his shoes." My project revolved around that particular line, apparently, and my dad's shoes served as Tom Robinson's in this case. I guess I never brought them home, so now Mr. P has them twelve years later. 

Besides this, Mr. P expressed his sadness that I will be moving to Cleveland come next month. He heard this through the grapevine. However, he wishes me the best and knows that that is 100% where I belong. That Mr. P was always a very smart man! 

A "Pass"

A few times a week the speech pathologist at my school comes into my classroom. She works with some of the kids. It's nice when she comes into the room cause they can continue working on what everyone else is doing. Today, it is on the schedule for her to come in in the morning. With all of the end of the year requirements and extra activities going on, I forgot to tell her that we were doing our puberty lessons during this time.

So, since boys and girls need to be separated for these lessons, I took my girls to another room, while both the male principal and assistant principal gathered with my boys in my classroom. The speech pathologist, as scheduled, knocked on the door and entered. For some reason, staring at both principals in my room did not seem odd to her. When asked if she needed to take some students out of the classroom, she replied, "no, I'm going to push in today."

The principal's simple, smirk-ridden response was, "Oh, this should be interesting." His response was this because, well, they were talking about some interesting things. I mean, just look at what the anticipated questions from boys include:

Hopefully, with a slight crook of the neck, you can read that.

So, she, apparently very unobservantly, made her way to the back of the room and took a seat. Getting ready to see what was going on before jumping in and helping out. Luckily for her, the assistant principal cleverly asked her if she would like to take a "pass" on today's allotted time. With a quick scan of the room filled of completely boys, and the lovely poster of the male anatomy hanging in the front of the room, she swiftly accepted the "pass" right out of the room.

I felt it was bad enough to be enclosed in a room in 95 degree heat with 25 girls talking about "changes."The only thing I could see as worse, would be sitting in the back of my classroom in 95 degree weather with 25 sweating boys as the principals discuss wet dreams and jock straps.

'Do You Wanna...."

Our guy, Shea, has many favorite past times. There is chasing the ball, swimming, licking peanut butter, and sleeping. But, possibly his favorite is laying on Jeff. So much so, that all Jeff has to do is say those magic words, "do you wanna lay on me?" With this, Shea's ear go back, his tail gets still, as if he is making sure he understood the question correctly. When Jeff says it a second time, this statue of a dog leaps, all 75 pounds of him, up on to Jeff with as much exuberance as he can muster.

Then he lays there for as long as is allowed. This could be ten minutes, it could be an hour. Whatever he can get.

He loves every minute of it. And Jeff? He may love it more. For two reasons: 1) there is no better way to  bond with your dog and know that he/she loves you, and 2) he knows that I get extremely jealous. In fact, he always asks, "how jealous are you right now?" as I watch my two favorite boys cuddle, leaving me with nothing to do but snap pictures of it. 

So, this post is coming to you a little late tonight because, well, I actually got Shea to lay on me. You're crazy if you think I was going to give that up. 

 

Believe me, the last thing I am trying to do is make Jeff jealous. In fact, I think the only reason Shea did this was because he misses Jeff so much. I was happy to fill in for the time being. We all know what is going to happen when all three of us are under the same roof again. And, yes, I will be thrilled (and jealous) about it! 

Secrets

I stumbled upon this article, 13 Things Your Child's Teacher Won't Tell You. I was interested to see how far off it might be, as I don't always believe the things I read in articles such as these. They are definitely more credible than the National Enquirer stories about women giving birth to baby gorillas, but not completely reliable.

I must say, they are fairly accurate. But one stuck out to me inparticular as extremely accurate and unbeknownst to a lot of parents. That would be number 10. "Kids dish on your secrets all the time-money, religion, politics, even Dad's vasectomy." Actually, more along the lines of the vasectomy thing than the other stuff.

Some things I have heard, and other teachers have heard and felt the need to share are certainly laughable at the very least. Their comments and stories bring so much insight into their home world. Sometimes for better, sometimes for worse.

