I really, really wanted to post about my bike ride today. I even thought about profound things for the blog as I was riding, but since we were in the MOUNTAINS, most of them came out profane. I'd love to tell you about all the hills we climbed today, and my maximum and minimum speeds. I'm not sure the GPS tells the minimum speed, but I can tell you that at one point I looked down and I was going 2.8 mph. But I didn't walk any of the hills. I'm much too stubborn for that.
I'd love to tell you about the screaming downhill we had coming off Unicoi Gap. My hands were killing me when I got to the bottom, just from braking. Or trying to. If a deer had jumped out in front of me, we would have just had a Bambi (and Bragger) disaster, because there was no way to stop.
I'd love to tell you about our rest stop at the Babyland General Hospital, where the original Cabbage Patch Kids are born. I wanted to post the video of a silly man pretending to be a doctor and "delivering" the baby. Give me a large personal break.
I'd love to tell you about why I was wearing my clunky winter-type cycling shoes instead of my wonderful cycling sandals that allow my toes to breathe and my toe ring to shine.
I'd love to tell the story about how 5 of us slept in a motel room with one king-size bed last night.
But it's all going to have to wait until another day. After riding 50 miles on my bicycle (with a grand total of 4 days of training ALL YEAR), I'm beat.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Verbal Faux Pas.....
Another verbal faux pas. They always seem to be associated with cycling. I was talking to the CEO of BRAG about the possibility of Hubby riding his motorcycle along the BRAG route next year, after he retires. Sort of in a support capacity. We had a "motorcycle gang" years ago.
I asked how long each day Hubby would have to ride, because his back starts to hurt after extended periods on the bike. Three or four hours was the answer.
"That's good," I said, "but he has to get off every hour or so."
Sigh.
****
Apropos of absolutely nothing, a videographer wearing an eye patch makes me go, "Hmmmmmmm..."
I asked how long each day Hubby would have to ride, because his back starts to hurt after extended periods on the bike. Three or four hours was the answer.
"That's good," I said, "but he has to get off every hour or so."
Sigh.
****
Apropos of absolutely nothing, a videographer wearing an eye patch makes me go, "Hmmmmmmm..."
Friday, June 5, 2009
Graduation(s)......
Two graduation ceremonies in two nights............
After 23 years of teaching, all the speeches sound pretty much the same.
Ironically, I also graduated on this date, 31 years ago. If you're trying to calculate my age, you'll come up a year more than I am. I skipped a grade in elementary school, so I had just turned 17 when I graduated.
Instead of a trip to the beach, my BFF Jason and I left at midnight, along with my mother, my eldest sister, and her two children to move her to Dallas, Texas. We drove for 19 hours or forever or something like that. Jason had family in Fort Worth, so we visited there for a couple of days. I think I've told the story before about how we went to his grandmother's house to spend the night. We really were best friends. Fought like brother and sister. His deaf great-grandmother lived there too, and when his grandmother asked Jason which sofa bed to make up for him, he said, "Neither one. We'll sleep together." Jason was fond of the shock factor. When we left the next morning, Jason's great-grandmother gave us a wedding present. I'm sure she assumed that was the only reason two young people of opposite sex would be sleeping in the same bed.
Also on this date, twenty-seven years ago, I got married to Sweet Girl's daddy. We went to Daytona Beach for our honeymoon. Daytona Beach is NOT a good place for a honeymoon.
Hubby also got married once on this date. We had to figure out the date because he didn't know it. He knew the year, and he knew it was a Wednesday, because back then he was off on Wednesdays, and he knew that after the ceremony (?) at the courthouse, he went to the golf course. Is it any wonder THAT marriage didn't last?
After 23 years of teaching, all the speeches sound pretty much the same.
Ironically, I also graduated on this date, 31 years ago. If you're trying to calculate my age, you'll come up a year more than I am. I skipped a grade in elementary school, so I had just turned 17 when I graduated.
