>Ah, youth, where hast thou gone?

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>I’m not a “Cat Lady.” I don’t have a shopping cart full of cat food, ice cream, and frozen pizza — for one.
But that’s only because I’m allergic to cats and my husband does the grocery shopping.
So I had to laugh out loud when I read Melanie’s post describing her exciting Friday evening shopping trip.
I don’t go out in public in sweats, but that’s only because mine are too ratty to wear outside the bedroom. My track suits count, though, in the uber-casual category, and I do go out in public wearing those.
Sometimes splurging on myself doesn’t mean a single-serving pizza, but an omelet with all the fixings. Cooking it myself is a fun solitary activity, with the exception of the clean-up. But going out to the diner alone for an omelet doesn’t really cut it; I’d rather curl up with a good book in one hand and a coffee mug in the other.
This weekend I’ll be a little too busy for curling up in a corner by myself, and I have to dress professionally on Saturday. But since I’ll be visiting La Petite on Friday night and Saturday, I might end up treating both of us to a simple but fun pizza or simples restaurant meal. I’ll have to promise not to wear sweats, though. She might refuse to be seen with me if I do.

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>Books. Gotta love ’em.

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>It was a typical class transition, which in my class means a struggle to get everyone to shift gears mentally and physically. Then, guide all 25 of them into the hallway (quietly!) and across the hall for Science, and welcome the other group of 9- and 10-year-olds into my classroom for Social Studies. We made it through these maneuvers, I allowed one girl and one boy to use the rest rooms, and then turned out the lights and turned on the overhead projector to introduce the details of the upcoming research project.
Suddenly a confused-looking face peeked up from the Book Nook corner behind the computers. One of mine, looking confused, stood up and shook his head a little. He had been so involved in the book he was reading, so totally lost in its world, that he never noticed the rest of the class putting away their math books, getting out their science folders, and leaving the room. He smiled sheepishly, gathered his materials and left the room.
No, I didn’t give him grief. I couldn’t. You see, I recognized a little of the fourth grade me in this kid. My mother remembers the time I walked home from school reading a book and I walked right past our house. Books? They’re great. Who needs TV?

In case you’re wondering, the book was a Junior Classic, an abridged version of Robinson Crusoe that I picked up for $1 at a thrift store.
It was a dollar well spent.

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>Care Packages just aren’t the same

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>When La Petite was a freshman, I bought the commercial Welcome Pack and various holiday gift packages. I’m sure I supported someone’s fundraising, and my daughter enjoyed getting treats now and then.
Her sophomore year, I did the same.
Now she doesn’t live in a dorm, but in a near-campus apartment, so I skipped it. She says she’s okay with that, so why do I feel a small bit of motherly guilt?

I haven’t made the old-fashioned cookie packages like the ones my mom sent me.
I haven’t packaged up a batch of goodies when MidTerms rolled around.
But I haven’t failed. Oh, I may be different, but I haven’t failed her completely.

For one, I send her links. Where my mother would mail little items (including comics!) that she’d clipped from the paper, I send my daughter URLs for relevant articles and blog posts, even shopping deals. We could chalk that up to the change in technology. We email, chat by IM, and text message each other, too.
I set things aside for her. I put her Girl Scout cookies in her bedroom so we wouldn’t be tempted to eat them in a PMS inspired fit. Did I say we? I meant me. I mean I. I mean…did I say something about chocolate?!
When we found out she and her roomie had lost the remote control for their TV, we found an unused universal remote and mailed it down to her, along with batteries. I suggested chocolate, but Husband “forgot” to throw the candy in the package at the last minute.
The last time we visited, we brought a bag of groceries that included bunny food, Mountain Dew, batteries for the remote control (see above) and a big box of trash bags. And a chair! We brought her a chair! Don’t laugh — it was taking up space in the garage, and Husband wasn’t ready to give it up for good just yet.
Last, but not least, I send her free samples. Yes, free samples. Whenever I see an opportunity to get a freebie, I send one to her, too. When she gets a package of something random like a granola bar or the new flavor of Chex Mix, she knows it’s from me. I even hooked her up with a free test sample of a new dishwashing liquid, and now she’s set for dishes for the remainder of the semester, if not the year.
No, these aren’t romantic or fancy. They’re silly little surprises that turn up in her mailbox at unexpected times. They make her smile and let her know I’m thinking about her now and then. In her own sarcastic way, she’d say, “I feel special”– but I know that sometimes, just sometimes, she really does.

