I love musicals and I'm not ashamed to admit it. For as long as I can remember, my family always went and watched the high school productions that my mother choreographed and I even got the opportunity to play "second townsgirl" or "small orphan" in a couple. I participated in local theater and high school theater as I grew up and I enjoyed every minute of it. Now I take every chance I can get to watch live theater. This summer will be the second year we have season tickets to the Starlight in KC, which if you ever get the chance to do, I would suggest. It's so great to be outside on beautiful summer nights watching shows, while getting to do some taboo theater things, like drinking a coke or even a beer, and enjoying some cotton candy and popcorn during the show. But I digress...
Anyway, I love musicals. So, I was delighted to hear that the high school was coming to the middle school to perform a few songs from the musical they are performing next week. I've never seen "Bye Bye Birdie" but it seemed pretty cute. The kids looked like they were having fun and it was good to see some kids excelling in an area that you never would have imagined for them. However, when not one, not two, but three different times people lost their place and forgot their words, I knew instantly how they felt. My heart sank for them and I wished I knew the words so I could jump up and save them.
9 years ago, I was cast as Ado Annie in Oklahoma. I was 18, almost at the end of my senior year, and seriously, my life's ambition in theater was to play Ado Annie. It was so much fun, and with the exception of my time as Lucy in You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown, it was the most fun I've had in a part. I worked so hard, and since I'm a perfectionist, I just had to be perfect. Before the actual show dates, we did a few daytime runs in which the local elementary schools and private schools would attend. Right before I went on for my first scene and song, one of the crew told me that Laurie didn't take her prop money for the next scene and that I needed to give it to her. On stage. Before I sang. Without the audience seeing. What???? Ok, fine. I made my entrance and when I tried to slip her the money, she gave me a look like "I already have this, get out of my face." (She was a very sweet girl, so don't think I'm being rude. She was just prepared with her props and the crew member was wrong.) Right then, my music started and I was so flustered that I missed an entire verse. My heart started pounding so hard I thought they could hear it over the music. My hands starting sweating so much I nearly dropped my basket. I know my face turned bright red under the lights, and if I hadn't had on a high necked dress, you probably would have seen my splotchy red chest. I could have died right there in front of a bunch of 3rd graders. I glanced frantically at the music man who was mouthing the words to me. I eventually got back on track, but I never forgot the humiliation I felt that I had messed up so badly. So when I witnessed it 3 times in the gym of the middle school, I knew just how they felt. I only hope they don't obsess about things like I do, and that they can move on with their lives. Apparently, I could use that advice, too.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
No one to blame but myself
We have had an exceptionally cold and snowy winter in my corner of the world. I may have mentioned that a time or two..not sure. Anyway, there has literally been snow on the ground since the beginning of December. However, good fortune smiled upon us this week and we had temperatures in the 50s (albeit low 50s, but 50s nonetheless!) on Monday and Tuesday. It was heaven. For those two days, the temperatures and the on again/off again rain helped to wash away a great deal of the snow. By Wednesday, the only snow left were the huge piles in parking lots and ditches left over from all the snow plows all winter, and even those were starting to grow smaller. I was so pleased with the 2 days in the 50s and the quickly increasing lack of snow, that I decided to chance it by wearing my beloved flip flops on Wednesday. The weather woman (I'm not being uber feminist here, she is a woman and she does the weather. I'm simply giving you details.) promised 55 degrees and I decided to take the opportunity to air out my winter piggies. Of course, in typical fashion for me, it did not get past 44. But I really want spring so I didn't even mind. It was a wonderful day and I couldn't wait for even warmer weather so I can permanently shed my socks until fall.
Last night, we had some pretty heavy rain showers, which I love because I sleep so well with the rain on the roof. When I woke up, I peeked out the window on the stairs on my way to the coffee pot. There were 2 reasons for this: 1. I wanted to see if it was still raining. (It was.) and 2. I wanted to bask in the glory that through the window I could see absolutely no snow. I made coffee and & went on about my getting ready business.
