Common Sense Bound and Gagged

There are times in my life when, sadly, I have completely ignored common sense. When I have gone so far as to bind it to a chair kicking and screaming, and then gag it. Taking my scoping exam was one of those times.

I'd like to say that my scoping class had gone well. I hoped that I would wow the instructors with my grammar skills, but I did go to school for that and it is my career, so it'd be embarrassing if I didn't do reasonably well. My instructors have provided positive feedback to my work, complete with blinking smiley faces and full-page pictures of Tigger leaping into a pile of leaves. I'm not really into clip-art for corresponding, and especially not between adults, but whatever floats their boat, as it were.

Then came the test. I was ready. I knew my stuff and I could use the hundreds of pages of reference materials to help me, so although I knew the test would take a while, I was pretty confident.

I got the test via email. I printed it out and proceeded to answer the questions by hand. I used my best handwriting and only had to scribble out one answer, but it was pretty contained and I hoped it would slide. It took me four hours to complete the test because I checked and double-checked my answers. I wanted to leave this wretched course with a bang, not a whimper.

The trick was figuring out how to send the test back. It was pretty long. I looked at the directions on the test. It said to do my best...blah blah blah...return the document...blah blah blah. I had visions of receiving the only perfect score. Of my directors speaking of me in awe in years to come. Monuments would be erected in my name. If only I could figure out how to send this darn test. Ah-ha! My scanner! I would scan this rather large document and send it via email to my director! Not only would she be amazed at my test, I could also show her my tech savvy. I took the document to my printer/scanner/copy machine and fed it into the device. When it had scanned all 10 pages of the test (it made some choking and gurgling sounds and seemed to be working hard) my computer had to do something to itself to be able to send such a large document. In fact, it had to make a whole new icon: "Large Attachments." My computer informed me that this would be a 30 MB file.

It was at this point that my common sense tried to tell me to abandon the scanner idea. 30 MB sounded like a lot. "Mega" sounded like a big number, but then so did "kila" and whatever other unites of measure computers use. In the back of my mind, my bound and gagged common sense was writhing against its ties and practically screaming at me, "Abort! Abort!" Did I listen? Sadly, I did not. I sent the large document to my director, scanned from my now-smoking machine.

I blithely went about my day. I received an email from my instructor, Cathy. It went something like this: "Hi Janae. Sadly I will not be able to accept this gargantuan document from you and you will have to redo it. Please use your brain this time and type it out using the test I will REsend and send it back on a much smaller Word document. Please don't use your horrible, scribbly handwriting that you have taught third graders with and for heaven's sake don't scan the document and then send me a $%^&* 30 MB file. Moron. Oh, and P.S., there will be no monument." Then she had one of those little blinking smiley faces at the end of her letter to mock me.

My common sense looked at me beseechingly from above the gag. I removed the obstruction and it patiently told me how to follow the instructions. It took me another hour (for a grand total of 5 hours) to type out the test. When I told my mother what had happened, she laughed and made up several metaphors of me getting tangled up in the finish line, running off the race track all together, etc, etc. I am glad I can entertain.

I missed four on the test.

To Everything There is a Season

Here's the good news: 1. I am an English teacher! I'm going to be teaching 6th and 7th grade starting August 22nd! 2. Mikayla and her best friend Gabby have been accepted to Providence Hall! (It's a charter school, so it can be tricky to get in.) 3. I won't be teaching Mikayla. It hurts Mikayla's feelings that I'm not fond of the idea of being her teacher. This is the scenario I see in my head: ME (acknowledging her raised hand): Yes, Mikayla? KAYLA: Hi, Mom/Janae. Should we tell everyone about the time you dated the guy who...(fill in the blank) or Remember when you... (insert another anecdote in which I did something weird.) ME: Go in the hall, Kayla. (Kayla stomps out.) 4. I have finally finished my scoping course! For those of you who, like me, have lived your lives not knowing what scoping is, it is a job where an individual takes the steno from a court reporter, translates it into English and corrects the punctuation and such before returning it and getting paid. Sure, it took longer than I was hoping and sure, I haven't made a red cent from it yet, but I HAVE FINISHED IT. Now to market myself. How can I say that without sounding like a hooker, I wonder? 5. I managed to go on a 5.2 mile hike without seriously injuring myself or the poor man who asked me to go with him. It's like this: I feel like I should have a dog. I feel like it's what happy, well-rounded people do. The only problem is, once I get a dog, I realize how happy I had been without one. That's what camping/hiking is like for me. I want to like camping. I want to have a closer relationship with nature, but then when I get out there, I realize how happy I had been keeping the relationship professional. 6. My children are healthy and happy. They fight. They seem to fight a lot. I'm counting down the days to when school starts again; however, I am assured by exhausted veterans who have been through this that it is normal and I will have retained a reasonable amount of my sanity by the time they are adults. 7. I am starting to feel like I am not riding the roller coaster from hell anymore. This is good. I'm not a fan.

