I want to share a little story with you-- a story that is not for the faint of heart.
Last Thursday, I was getting ready for work-- curling my hair and eye lashes, putting on blush and mascara-- the usual, when I noticed that my cat, Macy, was acting a little bizarre.
She was hyper-alert; her eyes were wild, and her gaze was darting around the room.
I figured she must have spotted a fly or something.
So I continued on with my usual routine.
The last part of my routine each day is making sure that all the doors are locked and appliances turned off before I head out for work. As I walked through the living room, my OCD kicked in. I couldn't walk by all of our dog Gryff's toys without putting them in his toy box. So I walk over, grab the bones and the chew toy and toss them in.
Irritated, I notice that in Gryff's pile is yet another one of Macy's toys that he has destroyed. He has an affinity for her "skitter mice"-- felt mice with yarn tails that she knocks around the hardwood floors in the most adorable way. Once Gryff has gotten a hold of the mice, Macy won't deign to play with a dog-slobbered toy. So I pick up the toy mouse trying to assess the damage.
I pass the mouse from hand to hand, looking for holes, checking to see if the eyes have been popped off...
You see where this is going, don't you?
Oh no, the eyes hadn't popped off. Hard to pop off eyes that are connected to a MOUSE BRAIN. No there were no holes in the "toy mouse"-- but there were TEETH.
I want you to recall that at this point I have carefully inspected said mouse-- WITH MY HANDS.
I drop the mouse. The REAL mouse. But then realize that I must-- I MUST-- pick up the mouse and dispose of it. So, I pick it up by what's left of it's tail... and I swiftly walk it to the trash can and dispose of it.
And then I scrub. I scrub and I scrub and I just near tear my skin off trying to rid myself of mouse essence. But all day I could just FEEL it. Like walking through a spider web, I just had the heeby jeebies all. day. long.
Now, there's another important factor in this story. Our Gryff, though lovable and playful, is a destroyer. He doesn't just gnaw on his prey-- he DESTROYS them. Shreds them. Eats them.
Sweet May May-- she's a lover, not a fighter. And it doesn't help that she doesn't have claws.
So I know exactly who killed our little visitor. Precious Macy. With her clawless paws... nubbed the poor mouse to death. I want you to picture that-- she probably thinks they're playing, tossing him into the air-- wheeeeeee! And then I imagine she was perplexed when her little playmate went stiff and quit playing "tag" with her...
Time of death: wee hours of Thursday morning. Cause of death: heart attack, brought on by excessive pawing.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Into the Woods, Part II
And back into the frozen abyss we go...
Where were we?
Ah, yes. About 6 weeks ago. I had just barely survived a night in a cabin hovering right at freezing temperatures.
On Saturday morning, we headed up to breakfast, where we were all greeted by sympathetic looks and pats on the back. Between my dragging Clay out in the middle of the night to fix our dying fire alarm and my tweeting desperate pleas into the universe, our story had spread through camp.
When I sauntered back into the cabin after breakfast, too sleepy to even cry, there was a man in our cabin fixing the heater.
My jubilation was what I imagine Mary felt when she found the angel in Jesus' empty tomb.
I wish I could say I was a really good sport-- that even though I was beyond exhausted, I pushed through in order to enjoy the beautiful camp and fellowship; that I zip-lined and bouldered in the 20 degree wind chill and hiked through the trails that sprawled all over camp.
I'd like to-- but I can't. Oh no-- I slept. I slept and slept and slept. So hard and beautifully that it was almost athletic. I slept so hard that I needed a Gatorade when I woke up. It was incredible. Save the thirteen year old girls that periodically came in to lay in their bunks and whisper back and forth-- and when I say whisper, it should be noted that thirteen year olds are not particularly accomplished whisperers.
So I maybe slipped up on the whole "Counselor Lindsey" attitude-- it's very possible that I forcibly kicked out the whisperers. Look, at this point, I was nestled into a cuddly wonderland, and my survival instinct demanded that these invaders be removed.
It is worth noting that the beds were awful. They're camp beds. My sheets were nothing special, and I had a quilt that hasn't been quite worn into quilty goodness. But it didn't matter-- I was so exhausted and wiped, that even now as I sit and write this, I think back longingly to that little cocoon I built for myself.
