Nothing Says Happy Birthday Like Tasty Crickets

My birthday was a little over a week ago, and I have to say that this one was pretty wonderful. That morning when my students were entering first period, they loaded me up with brownies and birthday cards, and they sang to me. Horribly of course, but it was so freakin' sweet. I was stumped, wondering how they figured out it was my birthday. I found out later that Mr. Moore (my mischievous retired-teacher-friend) was subbing on our campus that week and had spilled the beans. I gave him an earful when I found out. Except for it was more like an eye-full since it was via texting.

Later that morning, Teri swung by my work and had a large caramel iced coffee from Jack in the Box delivered to my classroom. I guess that doesn't sound like a big deal, but the caramel-flavored one is my favorite, and it's been discontinued. She had to drive all the way to the Jack in the Box by the freeway to find a place that still had a little bit of the caramel syrup left. She also bought me two additional large coffees--sans the ice--and poured them into a bottle for me, so I could luxuriate in my favorite iced coffee a little longer before I lost them forever. 

When I came home from work, Clint, who likes to torture me with the present-opening process, made me work to win my gifts. I was given thirty seconds to run through the backyard and shoot as many clay pigeons as I could. Each clay pigeon had a gift taped to the inside. The catch was I had to watch out for "whammies"--clay pigeons that had "unconventional" gifts taped to them. The game was a blast (no pun intended). My favorite gift I won was this:

I think I about hyperventilated. I've been wanting some kind of gumball machine for my classroom for awhile, but this far exceeded anything I had imagined. Since I can't keep gum or candy in it (against school rules), Clint stuffed it with pencil toppers and miniature erasers. My students LOVE this thing. Clint got the machine from a company in China that manufactures candy dispensers for businesses, and he got all of the pencil toppers and erasers from Oriental Trading Company. Since he stuck with bulk items that were being clearanced out, each eraser ended up costing about two cents. When students put a quarter in, they get anywhere from 4 to 10 erasers. I'm planning to use the "profit" to buy more erasers.

Unfortunately, I did hit two whammy gifts. Whammy gift #1 landed me with three boxes of dehydrated crickets. On the plus side they came in a nice assortment of flavors (sour cream and onion, bacon and cheddar, and salt and vinegar). I gave them to students as prizes. I made a super big deal about it. "Now whoever does the best job on today's presentation wins a highly coveted, amazing prize. It's.....drumroll please.....some delicious crickets! Never say I don't love you." By the time Monday rolled around, my students were wondering what else they could do to win crickets, and I had to give them the bad news that we had run out. Seventh graders are awesome. 

Here's whammy gift #2:

This is Amelia. She's a Brittany--a hunting dog (primarily bird hunting). Clint and Elijah got their hunting licenses last month, and Clint's been pestering me ever since that he wants a hunting dog. One of the groups he and Elijah joined, Quail Forever, basically requires a hunting dog for their outings. You can always group up with others who have a dog, but it's not quite the same as having your own. While I understood all this, we already had three dogs. There was NO WAY IN HELL I was signing up for a fourth. So I told Clint that he was going to have to wait until Cricket (our nearly-11-year-old Corgi) passed away before getting his dog. 

Then I hit that stupid whammy. Which was clearly marked with a 'W', by the way. If I had hit the other two whammies, I would have ended up with a McDonalds frappuchino and a hug. BUT NO. I scored some crispy crickets and a damn dog. Yay me.

To be fair, I don't really notice the difference between three dogs and four. I think by the time you reach three you're already so saturated with mammals that adding one more into the mix is barely noticeable. Plus Clint's doing all the work of training her, so it's not so bad. Amelia is playful and super affectionate, and she's making it difficult to not like her.

Still, if we don't reign this pet-thing in soon, this is going to be us by next year:

(Clint texted me this photo the other day and I couldn't stop giggling)

Seriously, our household is a zoo. If there was ever any doubt, this is what I was dealing with while trying to read in the backyard this morning:

Tipsy and Fable--our obtrusive geese who are still struggling with the concept of personal space.

My One-Winged Chicken

Remember that post I wrote, Why You Don't Want to Be a Bird in my House? Yeah...here's a new one to add to that list. Our new cloister (is that what you call them?) of baby hens was attacked by...something. I never saw the culprit. But of the five chicks, one of them completely disappeared, and another one lost her entire wing. It's just...gone. Nothing left except for a nasty groove where the wing used to be. It's pretty gut-wrenching to look at.

The good news is the chick is presently recovering in our indoor medic center (aka: cardboard box on dining room table), and is doing surprisingly well. I didn't know if she would make it, because she kept falling over on the first day and was taking a lot of naps. But today--on day 4--she's eating like a pig, chirping louder than should be possible, and the wound is almost completely scabbed over.

