Mrs Frisbee and Mrs. Whatsit

This school year, for the first time ever, I have classroom pets: two rats named Mrs. Frisbee and Mrs. Whatsit.  I know the mere mention of rats makes most people shudder, and I'm not going to claim that they're cute in the traditional sense.  But they are cute in a gremlin sort of way, and have added a ton of personality to my classroom.  Not a day goes by where Mrs. Frisbee doesn't run off with a student's pencil, or eat a purple crayon; while Mrs. Whatsit meanwhile is chewing up my teachers edition of our Interactive Readers or eating the corner of someone's homework (okay, maybe I should keep them locked up more often--point taken).  Last week we had a fire drill, so naturally students took Mrs. F and Mrs. W outside into the student assembly area with us, because heaven forbid the rodents get left behind in the event of a real fire.  Last week, one of my students went to run a few errands for me, and without my knowing, he smuggled Mrs. Whatsit in his pocket and took her on a little field trip around the campus.  The students have endless fun with these rats and, for better or worse, they have become somewhat of an icon in my classroom.

And it's not just the students--I have my own little unsolicited adventures with these two troublemakers.  The first time I took Mrs. W and Mrs. F home for the weekend, I had nothing to carry them in, so I stuffed them in an empty tissue box.  For obvious reasons, this didn't work out.  The following weekend, I used a tin lunch box.  Unfortunately, the two were jostled around so much against the hard tin that I decided I needed something else.  So last weekend, I put them in a much more soft and comfortable large vinyl lunch box.  It worked for the ride home, but on the ride back to school on Monday, Mrs. Whatsit chewed through the vinyl, and both rats escaped.  I can't even begin to describe how much FUN it is digging through your car, trying to find two rats running around in there amidst kids' sweaters and toys, and meanwhile hoping that no other teachers pulls up to see you going through this process.  So having learned my lesson, this weekend I put the rats in a small plastic kitty carrier.  It was the perfect solution, because they wouldn't be able to chew through it, yet the rats would have enough space to avoid getting knocked around.  But when I arrived to school this morning to pull the carrier out of the car, there was only one rat.  Somehow Mrs. Whatsit had yet again escaped.  Feeling rushed and desperate, I called out, "Mrs. Whatsit!  Come on out!"  I know this had to be a coincidence (either that or I'm the Rat Whisperer), but she suddenly peered out from underneath the passenger seat and scampered out.  I quickly shoved her in my purse and proceeded to class (don't ask to borrow my chapstick, by the way).

Trust me when I say that if you are a teacher who wants to add liveliness and adventure to your otherwise mundane day, get a classroom pet.  Better yet, get a pair of lively, personable rats.  You will laugh every day.  But trust me also when I say that classroom pets--especially rodents--are not for the faint of heart.

Counting Sheep

I'm still struggling to write a decent entry. It's been so long and I feel like I need to get on here and talk about the latest going-ons in my life, but I really don't want to talk about life. Hmmm...where exactly does that leave me from the blogging standpoint...?

Last night I was having a hard time, as usual, going to sleep. So I went out into the kitchen to get a midnight snack, using my cell phone as a flashlight so that I wouldn't disturb the kids.  I sat on the cold kitchen tile, in the dark, eating yogurt and drinking tea. I sat that way for a long time, feeling so tired, but in an indescribably pleasant and fuzzy way...almost the way you feel after you have taken a shot of a good, hard liquor, and the initial burn has finally passed.  Sometimes I hate insomnia, but sometimes I love it.  There is just something so intimate about having that part of the quiet pre-dawn morning all to yourself, with no sounds other than the clock softly ticking in the background.  And knowing that somewhere in the country, someone else is lying awake too, contemplating the night right along with you...and even if you never see this person, you are unwitting partners sharing the dark morning together.

Okay, I realize that I am over-romanticizing insomnia to the Nth degree, but when you have it as often as I do...well, it just seems like the healthiest approach.

Need you Now

"It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now...".  I love those lyrics by Lady Antebellum.  That song has recently become somewhat of a lullaby to me every time I'm struggling to go to sleep.  It's obviously the world's worst lullaby though, since here I am, wide awake (that's actually not quite true.  I'm nearly delirious with exhaustion right now).

This might just be my shortest entry ever.  I'm going to attempt to bully my consciousness into shutting up for a little while so I can go to sleep, and try not to sing along to "picture perfect memories scattered all around the floor...."