That night, we went to worship and played some games. I had been warned about the game-- it's called Man Hunt. Basically, the adults dressed up like pop culture icons-- I was Katniss; then we had Gandalf the Grey, Psy, Mayhem (from the commercials), and some others-- and hid in the woods. The kids were each given a sheet of paper to get signatures on; each adults was worth a different amount of points, and the first group that found each adult got a special token for extra points.
In a perfect situation, it would have been a really great time.
In THIS situation, it was below thirty degrees and I was out in the woods... again. This time hiding, in the dark, a mile from the camp, by myself.
Now, Clay had told me that if it was too cold, we wouldn't play outdoor game.
My idea of what is too cold and Clay's idea of what is too cold are clearly two very different temperatures. Evidently, Clay doesn't consider 25 degrees too cold.
So there I sat-- about twenty minutes before the students were released to search for us, another 30 minutes as they searched. The fifty minutes felt like a lifetime. A long, frostbit lifetime.
On the way back to the cabin, I called Alex to relay my suffering. By the time I got back to my cabin, I literally couldn't feel the hand that I had held my phone to my ear with. You see, I was told that if it was TOO COLD, we wouldn't be outside. So Yours Truly didn't bring gloves, toboggan, etc... Because when you need that kind of winter gear, it's TOO COLD to be outside for any length of time. I put my hands up to our miraculous heater-- still working!!-- and it was a bizarre thing to see my fingers and not be able to feel them. As soon as I gained some feeling back, I was able to wrestle myself out of all my layers of clothing and get into a scalding shower. Glorious.
And-- you guessed it-- I skipped the camp fire and s'mores that night. Back into my cocoon I went-- and after a night of shivering, you better believe everyone else, in their smug weather-appropriate sleeping bags, had to sweat out the second night as I slept peacefully through the snores.
Would I skip off into the woods again with the youth group in the middle of winter?
Absolutely. But next time, I'll bring my own space heater. And Hot Hands. And a heating blanket. And gloves.
And next time, it'll probably be unseasonably warm and I'll sweat the whole time and wish I had a fan. Because that's just my life.
Where were we?
Ah, yes. About 6 weeks ago. I had just barely survived a night in a cabin hovering right at freezing temperatures.
On Saturday morning, we headed up to breakfast, where we were all greeted by sympathetic looks and pats on the back. Between my dragging Clay out in the middle of the night to fix our dying fire alarm and my tweeting desperate pleas into the universe, our story had spread through camp.
When I sauntered back into the cabin after breakfast, too sleepy to even cry, there was a man in our cabin fixing the heater.
My jubilation was what I imagine Mary felt when she found the angel in Jesus' empty tomb.
I wish I could say I was a really good sport-- that even though I was beyond exhausted, I pushed through in order to enjoy the beautiful camp and fellowship; that I zip-lined and bouldered in the 20 degree wind chill and hiked through the trails that sprawled all over camp.
I'd like to-- but I can't. Oh no-- I slept. I slept and slept and slept. So hard and beautifully that it was almost athletic. I slept so hard that I needed a Gatorade when I woke up. It was incredible. Save the thirteen year old girls that periodically came in to lay in their bunks and whisper back and forth-- and when I say whisper, it should be noted that thirteen year olds are not particularly accomplished whisperers.
So I maybe slipped up on the whole "Counselor Lindsey" attitude-- it's very possible that I forcibly kicked out the whisperers. Look, at this point, I was nestled into a cuddly wonderland, and my survival instinct demanded that these invaders be removed.
It is worth noting that the beds were awful. They're camp beds. My sheets were nothing special, and I had a quilt that hasn't been quite worn into quilty goodness. But it didn't matter-- I was so exhausted and wiped, that even now as I sit and write this, I think back longingly to that little cocoon I built for myself.
That night, we went to worship and played some games. I had been warned about the game-- it's called Man Hunt. Basically, the adults dressed up like pop culture icons-- I was Katniss; then we had Gandalf the Grey, Psy, Mayhem (from the commercials), and some others-- and hid in the woods. The kids were each given a sheet of paper to get signatures on; each adults was worth a different amount of points, and the first group that found each adult got a special token for extra points.
In a perfect situation, it would have been a really great time.
In THIS situation, it was below thirty degrees and I was out in the woods... again. This time hiding, in the dark, a mile from the camp, by myself.
Now, Clay had told me that if it was too cold, we wouldn't play outdoor game.
My idea of what is too cold and Clay's idea of what is too cold are clearly two very different temperatures. Evidently, Clay doesn't consider 25 degrees too cold.