As I came down the stairs a mere 45 minutes later to leave for school, movement outside that same window caught my eye. I slowly raised my hand to the window to peek through the blinds, terrified that I was about to see something I didn't want to see. As I separated the slats, my worst fear was confirmed. It was snowing. And I don't mean a flurry. I mean big, fat, wet, and sticking snowflakes. The car has at least an inch on it and where 45 minutes earlier had been muddy and barren ground was now fully covered in a fresh blanket of snow. That is when I realized that it was all my fault. If I had only been patient and kept my flip flops safely in the closet just a little bit longer, maybe the weather gods would not have seen fit to punish me with more winter weather. I only feel bad because my thoughtlessness is taking the whole town down with me. So, here's to hoping that the farmer's almanac is wrong and there won't be a March blizzard-and that the sands of time will fall quickly to warmer days.
Last night, we had some pretty heavy rain showers, which I love because I sleep so well with the rain on the roof. When I woke up, I peeked out the window on the stairs on my way to the coffee pot. There were 2 reasons for this: 1. I wanted to see if it was still raining. (It was.) and 2. I wanted to bask in the glory that through the window I could see absolutely no snow. I made coffee and & went on about my getting ready business.
As I came down the stairs a mere 45 minutes later to leave for school, movement outside that same window caught my eye. I slowly raised my hand to the window to peek through the blinds, terrified that I was about to see something I didn't want to see. As I separated the slats, my worst fear was confirmed. It was snowing. And I don't mean a flurry. I mean big, fat, wet, and sticking snowflakes. The car has at least an inch on it and where 45 minutes earlier had been muddy and barren ground was now fully covered in a fresh blanket of snow. That is when I realized that it was all my fault. If I had only been patient and kept my flip flops safely in the closet just a little bit longer, maybe the weather gods would not have seen fit to punish me with more winter weather. I only feel bad because my thoughtlessness is taking the whole town down with me. So, here's to hoping that the farmer's almanac is wrong and there won't be a March blizzard-and that the sands of time will fall quickly to warmer days.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
I've been teaching how long?
There was an article in the local paper this morning about an event last night at the high school for the incoming freshman to get to know the school. I was looking through the pictures when it really hit me that these incoming freshmen were my first 5th graders. I can not believe that I've been teaching long enough to have former students heading to high school in the fall. I seriously do not know where the time has gone, and I'm not sure I approve of how quickly it has left. That is all.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Teachers are people, too
In the interest of my staying employed, I've deleted this post. Not because I was told to, or because I even said anything remotely identifying, but simply because I'm not going to risk it. We were sent an email that our principal received from a principals' association listing all of the things teachers have been suspended or fired for concerning social networking and blogging. Some of the things were pretty serious, others were downright ridiculous. That being said, I don't want to end up on one of those lists. So, even though I thought this was a pretty good post, and had a good message, I'm not willing to jeopardize my career (especially 1 year from tenure!) and my life. But just remember...teachers are people, too.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Snow Day...the aftermath
I have always been told that I'm paranoid. You may remember that thought #4 flying through my mind as I crept up the hill in the snow was that I was probably just paranoid, but I was imagining the middle school staff watching me through the commons windows and laughing at my misfortune. It turns out, I'm not paranoid. I just really, really know my co-workers. After having the day off yesterday for snow (I bet you thought I was going to say extreme heat) I returned to work today to be met with a roomful of "So, have any trouble getting home Friday?" while biting their lips to stop smiling and trying stifle their hysterical laughter. That's right. My friends, my teammates, the people I spend more time with than anyone but my husband and son, were in fact, standing at the commons windows Friday, pointing and laughing. But that's ok. I know it was all in good rib jabbing fun. Plus, I'm totally ok with being the resident transplanted southern girl who doesn't understand why any of them would be fine with bus duty on a day with wind chills in the negatives. I think I'll continue to greet children right inside the door, in front of the toasty warm heater and I'll get there by hitching a ride with a snow professional.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
You have got to be kidding me!
I am from the south. Growing up, I thought a bad winter was one that dipped below 40 degrees for more than 2 consecutive weeks. By this time in February, we were pretty much just waiting for the jonquils to pop up and the robins to return any minute. It was quite delightful. Summers, on the other hand...well those, not so much. But the winters, overall, were not at all terrible.