Poor Blog--Stuck Outside with No One to Play With

I have a severe case of blog guilt.  It's kind of like the oh-so-common issue of the neglected outdoor dog.  Every day you can see him wagging his tail through the back door, immensely excited to see you.  But you feel incredibly guilty for not playing with him for such a long period of time, so you ultimately avoid going outside to pet him or give him attention (this would force you to face your guilt), thus perpetuating a never-ending cycle.  Same with blogging.  The longer you go without blogging, the harder it is to get back into it.  You just don't want to be forced to acknowledge the fact that you have failed to write for over a month, and that you are being a lousy blog owner.

So this is my attempt to throw my blog a bone. 

Just Another Bedtime Conversation

Spinning off my last post, not only is learning healthy ways to "argue" in your marriage important, but good communication is vital to any long-lasting relationship. Clinton and I, for example, make it a point to share with each other every day, and to be attentive, respectful listeners (stated with a perfectly straight face). For example, a few nights ago, I had another dream of a big earthquake (probably prompted by Sho's recent disaster dreams, I'm sure). Last night, as we were climbing into bed, I felt compelled to tell Clint about my dream. Here is a transcript of that conversation:

"I had a weird earthquake dream last night."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. In the dream, we lived in L.A., but in a really fancy area, like the Hollywood
Hills, and there was suddenly a big earthquake--except for, in the dream, we weren't really us--."

"Huh? We weren't 'us'?"

"No, we were a different family of different people."

"Did we have the same names?"

"No, I don't think so. Actually, I don't even know if we were the same sex."

"What? That makes no sense. How can you say it was 'us' in the dream if we're completely different people?! That's like me saying I had a dream of Cassidi and Dylan last night, but Cassidi was really me, and you were actually Dylan--."

"No, no, it makes perfect sense, because even though the people in the dream weren't us, they had our consciousnesses, so they really were us."

"Oh, okay honey. Well if I ever call out someone else's name in bed, it's actually your consciousness I'm thinking about. So it's all good."

"You know, I don't think I really want to tell you about my dream anymore."

Oh well. I'll try to supply a better communication example when I actually have one (twelve years and still waiting...). But until then, people, communicate with your spouses.

Climbing Trees Barefoot and Drunk

The Advantages of Climbing Trees in a Forest in the Middle of the Night Barefoot and Drunk: 

1. It's fun
2. It makes you feel like a little kid again
3. If you fall, the pain is numbed by your blood alcohol level
4. You can't see all of the little critters that might be in the tree (ants, spiders, etc.), hence enhancing your bravery
5. No one can see how idiotic you look, cuz it's dark

 The Disadvantages of Climbing Trees in a Forest in the Middle of the Night Barefoot and Drunk:

1. Even the dark can't hide the fact that you look like an idiot
2. Being intoxicated gives you a false sense of bravery
3. You wake up the next morning with gashes and scrapes, with little recollection as to how they got there
4. The trees wobble even more so than usual when you're drunk
5. People around you have these contraption-thingies called "cameras," and they're not afraid to use them

So there you have it.  Probably the only list available online outlining the advantages and disadvantages of climbing trees in a forest in the middle of the night while you are barefoot and drunk.  Don't forget to site your source if you use this information within your master's thesis or dissertation.

Good Fighting/Bad Fighting

Fighting in marriage is unavoidable, but most married couples who have been at it for awhile realize that there are both bad and good ways to "argue." So for those who are still a little hazy as to what constitutes "good" fighting versus "bad" fighting, here are a few examples to help illustrate.

Good fighting involves listening attentively to the feelings of your spouse. It involves using "I feel" statements to avoid putting your spouse on the defense, and...all that other good psychobabble stuff.

Okay, so now onto "bad" fighting. An inappropriate way to fight would be to immediately start railing your spouse with accusations and insults without listening to what he or she has to say. And if the wife is droning on and on incessantly, it would be bad for the husband to spray her in the face with the shower nozzle in order to get her to shut-up. This can have the effect of elevating the fight to a new level. Now, if you are a wife who is in this situation, you probably shouldn't retaliate by shooting your husband in the crotch with baby oil while he is wearing his nice karate uniform, knowing that he doesn't have time to change because his class starts in five minutes and hoping that he will look like he wet himself.

That would be a bad way to fight.

But if you are a husband who finds himself in this situation, you probably shouldn't exact your revenge by throwing your wife in the tub and spraying all over her nice clothes with the water nozzle, meanwhile battling her for the baby oil which is now being sprayed all over the room. It's also not particularly nice to make sure that the oil gets all over her hair.

And you definitely shouldn't do all of this in front of the kids, who are laughing hysterically that Mommy and Daddy are kicking each other's asses in the bath tub.

Again, this is a bad way to fight. Not to mention it floods your bathroom to the point that, three hours later, there is still a pond on your floor.

But, of course, all of this is just a hypothetical illustration to help you, the reader, avoid these types of displays in your own marriages. I'm glad that I, for one, am in a mature, adult relationship.