1) "Good thing Daddy broke Mommy's rib, that's how they found the cancer."
2) "My brother is having surgery today because he has extra skin on his peepee."
3) "My daddy is picking me up today. He said if I pooped this morning he would."
4) "My mom got arrested. She did bad things like sell drugs when I was with her."
5) "Dad sleeps downstairs on the couch every night."
6) "I like my dad's new girlfriend, but I heard Mom say she's a b-word."
7) "My mommy had me when she was 15!"

I could go on, but I won't. I think you have heard enough. At least when I become a parent, I will have a little more insight into what our children could be sharing at school.

Sufferers

It snowed today. Very much like the Vanessa Williams' song, "Save the Best for Last." You know it: Sometimes the snow comes down in June, sometimes the sun goes 'round the moon. And so on.

Well, not exactly like the song. It's the end of May, not June, and it is scientifically impossible for the sun to  go around the moon. Oh well. What I am trying to say is, look at this:

 

There it is. Snow on May 23rd. Sunny and 78 degrees. I couldn't believe how much the excessive pollen looked like snow covering the ground. If you look closer, like Shea did, you can see it is pollen. Lots and lots of pollen. 

Maybe all that pollen is the reason I had a little blood in my nose today. Maybe it is the reason that I was perfectly content, not sad about anything, but looked like this:

Lucky for me, Jeff sent me this article this morning: Allergy Sufferers Less Likely To Get Cancer. While I hate the itchy eyes, stinging nose, and sore throat, I'll take it over cancer. And, as evil as it may sound, I am glad Jeff suffers from allergies! 

PB and Shea

My mother has come a long way. A long way in warming up to Shea. This became extremely apparent to me today when I was going through the pantry looking for  worthy snack.

Shoved, way in the back was a jar of peanut butter. This long lost jar of peanut butter was old. There are four others in the front of the pantry. Good thing peanut butter has a long shelf life, second only to Twinkies. This jar of peanut butter was different than the others though. This jar belonged to Shea. How do I know? It said so:

Now a days, Shea doesn't have his own peanut butter. He is allowed to share with the humans. To me, that signifies a huge step in my mother's feelings towards Shea. 

She has made progress in other areas as well. She pets him now. She plays with him. She feeds him her extra food. She calls him cute. She lets him sleep at the foot of her bed. She admits she likes him. One day, she even said, ever so painfully, that she did indeed love him. 

She may hate to admit it, but the peanut butter proves it all. She has lathered peanut butter onto an english muffin and then stuff peanut butter into Shea's bone for him, getting the peanut butter from the same jar. Next thing you know, she's going to let him kiss her on the face, just like this: 

Tough

My day started off rough. Shea and I were on our normal running route. There isn't much stirring at 6:15 am, but I noticed a man getting into his car. What I didn't notice was his gigantic German Shepherd.

He was getting the German Shepherd in to his truck, and did not see me and Shea running up the hill. That is until his German Shepherd barked and came lunging at us. All estimated 120 pounds of him. Shea, being the baby that he is, was scared out of his mind. His instinct was to run, so he did. Problem: I was holding the leash.

As Shea took off, the leash wrapped around my legs. As I spun to unwrap the leash, BAM, the 120 pound German Shepherd ran into me enroute to getting at my baby boy. With the impact of his hit, I went flying, skidding across the pavement. As soon as I hit the ground, I thought not of what pain I was in (I wasn't in much, my sense of feel doesn't usually wake up until about 8:00 a.m.), but of the poor man who owned the German Shepherd. 

He must be worried that I am hurt. Luckily, the German Shepherd never got to Shea, and when the  man called his dog, he went right back. He was extremely apologetic as I lay embarrassed in the middle of the street. Embarrassed that I had fallen. I shouldn't be falling. I began laughing as he asked if I was ok and apologized over and over. I told him not to think another minute about it. 