I'm going to keep her inside for one more day, and then put her back with her siblings. I hope she is able to adjust to life without her wing. It's not just the flying thing, but chickens use their wings for balance. It will be a huge struggle for her to even run forward on the ground without the benefit of flapping her wings, and I don't know how she will be able to roost with the other hens at night beneath the eaves of their chicken coop. When we first discovered her injury, a part of me contemplated putting her out of her misery. But I couldn't. She was still chirping and seemed to want to live. Big or small, I think every creature has the right to choose life, and to fight for that choice.

Oh, we're calling her Maleficent, by the way. You'll get the appropriateness of that name once you've seen the movie.

I had more profound things to write about tonight, but somehow I blabbed about my one-winged chicken instead. Ooh, I still have time to turn this into some meaningful metaphor about life or struggles or something, or impart some universal lesson. Hmmm. Hmmmmmmmmm. *scratches head*

"Don't lose appendages. It sucks."

Our New, uh, "Cat"

Last month we went to the pound to look at cats. We used to have two cats, but got rid of them because I had a perpetually stuffy nose. Now it's been a year and a half of having no cats in the house, and I still have a stuffy nose. I mean, it's all good--who needs two fully functioning nostrils to breath through anyway?--but since we figured cats weren't the culprit, we decided to check out kittens at the pound and possibly bring one home. 

Here's Blitzen, our new cat.

Yeah...you might have noticed a tiny bit of a technical problem. Like, I don't know, maybe the fact that Blitzen is a wee bit on the "doggish" side. 

I probably should have prefaced this post with the fact that I DON'T DO SMALL DOGS. In general I've always loved animals, but little wussy dogs with their constant yapping...NO THANKS. Chihuahuas are the worst. My parents and my grandparents both have chihuahuas, and those dogs yip every time they hear the smallest sound. You walk in the house, and it's a five-minute orchestra of ear-splitting yapping. Later you move to get out of your chair, and the yapping starts all over again. I think it's great to have a dog with some watch dog ability, but come on. Figure out what you're supposed to bark at and what's just everyday noise. Plus they growl and snap at my kids every time they get near. My kids are very sweet and gentle with animals, so it's annoying. I have no use for that. I get the whole "loyal dog" thing, but a truly loyal dog has enough brain cells to recognize that offspring of the owners are something to be protected, not attacked. 

So why the hell do we have a four-and-a-half pound pomeranian/CHIHUAHUA?

The answer would probably take me another two pages to write, so we'll just say it's your classic family-goes-to-pound-to-get-cat-but-falls-in-love-with-scrawny-pomchi-instead story. I will say that the pound gave us thirty days to try him out, informing us that at any time we could return him, no questions asked. 

It has now been thirty days, and there is no way this dog is going back to the pound. Because, well, he is a pure joy. Blitzen acts like a Labrador trapped in a small dog's body. He is always happy and loves everyone, even my preschool-aged nephew and niece. He's crate trained and sleeps so heavy at night that sometimes you think he's dead. He's quirky and weird, running laps around the house or jumping at shadows on the wall. But the best part? Unlike other small dogs, Blitzen very rarely barks. I thought this was because we had struck gold and found ourselves the least-annoying little dog in the world, but as it turns out, Blitzen is deaf. He doesn't bark because he can't hear anything to bark at.  

Do I still think that most little dogs are useless sissies? Sure. And do I shamefully laugh once in awhile when Clint pretends he's going to throw Blitzen into the wood chipper? Absolutely. But do I have a tiny bit more understanding of the bond between small-dog owners and their scrawny little fur babies? Well, I guess I have to say yes, I *sort of* get it. 

That's the most you're getting from me. Big dogs still rule. 

Scrivener and Other Stuff

I usually thrive on Saturdays, but this one's kind of a bummer because Elijah is sooooo very grounded. I found out on Thursday night he had a science fair project due the next day (yesterday), and he never told me. Now he's spending today doing a science fair project that he probably won't even get credit for. I still need to run out at some point today and buy him his board and supplies and all that.

Plus my coffee machine broke. To not have my coffee on a Saturday morning is immediately starting my weekend off with a...okay, I wrote myself into a corner there. Let's just go with "It sucks."

I have a student teacher for the rest of the school year (I do realize I'm subject-jumping). I love having even a mediocre student teacher because it's a refreshing change of pace to have another adult to share ideas and lessons with, not to mention that two adults in the classroom lighten up the workload. But in this case, I was fortunate enough to get a pretty great student teacher. He's very proactive. In the two weeks we've been working together he already has a great grip on my students and has just about adopted 3rd and 4th period as his own. Plus he makes us COFFEE every afternoon just in time to get past the 6th/7th period lull...

We found PJ a home! (subject-jumping again). Shannon has a perfect fenced in area where Charlotte (her pig) lives, and she has agreed to take him in. PJ's new future home is lush and green, with overhangs to provide protection during bad weather. There's also a spicket of water, so he'll never go thirsty. He'll have freedom to hop around freely, but in a protected space, which he seems to crave.

