Monthly Archives: November 2004

Skippin’ School

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Today, I totally skipped school.  My coteacher knew I was going to, as I needed to work on grad school stuff.  I didn’t get as much done as I wanted, but I did get some done, and, again, I am confident that it will all work out okay.  For those that have been reading the 3.5 years I’ve been doing this, you’re probably sick of the twice-yearly end-of-semester panic attacks, because for every one I’ve come back in late December and said "oh, well, I made Dean’s list again."  That sounds so snotty, but it’s part of my learning process, to go from "oh fuck, I am a waste of time and energy and even if i FINISH this project, it will probably suck so bad they ask me to leave the university and my life will be O-VER!" to "I finished everything at 1am on the day it was due,whew" to "Oh, hey, I wouldn’t have given myself an A, but it works for me!" 

My big project of this class is to do a WebQuest, and it says that the rough draft is due today, but not ONE PERSON has posted their rough draft.  Just this evening, one person posted in that thread, but instead of posting a URL to her WEbQuest, she posted the URLs that she plans on using IN her WebQuest. Big difference.  Meanwhile, i agonize about how I’m going to set up the process so that my kids get both sides of the animal dissection controversy while still being able to defend their own views.

I was talking to Andria about online classes: she loves them, because she feels like they are less work.  I hate this one because I feel like I’m still the slacker I always was, but I don’t get to be in class so that every week my prof at least hears and sees me and knows I’m not a total idiot.  Instead, I feel like they get only "procrastination-gretchen" without the "but totally intelligent, thoughtful, and unbelievably witty hahahah-gretchen."  Needless to say, I cannot wait to take next semester’s class,"Adapting Instruction for Students with Disabilities," and a huge reason for my eagerness is that I will get to be on campus every week, in a class with REAL PEOPLE. Yay!

In other news, the kid from yesterday is "probably not" pregnant, but not because she thought she could get pregnant from a toilet seat or anything — she is sexually active, and started feeling sick and went on the internet to look for symptoms and was all "I have to pee more than usual, I think!" and panicked.  I so wanted to talk to her myself and say " I KNOW what you mean, girlfriend," but you know, she’s fourteen.  We probably approach possible pregnancy symptoms with different hopes.  Maybe I’ll write about it in a few days, but it was actually kind of a positive experience.  It made me feel good to know that the kids trusted me to do the right thing without getting them in trouble, and the BadGirl had one of her moments of humanity when she thanked me, in a very sincere way, after school.  It was one of those days where I know I did my job to the best of my ability, and that I affected  kids in the way I want to.

Also, Dave is hanging the beadboard, finally! Of course, this means using his new all-in-ine cutting tool (like a router/jigsaw thing that was on sale at Sears) which sounds exactly like a dental drill.  And when you’ve had as many drills in your mouth as I have, it is only natural to cringe perpetually when it is running. 

We got a rug for that room with our gift certificate that we got at our housewarming.  It’s this one, only in a lapis blue, and it’s 5’x8′.  I want to make curtains out of a windowpane or waffle chenille; Joann has some nice windowpane styles, but only in ugly colors, and I want white.  I just want to make some simple panel curtains, and add some chenille ball trim (which sounds super dirty, doesn’t it?) in another contrasting color. red, maybe or orange.  (The walls are Sherwin WIlliams ‘Dancing Green,’ which is a green-apple/limey green color. Really lovely, actually.  The beadboard is white.  I wonder how long I’ll actually SEW in it. Hrm.

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Kids Today!

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First, an update on the uterus:  I weighed the factors of ‘perhaps I dream in opposites,’ ‘perhaps my lack of PMS symptoms is a symptom’, and ‘that girl on the crazy shitload-of-smilies message board that I lurk on got her BFP! two days ago and she has the same cycle as me’ and tested this am to decided single line.  No shadow, or hint, or anything. Just a long field of crystal clear whiteness and the dark pink streak of the contol line.  So, on to next month, where I won’t be doing anything beyond screwing every other fucking day for the entire month. Dave is on board, which is good, because I’d really like the every-other-day plan to include him.  Anyway. You can all take your candles and go back to work tomorrow, and your complimentary gift for attending the vigil will be in the mail.