So there I sat-- about twenty minutes before the students were released to search for us, another 30 minutes as they searched. The fifty minutes felt like a lifetime. A long, frostbit lifetime.
On the way back to the cabin, I called Alex to relay my suffering. By the time I got back to my cabin, I literally couldn't feel the hand that I had held my phone to my ear with. You see, I was told that if it was TOO COLD, we wouldn't be outside. So Yours Truly didn't bring gloves, toboggan, etc... Because when you need that kind of winter gear, it's TOO COLD to be outside for any length of time. I put my hands up to our miraculous heater-- still working!!-- and it was a bizarre thing to see my fingers and not be able to feel them. As soon as I gained some feeling back, I was able to wrestle myself out of all my layers of clothing and get into a scalding shower. Glorious.
And-- you guessed it-- I skipped the camp fire and s'mores that night. Back into my cocoon I went-- and after a night of shivering, you better believe everyone else, in their smug weather-appropriate sleeping bags, had to sweat out the second night as I slept peacefully through the snores.
Would I skip off into the woods again with the youth group in the middle of winter?
Absolutely. But next time, I'll bring my own space heater. And Hot Hands. And a heating blanket. And gloves.
And next time, it'll probably be unseasonably warm and I'll sweat the whole time and wish I had a fan. Because that's just my life.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Into the Woods, Part I
A few weeks ago, Alex and I joined a new church-- Grace Fellowship Presbyterian. Our parents joined us as the congregation welcomed us into their fold, and we have been really thrilled to be a part of this fantastic church community.
99% of the time, that is.
See, my dear friend Clay, the youth minister at GFPC,took advantage capitalized on my apparent love of teenagers, based on my being a middle school counselor, and asked me to chaperone the winter youth retreat. Excited to dive into community with our new church, I agreed.
The cabins are heated, he said.
We'll hardly be outside, he said.
We arrived at beautiful Alpine Camp in Mentone, AL, around 6 pm on the Friday night of our retreat weekend. My 9 middle and high school girls and I unloaded into our cabin, prepared our bunk beds, and headed to the Lodge for a surprisingly good camp dinner: chicken fajitas. Since I was coming off a 7 am- 4 pm workday of dealing with my own 450 middle schoolers, I started funneling coffee at dinner. I sensed it would be a long night because of games, giggling, and even a little Bible study.
How naive I was...
After dinner, we had a little free time before evening worship. The girls and I settled into our cabin and got to know each other a little better. At this point, I realized that I had not yet even taken my down "puffer" jacket off. Realizing how cold it must be in the cabin, I go to turn the heat on.
And I turn. And I turn. And I turn.
I'm hardly an expert on space heaters, but I eventually realized we weren't even working with a pilot light at this point. So when we returned to the Lodge for worship, I notified the camp person (manager? groundskeeper?) of our heating situation.
No problem, he said.
After worship, we gathered in the cabin with David-the-camp-man and one of the male chaperones, pondering over our heating situation.
Note: outdoor temperature-- 27 degrees, indoor temperature-- slightly higher than 27 degrees.
Eventually, the heat began working. And it was glorious. I can feel it now: those first flickers of rejuvenating heat...
So off we went to play ice breaker games with the other churches. Around midnight, we returned. And what did we return to? Glad you asked.
A cabin hovering somewhere around freezing. Once again, our heat had gone out. So, I called David-the-camp-guy once again. Good news: he restored the heat. Bad news: it's not going to stay on long because he doesn't have the tool to actually fix it.
Turn the smaller space heater in the bathroom on, he said.
That'll warm the ENTIRE cabin, he said.
Shortly after David-the-camp-guy left-- you guessed it-- the heat goes out again. Minutes later, the fire alarm begins beeping. Not a blaring alarm... just the super high pitched once-every-60-seconds kind of alarm that lets you know that the battery is dying.
Meanwhile, my happy campers are going about their business-- braiding hair, giggling about boys from the other churches, and so on. Head Counselor Ruggles here took care of the fire alarm by calling Clay, the youth pastor. Called him once. Called him twice. Called three times. Left a voicemail message not quite worthy of a church retreat, and shot off a few text messages. And then, I waited.
Approximately 45 seconds later, I gave up. Off into camp I went, because really what did it matter? Same temperature out there as it was in the cabin-- might as well take a stroll. I tracked down the boys' cabin and drug Clay out. Like a knight in shining armor, he fixed the alarm. Or, rather, he took it down, took the battery out, and left us defenseless against a night fire. It's not like we had a small space heater blaring in the bathroom or anything... Nevertheless, the beeping stopped and we were able to, at long last, lay our heads down and crash.