He didn't realize it, because I was laying on the street, but I am tough. Nothing hurts me. Since I could not have inherited toughness from my husband, I must have gotten it from my mother. Cause anybody who is anybody knows my father would have been in tears and contemplating if there was just reason to sue.  

The Corporate Challenge

I ran in the corporate challenge tonight with some co-workers. It was an interesting, differently done race. Only corporate teams are eligible and there needs to be at least 4 people on a team. There can be more, only the top 4 times are registered. The real kicker though, is that there are no timing chips. Nothing to hold you responsible for your time. Well, nothing except yourself.

The place was packed and we had a group of about 20 that represented our school district. And what a fine job we did, if I don't say so myself. We wore matching shirts, as the rest of the teams did. Although our exemplified class and sportsmanship. 

While I would never have taken the time to think of something so creative, I thought it was pretty funny. 

I did realize, beyond the t-shirt design, that I have some things in common with this group of teachers that ran today. You see, this may be hard to believe, but I can be pretty oblivious to things at times. For example, if I go someplace and I do not drive, I pay no attention.

No attention to how I got to where I am. I remember after a few months of dating Jeff, he had driven me to his house several times. When he asked me to drive there one day, I had no idea how to get there. This inattention to detail also carries over when parking. I basically just walk along with whoever I am with and don't give an ounce of thought to where I am. Not always the best way to go about things. But, apparently I am not the only one. As part of a group of six that rode over in the same van, between the six of us, we had no idea which parking garage we even parked in. Once we figured that out, we hopped in the elevator and got off at the wrong level, looking all over for that beautiful blue mini van. Luckily, we ran into people we knew who had seen the van on the other level.

After we got onto the right level, we found the van fairly quickly, considering the group we were in. It's a wonder how we are teaching the youth of America! 

It wouldn't hurt me to be more observant. Hopefully I have learned my lesson, up until now Jeff has definitely spoiled me. I miss him! 

If Your Husband.....

My uncle was a wise man. He hasn't been with us for eight years now, but his words of wisdom still ring heavily throughout my family. I was reminded of one piece of advice, that pertains to my life quite nicely right now, tonight as I spent time with my family.

"If your husband robs a bank, you drive the car."

And Uncle Migs is one hundred percent correct. But, I think Jeff and I already had that figured out. We definitely knew it a few years ago on the way home from our trip to Georgia.

On our drive home, we decided that we would drive through New York City and catch a Mets game. I was so excited as I had never been to Shea (Stadium that is) before. We went online and bought ourselves good tickets.

Once we hit the Cross-Bronx Expressway, things got ugly. With overcrowding and crazy weekend traffic, we ended up getting in an accident. A five-car pile-up as I like to describe it. Since every vehicle in this accident was an SUV, minus ours, we were the only people who could not simply drive away. We needed to get towed. Towed from New York City to Albany.

I was sure that the worst part about this accident was the fact that we weren't going to get to see the Mets. But, our day was just getting started. Our tow truck driver spoke no English. I sat in between the driver and Jeff. There was no seat belt in the middle, so while Julio and Jeff were nice and buckled in, I was free as a bird.

This wasn't a problem until Julio began nodding off. We began getting nervous when the tow truck veered so far off the road we crossed the rumble strips. Julio jumped to attention and pulled over, claiming, "I tired." He got out of the truck and went to the back where he thought he was not visible. Rearview mirrors work wonders. We could see him!

Julio dumped water over his head and chugged two Red Bulls trying to wake himself up. Jeff and I began discussing the fact that we were about to get into two accidents in one day. With the size of the tow truck, the speed on the highway, and the lack of seatbelt, we concluded that it was likely that I would die if we were to crash. Jeff, being the amazing man that he is/was, did exactly what my Uncle Migs was talking about. He decided to take his seatbelt off. He told me if we were going down, we were going down together. So romantic.

Moral? Yes, if Jeff robbed a bank, I would drive. I'm wondering why we haven't tried this yet.