Have I told you about my deaf dog yet? I'll save that one for a future entry.

In manuscript news, I had to adjust my word count goal for DoT, because it occurred to me that 100K is the maximum suggested word count for a young adult novel. To leave my goal untouched means that in order to reach 100% on my word meter, I'm guaranteed to have to go over the maximum, forcing me to make cuts. Unless by some miracle I end up with exactly 100,000 words, and what are the chances of that? So I brought my goal down to 90,000, just to give some 10K wiggle room. But now I'm about to have an anxiety attack because there is no way I can wrap this story up in 11,000 words. I'm screwed. I'm just going to write the thing and make lots of cuts when I go to revise.

I found an amazing program for writers called Scrivener. Although 'found' is a misnomer because it was actually recommended to me by a twitter friend/fellow writer, @_RScottWhitley (he and I were both part of the #WorldsEnd project). This program is designed for people who are writing a book, unlike Word, which is geared toward people writing an essay or a report. The program took me two days and several tutorials to learn, but now that I have it figured out, I was hooked. My favorite thing about it (although it's hard to choose one because there are so many cool features) is it allows you to save/print your book in ANY format, including paperback novel format, eBook format for Kindle, etc. You could literally skip the middle man with this program and create your own eBook with little to no outside assistance.

I might write another entry today because I'm feeling all blabbery.

An Unsolicited Visitor

Elijah was playing outside when he came running in the house to announce "There's a bunny in our front yard!" I was pretty underwhelmed because, well, it's a bunny. The occasional rabbit isn't anything out of the ordinary in our neighborhood. But Elijah informed me that this particular rabbit seemed friendlier than normal, so I went outside to check it out.

The rabbit was sitting right in front of our side yard, hanging out with Pumpkin (our flemish giant) through the fence. He seemed pretty comfortable with our presence, so Trinity ran back in the house to get some rabbit food, wanting to see if she could feed him. We were all surprised when the rabbit ate right out of her hand. But then...she picked him up! I was standing there, stunned, thinking, "Wait, you can't do that! You can't pick up a wild rabbit!" But the guy didn't mind at all. He never kicked or protested in any way, acting like being picked up by humans was an every day thing.

So it became clear to me that this was a domestic rabbit. We brought him in the house so he wouldn't get caught by a stray dog (he already had scratches on his face as if he had scrapped with a cat that morning), and we gave him some more food and water.

Here he is, chilling under our coffee table.

The kids named him PJ. He's in our giant outdoor rabbit hutch right now, but I need to come up with a more permanent situation for him. He has zero interest in being a wild rabbit and has seemed to claim our home as his own.

Let the record show that I have put forth an exerted effort to downsize my pets. It's hardly my fault though when they deliver themselves to my doorstep.

Why You Don't Want to be a Bird in My House

I'm a bit wary when it comes to taking in birds.

When I was a kid, I put my heart and soul into raising a baby pigeon that I had rescued.  Her name was Annie.  Ultimately she died.  I sobbed like a baby for that stupid bird.     

In Silver Lakes I rescued a baby duck whose mother had abandoned it on the street.  I even took that bird to my credentialing classes with me to keep up with its demanding feeding schedule.  It died.

Then there was our parakeet Lewy.  He escaped when his food was being changed, smacked head-first into the stairwell ceiling fan (which was on. Full blast), and fell two stories down.  He looked as dead as a...very dead bird (I'll work on a better simile), splayed out on the floor with his neck twisted all funky.  But as the kids cried over him, he suddenly spun his head around like something in the Exorcist, and stood up.  It was the creepiest thing I've ever seen.  He was like some sort of immortal, vampire parakeet.

A month later, our immortal vampire parakeet died of a heart-attack when the cat stared at him through the cage.

Then, three years ago, one of our chickens escaped her coop and was attacked by our dog.  I tried to save her.  She survived for three days before she got gangrene and her eyeball fell out.

Yes, her eyeball fell out.

A few months after that, the easement in our backyard was struck by lightening, and all of our remaining chickens dropped dead.

A perfect example of having your fried chicken and not eating it too.

Last year Trinity saved up her money for months so she could buy a baby, hand-fed cockatiel.  Dimples.  Remember her?

That's her memorial.  Yeah, she died on the fourth of July, her heart stopping after a particularly loud bout of fireworks.  

Then there was my personal favorite: Loki.  He was not only a beautiful pineapple conure, but he was a sweetheart of a bird.

Loki dropped dead right off his perch.  No apparent reason.  One second he was standing there; the next second we heard a thump, and he was dead.

So yeah.  I feel like I'm the unwitting Grim Reaper of all things feathered.

But I wouldn't be writing all of this if I didn't have SOME good news...so here it is:  We finally--FINALLY--saved a bird!  Remember Brooke, the sparrow Trinity rescued?