That was the plan at least. See, Clay ASSURED me there would be heat. So Big Girl just brought a set of sheets and a queen-sized quilt that I doubled over. Meanwhile, my sweet campers had sleeping bags worthy of camping on frozen tundras. So they snoozed right off as I lay there staring into my own frozen abyss. And then, the snoring started. Snoring worthy of an obese man suffering from sleep apnea. All from a petite sixth grader with a stuffy nose. The snorer was to my right, on the top bunk. Unfortunately, she was out of arm's length or I would've taken matters into my own hands-- literally. As it was, I was paralyzed by the bitter cold in my bottom bunk. Furthermore, my bunk buddy on the top bunk repositioned herself every 45 seconds or so-- not that I was counting each and every tiny budge. I had other things on my mind-- survival, for one. At this point, I am layered in nearly everything I brought: sweat pants, wool socks, long-sleeved t-shirt, fleece pull-over, down "puffer" jacket... I thought I had overpacked seeing as how we were staying in a "heated" cabin and all.
For hours, I lay awake, sending a periodic SOS into the Twittersphere and one desperate text to my dad, thinking he might drive out to Mentone at 2 am and rescue me. Evidently, once you're married your husband is responsible for middle-of-the-night rescues... My husband wasn't quite responsible enough to keep his phone charged, though.
At long last, my shivering and quaking exhausted me enough to drive me into a shallow sleep. Altogether, I slept about two and a half hours, and that may be a generous estimate.
My final illustration-- graphic though it may be-- should truly show you the depths of my despair. On one midnight pilgrimage to the restroom-- truly a Mecca in our cabin, being our one and only source of heat-- I couldn't help but notice that as I relieved myself, steam arose from the toilet. And that, friends, should tell you something.
So there ya have it, folks: night one of our adventure in the woods!
99% of the time, that is.
See, my dear friend Clay, the youth minister at GFPC,
The cabins are heated, he said.
We'll hardly be outside, he said.
We arrived at beautiful Alpine Camp in Mentone, AL, around 6 pm on the Friday night of our retreat weekend. My 9 middle and high school girls and I unloaded into our cabin, prepared our bunk beds, and headed to the Lodge for a surprisingly good camp dinner: chicken fajitas. Since I was coming off a 7 am- 4 pm workday of dealing with my own 450 middle schoolers, I started funneling coffee at dinner. I sensed it would be a long night because of games, giggling, and even a little Bible study.
How naive I was...
After dinner, we had a little free time before evening worship. The girls and I settled into our cabin and got to know each other a little better. At this point, I realized that I had not yet even taken my down "puffer" jacket off. Realizing how cold it must be in the cabin, I go to turn the heat on.
And I turn. And I turn. And I turn.
I'm hardly an expert on space heaters, but I eventually realized we weren't even working with a pilot light at this point. So when we returned to the Lodge for worship, I notified the camp person (manager? groundskeeper?) of our heating situation.
No problem, he said.
After worship, we gathered in the cabin with David-the-camp-man and one of the male chaperones, pondering over our heating situation.
Note: outdoor temperature-- 27 degrees, indoor temperature-- slightly higher than 27 degrees.
Eventually, the heat began working. And it was glorious. I can feel it now: those first flickers of rejuvenating heat...
So off we went to play ice breaker games with the other churches. Around midnight, we returned. And what did we return to? Glad you asked.
A cabin hovering somewhere around freezing. Once again, our heat had gone out. So, I called David-the-camp-guy once again. Good news: he restored the heat. Bad news: it's not going to stay on long because he doesn't have the tool to actually fix it.
Turn the smaller space heater in the bathroom on, he said.
That'll warm the ENTIRE cabin, he said.
Shortly after David-the-camp-guy left-- you guessed it-- the heat goes out again. Minutes later, the fire alarm begins beeping. Not a blaring alarm... just the super high pitched once-every-60-seconds kind of alarm that lets you know that the battery is dying.
Meanwhile, my happy campers are going about their business-- braiding hair, giggling about boys from the other churches, and so on. Head Counselor Ruggles here took care of the fire alarm by calling Clay, the youth pastor. Called him once. Called him twice. Called three times. Left a voicemail message not quite worthy of a church retreat, and shot off a few text messages. And then, I waited.