THE OTHER STORY:

Dave pointed this story out to me this morning that he saw on yahoo news: Principals’ Freaked Out by Students Dance, Dress.  It was of note because of a recent dilemma I had as the sponsor of the first school dance.

One of the 7th graders was dancing to Christina Aguilera’s ‘Dirty’ in a very X-Tina way. She dropped to her knees, leaned back and shook her still-developing boobs. Whoa.  Compounding the situation was that this kid was the daughter of one of our regular subs.  She works almost every day, and has worked in my room, and I consider her my friend as we hang out outside of school sometimes.  I asked Amy, mom of an almost-middle-schooler, what I should do. "GRETCHEN, you need to TELL HER."  So, I did. 

It prompted an interesting discussion at school, but Robyn was genuinely appreciative of the heads-up.  She didn’t tell her daughter who told on her, but she and her husband had a long discussion with the kid.  She asked the girl to show her how she was dancing, and Robyn and her husband were horrified.  "Thank GOD you were wearing jeans," is what the husband said, and in true impulsive middle schooler fashion, the daughter scoffed "I wasn’t wearing JEANS, I was wearing Sam’s miniskirt."

Yeah. That didn’t help her case.

I went out with Robyn the day after, Tuesday night, and we ended up getting in to a bug conversation about ‘Kids Today" and what was their deal, anyway? It came around to fashion, and I told her that maybe why I was compelled to give her the headsup was BECAUSE her kid was in a short skirt.  In jeans, it might have been different.  We then talked about the fashions of today, and how when we were in middle school to have skin showing was just a travesty — we wore longsleeved rugby shirts, jeans rolled at the ankles with several pairs of socks rising to meet the tucked-and-rolled cuff.  To have ankle showing would not have been cool.  We had hammer pants — pants with extra fabric and we had sweaters that came down to our knees.  And dancing, if you could do the Roger Rabbit, that was as extreme as you got.  And, face it, the RR is just not erotic at all.

The conversation then wound around to touching kids at school. No, not that way, but that’s what you thought, isn’t it?  When we were in school, getting a hug froma teacher, or a pat on the back or a shoulder squeeze was commonplace.  If I touch my kids in anyway other than a high-five, I immediately apologize to them, and think "Fuck!" in my head. (Uh, Fuck as in "That was not cool" not as in "Me, now!")  Robyn, who subs across the grade levels and subjects, has said the same thing.  We can’t let the kids touch each other, because it might be harrassment.  "Hands off, guys!" is something I say all. the. time.  You just don’t touch each other in public schools.

"So," I wondered out loud, "do you think the change in fashion is at all related to the change in how we treat kids? As a society, I mean, you don’t touch a kid unless they are direct relation to you, you know? So maybe kids are evolving to get that attention from adults in another way — visually."

It’s something to think about, isn’t it?

Either way, the outcome of Robyn’s situation is that she is chaperoning the next dance, just to make sure her daughter wears the approved outfit (she pulled the old "i’m wearing this out the door and then changing at my friend’s house!") and conducting herself in an appropriate manner. 

Dreamy

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I’ve been dreaming for months that I wake up, stumble to the bathroom, pee delicately (ha!) on a magic wand, and have a Lifetime Movie moment where I see 2 pink lines. (I just typoed that as "pink pines" which would be really funny, to throw back the curtains and find that 2 of our dozen or so pine trees have gone pink. Heh.)

This month, though, in the first month of "it ain’t nevah gonna happen!" paranoia, I’ve been dreaming about getting my period.  I’ve had that dream several times, that I wake up to the familiar cramping and totter off to deal with the thing I’ve dealt with every month for the last 16 years.

