60 hours

A lot can change in 60 hours. 60 hours is how long it took from hearing, "not only do I think the tube is actually still in after all, it looks like his ear is really clearing up" at our appointment with the pediatrician on Thursday afternoon to hearing, "there is so much drainage that I really can't see in there, he'll need to go to his ENT on Monday and I'll call in a stronger antibiotic until then" at the emergency clinic this morning. What happened?

When we left the pediatrician on Thursday I was over-the-moon happy that it looked like we had licked the ear infection with one round of a mild antibiotic. ONE ROUND!!!!! Then Friday there was a slight drainage that was clear. Chase was with his Memaw, so we had a antibiotic eardrop called in and I really figured that at $95 for a 7.5 mL bottle (that is way small for those not good with measurements... like me) it had to be some really good stuff. By the time I saw Chase late Saturday morning the drainage had gone from clear to thick and greenish. Yuck. Needless to say after a very long night, a very unhappy toddler, and a very sad Mommy we made our way to the ER. I've called in for a sub tomorrow and will run to work long enough to pull stuff together for the day before I head to the ENT to see what needs to be done. I'm determined he'll be seen tomorrow, even if it means sitting in the waiting room all day long. I can't believe I actually thought we had it licked with one round of antibiotics... what was I thinking?

Why does it have to be so damn hard?

Today we went to Chuck E. Cheese to celebrate Memaw's birthday. Memaw, for those that don't know, is Jeff's mother. Chase is adamant that no matter who you are, you WANT to celebrate your birthday at Chuck E. Cheese's, so that's what we do. Normally this is not a problem but either the fact that the teacher I work with that is due just a week before we would have been is really starting to show or the fact that I feel like in just a few months I'll be turning 32 which puts me one year closer to being that dreaded age of 35 (you know, when apparently your body goes to crap and your eggs go sour or something of that affect) is really doing a number on me. I swear that there must have been 50 women in there with brand-new babies or pregnant and glowing. It made me want to run straight out the door. *sigh* That should be me.

I think about life and tell myself we did everything right. We dated, got engaged, got married, built a house, graduated from college, had steady, good jobs, then decided we wanted to start a family. Perhaps if we took our wedding rings off, went to a bar, pretended not to know each other, went to a sleazy motel, and had meaningless sex I'd get knocked up. (Sorry Mom, just ignore that sex part.) I just want a healthy baby, why does it have to be so damn hard?

The Joys of Boys

7 little words, "Look Mom, I pooped a Pirate Ship!"

Mother May I?

When Chase was little Jeff wondered if we would ever be able to teach that child manners. As with all small children Chase lived/lives in a very egocentric society. In his eyes he was/is the center of the universe.... you only thought the world revolved around the sun. If we're being honest, which I try to be, I have often wondered myself if I would have the child that the others teachers talked about because they were just so bad.

As Chase has grown we have celebrated the milestones like learning "thank you" and "God Bless You" when someone sneezes, etc. " Please" has become a regular word and we are working on that whole sharing thing, but boy is it tough. However, the thing that has made me realize that it really is going to be OK and yes, he will have good manners are these two simple words that he puts in front of almost everything he asks for, "May I?" To see those big blue eyes and that sweet, sweet face looking at you and hear a phrase like, "May I please have a drink of your Pepper Dr.?" there is simply no way to resist. I'm trying to figure out if he knows this and that's why he's using it or perhaps we really are getting this parenting thing down after all.

Easy Come, Easy Go

I really try not to talk about work too much on here for several reasons. 1) I'm a teacher and you just don't do that kind of stuff, 2) I would hate to mouth off about someone and then that person come across my blog (hey, you know that happens), 3) I'm pretty sure that I'd be breaking a rule somewhere because I have no doubt that among everything I've signed over the years there was bound to be a confidentiality agreement in there somewhere, and 4) it's really not all that interesting (let's face it, poor Chase will so not want me talking to his class when Career Week comes along). Don't get me wrong, I like my job 99% of the time. I wasn't one of those little girls who dreamed of being a teacher when I grew up, but that's what happened and overall I'm glad it did... because I adore summers off.