Approximately 45 seconds later, I gave up. Off into camp I went, because really what did it matter? Same temperature out there as it was in the cabin-- might as well take a stroll. I tracked down the boys' cabin and drug Clay out. Like a knight in shining armor, he fixed the alarm. Or, rather, he took it down, took the battery out, and left us defenseless against a night fire. It's not like we had a small space heater blaring in the bathroom or anything... Nevertheless, the beeping stopped and we were able to, at long last, lay our heads down and crash.
That was the plan at least. See, Clay ASSURED me there would be heat. So Big Girl just brought a set of sheets and a queen-sized quilt that I doubled over. Meanwhile, my sweet campers had sleeping bags worthy of camping on frozen tundras. So they snoozed right off as I lay there staring into my own frozen abyss. And then, the snoring started. Snoring worthy of an obese man suffering from sleep apnea. All from a petite sixth grader with a stuffy nose. The snorer was to my right, on the top bunk. Unfortunately, she was out of arm's length or I would've taken matters into my own hands-- literally. As it was, I was paralyzed by the bitter cold in my bottom bunk. Furthermore, my bunk buddy on the top bunk repositioned herself every 45 seconds or so-- not that I was counting each and every tiny budge. I had other things on my mind-- survival, for one. At this point, I am layered in nearly everything I brought: sweat pants, wool socks, long-sleeved t-shirt, fleece pull-over, down "puffer" jacket... I thought I had overpacked seeing as how we were staying in a "heated" cabin and all.
For hours, I lay awake, sending a periodic SOS into the Twittersphere and one desperate text to my dad, thinking he might drive out to Mentone at 2 am and rescue me. Evidently, once you're married your husband is responsible for middle-of-the-night rescues... My husband wasn't quite responsible enough to keep his phone charged, though.
At long last, my shivering and quaking exhausted me enough to drive me into a shallow sleep. Altogether, I slept about two and a half hours, and that may be a generous estimate.
My final illustration-- graphic though it may be-- should truly show you the depths of my despair. On one midnight pilgrimage to the restroom-- truly a Mecca in our cabin, being our one and only source of heat-- I couldn't help but notice that as I relieved myself, steam arose from the toilet. And that, friends, should tell you something.
So there ya have it, folks: night one of our adventure in the woods!
Friday, January 18, 2013
I Don't Know About You...
Just when I think Taylor Swift and I have at last parted ways, she goes and proves me wrong. Sure, we're in different chapters of life, but we can still agree on some things. For one, nothing brings a smile to your face quite like a walk down Memory Lane....
It feels like a perfect night to dress up like hipsters and make fun of our exes...
We're happy, free, confused and lonely at the same time... It's miserable and magical...
I don't know about you, but I'm feeling twenty-two... Everything will be alright if you keep me next to you...
Everything will be okay if we keep on dancing, like we're twenty-twoooooooo....
It seems like one of those nights... to have breakfast at midnight...
It seems like one of those nights, we ditch the whole scene and end up dreaming, instead of sleeping...
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Thoughts and Things
Welp, school is back in session! I went back Jan. 2 for an in-service day with just the faculty. We hit the ground running, and we have been in full sprint ever since. I think tomorrow is my last crazy day, and Monday should settle back into the usual, more routine crazy.
But I really wouldn't have it any other way.
So here's what's going on now...
Reading: Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter by Seth Grahame-Smith and Breaking Free by Beth Moore. Next up: Deadlocked by Charlaine Harris and Reshaping It All by Candace Cameron Bure.
Watching: Downton Abbey. Gossip Girl. Nashville. Once Upon a Time. How I Met Your Mother. The Biggest Loser.
Next up on Netflix: 30 Rock. Parks and Rec.
At work:
- Ambassador interviews are tomorrow! My 8th grade students have filled out applications, the Top 10 have been announced, and tomorrow they'll interview with a team of 4 from outside of the community. I am SO excited to get this pilot program started!
- I sent out permission letters for two small groups yesterday. They're due tomorrow, and next week we'll start. These two groups are on anger management. I gave a survey to all the students in my school, and anger management was the number 1 issue chosen by students! I was shocked. So I mapped out lesson plans and invited 26 students-- 13 for each small group-- to participate one day a week for the next six weeks. Is getting all the students in the school with anger problems together in my office a really great idea? Ehhhh... I don't know, but here we go!