I do not live in the south. I know there are many places in the US that are even more not in the south than my small town in northwest Missouri, but for all intents and purposes, this is a tundra compared to where I grew up. This has been, by far, the snowiest winter I've seen, and I've lived here 5 years. Now, due to my southern background, the first snow of the winter, I'm as giddy as a little kid because quite frankly, never enjoying a large amount of snow as a child, I feel a bit cheated. (But then I remember how not cold it was and feel better instantly.) Even the second and third snow, I'm a little excited. But now that we're on like the eighth snow (I've lost count) I'm just a wee bit tired of the stuff. We've missed 6 days of school, which we make up at the end-and don't even get me started on why my southern hometown has actual built in snow days (where it rarely snows) and we have no built in snow days (where it's snowed every year I've lived here). There have also been 2 or 3 days this year that we've had to dismiss early for the weather, which are the most chaotic days ever. Such a thing happened yesterday.
When I was getting ready to leave my house Friday, I had forgotten all the talk of possible snow until I opened my front door. It was just starting to snow. Now, most days my husband and I ride into town together (it's about 7 miles from our house) and if it's looking bad, we take the 4 wheel drive 4 runner. It just so happened that my son was still sleeping angelically at 7 a.m. when I was ready to leave and I just didn't see the point in awaking him, therefore, putting him in a bad mood and causing a bad day for everyone involved. My husband said are you sure you don't want me to just wake him up and drive you in? I said oh no, I'll be fine. I don't think its supposed to be that bad. That is where I went wrong. I just wouldn't know it for a few hours.
I left my house and when I got on the highway, I was surprised at how covered it already was. No problem, I've been driving on this stuff for 5 years now, and I really was fine. Got to town, and was even more surprised because the roads hadn't been touched by a plow or salt truck. Usually, they are very quick to work on the roads the second it starts precipitating. I guess they were sleeping in a bit while the rest of us were heading off to our various places of employment. I arrived at school and made the treacherous walk to the building. (The parking lot is very far from the front door. Sometimes I question the design of that particular feature and Friday morning was one of those times.)
The kids were abuzz with the weather situation. If you've never heard 10 and 11 year olds speculate on the possible outcomes of situations, it's really funny. They sit around like old men in the coffee shop, but the only thing they can add to a conversation is whatever they've heard their parents say. They try to sound like they know what they're talking about, but they usually get it confused and it's just hilarious to listen to. (Case and point, election time. These kids don't know a thing about politics but the stuff they ranted about during the presidential election was positively hysterical. You can not tell me a 10 year old would actually think a thing about taxes and what possibilities each potential president might bring for those taxes. Little ears hear very well and little brains remember a lot-except when they need to remember it for a test.) So, naturally, every 5 minutes we were asked "Are we getting out early?" which I suppose is the school equivalent of "Are we there yet?" We attempted to get on with our day, until 8:50 which the loudspeaker dinged. This was it. The fateful announcement. School would be dismissed at 11:15, which is pretty early. They usually try to have us stay until 1:10. Of course, the entire school erupted into spontaneous cheers and the next 2 hours were completely worthless in terms of learning.
We made it to 11:15 and sent the kids on their way. Some of the buses hadn't arrived yet, and the teachers are asked to stay until all of the buses leave, but my team (we have teams of teachers at the middle school, and I'm on the 5th grade team. Because I teach 5th grade. See how that works?) was kind enough to let me head on since they all live in town and I do not. So I gathered my uneaten lunch and my purse, bundled up, and headed to my car. I hadn't looked out the window in all this time (I was too busy until then) so I didn't really know how much it had snowed. Oh wow, it had snowed like 3 or 4 inches since I had arrived. I got in my car and let it warm up for a few minutes, while I plotted my course. When I felt ready to tackle my trip home, I eased it into first gear and started to leave the parking lot. I got to the end of the drive where I had to stop and look both ways for traffic. I was turning left out of the parking lot. The road in front of the school is a slight hill to the left, and I'm pretty positive when I say slight, I mean slight. I've never had any trouble on it with any other winter weather so I really didn't think it would be a problem. Again, this is where I went wrong.