Last night, the dream was that I was pregnant, or I had told people I was or something, and I was going into labor.  This set off a chain reaction of informing people: my class was writing "Go, Mrs S!" on the whiteboard, cousins form far away were renting minivans to get here, my parents were trying to get to town, it was a big deal.  I went to the hospital to be ‘checked’ and when i got there, I realized "Whoops! Just starting my period, I’m not pregnant after all!" and I thought "Hrm, why did I think I was? Did someone tell me I was?"  I was embarrassed, because, DUH, I should know the difference between 10 months of pregnancy and a bad menstrual cramp, and people were pissed off that I had dragged them away from what they were doing for my "false alarm."

I woke up, very confused, and realized that no, I had not started my period (but, like the pink lines dreams of months previous, it was SO real) and yes, it was almost 9 am.  And that is how I started my day: relieved to know I wasn’t a dumbass that had claimed labor pains without every actually being PREGNANT and not bleeding.

Retribution

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Thanksgiving away was fine.  We couldn’t remember if Dave had met the family whose house we were eating at, but when the door opened and their daughter opened her mouth, we both instantly remembered: dinner, three years ago, at the Bag. We had the bacon & caramelized onion pizza.  She hasn’t changed much. Dinner was fine, though, and we went back to my parents place and watched Uncle Buck, a VHS that one of their renters had left behind. Damn, that’s a good movie.

This morning we had breakfast and wandered around the Village with my folks as they got their season passes and caught up with other Mountain-ers that they hadn’t seen since last season.  It’s so cute, my dad in his green wool hunting pants and LLBean parka, and my mom putting on makeup for her season pass. Hee. Also cute was the story on "thanksgiving babies" that was on the news, and my dad saying "awwww, they’re so cute!"  I couldn’t even bear to look at the screen for fear that my WANTING would cause me to explode.  (No bleeding yet, but I did get both a note with babydust AND a leftover HPT in the mail today, from two different people in two different states. Heh.)

We headed back after noon, and I napped in the car, and when we got home I checked my email to find out who we had been ‘assigned’ to for the InLaw Christmas.

Now, every other year has been a big ol’ gift card exchange, basically, and everyone has been expected to buy for everyone else. That’s a lotta people. ANd I think it’s bullshit.  Last year, we gave every family a framed family portrait from our wedding and a loaf of homemade bread.  The year before I made those heatable rice packs and soap for everyone. Or maybe that was ’01. I forget.  Anyway, it’s always bugged me because gift exchanging in my family was only done within the immediate family. Even my grandparents only ever sent a check, which bought savings bonds, which bought things like college tuition and our washer/dryer when they were cashed in.  The theory behind the deal was that each family took care of themselves, and it didn’t mean we loved each other less — we just used our resources more locally.  Granted, my family members were all over the country, and not just within city limits, but still. (And we still see MY long-distance relatives more than my in-town inlaws, but I digress.)  My ILs don’t even put much THOUGHT into their gifts, everyone prefers gift cards, so it ends up being a big ol’ gift card exchange, which is just pointless.  Especially when there’s NO THOUGHT.  Dave and I joked to each other about starting a "twenty dollar bill swap" to just cut it back to it’s essence; we’d end in the same place we started off, but something was exchanged as a token ‘gift.’ 

When i was at the party last weekend, I mentioned to SIL that we couldn’t afford to buy for everyone, so please don’t buy for us, etc etc.  I even mentioned how my family did it, and she agreed that somehting should change, especially since the other SILs family has exploded over the last year.  She talked about drawing names, and I said "well, whatever" and left it at that.  A few days later, I got an email saying they would draw names at Thanksgiving, and I wrote back and suggested they draw along gender lines, as it would make the buying easier.  She agreed to that too.  When we got home today, I checked my email and found our names.