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>Am I green? A pale shade of mint, perhaps?

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>I blow it sometimes.
I have cloth bags for shopping, but I forget them too often. We buy bottled water. Yes, we do. We even use paper napkins, not cloth. We don’t bring our own bags to the grocery store or bring back the paper bags, either.
But on the other hand…
I have a re-usable shopping bag in my purse, and it works very well when I remember to use it.
I shred, and we use the shred to fill packages instead of styro packing peanuts. I recycle the water bottles! I do! We also reuse and recycle the paper bags. I used to bring them to school for book covers when I taught older kids. The paper napkins don’t go in the garbage. As soon as it’s warm enough, I compost them. This year, that means as soon as the water goes down.
Compost! Recycle! Reuse! I’m at least a little greenish.

I teach in a school that celebrates Earth Week in a big way by reading stories, leading discussions, and teaching the students how to actually make a difference. One day this week we’ll have “No New Paper Day” where every piece of paper is a re-used piece. We hope this philosophy will spread. We don’t expect our colleagues to use only re-used paper, but to look for opportunities to cut down on the waste. A gradual transition can make a big difference on our world — and our budget.
We’ve set up a day for a minimal-waste lunch. The cafeteria staff created a menu of finger food to avoid using plastic utensils, and we’ll teach a minilesson on composting to show the kids how to throw food waste such as peelings in the compost instead of the garbage. We’ll encourage students to bring reusable containers instead of bags; many already do.
There’s more on the schedule, but I’ll leave it at that. I’m proud to be on this planning committee; we planned a week of celebrations that are also educational.

On the green scale, I may not be perfect, but I’m getting there. And honestly? I think I’m pretty darn good.

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>Poetry Month, for better or for verse

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>If it has three lines and a frog, it’s a Haiku.
Poets read prose differently.
Poets today write not about history, but about time. Not time that has passed, but time that’s ticking, ticking right now.
Dogs have voice. And how.
“Borrowing” from another poet is a professional courtesy.

I had the pleasure of hearing former Poet Laureate Billy Collins two nights ago. He was speaking as part of a local book festival, a week of literature, featuring poets and novelists and more, bringing readers and writers together. The grand statements in the previous sentence were all stolen from introductions and brochures; none are original. But if I’m to take Mr. Collins’ word, though it was given with a sardonic smile and a knowing glance, I can consider it Professional Courtesy rather than plagiarism.

If you asked me to pick a favorite poem out of the evening, I couldn’t do it. There was so much to enjoy in his work and his short pieces of banter in between poems, I’m left with a tone, a mood, rather than a single favorite. There were times I thought a poem could have ended after a few lines; the message was that strong, that clear. But as he read on, the poem took shape and lived, pulling us listeners along a new path.

I haven’t written or posted anything new since then; I’m rather basking in the warmth of hearing a professional, a creative and intelligent poet reading and expanding on his work.

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>Out of the mouths of…tweens?

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>Teacher: Note passing isn’t allowed in class. Hand it over.
Student: It’s not a note! It’s a list!
Teacher: Hand it over.
Student: It’s a list. See?!
Teacher: And now it’s my list, since you were passing it in class.

Here it is, the note/list of the day:

To: Ashley, no one else
From: Jenny

Birthday List
I-pod
cell phone
white bunny webkinz
hippo Webkinz
Something High School Musical

Life is much simpler when you’re turning ten. I’m not sure this little darling’s family will spring for the iPod or the cell phone, but they might pick up the Webkinz animals. High School Musical is her favorite — her locker has a big picture of Zach Ephron hanging in it — so maybe that’s where the cool gifts will turn up.

I just hope they’ll remind her not to pass notes in class!

What if teachers passed notes in staff meetings? No, don’t answer that. It might be like the crazy emails at my last school.