I waited until there were no vehicles coming, thank goodness, and turned left. My car literally inched out into the street. Inched. Out. Into. The. Street. I finally got fully in my lane and then continued to inch up the hill. Literally, inch by inch. I had the gas on the floor and I was going nowhere. I was rapidly switching my feet back and forth from the clutch to the gas like I was Dale Earnhardt, Jr. or something, and I was still inching. My pulse quickened. I started breathing fast. My face turned red. I continued what I was doing, because there was absolutely nothing else I could do. I kept inching. Then my face turned even more red when cars started passing me. You know they thought I was just some scaredy cat that didn't want to go more than 3 mph (at least I think that's what the speedometer said. It's hard to be exact when it's under the 5 mph mark.)
As I continued to inch and hyperventilate simultaneously, several thoughts flashed through my head:
I finally got to the highway, which still wasn't cleared, and safely made it the 7 miles to my house. I have never been so grateful to get out of a vehicle in my life. It took me almost 40 minutes to drive what normally takes me 15. I spent the rest of the day inside resting my frazzled nerves. All I can do is hope that everyone was intent on their own safe driving, that no one realized who was in that silver Volkswagen inching up the hill, because I seriously, seriously thought I was going to die. From embarrassment, that is.
I do not live in the south. I know there are many places in the US that are even more not in the south than my small town in northwest Missouri, but for all intents and purposes, this is a tundra compared to where I grew up. This has been, by far, the snowiest winter I've seen, and I've lived here 5 years. Now, due to my southern background, the first snow of the winter, I'm as giddy as a little kid because quite frankly, never enjoying a large amount of snow as a child, I feel a bit cheated. (But then I remember how not cold it was and feel better instantly.) Even the second and third snow, I'm a little excited. But now that we're on like the eighth snow (I've lost count) I'm just a wee bit tired of the stuff. We've missed 6 days of school, which we make up at the end-and don't even get me started on why my southern hometown has actual built in snow days (where it rarely snows) and we have no built in snow days (where it's snowed every year I've lived here). There have also been 2 or 3 days this year that we've had to dismiss early for the weather, which are the most chaotic days ever. Such a thing happened yesterday.
When I was getting ready to leave my house Friday, I had forgotten all the talk of possible snow until I opened my front door. It was just starting to snow. Now, most days my husband and I ride into town together (it's about 7 miles from our house) and if it's looking bad, we take the 4 wheel drive 4 runner. It just so happened that my son was still sleeping angelically at 7 a.m. when I was ready to leave and I just didn't see the point in awaking him, therefore, putting him in a bad mood and causing a bad day for everyone involved. My husband said are you sure you don't want me to just wake him up and drive you in? I said oh no, I'll be fine. I don't think its supposed to be that bad. That is where I went wrong. I just wouldn't know it for a few hours.
I left my house and when I got on the highway, I was surprised at how covered it already was. No problem, I've been driving on this stuff for 5 years now, and I really was fine. Got to town, and was even more surprised because the roads hadn't been touched by a plow or salt truck. Usually, they are very quick to work on the roads the second it starts precipitating. I guess they were sleeping in a bit while the rest of us were heading off to our various places of employment. I arrived at school and made the treacherous walk to the building. (The parking lot is very far from the front door. Sometimes I question the design of that particular feature and Friday morning was one of those times.)
The kids were abuzz with the weather situation. If you've never heard 10 and 11 year olds speculate on the possible outcomes of situations, it's really funny. They sit around like old men in the coffee shop, but the only thing they can add to a conversation is whatever they've heard their parents say. They try to sound like they know what they're talking about, but they usually get it confused and it's just hilarious to listen to. (Case and point, election time. These kids don't know a thing about politics but the stuff they ranted about during the presidential election was positively hysterical. You can not tell me a 10 year old would actually think a thing about taxes and what possibilities each potential president might bring for those taxes. Little ears hear very well and little brains remember a lot-except when they need to remember it for a test.) So, naturally, every 5 minutes we were asked "Are we getting out early?" which I suppose is the school equivalent of "Are we there yet?" We attempted to get on with our day, until 8:50 which the loudspeaker dinged. This was it. The fateful announcement. School would be dismissed at 11:15, which is pretty early. They usually try to have us stay until 1:10. Of course, the entire school erupted into spontaneous cheers and the next 2 hours were completely worthless in terms of learning.