Breath Mints

I went to a single's dance. My friends, there's a reason some of these people are still single. As I glanced around the room, I noticed a table, yes a WHOLE TABLE, full of different kinds of breath mints: York peppermint patties, LifeSavers, minty taffy...This was my first red flag. The next was when I was asked to dance by a shortish man in his mid-forties who prefers to pole dance to fast songs. If this is hard to picture, don't try. I have the image seared into my brain for eternity. As he told me about his man-crush on David Archuleta, suddenly he stopped talking and demanded to know why I was looking at him. Uh... I managed to escape to get a drink and every time I accidentally came near him and his giggling friend, he told me to stop stalking him.
The next man who asked me to dance was a dentist. He refused to dance, so I did a bit of a shuffle next to him. He was a spitter. He asked me if I was from Tennessee. I asked if I have an accent. He said, "No, you're the only ten I see," and gave a short, bark-y laugh. It took me a minute to realize that I was being given "a line," since I haven't been the lucky recipient of one of those babies since junior high. I managed to escape after he told me I have pretty teeth and offered to give me private skiing lessons.
Is that all, you ask? No. I had another fella tell me in detail why his three previous relationships had failed before I even knew his name. I was about to ask, but felt it was rude... "Uh-huh, that's too bad she was emotionally unavailable. What was your name again?"
I found myself waiting for a missionary couple to come in the room and inform us that they had been called to chaperone these dances for LDS delinquents/single people over thirty. The newsletter for this dance said 31+, which is a euphemism for 31-death. I saw an elderly gentleman in his eighties pushing his walker into the dance-hall. There HAS GOT to be a better way.
FYI: Older men have no problem asking women half their age to dance.

Time Marches On

I just heard that line on one of my favorite shows, "Time marches on and eventually you realize it's marchin' across your face."
I had a whole other post from November, but I guess it's floating around in cyberspace somewhere. So much has happened since July. I have a job as a TA in Special Ed at Providence Hall Junior High. I love it. I love the kids and I love the people I work with. Getting the job at all was a miracle; I sent out hail mary resumes and was hired on the spot without being asked when they could fire me or anything. I'm hoping to get my own class next year.
I have been told I look like Tinkerbell, I've been bossed around by twelve year olds, and I've been sneezed on. One little girl snapped her fingers at me and told me to type her report. I swallowed my retort and said, "Not only am I not a cocker-spaniel, but I know how to type already. You need to learn."
I have been blessed with a beautiful home in Daybreak. I painted the beige door bright turquoise after I got permission from the city. I live about 50 steps away from Joel. I get to see Kaden and Kaia every once in a while too; they are tall and gorgeous. I'm hoping that in some point in time, my children will be able to all go to the same school instead of three different ones. Josh and Cole go to Riverton Elementary because Josh is in ALPS and Cole wants to be with him, Kayla bikes to Daybreak Elementary, and Topher goes to preschool with Lucy. Just keeping it real.
My children are adjusting. It isn't easy for them, but I think God has let the storm rage and calmed them. And me.
I'm excited to take Kayla to do baptisms for the dead when she turns twelve in February.
Are the holidays supposed to be an experiment in terror? Is Pre-Holiday Stress Disorder a legit condition? I'm about to take hostages.

Baby, I Like It

I have recently been asked what I like about my thirties and have spent some time thinking about it. Today I have been in my thirties for three years, and it has taken awhile to come to this conclusion: I like my thirties because I have figured out what I like. When my son, Cole, was little, one day he wouldn't eat some kind of food I had made. I asked him why and he said, "I don't love it." I was incredulous and started to lecture my very young son on how we often have to do things we don't like, be around people we wouldn't rather, and eat stuff for the sake of finishing all our food, blah, blah, blah. I didn't say it (that time.) His seemed like a valid argument and I was tired of getting in arguments with toddlers and losing, frankly. Then, one day, I was at my favorite clothes store to buy a shirt. I wandered back to the sale rack and looked through the slim pickings. I held one up that looked okay. It was on sale for quite a bit. I didn't especially like the color, though. Or the style. Or anything about it, really. But it was on sale! Then, I heard a little boy's voice in the back of my mind say, "I don't love it." I put the shirt back on the rack. How many times had I bought something on sale that I really didn't like? Wouldn't it be worth it to buy a few pieces for full price that I really liked, even loved, than a bunch of stuff that was *eh*?
Facing the world with this attitude has helped me figure out what I'm really like. I like dogs, but I can't own one. I've tried multiple times (sorry Mom.) I like having short hair and I think Emma Watson looks fabulous. I have figured out that I can be picky about food. I like stopping when I'm full. I don't like leggings. I know women who do and who look good in them, but I am not one of them. I don't like being pregnant. I love the babies, and it IS worth it, but every second of my pregnancies seemed like I was in a marathon in which both of my shoelaces were untied, I had just eaten a huge plate of pasta covered in Alfredo sauce, I had drunk too much, and there was no bathroom anywhere in sight.
I don't like big purses. My things get lost in there. I know I have four kids and I should be carrying wet-wipes and changes of clothes for every one of them, but I don't like it. And as you get older, that answer gets more and more acceptable.
I like not having to be matchy-matchy. I like putting together colors that are friends. I can put a turquoise sweater with a coral skirt. I like ordering the same things at the same restaurants. I like Johnny Depp and Reese Witherspoon. I like the way I feel when I wear a silk dress and pointy-toed shoes. I like how good denim hugs my legs and makes my butt look good. I like tasteful animal prints (there's no such thing as a pink cheetah.) I like putting on mascara with my mouth open. I like spraying perfume and stepping into it and twirling.
On this, my thirty-third birthday, I think it is as good a time as any to say that being a soon-to-be single woman who's soon-to-be living in Daybreak, there's still a lot to like.