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>There must be a punch line here somewhere.

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> Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Canoe.
Canoe who?
Canoe tell me a good knock knock joke?

I could rename this post “When Canoes go Wild.” This one is tired of hanging on the garage, so it’s creating a stream for a getaway. Or maybe it’ll use the ladder to elope with the fishing boat behind the shed. It’s my neighbor’s canoe. Should I warn him? Or do you think he’d be happy not to have to pay for the big wedding?

Sorry, a bit punchy. It’s been a week. Let’s leave it at that. And it’s only Wednesday!

I’ll just go feed the rabbit.

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>We finally got hitched.

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>It’s not what you think, though. Husband and I have been married for going on 24 years, and aiming for at least that many more. We installed a trailer hitch on the minivan. There were a few hitches on the way to getting the minivan hitched, though.
The day did not start smoothly. I had broken my glasses the night before, so I carefully tiptoed downstairs and put in my contacts as soon as I woke up.
Amigo, still nervous about touchy tummy condition, nibbled his breakfast: one frozen waffle, toasted, for the boy who used to down four in a sitting. He got on the bus, and I came back in the house to spend a few minutes with a heating pad to settle my sore back and my own anxiety about whether or not Amigo would make it through the day.
Husband needed the minivan because he was taking care of the installation, so I dutifully picked up keys to the Saturn, walked out of the house, opened the garage door, and stepped into — the van. Oops. Sleepwalking through the morning routine again.
Redirected and in the correct vehicle, I got two blocks away before I heard something chirping at me. It wasn’t the first robin of spring. It was Husband’s cell phone, left in the car to charge overnight. Since I wasn’t far from home, I came back, dumped the phone and its charger on top of his wallet, then left for work a second time.
My arrival in the parking lot coincided with another teacher’s arrival, and that was lucky for me. I had forgotten my ID card, which is my entry into the building and has my room key attached. She let me in, and I got lucky again; my room was unlocked.
Later that day, I heard from Husband by email. He had forgotten more than his cell phone; his toolbox was still in the Saturn’s trunk. He parked the minivan beside his car, moved the toolbox from the Saturn to the van, and then had to explain himself to one of my colleagues so she wouldn’t call the police and report this strange guy taking tools out of the trunk of a car in the school parking lot. He got lucky — she had met him at the staff holiday party.
Well, despite all the trials and tribulations of the day, we all survived. Minimum of tummy trouble, not too much headache, only a little hassle on the way out. It could have been worse.

Here’s the new bike rack on the new hitch, with Husband checking on all the details.

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>Could be worse — could be raining!

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>Oh, wait. It is raining.

But April showers bring May flowers, and luckily for all of us in this dreary April weather, our school’s Art Club suggested a fundraiser. They offered to paint a window in our room for $10 a window, with the money all going to sponsor a local art teacher in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer. I jumped at the opportunity.

Our library media specialist did, too. Her best windows open up to the hallway rather than the outdoors, so the flowers are there for everyone who passes by or comes in to check out a book.

And besides being an investment in a good cause, and in addition to giving young artists a chance to display their work, the early flowers really brighten the room. Teachers’ Manuals on the right, flowers on the left. I know which side makes me smile!

Could be worse, indeed.

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>Waterfront property, with wildlife

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>

After the melting of a record winter’s snows and a few heavy April Showers, our backyard is a swamp. The lot behind ours? I’m looking for fish. Ducks, at least.

Neither family, ours or theirs, can get out and unwrap the grill or the camper or set up the picnic table. If you enjoy a squish, squish sound as you walk, you’ll love this!
Until the fish and waterfowl find the place, you’ll have to settle for bunnies. Can you see Friendly, our neighborhood rabbit? He was born in a tiny hole in our backyard, lived through the winter under our deck and our bushes, and now has a lady friend. He’s tolerating the wetness rather well. Can you find the bunny in the picture above?


Okay, I give in, here’s a close-up. I wasn’t really that close to him; I used the zoom. I didn’t want to disturb him, although how he could get cozy in the midst of this wetness I will never know.

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