- I'm going to start using Rosetta Stone in the next few months, courtesy of my school, because approximately 30% of my kids are Hispanic, and on a campus of 2,000 kids we only have ONE translator. So even being able to use broken Spanish would be enormously helpful.
At home:
- We just took down our Christmas tree yesterday. This flies in the face of everything I was taught growing up; that is, the Christmas tree comes down on New Years Day. So I was approximately 10 days late. True to form.
- Our puppy is almost totally house-trained! Gryffindor Hays Ruggles, more commonly known as "Gryff" or "Mr. Gryff" or "G-Money"... okay, I have a problem with nicknames. Anyway, Gryff spends most of his day in our fenced-in yard. In the afternoons, he happily comes in and lounges on his new bed in the living room. He has yet to chew up anything other than a planter and a screw driver, so my shoes collection has been blessedly spared-- knock on wood. He is truly a wonderful addition to our little family, and he is Alex's pride and joy.
- We finally got dining room chairs! After six months of marriage, we at last have the means to actually sit at our dining room table-- although that means that it must cease being our catch-all for mail and unfinished projects. The lovely chairs made it from Ikea to our home in time to host a couple of Christmas gatherings, thanks to my in-laws who sent me the early Christmas present. And, as I like to remind Alex, since they're my personal chairs, I get to decide if he gets to use them or not.
Now that we have our Ten Weddings in Twenty-Twelve behind us, we are VERY much looking forward to boring weekends at home, full of lounging, sleeping, reading, catching up on favorite shows and movies, and a few projects I've been dying to get to. Maybe I'll even be one of those artsy-fartsy people that posts how-to blogs with pictures of each step. Maybe.
And now, time to finish up preparation for Ambassador interviews... and maybe watch an episode (or three) of Downton Abbey at the same time.
But I really wouldn't have it any other way.
So here's what's going on now...
Reading: Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter by Seth Grahame-Smith and Breaking Free by Beth Moore. Next up: Deadlocked by Charlaine Harris and Reshaping It All by Candace Cameron Bure.
Watching: Downton Abbey. Gossip Girl. Nashville. Once Upon a Time. How I Met Your Mother. The Biggest Loser.
Next up on Netflix: 30 Rock. Parks and Rec.
At work:
- Ambassador interviews are tomorrow! My 8th grade students have filled out applications, the Top 10 have been announced, and tomorrow they'll interview with a team of 4 from outside of the community. I am SO excited to get this pilot program started!
- I sent out permission letters for two small groups yesterday. They're due tomorrow, and next week we'll start. These two groups are on anger management. I gave a survey to all the students in my school, and anger management was the number 1 issue chosen by students! I was shocked. So I mapped out lesson plans and invited 26 students-- 13 for each small group-- to participate one day a week for the next six weeks. Is getting all the students in the school with anger problems together in my office a really great idea? Ehhhh... I don't know, but here we go!
- I'm going to start using Rosetta Stone in the next few months, courtesy of my school, because approximately 30% of my kids are Hispanic, and on a campus of 2,000 kids we only have ONE translator. So even being able to use broken Spanish would be enormously helpful.
At home:
- We just took down our Christmas tree yesterday. This flies in the face of everything I was taught growing up; that is, the Christmas tree comes down on New Years Day. So I was approximately 10 days late. True to form.
- Our puppy is almost totally house-trained! Gryffindor Hays Ruggles, more commonly known as "Gryff" or "Mr. Gryff" or "G-Money"... okay, I have a problem with nicknames. Anyway, Gryff spends most of his day in our fenced-in yard. In the afternoons, he happily comes in and lounges on his new bed in the living room. He has yet to chew up anything other than a planter and a screw driver, so my shoes collection has been blessedly spared-- knock on wood. He is truly a wonderful addition to our little family, and he is Alex's pride and joy.
- We finally got dining room chairs! After six months of marriage, we at last have the means to actually sit at our dining room table-- although that means that it must cease being our catch-all for mail and unfinished projects. The lovely chairs made it from Ikea to our home in time to host a couple of Christmas gatherings, thanks to my in-laws who sent me the early Christmas present. And, as I like to remind Alex, since they're my personal chairs, I get to decide if he gets to use them or not.
Now that we have our Ten Weddings in Twenty-Twelve behind us, we are VERY much looking forward to boring weekends at home, full of lounging, sleeping, reading, catching up on favorite shows and movies, and a few projects I've been dying to get to. Maybe I'll even be one of those artsy-fartsy people that posts how-to blogs with pictures of each step. Maybe.