Given our history with birds, I had zero expectations of her making it.  But she did make it!  Brooke got past that precarious baby phase, learned to eat solid foods, toughed through the fireworks, learned to fly (practicing all over our house--she gave us a scare last week when she got stuck behind the stove), and as of today, she was finally released into the great big wild. That part was sad.  Trin was super attached, but she recognized that it was selfish to keep her in captivity.     

Here's a sweet little video Trinity made of Brooke's release:

I love the song she chose, Arms by Christina Perri.

It took years and years of trial and error (aka: bird massacres), but we FINALLY got one right.  Thus if you are a bird that finds yourself in my home, the good news is you have a lofty 10% chance of making it.

(That sounds better than saying you have a 90% chance of dying a very grisly death).

Brooke

Brooke survived Day 2.  We tried to give her bird seed, but she looked at us like we were from another planet.  So then we tried to feed her from a syringe.  She looked at us like a haughty teenager whose parents have 'no clue,' and I swear she rolled her eyes a little.  Then we added warm water to chick-starter to turn it into mush, and Trin offered it to her on a spoon.  Like a typical Goldilocks, this was just right. 

Watching her eat is pretty freakin' cute.

I Spayed my Cat. Twice.

I had this really weird dream that I accidentally spayed my already-spayed cat, and then a transformer box blew up at my work leaving me trapped in a dark classroom with my rowdy 7th period class all day, and then I won Teacher of the Year.

Oh wait.  Those things actually happened.

Let me start with the power outage.  It happened today,* on an upside-down week.  On upside-down weeks, kids start with their 7th period class in the morning, and then proceed to 6th, 5th, 4th, and so on.  Today started perfectly normal.  I conducted an in-class Spelling Bee during our 7th period morning class, the kids took a break (I have each group of kids for two periods), and then we started reading A Wrinkle in Time during 6th period.

That's when the power went out. 

The kids immediately screamed because, well, that's what 12 and 13 year-olds do when their classroom descends into darkness.  I just played it off and said, "Come on guys, this is no big deal."  There was no way for me to call anyone up front to see what was going on since our classroom phones were dead, and the level of darkness in my room made it impossible to do any work or read, so I took the kids out into the sunshine where we finished reading our chapter.

Right when 6th period was nearing its end and students were packing up (in the dark) for their next class, a campus aid walked in and informed me that I would have to keep this group of students in class with me until the power outage was over.  I think my response was, "Um, wha...?  Come again?"  She explained that for accountability purposes, all students were required to stay with the last teacher who took their attendance, that way they would know exactly where everyone was.  That just went in one ear and out the other.  I was like, "No Amy, you can't leave me here!  Take me with you!" as I flung my arms around her feet and allowed her to drag me across the campus (this might be a good time to mention that 6/7th period is my rowdiest bunch. And that I might be bit of an unreliable narrator). My students, on the other hand, were elated, with shouts of "Yay! We get to stay with you all day Mrs. P! ALL DAY FOR ETERNITY." (Again, unreliable). Basically the prospect of spending the day trapped in room 405 didn't bother them a bit.

So I did what any sensible 7th grade teacher would do in this situation.  We played Heads Up Seven Up.  Followed by Silent Ball.  And Spelling Bee Ball.  I even came up with a little slogan--a mantra, if you will:

Staying Alive in Room 405.

Catchy, huh?

Anyway, a few minutes before lunch (yes, it's been half of a day at this point--aka: Half of eternity) the school counselor came into my room and told me that I was allowed to dismiss students for a 30 minute lunch.

"And after lunch would be a perfect time for them to go to a different class, right?" I asked.
"Nope.  These kids will return to your class."

Oh good.  Because I hadn't gotten my fill of them yet.    

After a very dark and strange lunch (I think the students ate emergency peanut butter jelly sandwiches or something), I plodded dejectedly hurried enthusiastically back to class where I was greeted by my now-high-on-sugar 7th period.  Because I was starting to look like this,

I decided to send two of my students to fetch some board games from nearby teachers.  We managed to procure four games of Monopoly.  This was a GOD send.  I divided the class into four groups, and we spent the rest of our time together playing a classic game that has virtually no end--which is perfect for a day that has no foreseeable end either. 

On a side note, I am now adding Monopoly to my survival kit for both home and school purposes.  As far as I'm concerned, it's right up there with food, water, flashlights, and batteries.

Oh (another side note), speaking of flashlights, did I mention that mine was dead?  I've had an emergency flashlight in my classroom for seven years now, and the first time I go to use it, it doesn't work.  Words can not describe how much fun it is to try to use the staff restroom in pitch darkness.  Especially for those who enjoy stubbing their toes on porcelain and head-bashing walls.  And don't even get me started on the damn toilet seat liner.

So back to my story.  Monopoly saved my hide, and the power finally did come back on that afternoon.  Turned out a transformer exploded underground.  Trinity was in P.E. jogging right passed the transformer when it happened, so she heard the boom and saw the cloud of dust.  But even better than that is the fact that she was stuck in her P.E. clothes all day.  That's every girls dream, right there. 