Dave got our BIL, the one person in the family he wouldn’t mind buying for. (Our BIL is a fantastic guy. He’s a by-marriage IL, but he helped us move, he helped me with my car one day purely by chance, he would do anything for you and is a hard-working honest to god good guy. We love him most.)  Me? Who got the whole "stop the christmas insanity!" ball rolling? I got ANGIE. My nephew’s Like-A-Wife, named so because that’s what my SIL called her when I had to tell her that she was not invited to our wedding, so why did you RSVP for a steak dinner for her?  Of everyone in our family, she is the one I least care for, simply because I do not KNOW HER.  I don’t even know — I swear to god — her last name.  What I do know drives me nuts, she’s the one who is 37 weeks pregnant with number 2, she’s the one who lives in city housing and makes fun of others for not having DIGITAL CABLE. GREAT.

I called my SIL and asked what the limit was for spending.  "Oh, well, it depends on who you’re buying for, I guess. Like, if I had my sister I’d probably spend more, but if I had Angie, not much, because I don’t really know her." 

"Yeah, and that’s who I have."

"Oh yeah. I forgot about that.  But GoodNiece has your name!"

So, my IL puppeteering has me in quite a funny position.  Dave has an easy one to buy for, and it’s not an obligatory purchase.  We totally dig BIL.  I am receiving from the one person in my ILs that would know what I’d like.  I’m pretty safe from guardian angel pins and teacher-themed cardigans.  But me? The center of the Gendered Name Drawing Gift Reform Act of ’04? Get the single most dreaded person to buy FOR.  Maybe if someone who KNEW her got her name, they wouldn’t be freaking out, but still.

So, I called Amy.  Angie will be 1+ weeks postpartum (assuming she goes full term) and I wanted to get a gift.  I am also vehemently anti-giftcard with the ILs, just because they ALWAYS give and get giftcards, and I like to THINK about gifts.  Amy gave me some ideas, and I ended up putting together a bag of  spa-like goodies.  Not bath salts, because who has time for a bath when you have a 3 year old and a newborn, but good body lotion, a set of massager things for the shower, a facial mask, a body puff, etc.  The only pre-packaged thing I got was the lotion set, an Almay (hypoallergenic! I wanted some for myself since I am so allergenic I can never have this shit) set of BOTH "relax" and "rejuvenate."  I couldn’t decide what would be better for postpartum, so the mix was a good idea.

I also got some other stuff, and if you’re a sneaky-family-member reader (um, Dave, my parents, etc) then don’t click the link.

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Updates of Various Storylines

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First, on the MIL.

At the family party I attended as the S-G Househould Representative (Dave had to work), I got to hear all about the MIL’s cancer thingie.  It’s a 2" square, and she was scheduled for biopsy on Monday and a brain and body scan yesterday.  (Fret not, the whole conversation was peppered with who was taking her/staying with her/and it’s not you guys for a typical dose if IL guilt tripping).  Apparently, both went well, according to Dave who talked to her yesterday. (On the phone, which I’m sure does not rank as much as In Person, so we are still awful people.)

Of course, the conversation then turned to Thanksgiving, whcih went kind of like this: "So, you guys are going to the mountain? Yeah? That will be nice.. . .  I just hope that this Thanksgiving isn’t Mom’s last, you know.  It’s just scary to think of what could happen by next year… but you guys will have fun with your parents, I’m sure.  And if she’s still here next year maybe we can plan something . . ."

I asked Dave when we got home, because it is his MOM, you know? And I told him we could do whatever he wanted, it was up to him. Did he want to stay here? ("Helllll NO.")

Here’s the thing.  Yes, MIL could die over the course of a year. But so could MY parents, or even one of US for that matter.  If you look at risk factors, all MIL has is a smoking-ravaged body (No radiation on account of the built in defibrillator, the solution would be removing the upper lobe of her left lung) and a generally unhealthy lifestyle.  My parents, on the other hand, are healthy.  They travel, and ski, and drive tens of thousands of miles each year, far more than the average 15k.  They ski and kayak and go rafting and hiking and duck hunting on the open sea.  Who says that they will be here?  And, for that matter, we did it this way because we aren’t going home for Christmas with them, as we’ve done every year before, but having them come here.