Instead of a trip to the beach, my BFF Jason and I left at midnight, along with my mother, my eldest sister, and her two children to move her to Dallas, Texas. We drove for 19 hours or forever or something like that. Jason had family in Fort Worth, so we visited there for a couple of days. I think I've told the story before about how we went to his grandmother's house to spend the night. We really were best friends. Fought like brother and sister. His deaf great-grandmother lived there too, and when his grandmother asked Jason which sofa bed to make up for him, he said, "Neither one. We'll sleep together." Jason was fond of the shock factor. When we left the next morning, Jason's great-grandmother gave us a wedding present. I'm sure she assumed that was the only reason two young people of opposite sex would be sleeping in the same bed.
Also on this date, twenty-seven years ago, I got married to Sweet Girl's daddy. We went to Daytona Beach for our honeymoon. Daytona Beach is NOT a good place for a honeymoon.
Hubby also got married once on this date. We had to figure out the date because he didn't know it. He knew the year, and he knew it was a Wednesday, because back then he was off on Wednesdays, and he knew that after the ceremony (?) at the courthouse, he went to the golf course. Is it any wonder THAT marriage didn't last?
Thursday, June 4, 2009
"Welcoming" Committee.......
Our little non-traditional school will complete its fourth year tomorrow, making it the second-longest I have stayed at one school. I've never been fired or non-renewed, although at one school they made it so uncomfortable for me that I chose to leave. I just tend to move on to new things. The toughest school I have ever been in was the one I stayed in for 8 years. Go figure. I finally told the principal there "the inmates are running the asylum," a statement she didn't bother to contradict. I probably won't break the 8-year record, as I only have three more years until I'm eligible to retire. While I MAY continue to work a year or two past eligibility for retirement, especially if I can find someone with whom to share my position, it ain't likely.
But I digress.
I went back to that county when they opened the first non-traditional school much like the one where I teach now. I loved the concept, loved the fact that it was computer-based, loved the fact that I would be working with a math teacher I had worked with before, loved the fact that we didn't have school on Fridays. [That actually sounds a lot better than it turned out to be. You'll just have to trust me on that one.]
The drive to school, however, was about 35 minutes, so when they opened a similar school in the county where I live, only 7 miles away, I jumped at the opportunity. The principal was glad to have me because the whole concept was new, and she was thrilled to hire someone with experience in that setting. When I interviewed with her she told me, "The job has not officially been posted, so I can't offer it to you today. But I'm not interviewing anyone else." I was flattered at the time. I have since discovered it was because she's lazy. What a blow to my ego.
She is also the principal of our district's punitive alternative school, which is a bargain for the county because they get two principals for the price of one. We are housed in the same building as the alternative school, but on the other end of the building, and our students don't have to wear uniforms.
Our school is in an old elementary school that probably wouldn't meet any codes of any kind today. We do well just to keep the fire marshal off our backs, and sometimes we don't do a good job of THAT. Our end of the building was renovated for our program, and each classroom was outfitted with 15 brand-new computers, computer stations, office-type chairs, and new equipment for the teachers.
But we had to share the building with a staff that was already in place, the staff of the other program.
They seemed nice enough.
However, on our second day there, we arrived at school to find that some of them had spray-painted their names on parking spaces.
How charming.
What a way to make the new folks feel wanted.
I remember the guy who was our electives teacher at that time standing in the parking lot, looking at those spaces and saying, "What a bunch of idiots!"
Turns out that karma, however, is a bitch.
In one of life's great ironies, it occurred to me the other day that out of the six people who marked their territory not with urine but with spray paint, this is the only one who is still there.
And rumor has it that she may be on her way out due to some recent conflicts.
I didn't get to know this guy very well. I think he moved on to work for the State Department of Education or something like that. I've heard that's where teachers and administrators go to die at the end of their careers.
This lady was a paraprofessional who died from a brain aneurysm. In a very strange set of circumstances, she told everyone (including her family) that doctors were trying new treatments and procedures but she had to wait for blah blah blah, but after she died her doctors said they had told her there was nothing they could do for her. She kept it even from her family. So sad.
This one left the alternative setting to return to the traditional high school.