During 1st period, the principal came into my classroom, and announced in front of all my students that I had won Teacher of the Year at my school site.  That was just...wow.  My kids went crazy, and I cried a little.  She told me to dress nice on Wednesday because they're coming to take my picture for the paper.  I don't know who "they" are or what "paper" she's referring to, but I told her I had already set aside a nice sloppy outfit for Wednesday and now she was jacking with my mojo. 

After 1st period ended, it was time for homeroom.  And I'm sure you can guess what kids I have for homeroom.

7TH PERIOD.

Yep.  They came in, and I said, "Hi guys!  I missed you!"  'Cause, you know, we just didn't have enough time to truly bond.

And that officially ends the story of the longest Friday I have ever had in my whole life.  But hey, did I mention that I won TEACHER OF THE YEAR??  And let me tell you, I was truly feeling the whole teacher of the year thing when I was screaming, "No, I get to be the thimble!"

Oh, one more little thing.  As I alluded to earlier, we dropped off our new cat (Toshi) to the vet to get her spayed.  They called around lunchtime where the following conversation commenced (Vet = red):

"Where's your cat's uterus?" 
"Um, I don't have it." 
"Well we can't find it." 
"Okay...do you want me to go over there and look for it?" 

After exploring around in her stomach some more, they finally concluded that the cat had already been fixed and stitched her back up.

Yeah, that's a little awkward.

But it was an honest mistake.  Clint's sister had the cat before us, and when she took Toshi in to get her vaccinations, she was told by the vet "your cat is in heat."  Little did the vet know that Toshi is just a really affectionate cat.

So the poor cat came back completely stoned last night from a surgery she didn't even need.  Not many animals get fixed twice, so I'm glad this one has nine lives.

*(post written on 5/10 but published later to give Shan's very cool  technology post more time on top)

House Munchers

We have termites! 

That exclamation mark is there to signify my dismay, not excitement, in case there was any question about that. 

We discovered them a few days ago.  Trin had tiny pot marks on her bathroom ceiling that were almost unnoticeable, but recently, a small tube of debris trickled down from one of the holes.  She smacked it with her shoe, and when it hit the floor, termites came running out.  She was thrilled about the discovery because she's a weird child who loves to study bugs, but I--on the other hand--not so thrilled.

After consulting an exterminator friend and watching some YouTube videos, I think we're going to try to take care of the problem ourselves.  But it's a huge undertaking, and there are quite a few risks, so we'll see.   It's not like the little suckers are going to digest our entire house tonight; we still have time to think about what we want to do. 

In other non-eusocial-insect-related news, we're going camping this weekend!  It was a complete spur of the moment decision, although since it's still five days away, I guess it's not that impromptu.  But basically we were at La Casita for lunch yesterday, and we ran into a whole bunch of people from the dojo.  They insisted that we go camping with them this Saturday.  There's somewhere around twenty-five of us going!  All of the kids are going to play paintball, so that should be a blast.  It's just an over-nighter, but I am SO excited.  The group we're going with is very lively and fun, and after the last few months of cold weather, I am more than ready to do something outside.

Oh, I bought a new rabbit on Saturday to keep Pumpkin company, but she somehow broke her leg.  She seems okay, but she only hops on three legs now.  The kids named her Jiggly Puff. 

Am I the only one who's growing super-fond of Otis??  I think Shan should do a whole series just about him.

Who Let the Dog Out?

So yesterday I was in my classroom, getting all of my stuff together for the State Writing Test, when my phone rang.  It was the front office.  The following conversation commences:

"Hi Mrs. P., your dog is here."
"Huh?"
"Your dog is here."
"Wait--what do you mean my dog is 'here'?  Define here."
"Here, in the office."
"Um, well, okay.  I'll be right down."

I then proceeded to the office, where I found Cleo--my rambunctious drooling Great Dane--bouncing around in the counseling department, making friends with students and staff alike.  Now normally I would have had a campus aid cover my class for twenty minutes while I dragged my sorry mutt home (in a universe where this situation is considered "normal").  But that morning I was administering the State Writing Test, a process which requires us to watch a video and sign an affadavit in advance.  Today was the one day that a campus aid could not watch my class.  Since running home wasn't an option, one of our secretaries grabbed my keys and my daughter, and the two loaded Cleo into her Jeep and took her back home.

Oh, Cricket and Yang got out too, and also showed up at my school.  The only difference is they didn't hang out like Cleo.  They got tired of campus life pretty quickly and ran back home.  The secretary brought Cleo home and put her in the chicken coop area in our backyard, but put the two smaller dogs in the house, knowing that they would probably get out again.  I gave her my blessing in all of this, but there was a good two hours where I was stressed, wondering what kind of havoc the dogs were wreaking in my house.  They've been in the house countless times when we're home, but never by themselves.  I was imagining trash spilled throughout the house, an upturned bird cage, a chewed up couch....