Oscar from Britain

Until I got Shea, I was highly critical about overly active pet owners. I was the one who mocked the people who brought their dogs to Petsmart with them. I laugh at the idea of talking to your pets. I was disgusted by the fact that people let their pets "kiss" them. Even when I agreed to get a puppy, I was sure I would not partake in any of the aforementioned actions.

I truly believed this, until I fell in love with Shea. Now, I think it's a great opportunity to get him out of the house when we go to Petsmart. I find myself talking to him like he can answer me, and I beg him for kisses. However, I feel that I am not overly obsessive with my guy (Jeff may beg to differ). Jeff would have to agree if he had seen this woman today!

Shea and I were walking along and coming upon a cute little white dog. A small dog. I'm not one to really like small dogs, except for my nephew-puppy, Diggy, but this one really was cute. We will call him Oscar because that is what I later found out was his name. 

As Shea and Oscar approached each other, his owner said hello. She commented, in a perfectly clear, northeastern accent about how big he was. That was about all she had to say to me, the human. The rest of the encounter revolved around her talking to Oscar. And not in that perfectly clear, northeastern accent I was talking about. Suddenly, when talking to Oscar, she was British, sounding more like Austin Powers than a lady walking around upstate New York. 

"Ozzz-caaaa," she sang to him, "you's a weeee litt-ill pup." No lie! I quickly commented on how both dogs were very white and again, rather than talking to me, she spoke to her litt-ill Oz-ca. "Oh, Ozzz-caaaa, you's white as white." Wow, I was flabbergasted. Maybe I hadn't heard her voice correctly when she said hello. There is no way she is talking to her dog in a completely different voice than she does to people. 

I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. I must have misheard her. I had no way of telling as she did not say goodbye to me. Instead she said in her thick British accent, "Commmme on Ozzz-caaaa. Time to go." 

That benefit of the doubt didn't last, as we made our lap back around the path. There she was, with little Oscar, talking to a man. Talking to a man in perfectly plain, clear, American English. While this left me laughing hysterically, it also makes me wonder what in the heck is wrong with people?? 

Chocolate

My cousin is marrying one of my good friends this summer. Knowing that a wedding is coming up, my mother has vowed to drop ten pounds in time for Mikey's wedding. She has said this for a while now, but decided that yesterday was her starting point. Meaning today was the miserable day two!

After taking Shea to the park for a nice long walk together, I dropped my mother and Shea off and headed out to get a few groceries that my mother needed. I know, so kind of me. I mean it's not like she ever does anything for me.

When at my parents' house, we always lock the front glass door because Shea, being the tricky little bugger that he is, has figured out how to nose it open. I returned with the couple of groceries and knocked on the locked door. My mother came to let me in and I noticed something on her face. What, you might ask? Chocolate! A big ole glob of chocolate smeared across her face. I may as well have caught her looking like this:

When I told her she had something on her faced she giggled it off, thinking I was joking with her. Once I got a better look, I told her to go wipe the chocolate off her face. And no lie (well, actually, a big lie) she replied, "There's not chocolate on my face. I didn't have any chocolate." I immediately made her stop rubbing at her face and brought her to the mirror where she conceited to being busted.

Without rubbing it in or picking on her, I made one simple statement, "Lose ten pounds before Mikey's wedding."

I know she can do it. Although, with open arms, Jeff will be around a little bit in June! With that, my mother is requesting one of these:

Yes, that is homemade by Jeff. I know, it looks professional!

Squirrely Squirrel

Last year for my birthday I got a road bike. I got it in hopes of competing in a triathlon. That has yet to happen, but don't doubt me. It will, someday!

I don't mind biking. I don't love it, but I don't hate it. Last year, Jeff really motivated me to use the bike. He may not know it, but really, he would often ask me when the last time I rode my bike was. That was enough for me. I had to be able to give a decent answer every time he asked. So, I rode more and more. Without Jeff's nagging questioning, I have fallen short on my riding. Today, I was hoping, would be the change of that.