This one was another paraprofessional who may or may not have been stalked by her ex-husband but disappeared for days at a time, and then altogether. Rumor has it that her stories of being stalked may have been clouded by her use of controlled substances. She has since abandoned her son (who is now enrolled in the alternative school, surprise surprise) and reportedly moved out of state.
This one may take the all time irony prize, however. He was summarily fired only days after the parking space painting incident. Apparently, in addition to being particular about his parking spot, he was conducting business with a prostitute USING HIS SCHOOL COMPUTER AND EMAIL ACCOUNT. The prostitute with whom he was communicating, offended by such a blatant misuse of government property and time, forwarded his emails to the superintendent. She was referred to on at least one occasion as the "hooker with a heart of gold."
Pardon me if I seem smug. It's just that I feel so much more.......................welcome.............now.
But I digress.
I went back to that county when they opened the first non-traditional school much like the one where I teach now. I loved the concept, loved the fact that it was computer-based, loved the fact that I would be working with a math teacher I had worked with before, loved the fact that we didn't have school on Fridays. [That actually sounds a lot better than it turned out to be. You'll just have to trust me on that one.]
The drive to school, however, was about 35 minutes, so when they opened a similar school in the county where I live, only 7 miles away, I jumped at the opportunity. The principal was glad to have me because the whole concept was new, and she was thrilled to hire someone with experience in that setting. When I interviewed with her she told me, "The job has not officially been posted, so I can't offer it to you today. But I'm not interviewing anyone else." I was flattered at the time. I have since discovered it was because she's lazy. What a blow to my ego.
She is also the principal of our district's punitive alternative school, which is a bargain for the county because they get two principals for the price of one. We are housed in the same building as the alternative school, but on the other end of the building, and our students don't have to wear uniforms.
Our school is in an old elementary school that probably wouldn't meet any codes of any kind today. We do well just to keep the fire marshal off our backs, and sometimes we don't do a good job of THAT. Our end of the building was renovated for our program, and each classroom was outfitted with 15 brand-new computers, computer stations, office-type chairs, and new equipment for the teachers.
But we had to share the building with a staff that was already in place, the staff of the other program.
They seemed nice enough.
However, on our second day there, we arrived at school to find that some of them had spray-painted their names on parking spaces.
How charming.
What a way to make the new folks feel wanted.
I remember the guy who was our electives teacher at that time standing in the parking lot, looking at those spaces and saying, "What a bunch of idiots!"
Turns out that karma, however, is a bitch.
In one of life's great ironies, it occurred to me the other day that out of the six people who marked their territory not with urine but with spray paint, this is the only one who is still there.
And rumor has it that she may be on her way out due to some recent conflicts.
I didn't get to know this guy very well. I think he moved on to work for the State Department of Education or something like that. I've heard that's where teachers and administrators go to die at the end of their careers.
This lady was a paraprofessional who died from a brain aneurysm. In a very strange set of circumstances, she told everyone (including her family) that doctors were trying new treatments and procedures but she had to wait for blah blah blah, but after she died her doctors said they had told her there was nothing they could do for her. She kept it even from her family. So sad.
This one left the alternative setting to return to the traditional high school.
This one was another paraprofessional who may or may not have been stalked by her ex-husband but disappeared for days at a time, and then altogether. Rumor has it that her stories of being stalked may have been clouded by her use of controlled substances. She has since abandoned her son (who is now enrolled in the alternative school, surprise surprise) and reportedly moved out of state.
This one may take the all time irony prize, however. He was summarily fired only days after the parking space painting incident. Apparently, in addition to being particular about his parking spot, he was conducting business with a prostitute USING HIS SCHOOL COMPUTER AND EMAIL ACCOUNT. The prostitute with whom he was communicating, offended by such a blatant misuse of government property and time, forwarded his emails to the superintendent. She was referred to on at least one occasion as the "hooker with a heart of gold."Pardon me if I seem smug. It's just that I feel so much more.......................welcome.............now.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Don't Ask if You Don't Want to Know....
Back in the early days of my teaching career, I taught middle school for three years. It's as close to hell as I ever want to come. Seriously.
There were only two teams of teachers for each grade level, so we were a pretty tight bunch.
But sometimes even people who work closely together should know when to back off.