As it turned out, the only thing that was out of place were a couple of Elijah's toys and a block of dehydrated Top Ramen on the living room rug.

Later my sister-in-law checked on the dogs, and she found Cleo running down the street with our cat.  She then took all three dogs back to her place until Clint got off of work.

Upon investigation, it looks like one of the smaller dogs dug out, the other followed, and--seeing those two flaunt their freedom in the front yard--Cleo jumped the fence.  As far as what prompted Cleo to run all the way to my work and into our front office, either a) I have a very strong chemical trail, or b) She followed a student as he walked or rode his bike to school. 

A little concrete and chicken wire we *think* have resolved these issues.

Here's Cleo at eight weeks old....

Does that look like the face of a trouble maker?

Here's Cleo, a little more grown up.  This picture was taken on January 30th, so she was about four-and-a-half months old.

She turns six months old next week, so she's significantly bigger now.  She still puts her giant head and paws on my lap, but the rest of her has to stay on the floor. 

Fire and Ice

I don't know how to start this entry because I'm so behind on writing, and so much has been going on. 

I think the first thing I want to address is the tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary.  Like most Americans, I was horrified by what happened on Friday. This feeling intensified last night when I came across a CNN article that actually gave the profiles of several of the victims.  Reading about little 6 year old Jenny who loved her chocolate lab Sasha, or about 7 year old Cody who was getting his first bike for Christmas (randomly generated facts, but you get the point)...it was just crushing.  On the spur of the moment I texted my principal and told her I was going to start a charity drive for the Sandy Hook Memorial Fund.  I made a giant collection box and decorated it in green and white with a soaring eagle to represent the school's colors and mascot.  During lunch this week Builders Club will be collecting students' spare change.  None of this will do a damn thing to allay the families' grief, but I just feel like my school can--and should--do something.  I'm still absolutely chilled by the fact that so many families In Newtown, Connecticut are going to experience Christmas day beneath such a black cloud.   

Okay, much needed change of subject before I start shuddering with rage again.  On Friday night Tarius (a teacher/colleague) and I put on our school's Winter Dance.  We were nervous as hell about it because neither one of us had ever been responsible for an entire dance before, and there is a ton of work that goes into them--everything from advertising, creating/selling your tickets, getting all of your approvals turned in, buying/making decorations, planning for concessions, and so on.  The most stressful part for me was the decorating.  We had three periods to pull it off, which sounds like a lot, but the cafeteria proved to be a massive space when you're trying to fill it all in with a chosen theme.  Our theme was 'Fire and Ice', and we ended up with a wall of fire on one side of the cafeteria and ice on the other.  We also had columns of balloons everywhere--red/yellow/orange for fire, white and pale blue for ice; not to mention streamers, sparkly snowflakes, garland, piles of white "snow" (made from fluffy strips of cotton), white silky fabric draped in various places, and so on.  The best part of the fire side was a huge red arch with flames coming out of it.  The best part of the ice side were the giant snowflakes (they were the size of Saint Bernards) and all of the white Christmas lights.  We had four choreographed student performances that night, and we also crowned a Fire Queen and Ice King.  The dance turned out to be awesome.  Tarius and I had both been losing sleep over this dance for nearly two weeks, so we were on such a high when everything was over--we were thrilled that we had actually pulled it off!  After the clean-up (which lasted over an hour), we went to wine night at a colleagues house (Mr. A) to celebrate.  I am proud to say that this time around, I stayed away from the red wine.

Today I got annoyed and slammed a jar of lingonberries on the counter while emphasizing a point, and the jar ended up breaking.  It's weird, I haven't broken anything out of anger since my early twenties (I broke a bathroom mirror once with a hairbrush a long time ago).  But this jar did indeed break, and at first I didn't notice, until I was flinging my hands around emphatically and I saw red drops puddling all over the floor.  I realized the jar was broken and thought the red splatters were the lingonberries, but it turned out that I was flinging my own blood all over!  I looked at my finger and it was dripping with blood.  Even beneath water and with pressure it would not stop bleeding for a good twenty minutes.  It was a small cut but it went in deep (haha, serves me right).  Trin asked me later what happened to my finger, and I said "I was throwing a temper tantrum and decided to shatter a jar."  She thought this was really funny and said "Are you still mad?"  And I said "Yes, because I'm really craving lingonberries." 

Other things I want to talk about but will have to wait for another time include:  Our new(er) Great Dane pup, an upcoming visit with Matt and Alana (yay!), another finished painting, a current bathroom remodel, and...I think that's it. 

Oh, but real quick, I want to paint this picture.  I found this back when I was searching out ideas for 'Fire and Ice'.