It’s just frustrating.  One of my coworkers was talking about her own passive-aggressive, manipulative mother, and how she preferred spending time with her inlaws.  It made me feel a little better about Dave, because it IS his family.  But, I think he has a better time with mine.  We talk, they know each other, we don’t stare slack-jawed at whatever "game" is on the tv.  My mom is a loon, which drives us both nuts, but she’s not laying on ghe guilt every time we see her. Because, gasp! SHe actually initiates CONTACT with us! Despite the fact that she lives 100 miles away! The ILs, who all live in city limits, never call us unless MIL is in the hospital, or we’re trying to make plans for the three holidays they want us for: Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter. (We are so DONE with numbers 1 & 3, but Christmas Eve will remain our one concession.)  It’s just fucked up.

Also, if my MIL does die before next Thanksgiving, my SILs are so much older that Dave said it was like "having 3 mothers."  Which, in turn, means I have three MILs.  Gah.

(I don’t mean to sound like a total bitch, it’s a complex situation that readers at the old journal are more familiar with, and I’m really a very nice person.  But my ILs are fucking annoying as all hell.)

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I know, shut up.

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Headache. Did I have as much headacheyness every other month? I don’t usually get them. But I’ve had one every day at some point, and is it a sign?

Also, tired. But I didn’t fall asleep today, because it was the Oprah’s Favorite Things AND all for teachers, and I am a sucker for that stuff.  (And anyone who saw the SNL spoof last season could really appreciate this one, it was a parody of itself.)  I could have, but I had a cup of tea instead.  And I also had a small peppermint mocha latte because they are limited edition and sounded yummy, and I conned Andy into going out with me to get one. And I was right.

So, normal tea intake is a cuppa before school, and another at 10 am.  Today, Ihad those 2, as well as a diet pepsi at lunch and through the afternoon, and the Nutcracker Sweet this afternoon, and the latte. So, more than twice my usual.

I also had supper, and was still hungry — heartburny hungry, if that makes sense — so I had an almond-butter sandwich.  And a drinking yogurt, and my vitamins. And now it’s 10:28 and I should go to bed.

I hope I last til Thursday.

Crossing the Line

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I know I get pretty, uhh, obsessive during my 2WW, and those of that endure my prattling on are great. However, even I can recognize that this crosses the line.

(I lurk at that board to see what the newest due dates are for a given month, and if my hypothetical EDD pops up, I get all excited to test.  I don’t post, they are a little too intense there.)

Addendum

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1)  I realize that all the people I am so frustrated with (esp. ILs) may very well be looking at me and seething at what I have: a degree, a house, a husband, a professional career. 

2)  I do not react this way with other babies. Most of me wishes I could come clean on what it is I want so badly, but I know that it would just mean more. . . .interference in the process.

3)  I realize that I probably have more in common with these people than I allow myself to know. However, at this time, I am pretty much seeing everything there in a Pregnant/Not Pregnant filter.  If I was pregnant, it would give me something to talk about, at least, since it is a favorite hobby of my ILs.

4)  The GNC conversation was very unsettling, and to go straight from that encounter to the House O’ Fertile Folk only exacerbated the angst I was already feeling.

5) Also, found out that two more of Dave’s coworkers are up the spout.  One is (of COURSE) a young (unmarried) PA and the other is a young, married couple that is actually from my hometown.  So I heard about them from both my mom and Dave.

6) As I related the story and angst I’m feeling to Amy on the telephone, CSI came on featuring an empty crib and kidnapped baby plot. MMmm.. More baby.

7)  The Angie in the previous entry is not to be confused with the Angie I work with. Two tooootlalllly different Angies.

8)  Amy and I tried to laugh off the stress I’m feeling, looking to the end of the week and saying maybe this whole day is a moot point and I’m pregnant RIGHT NOW. Hah.

9) Just before I hung up with her, my Amazon shipping confirmation came through on my gmail.

10)  In a fit of positive energy, I ordered one book on grandparenting, and two on pregnancy. You know, just in case I find out before we go to the mountain for dinner, I can give my parents a Holiday Surprise. Heh. Seriously, I’m going fucking nuts.