We made it to 11:15 and sent the kids on their way. Some of the buses hadn't arrived yet, and the teachers are asked to stay until all of the buses leave, but my team (we have teams of teachers at the middle school, and I'm on the 5th grade team. Because I teach 5th grade. See how that works?) was kind enough to let me head on since they all live in town and I do not. So I gathered my uneaten lunch and my purse, bundled up, and headed to my car. I hadn't looked out the window in all this time (I was too busy until then) so I didn't really know how much it had snowed. Oh wow, it had snowed like 3 or 4 inches since I had arrived. I got in my car and let it warm up for a few minutes, while I plotted my course. When I felt ready to tackle my trip home, I eased it into first gear and started to leave the parking lot. I got to the end of the drive where I had to stop and look both ways for traffic. I was turning left out of the parking lot. The road in front of the school is a slight hill to the left, and I'm pretty positive when I say slight, I mean slight. I've never had any trouble on it with any other winter weather so I really didn't think it would be a problem. Again, this is where I went wrong.
I waited until there were no vehicles coming, thank goodness, and turned left. My car literally inched out into the street. Inched. Out. Into. The. Street. I finally got fully in my lane and then continued to inch up the hill. Literally, inch by inch. I had the gas on the floor and I was going nowhere. I was rapidly switching my feet back and forth from the clutch to the gas like I was Dale Earnhardt, Jr. or something, and I was still inching. My pulse quickened. I started breathing fast. My face turned red. I continued what I was doing, because there was absolutely nothing else I could do. I kept inching. Then my face turned even more red when cars started passing me. You know they thought I was just some scaredy cat that didn't want to go more than 3 mph (at least I think that's what the speedometer said. It's hard to be exact when it's under the 5 mph mark.)
As I continued to inch and hyperventilate simultaneously, several thoughts flashed through my head:
- I should have taken my husband up on his offer to drive me into town. Then I wouldn't be shaking like a trailer park in the path of a tornado.
- Why, oh why, did my driver's ed instructor see fit to entirely skip over the chapter about driving in winter weather? Didn't he know that just because we were taking the course in Arkansas in the summer time, didn't mean that one day, the chances might be pretty good of at least one of us landing in the great white north somewhere in front of a middle school, inching our way up a very slight hill?
- I wonder if this is what it would be like to try and luge UP the hill. (I've been watching too much of the Olympics, apparently.)
- Maybe I'm just paranoid, but I could swear the entire middle school staff might be looking out the front windows, pointing and laughing at me inching up this hill.
I finally got to the highway, which still wasn't cleared, and safely made it the 7 miles to my house. I have never been so grateful to get out of a vehicle in my life. It took me almost 40 minutes to drive what normally takes me 15. I spent the rest of the day inside resting my frazzled nerves. All I can do is hope that everyone was intent on their own safe driving, that no one realized who was in that silver Volkswagen inching up the hill, because I seriously, seriously thought I was going to die. From embarrassment, that is.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Live in the moment...or some equally cliche title
Note: I wrote this a week ago but I wasn't near a computer when I wanted to write it. So, I've been carrying it around in my purse on a small notepad I grabbed off my desk at work. (I'm taking the notepad back, in case any boss type person happens to read this.) Anyway, I'm obviously a huge procrastinator since all I had to do was type it and here it is a week later and I haven't. I had every intention of doing it this afternoon, but at 3:05, tragedy struck room E151 and I was in such a, for lack of a better term, crappy mood, that I thought it was bad karma to type a tranquil post while radiating fury. (Don't worry, I'm sure I'll share the tragic story sometime) I eventually calmed down, watched my favorite sitcoms, and am in a much better place, so I'm giving it a try. Enjoy.