And I love this song.  Rihanna's lyrics are happy, but somehow the song sounds sad.  In the video, I find the scenes with the horses incredibly sweet.

I (un) Heart Cats

Found out that the cat drank from my cereal bowl (Apple Jacks, in case you're interested).   Which is fine and all, except for I learned this information right after I had finished gulping up the last of the milk from that particular bowl.   So thank you, dear family, for that awesome heads-up.   And thank you, Karfcia, for reminding me why cats are the bane of my existence.

This week was grueling with some good parts and some lousy parts. I should write about it, but I really don't want to.   Maybe my sis will step up and write something worthwhile this weekend (such as more fascinating facts regarding the mating habits of geckos); then I'll officially be off the hook.

Okay, I came on here to actually write a post, but I've already lost steam.  Dang it.  Here, I'm going to insert a cute cartoony image of a cat to make this seem like a real post.

Tumbleweed Days Parade

Remember last year when I said I was stuck in a time loop?  Probably not.  But I feel like I am.  I keep repeating the same exact events year after year.  Everything around me seems frozen in a perpetual state of unchangingness (spellcheck is having a field-day with that one), except for me.  I get older every year.  So it's a really f'd up time loop.

That being said, today was the Tumbleweed Day's Parade.  It was awesome!  Even though this event is part of my jacked up time loop, I always come out of the parade on a complete high.  This year we had fifty kids marching.  That was huge.  I was told by past Builders Club members that seven years ago, they only had six or so students participating.  So we've basically gone from six to fifty.  I seem to have a knack for convincing students to sacrifice their Saturdays for grueling, unappealing jobs--it's a gift, really.

Here we all are.  I'm the little dot on the right-hand side, half-crouched with the sunglasses and gray hat near the end of the second row.

Oh, Tumbleweed actually has its own zoo now (can you believe that?), so this year's parade featured a live camel, zebra, and boa constrictor too.  Those were fun additions.  

This morning I woke up to the worst alarm ever.  Olive (the chicken) climbed into the backyard with the dogs, and we woke up to her shrieking all over the yard as they basically attempted to run her down and eat her.  This was right before 6 a.m.  Luckily Clint heard all of the commotion and saved the chicken before she was gobbled up, although there is now a barrage of feathers all over the back yard.  He temporarily put the dogs in our room while he was getting Olive back into her fence, and what does Yang do?  He walks straight to my backpack--the one with all of my students' parade permission slips, sign-in sheet, and other field-trip forms--and pees all over it.  Call me crazy, but I think no person should have to deal with two crazy dogs, one pissed-on backpack, and one frantic chicken before the sun rises.  ~Jodi

Loki

Since my sis is currently buried alive somewhere under 92 pages of dissertation, I'll go ahead and continue to fill this blog up with pointless stuff.  Oh, hey, I haven't talked about PETS in awhile.  Let's do THAT.

I mentioned in a previous post that Trinity recently lost her pet cockatiel.  In a household full of pets, you tend to experience a fair share of unfortunate mishaps.  Like the time our cat got scalped by the street sweeper.  Or the time our parakeet flew straight into the spinning ceiling fan.  Or the time our royal gramma fish got sucked halfway up the air pump into a giant kiss of death.  But the demise of poor little Dimples was the worst.  I actually had a long paragraph here explaining why this little bird's untimely death was so tragic, but it was just too sad, so I deleted it.

  

Teri made this for Trin.  It says "In loving memory of Dimples" and has her baby picture.  Okay, yeah, that's ridiculously pitiful.

So after a few days of mourning, Trin decided that she might be willing to try out another bird.  We paid a visit to the same bird breeder we purchased Dimples from (he lives about an hour and a half away), and came home with a baby conure.

We named him Loki.  In Norse mythology, Loki is the God of mischief, which is a pretty apt description of this bird.  While Dimples was nothing but cuddly and sweet, Loki is sneaky and playful.

Here's the cage Clint built for Loki:

He stained it a purple-pink to match Trin's room.  This picture was taken before the cage was actually finished.  Now it has a slide-out tray on the bottom, perches and toys on the inside, and a built-in perch on the outside roof.  He also made Loki a little playground to chill out on when he's not in his cage:

Now I know it seems like we're constantly taking on new pets, BUT--I actually gave Harriet (the tarantula) to the local pet store today, so that keeps the critter homeostasis levels at approximately the same (<---I have no idea what I just said).

Current list of pets:

2 dogs
3 cats (two of them live outside though)
2 goats
4 chickens
3 rats
1 rabbit
1 conure
Approx. 17 goldfish

See?  That's not that bad.

Feta and Frappé

I think I mentioned in a prior post that we bought goats?  Well, here they are:  Feta and Frappé.  We named both of them after Greek dairy products.  There was no rhyme or reason to that.  