I strapped on my helmet, and my camel pack (thanks to Jonathan!) and hit the road. It was a pleasant ride for the most part. There was one road, a very busy road, that had an enormous amount of pot holes. I would have loved to swerve out of there way, but the level of traffic did not allow for it. I was holding on for dear life as cars whizzed by me.

When I hit a rut in the traffic I was able to loosen up my grip a bit and catch my breath. The only car in sight was approaching from the opposite direction and all seemed to be settling down. Until this stupid squirrel ran into the street. Seeing the approaching car just in time, the squirrel turned and scurried back to my side of the street. It was heading straight for my front wheel.

Since I am not your average person, I did not do what the average person would do. For some reason, the logical answer did not cross my mind. Never once did I think to pull the brakes. Never even crossed my mind. Instead, I screamed. Riding down this busy, pot-hole ridden street, I screamed as the squirrel ran right alongside my front wheel. We were going about the same speed, so the squirrel remained next to me for quite some time. Finally, it cut over to the other side of the road and to the safety of the grass. 

I had never been so close to a squirrel in my life. I hope to never be again. The whole incident would have been much less stressful if I had thought of pulling the brakes. In my mad rush of thoughts, mostly of the squirrel getting stuck in my spokes and the massive bump I would feel if I ran over it, the brakes completely slipped my mind. 

Heart Belongs In Ohio

There is a lot of discussion about where Lebron James will play next year since his contract in Cleveland is up. I am not happy about this, as with me being in Cleveland, I want Lebron there. I've been very interested in what people have to say and where these "experts" (yes I just threw the term experts out there without a Grandma reference) think he is going to end up.

So, I just happened to click on this article posted by Yahoo Sports. As soon as I clicked on, I knew I was going to love it. Just look at the headline!

Lebron's Heart, Game Belong in Ohio

I couldn't help but immediately think that Lebron and I are so much alike! Just look at the facts.

Clear as day, we both belong in Ohio. Both of our hearts are there. And while Cleveland already has Lebron's game, they are in for a surprise when they see mine.

Lebron and I have the very similar body types. He's 6'7'' and 240 pounds of pure muscle. I am 5'6'' and 120 pounds of pure something or other. We both are MVP-type basketball players and we both draw a lot of attention. Attention whether it be good or bad.

And last, but not least, me, Lebron, and Jeff are the reason they have decided to make the new sitcom Hot in Cleveland. Looking at the three of us, no other name would be as fitting.

Hot in Cleveland

What a Difference a Week Makes

I keep flashing back to last week. If I compare today to last Friday, you would think I live on a completely different planet.

At three o'clock last week, I brought my students out to the bus then hustled and bustled to the airport to catch my flight out to Cleveland. I was out of my mind with excitement, for I was going to see Jeff. Much the opposite of the feeling of not knowing when I will see him again that I have this week.

Last week I was watching Lebron absolutely demolish the Celtics, surrounded by screaming Cavelier fans with hopes of an NBA championship alive and well. This week, Lebron is back at home, season ended, and possibly his time in Cleveland ended. Go figure, just in time for my arrival. As a friend mentioned last night, Cleveland could be losing Lebron, but gaining me. An even trade if you ask me.

Looking back at my previous Friday, Buffalo Wild Wings was the place for dinner and my record breaking 4 (ok, 3 and a half) beers. Tonight, a solo dinner with a nice glass of ice cold water. And, rather than watching the jumbo flat screens at BW's, I was watching this rear projection mini mouse of a TV I have in front of me.

With the differences of the day, I can happily say that it's okay. It's okay because the end is in sight. Approximately one and a half months left and I will hold a somewhat normal life. Normal in the sense that I will live under the same roof as my husband and that I will see him everyday. Right now that seems like such a luxury.

A Little Nap

I might be sick. Besides not feeling like myself lately, I have noticed increased tiredness. Tiredness beyond any I’ve experienced before in my lie. A tiredness that, at noon-time, had me struggling to keep my eyes from shutting.