Hmmmm, maybe that doesn't really sound good. Let's go at this from another angle. Teaching first grade is likely the hardest teaching position that I can think of. I'm not saying that other grades don't work their hineys (how's that for a teacher word) off during the year, but first grade teachers work harder than any other grade. I've taught other grades, so I feel I have the right to say this. Seriously, think about it. At the beginning of the school year you get children that are barely six in most cases, 75% (or more) can't even read words bigger than cat and in all reality that's really a very generous number because it's probably more like 50%. I always come home sweating, hyperventilating and hysterical after the first rounds of testing because, "Good God these kids can't read, how am I going to do this... I think I'm going to die!" Jeff is very good about assuring me that the year before was the same and by the end of this school year they will not only be reading, they will be writing, comprehending, and even enjoying it as they do it. He is always right (when it comes to this, let's not be too generous and get him thinking that I mean he is ALWAYS right).

The end of the year is by far the most rewarding part of the school year because the students that came to you and couldn't spit out the word "a" (yes, I've had this happen) are now reading pages that have paragraph upon paragraph on them... and it's because you taught them. ***pat on the back***

Now as much as I enjoy these sweet rewards, three years ago I was given a position in a lab where students that were struggling and needed extra help would come and work in small groups. I LOVED this. I got to work w/the students from all the grades so I was still involved with the kids, but I had no lesson plans, no grading, no parents to deal with, no lesson plans, no grading... see where I'm going w/this? It was A.W.E.S.O.M.E. However, apparently all good things must come to an end and we received a new principal one year into my assignment that brought her BFF (ha, I've been waiting to use that!) in and put her in my spot. Hence, putting me right back in the classroom and having to do lesson plans, grade papers, and deal with parents. *sigh* Being the fantastic team player I am I sucked it up and jumped right back into things - right back in to first grade and right back to my old school - that would teach them.

As things work out my campus was going to have this particular position open again next year and I wanted it bad. I mean who wouldn't???? No lesson plans, no grades, no parents, get to work w/all the kids in small groups.... the perfect position! I actually thought I had it. The principal had come to me to see if I was interested, our future principal had talked to me about it and sent me to a workshop that I would be able to use for it, I mean I seriously thought it was in the bag... right up until Friday when I counted my chickens too soon and felt a stinging in my back when I learned that it was not being given to me. *sigh, sniffle, sigh* I didn't ask why or who got it, I just took the news with a smile and went back to my room to cry. No seriously, I didn't cry, but I was VERY disappointed.

So, it looks like I'll be teaching first grade again next year. This has it's ups - I know what I'm doing and obviously I kick ass doing it (that's called tooting my own horn) and it's downs - did I mention how tough of a grade it is to teach? I guess I'm just going to grow old in first grade, man I had really hoped I was going to pass (that's for you Mom). Oh well, easy come, easy

I KNOW you're out there.

I know that there are people reading this blog. I know that because I get emails about things I post, I see the site meter counting hits, and I even occasionally get a comment. However, since the comments on the actual blog are few and far between I decided I would just start spying on you and see who is really reading. I signed up for site meter and off we went. Turns out we have LOTS of people viewing that I have no clue who you are. In fact, we have people from California to Canada to Mississippi. Although it doesn't give me actual names I could figure out some of you by the cities/states, but there are a lot that I'm not sure about. So, fess up, leave me a note, keep me company. :o) Who are you???

Time to put the old horse down.

Now I am a teacher and I know things. I know that there are 365 days in a year, 24 hours in a day, 60 minutes in an hour, and 60 seconds in a minute. This means that there is a grand total of 31,536,000 seconds every year for me to accomplish all the things in my life that I need to do... if I counted it right. However, the one thing I do not know is how, with all this time that I apparently have, do I not get everything done that I should. Where is my time going?

Sometimes I seriously feel like I am drowning and will never reach the surface. At work I look around and see other teachers leaving right at 3:45, yet I never make it out of there before 5:00 and even then I still have work to do. How do they do it? At home I always seem to have dishes in the sink, toys on the floor, laundry to be done and folded, errands to be run, bills to be paid, checkbooks to be balanced... you get the picture. Yet I go to other peoples' houses and they are spotless and the people have time to spare. Seriously, what am I doing wrong? Some days I just want to stay in bed and hide under the covers because I'm simply.so.exhausted. Any ideas/suggestions (maybe a live in house keeper/bill payer/errand runner)? Perhaps it's just time to put the old horse down.