And now, time to finish up preparation for Ambassador interviews... and maybe watch an episode (or three) of Downton Abbey at the same time.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
New Year's Resolutions
I've never been one to make resolutions. Sure, every now and then I'll get a wild hair and throw one out there. I've sworn off sodas before. I've even sworn off swearing (what can I say, my friends are bad influences). I guess I could give up chocolate or try to lose 10 pounds... but I really can't think of the last time I wasn't trying to lose 10 pounds.
The truth is, 2012 was such an amazing year that I can't think of a lot of things I'd want to change. I planned a wedding, earned a Master's degree, got married, moved into our first house, interviewed for "grown up jobs" and was even hired for one, finished my first semester in my dream job, and all the while woke up every morning next to my best friend (well, for the last 7 months anyway).
So it's been a pretty good year. Even so, I can't deny that there's some excitement in starting a new year. I don't necessarily need a clean slate, and I'm not especially anxious to say goodbye to 2012, but I can't help but get kind of energized thinking about the potential of a brand new year. So I guess I have some resolutions of sorts after all. Or just things I'm looking forward to.
First of all, Wedding Season 2012 has officially come to a close. Altogether, we celebrated 10 weddings in 2012. And that's just counting the ones we were able to go to, not the ones that overlapped. For almost every wedding, there was at least one wedding shower. Then there were a few rehearsal dinners. And about five bachelor/bachelorette parties. It comes up to about 20 events. Out of 52 weeks, that's almost half the weekends of the year. While I feel enormously blessed to have been able to celebrate with so many loved ones, I am very excited to just be BORED one weekend. To sit around in my pajamas and work on Pinterest projects. To watch a marathon on Netflix. To write a blog once in a while even.
I have some projects at work that I'm really pumped about. I'm starting an ambassador program for my 8th graders, and I have several classroom guidance lessons planned out (one includes a clip from Full House, and I'm entertaining the idea of rustling up some pictures of me in middle school...). I'm starting a Student of the Week program, complete with rewards and a spotlight bulletin board. And I finally get to start small groups. I have really high hopes for this semester now that I have one semester under my belt.
I want to start eating to live, not living to eat. For the longest time, my love of food has almost been comical. The office ladies at work joke about my sweet tooth, and I can sniff out a cream cheese dip a mile away. But at some point it's almost become a crippling addiction, a need for things that don't make me feel particularly good. Sure, the chicken fingers from the greasy spoon in Douglas are delicious, but the feeling of Crisco running through my veins and seeping out my pores is less than glamorous. I'm going to try to get away from the processed foods that keep me going during the week-- the Lean Cuisines and 100-calorie packs I live on. I can't even pretend that I'm suddenly going to be a strict "clean" eater, but I think with a little more intention and planning I can do much, much better.
Drink more. I need to move away from the chemical crap I put in my body every single day-- the diet soda. Diet Dr. Pepper, Diet Ginger Ale, Cherry Coke Zero... my canned addiction. In its stead, I want to turn things a little more natural: tea, coffee, wine. (And water, of course). There's just something soothing about holding a warm mug in your hand, and nothing feels more sophisticated than a gorgeous glass of wine-- I've just got to start liking what's inside. I've turned to coffee once or twice when a meeting has been boring me to tears, but I think only filling half the cup with coffee and the other half with cream and sugar kind of defeats the purpose. I've started on what I consider "beginner tea": Earl Grey, and I've really come to love it. I've even found a white wine or two that I enjoy; one day I'll join the ranks of the red wine drinkers. One day.
I want to be more committed to my spiritual life. With so many weekend activities, it's become pretty easy to lay out of church on Sundays-- well, when you're out of town as much as we are, you really don't have a choice. We do still go when we're out of town, but visiting Briarwood or the Church at Brook Hills in Birmingham doesn't do much for building relationships with our new church family. We want to get plugged in.
I want to take more pride in my appearance. I go through spells of laziness-- sweats and tees, leggings and pull overs, etc. I have several girlfriends that always look cute. Not just cute, but put-together. Maybe I just want to be more put-together. But honestly, I think I perform better when I'm dressed cuter. Even "Jean Fridays" at work decrease my productivity.