Luckily for me, I have been very efficient this week. Everything has been graded, and all copies have been made. My students just happen to recess followed by lunch at noon-time and I had no catching up to do during my free planning time. As my eyes got heavier and heavier, I remember my mother telling me about a man that she worked with. He would sleep in his cubicle during his lunch hour. It wasn’t a problem because, well, it was his lunch hour. He was allowed to do with it what he wanted. I have been told by the administration before that I am free to do as please during this time. So, I set my alarm, just as a safety precaution, and put my head down to rest.

That’s right, I just curled my arms up on my desk, and lay my head on them like they were a pillow. Just like I used to do in high school during math class. Somehow, with the rare stillness of my classroom, I dozed off.

Thank goodness I set that alarm! I hated it as much as I do at 6:15 a.m., but knew I could not hit snooze. So, I got up, decided to stop in the bathroom before heading down to pick up my students. The sight in the bathroom was not pleasant!

You see, I had a sweater on. A sweater that had distinct cables of wool patterned on it. Since I decided to use my arms as a pillow, those wool cabled patterns were etched into my forehead. My bright red forehead!

With no time to do anything about it, I simply brushed my hair in front of my face like Cousin Itt. Each time I saw somebody, I looked down and pretended to play with my hair so that my hand was in front of my forehead. Surprisingly, nobody saw it. Or at least nobody said anything about it. I’m glad about that! I just feel like Jeff should be the only one to see me with pillow (or in this case sweater) lines on my face. 

Baby Voice

Not only do I look 12, but I sound seven year old. I am the complete pre-teen package. I was unaware of my seven year old voice until I was in tenth grade. I remember it quite vividly. I was home, doing my homework, and the phone rang. When I picked up, the woman asked if she could talk to my mommy or daddy. When I told her they were not home, she replied, "well, honey, who is in charge?"

Well, honey, I am sixteen years old and I am in charge. I wasn't bold enough to say that, so I replied with a very childish, "I am!" The woman went on to explain that she was my older brother's math teacher. Funny, Nick and I actually had the same math teacher. I told the woman who I was and, she was, indeed, my math teacher. She laughed and told me that I sounded like a seven year old. Thus, bringing that perviously little unknown fact to my attention.

The seven year voice has not changed in the eleven years since that phone call. As a teacher, I get phone calls in my classroom throughout the day. Many times I answer to hear a colleague ask to put the teacher on the phone. The person who calls my room the most is the secretary. We will call her Mrs. P. Mrs. P. calls so often that she knows I sound like a seven year old and doesn't think twice when she hears my baby voice on the phone.

When she called early this morning, she was all worked up because one of my students had lost her flute. This apparently was a huge ordeal at home, and her mother was calling the school just about every ten minutes to find out if her daughter had found her stupid flute. About an hour later, my classroom phone rang again. I was not anywhere near it, but my student, Chrissy, was. So, Chrissy answered the phone. Big mistake!

Chrissy's ten-year old voice, must have sounded close enough to my seven-year old voice, because Mrs. P did not question who was on the phone, just assumed it was me. After she heard the hello, she went on to explain how, "this freakin parent keeps calling about this freakin flute." She asked if I could have the kid "call her freakin mother." She didn't realize it was not me until Chrissy replied very sheepishly, "ok."

Luckily, Mrs. P was able to lighten things up when she realized it wasn't me. Chrissy didn't seem all that phased when she came to give me the message, although Mrs. P was quite devastated. Me, I found it quite funny. I'm just hoping there is no phone call from Chrissy's mother tomorrow!

Cutting

A fellow teacher signed us up to provide lunch for the school tomorrow in celebration of the May birthdays. Nice, right? Seriously, what can I bring to the table? I suck at cooking, I suck at baking, and I would rather eat a salad made by a monkey than one made myself.