Sooooo...life with goats.  It's definitely not for the pet-wary.  Feta's not too bad.  She's very sweet and shy.  The problem is, she's a lemming who does everything Frappé wants to do.  And Frappé (who has somehow been dubbed "my" goat) is a trouble maker.  She thinks she's a mountain goat and climbs every thing.  It started off small, like climbing the dog house:

Or sometimes she'd climb IN the doghouse:

But then her conquests got bigger.

On the plus side, having two mischievous goats does generate lots of social networking conversations:

Jodi

7 hours ago

Anyone know how to get two goats off of a Jeep?

Angie, Beverly, and 9 others like this.

• 
  

  Kelly You look at them and say "get off my jeep." because of their intelligent goat brains, they should be pretty understanding and politely leave.
  

  7 hours ago ·  ·  1
• 
  
• 
  

  Kelly Then you back hand them and use profane language! You're the boss!
  

  7 hours ago · 
• 
  

  Jodi So we just went from politely conversing with the goats in true goat-whisperer fashion, to opening up a can of whoop-a#$ on them? Dang Kelly, I'm going to come to you for advice more often!
  

  7 hours ago · 
• 
  

  Penny Lol! Too funny!
  

  6 hours ago · 
• 
  

  Sarah I love reading about your adventures...keep them a comin' ;)
  

  6 hours ago ·  ·  1
• 
  

  Alec you pick them up and move them
  

  6 hours ago · 
• 
  

  Jodi I don't think I have a choice Sarah--those adventures are coming with or without my approval. ;) Alec, care to demonstrate? 
  

  6 hours ago · 
• 
  

  Maria food
  

  5 hours ago · 
• 
  

  Jodi As in, bribe them with food, or turn them into food? Both seem to be viable solutions. 
  

  5 hours ago · 
• 
  

  Maria I was thinking "bribe" but goats make delicious "Birria"
  

  5 hours ago · 
• 
  

  Jodi Good to know! If these two end up trampeding around on my roof, I might have to start looking into some delicious Birria recipes.
  

  5 hours ago · 
• 
  

  Linda A fishing pole with a tin can tied to the end ;-)
  

  5 hours ago ·  ·  1
• 
  

  Michael Shot gun. They'll either move or you'll have dinner. :)
  

  5 hours ago ·  ·  1
• 
  

  Steve The obvious answer - start driving the jeep... and hit some bumps along the way.
  

  4 hours ago ·  ·  1
• 
  

  Bob Very carefully.
  

  4 hours ago ·  ·  1
• 
  

  Steven Drive really fast then stop.
  

  3 hours ago ·  ·  1
• 
  

  Sandy for real?
  

  3 hours ago · 
• 
  

  Richard You need to build somthing higher than the Jeep, because goats like to get on the tallest item around. Next they will be on top of your house.
  

  3 hours ago ·  ·  1
• 
  

  Doug They're so cute! May want to give them names? Billy Joe, Billy Bob? Just saying, it's not everyone that has goats on top of their vehicle.
  

  3 hours ago ·  ·  1
• 
  

  Doug Hey! Awesome! There's two of me!!
  

  3 hours ago · 
• 
  

  Jodi After carefully considering all of your wonderful suggestions involving tin cans, speed bumps, and shot guns, we opted to SLOWLY drive the jeep (Steven and Steve) until the girls jumped down. Now they're happily resting. On top of our hot tub.
  

  3 hours ago · 
• 
  

  Steve Yay! What do I and the other Steven win? (Stevens are awesome btw)
  

  2 hours ago · 
• 
  

  Jodi You have earned the honor of using your dragon warrior skills to get two goats out of a hot tub. And yes, Stevens are pretty awesome.
  

  2 hours ago · 
• 
  

  Sara Awesome!
  

  2 hours ago · 
• 
  

  Sara By the way only at your house would I see this! Lol
  

  2 hours ago ·  ·  1
• 
  

  Sarah Lol that is a predicament! Did you get them down?
  

  about an hour ago · 
• 
  

  Alec again i say pick them up. i had some goats follow me for a mile to my house and we had to rescue them from the pool a few times
  

  about an hour ago · 
• 
  

  Jessica Lol
  

  about an hour ago · 
• 
  

  Jodi Sarah, I gave up and took a nap. They're very possibly still enjoying the view from the hot tub. Alec, I don't think I have the upper body strength (nor the motivation) to man-handle goats.
  

  about an hour ago · 
• 
  

  Naomi Isn't there a book about that? Oh, no! I'm thinking of Sheep in a Jeep -- you've got Goat on a Jeep! The sequel?
  

  10 minutes ago ·  ·  1
• 
  

  Jodi Too bad it wasn't a goat on a boat--would've made for a catchier sequel!
  

  a few seconds ago · 

I also gained four new followers on twitter when I posted this pic, so apparently livestock trampling on top of SUVs is an overall crowd-pleaser.

Any chance we can keep these two a secret from our neighbors long enough for our permit to clear through the city?

Yeah, didn't think so.  We're screwed.