I guess the bottom line is, I want 2013 to be even better than 2012. And 2012 was pretty awesome. So it sounds like 2013 is going to take some effort from me in the self-improvement arena. A Better Me in Twenty-One-Three. Maybe that will be my motto. Or maybe I'll never say that again because mottos are kind of ridiculous...
Maybe I'll start my list by taking a bubble bath. I can't think of a better way to start bettering me.
Happy New Year's, everybody!
The truth is, 2012 was such an amazing year that I can't think of a lot of things I'd want to change. I planned a wedding, earned a Master's degree, got married, moved into our first house, interviewed for "grown up jobs" and was even hired for one, finished my first semester in my dream job, and all the while woke up every morning next to my best friend (well, for the last 7 months anyway).
So it's been a pretty good year. Even so, I can't deny that there's some excitement in starting a new year. I don't necessarily need a clean slate, and I'm not especially anxious to say goodbye to 2012, but I can't help but get kind of energized thinking about the potential of a brand new year. So I guess I have some resolutions of sorts after all. Or just things I'm looking forward to.
First of all, Wedding Season 2012 has officially come to a close. Altogether, we celebrated 10 weddings in 2012. And that's just counting the ones we were able to go to, not the ones that overlapped. For almost every wedding, there was at least one wedding shower. Then there were a few rehearsal dinners. And about five bachelor/bachelorette parties. It comes up to about 20 events. Out of 52 weeks, that's almost half the weekends of the year. While I feel enormously blessed to have been able to celebrate with so many loved ones, I am very excited to just be BORED one weekend. To sit around in my pajamas and work on Pinterest projects. To watch a marathon on Netflix. To write a blog once in a while even.
I have some projects at work that I'm really pumped about. I'm starting an ambassador program for my 8th graders, and I have several classroom guidance lessons planned out (one includes a clip from Full House, and I'm entertaining the idea of rustling up some pictures of me in middle school...). I'm starting a Student of the Week program, complete with rewards and a spotlight bulletin board. And I finally get to start small groups. I have really high hopes for this semester now that I have one semester under my belt.
I want to start eating to live, not living to eat. For the longest time, my love of food has almost been comical. The office ladies at work joke about my sweet tooth, and I can sniff out a cream cheese dip a mile away. But at some point it's almost become a crippling addiction, a need for things that don't make me feel particularly good. Sure, the chicken fingers from the greasy spoon in Douglas are delicious, but the feeling of Crisco running through my veins and seeping out my pores is less than glamorous. I'm going to try to get away from the processed foods that keep me going during the week-- the Lean Cuisines and 100-calorie packs I live on. I can't even pretend that I'm suddenly going to be a strict "clean" eater, but I think with a little more intention and planning I can do much, much better.
Drink more. I need to move away from the chemical crap I put in my body every single day-- the diet soda. Diet Dr. Pepper, Diet Ginger Ale, Cherry Coke Zero... my canned addiction. In its stead, I want to turn things a little more natural: tea, coffee, wine. (And water, of course). There's just something soothing about holding a warm mug in your hand, and nothing feels more sophisticated than a gorgeous glass of wine-- I've just got to start liking what's inside. I've turned to coffee once or twice when a meeting has been boring me to tears, but I think only filling half the cup with coffee and the other half with cream and sugar kind of defeats the purpose. I've started on what I consider "beginner tea": Earl Grey, and I've really come to love it. I've even found a white wine or two that I enjoy; one day I'll join the ranks of the red wine drinkers. One day.
I want to be more committed to my spiritual life. With so many weekend activities, it's become pretty easy to lay out of church on Sundays-- well, when you're out of town as much as we are, you really don't have a choice. We do still go when we're out of town, but visiting Briarwood or the Church at Brook Hills in Birmingham doesn't do much for building relationships with our new church family. We want to get plugged in.
I want to take more pride in my appearance. I go through spells of laziness-- sweats and tees, leggings and pull overs, etc. I have several girlfriends that always look cute. Not just cute, but put-together. Maybe I just want to be more put-together. But honestly, I think I perform better when I'm dressed cuter. Even "Jean Fridays" at work decrease my productivity.
I guess the bottom line is, I want 2013 to be even better than 2012. And 2012 was pretty awesome. So it sounds like 2013 is going to take some effort from me in the self-improvement arena. A Better Me in Twenty-One-Three. Maybe that will be my motto. Or maybe I'll never say that again because mottos are kind of ridiculous...
Maybe I'll start my list by taking a bubble bath. I can't think of a better way to start bettering me.
Happy New Year's, everybody!
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