So, put in this spot, I tried to think of something I do well. Like that isn't hard enough, I had to limit it to something I do well relating to food! Since I thought people would think of me as strange if I brought in eggs, I decided that I am ok at cutting fruit. There isn't much to mess up there. The biggest concern is not chopping a finger off.

Scary, right? Anyways, I made sure to curl my fingers while cutting like my high school chef's class teacher taught me. All I was really allowed to do by my cooking partner in that class was cut and measure. She never let me actually "cook." Maybe that is partly why I am what I am. 

In order to feed the very large, and hungry, staff at my school, I had to cut a lot of fruit! My wrist is actually sore. So much fruit is needed because we have three lunch sessions. Whenever food is put out during the first lunch session, the second and third get no food. It's unbelievable. You know how people try to be polite and will eat every piece of something except the very last, shriveled up, broken one? We all know that happens. We have probably all done it before, out of politeness. Not at school. There is no politeness. It almost looks as though people lick the plate clean rather than leaving one last bit of whatever was provided. Since food doesn't make it past the first lunch session, I made three large tupperware bowls full of fruit salad, to feed each lunch group. I'd hate to think of the second (mine) and third lunch people going hungry. 

I know Jeff wouldn't like my fruit salad. Why you ask? Because different kinds of fruits are touching. I know, I know, very Rainmanish of him. But, I love him all the same! 

Ughh

I don't really feel good. Jeff doesn't feel well either. Shea had to go to the vet today. He got his temperature taken. I think it is fair to say, he has felt better (do you know where they stick the thermometer?). Jose Reyes just got kicked out of the Mets game as I was mid "Jose, Jose, Jose" cheer. Not a good night. I am going to ask to be excused from any further writing for the evening. Thank you and good night.

A Bumpy Ride

As I checked the Albany area newspaper last night, a certain headline caught my eye. The headline read "Turbulence Injures Several Aboard Jet." This caught my eye originally simply because I had been on a plane Friday, and was about to be on one today.

Reading about the turbulence taking over this jet that was trying to land in Albany was somewhat comical, somewhat scary, as I would be flying into Albany exactly 24 hours after the disturbed flight.

Turbulence

Turns out, after reading a little further down, it was not only just going to the same airport, but it was the same exact plane, coming from the same exact airport. The same exact flight. The little airliner that would bring me from Cleveland to Albany today, we the one that had injuries on it the day before. The one that was plastered all over the news in both Cleveland and Albany. 

Always thinking, I discussed with Jeff that if this happens again, I will be sure to be an "injured" passenger opening the window for suing possibilities. I mean, these people banged their head on the ceiling of the plane. Ouch. That has got to be suable! 

Anyways, we came to the conclusion, well before leaving to board the plane that the chances of something like that happening two days in a row was slim to none. More like none. And although the final twenty minutes of the flight shook our little plane pretty good, nobody was hitting the ceiling. We swayed a little bit before hitting the landing strip, but made it just fine.

Even if I did happen to hit the ceiling, the worst part of the trip would remain saying goodbye to Jeff. If it is even possible, it gets easier, but harder all at the same time. I'd rather just stay and have someone ship us our dog. 

The Spazmatics

Nothing feels better than time with Jeff. While here, we were lucky enough to be able to catch a big-time local band called The Spazmatics in action.

They play mostly 80's music and personify the Revenge of the Nerds. Beyond good music, they put on quite an entertaining show. The lead singer spoke to the crowd in his nasally voice about rocket science and Nasa. He paraded around in his suspendered high waters and American flag tie. He climbed behind the bar and stuck his head under the tap. And, he basically dry humped the microphone stand, well, because that is the only thing that would allow it.

With all of the wonderfulness of The Spazmatics (I am certainly a fan after tonight), the other thing that caught my attention was the fact that I was in Cleveland. Everywhere I turned, there was something screaming Cleveland!  From Lebron James hanging from the ceiling, to the neon Indians sign, one could not forget where they were.

This was fine with me, as I love the fact that I am in Cleveland.