As I look back on my life growing up, I really had much to be thankful for. (For which to be thankful?? The teacher in me just can't take a break) My parents loved me and spent many hours with me, either playing games, teaching me something, talking with me, and supporting me in everything I did. Sometimes, it was the simplest things that made me so happy. One of my most favorite things to do was to load up with my dad (& oftentimes my pesky brother-I mean that in the most loving way possible) and go look for deer at Fort Chaffee. We would fight for a turn with the binoculars (camo colored, small, had a distinct rubber smell to them that to this day I can swear I smell sometimes) and keep track of how many deer we each saw in a slight competition (slight might be an understatement). I loved looking at the old buildings around the base, and trying to imagine them when the paint was still fresh and with the hustle and bustle of an active base around them. I liked pointed out the chapels, the golf course, the swimming pool, the cemetery (was there a cemetery? Now I'm thinking I made that part up...). I even remember one time we took my grandfather's Cutlass convertible-it was a profitable evening in terms of wildlife spotting. I believe we even made up a song to keep track of our numbers-something like 28 deer, and a buck, and a bird, and snake, and a bobcat (Obviously, song writing was not our strong suit.) Anyway, these excursions stick out in my mind as some of the best family spent. Side note: That Cutlass has since been fully redone by my grandpa and is so stinkin' cherry that I wouldn't dream of taking it to look for deer. One of those crazy animals might jump out in front of it and mess up the paint job!
Last Sunday afternoon, we were feeling a little cabin feverish so my husband and I loaded up our son and took to the gravel roads. For 2 hours, we drove the countryside, watching for wildlife and taking in the sights. Seeing crumbling, abandoned farmhouses and barns and watching animals dart through the trees reminded me of the wonderful times my family used to have doing exactly the same thing. That's when I realized that I can treasure the memory and be grateful for the experience, but I don't necessarily have to long for times gone by, because now I have the chance to pass the experience on to my son. I truly hope he can learn to enjoy the simple things in life the way my dad taught me with all those lazy Sunday drives.
As I look back on my life growing up, I really had much to be thankful for. (For which to be thankful?? The teacher in me just can't take a break) My parents loved me and spent many hours with me, either playing games, teaching me something, talking with me, and supporting me in everything I did. Sometimes, it was the simplest things that made me so happy. One of my most favorite things to do was to load up with my dad (& oftentimes my pesky brother-I mean that in the most loving way possible) and go look for deer at Fort Chaffee. We would fight for a turn with the binoculars (camo colored, small, had a distinct rubber smell to them that to this day I can swear I smell sometimes) and keep track of how many deer we each saw in a slight competition (slight might be an understatement). I loved looking at the old buildings around the base, and trying to imagine them when the paint was still fresh and with the hustle and bustle of an active base around them. I liked pointed out the chapels, the golf course, the swimming pool, the cemetery (was there a cemetery? Now I'm thinking I made that part up...). I even remember one time we took my grandfather's Cutlass convertible-it was a profitable evening in terms of wildlife spotting. I believe we even made up a song to keep track of our numbers-something like 28 deer, and a buck, and a bird, and snake, and a bobcat (Obviously, song writing was not our strong suit.) Anyway, these excursions stick out in my mind as some of the best family spent. Side note: That Cutlass has since been fully redone by my grandpa and is so stinkin' cherry that I wouldn't dream of taking it to look for deer. One of those crazy animals might jump out in front of it and mess up the paint job!
Last Sunday afternoon, we were feeling a little cabin feverish so my husband and I loaded up our son and took to the gravel roads. For 2 hours, we drove the countryside, watching for wildlife and taking in the sights. Seeing crumbling, abandoned farmhouses and barns and watching animals dart through the trees reminded me of the wonderful times my family used to have doing exactly the same thing. That's when I realized that I can treasure the memory and be grateful for the experience, but I don't necessarily have to long for times gone by, because now I have the chance to pass the experience on to my son. I truly hope he can learn to enjoy the simple things in life the way my dad taught me with all those lazy Sunday drives.
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