Veni, Vidi, Vici!

Yes, that's right, I came, I saw, I conquered! I took the GRE and I ROCKED the thing! Yea! Unbeknownst to me, it was my Grandma Glenda's birthday that day. She'd have been a hundred years old. I think it was good luck. I've been sick to my stomach for days and wondered why until I looked at my calendar. Oh. The test. I went at 7:30 a.m. so I could fill out my info and then took the thing...I skipped the breaks and barreled through. It took three hours. Ugh. I'm done though!

I finished my research paper and took the final for my critical theory class, too. It was funny, cause as I walked into the classroom to take the test, one of the other students was reciting the definition for critical theory that I memorized for the final too: "The study of the set of assumptions for literature in general that guide practical criticism." I even kinda know what it means. It was a blessing to be in the class, because it has kept my mind off big words like divorce and short sale. Now those things have taken center stage and I am trying to find something else to push them back to the side-lines.

Anyone know any good books? I've read the City of Bones, Glass, Fallen Angels, etc. but I'm irritated with them. I'm tired of reading about women who define themselves by loving a beautiful man. I was so happy to read Hunger Games because I actually like Katniss. I'm not sure if I like Bella. I like the books and I like the movies, but I'm not sure I like Bella. Ideas?

I'm waiting for the short sale in Daybreak to go through. I've signed papers, even addendums, and my real estate agent says it looks like we'll be in sometime between the end of June to mid-July. I haven't heard a word from the bank since. My agent has even suggested I look at back-up homes. Huh? You'd think that with the recession going on that banks would be eager to get people paying for houses that are otherwise not being paid for, right? I'm trying to think this through logically, but I have a feeling this isn't a logical process, so I'm trying to talk myself into not having an ulcer.

Today was the last day I will teach Relief Society in the ward we're in right now. I was released from the calling. It was sad and I will miss it. You always learn so much as a teacher studying for a class. I have appreciated the opportunity.

Hope is the thing with feathers....

Am I the only mother who doesn't look forward to summer break? It's okay if I am, I'm just wondering. Mikayla and Josh have taken fighting and made it into an art-form, albeit a ruthless one. I put Kayla into a jazz dance class that my friend teaches, hoping that she'll let out some of her angst there and come home tired and less mouthy. I hope that she hasn't inherited my dancing skills. I am reminded of a Seinfeld episode where Elaine's dancing is likened to a full-body dry heave...
I've been looking at short sale houses in Daybreak. Short sales are a pain. A woman at the "glass house" information building, trying to cheer me up, said that she knows some people who were able to get the short sale they wanted after 45 days. What?! Then she looked down and said that her own short sale took 6 months. Ooookay. So, I have signed some papers and even some addendums for a house I love in Daybreak, but I'm wary. It'll be real when I have the key to the house in my hand. The house I love is a two story and has a mostly finished basement. I can tell that the people love the house, which makes it sad and good at the same time. The cabinets are dark, which I love, it has a fireplace surrounded by slate tiles (I love slate!), it has nice wood blinds, and two closets in the master-bedroom (I need more clothes!) As I walked through it with my realtor, Annie, I could see myself and my troop happy there.
Mikayla has made a list of all the pros and cons for going to Daybreak Elementary and for going to Silvercrest. She is very practical and her list-making brings up images of women I love doing the same. I'll be taking the kids to three different schools regardless: Josh and Cole are going to Riverton Elementary (Josh is in Alps and Cole wants to be in the same school and track), Kayla will go to Silvercrest or Daybreak, and Topher will go to preschool (if I can find one that will take him this late and won't require me to donate plasma every month for the tuition.) Is it weird to anyone else that pre-schools can cost as much as a car payment? He's going to be the youngest in his class because his birthday is in August, otherwise I would allow him to wallow in ignorance for another year. Why not just teach him at home? Because I REALLY don't want to. I can teach other people's kids and send them home, but where do I send Topher when the teaching's done? Hmmmm?
Speaking of school, my last day of class is coming up and I have a research paper on the Kantian definition of the sublime and how it relates to love in Shakespeare's "Othello." Help me, Lord. I really need to blow this out of the water and impress my seemingly unimpressable professor. Bless him, he scares the snot out of me. He told a classroom full of college seniors (and me) that most people fail research papers miserably and that he wrote a book on how to write them. Great. Oh, and did I mention that a little test called the GRE is looming in the not too distant future? Lord help me, indeed.