I was the youngest of the bunch (those were the days), so some of the older teachers sort of mothered me sometimes.
One day I was on hall duty, and I am guessing my co-worker could tell something was wrong. I don't hide my emotions very well. Or my pain. I couldn't walk without grimacing, and standing was killing me.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing," I lied. Poorly.
"No, really, what's wrong?" she insisted.
"I'm okay," I answered, mortified by the realization that I was not going to escape from this conversation.
"Are you hurt?"
"No, really, I'm fine."
"You've dislocated your knee again, haven't you?"
"No....." That would have been a perfect lie, and I don't know why I didn't run with it. Except that the absence of crutches and physical therapy might have given her a clue. But at least it would have shut her up right then.
"Then what is it? I can tell something is wrong."
Why, oh why won't people just give it a rest sometimes?
"Uh........it's not really something you talk about in polite company."
There. That should do it. That's as big a hint as I've got in my arsenal. Subtlety has been abandoned. Time to back off.
"That's okay, what is it?"
I turned beet red. I couldn't think of a lie on the spot that would satisfy her, so I finally gritted through my teeth.
"Let's just say I will never laugh at another Preparation H commercial."
She looked appalled and walked away. I would have kicked her square in her nosy rear end if I could have hobbled that fast.
I apologize profusely for sharing this with the unsuspecting public. Okay, the three people who read my blog. I'm sorry.
There were only two teams of teachers for each grade level, so we were a pretty tight bunch.
But sometimes even people who work closely together should know when to back off.
I was the youngest of the bunch (those were the days), so some of the older teachers sort of mothered me sometimes.
One day I was on hall duty, and I am guessing my co-worker could tell something was wrong. I don't hide my emotions very well. Or my pain. I couldn't walk without grimacing, and standing was killing me.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing," I lied. Poorly.
"No, really, what's wrong?" she insisted.
"I'm okay," I answered, mortified by the realization that I was not going to escape from this conversation.
"Are you hurt?"
"No, really, I'm fine."
"You've dislocated your knee again, haven't you?"
"No....." That would have been a perfect lie, and I don't know why I didn't run with it. Except that the absence of crutches and physical therapy might have given her a clue. But at least it would have shut her up right then.
"Then what is it? I can tell something is wrong."
Why, oh why won't people just give it a rest sometimes?
"Uh........it's not really something you talk about in polite company."
There. That should do it. That's as big a hint as I've got in my arsenal. Subtlety has been abandoned. Time to back off.
"That's okay, what is it?"
I turned beet red. I couldn't think of a lie on the spot that would satisfy her, so I finally gritted through my teeth.
"Let's just say I will never laugh at another Preparation H commercial."
She looked appalled and walked away. I would have kicked her square in her nosy rear end if I could have hobbled that fast.
I apologize profusely for sharing this with the unsuspecting public. Okay, the three people who read my blog. I'm sorry.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Evaluation......
I don't know what it is about being evaluated that sets me off. I guess it's my competitive nature or something.
I tell myself it doesn't matter, but I won't listen.
This isn't even about my real job, either. It's my part-time online teaching job, which according to my calculations pays about twelve cents per hour that I put into it.
It's not that the work is hard. And the pay IS decent. It's just that I am so driven to perfection, to overachieving, that being marked DOWN for something really gets my goat.
Almost as much as cliches do. Sorry.
One category I got marked down in (receiving a 3 out of 4) was in responding to emails and phone calls. I'd like to see the documentation, please. Because I have NEVER, EVER failed to return an email or phone call related to one of my online students. I even respond to them in the middle of the school day, when I'm not actually (ahem) supposed to be working on my "other" job. On the other hand, when I placed an urgent call to my immediate supervisor because I had a student who was locked out of a quiz and I didn't know how to get her in, I got her voice mail. I explained the situation as best I could.
She emailed me back IMMEDIATELY and tried to guess at what the problem was and gave me a non-solution.
Thanks for that, but if you'd actually TAKEN MY CALL, I might have explained it a little better. And we could have resolved it quickly over the phone instead of the ensuing forty-two emails it took.
And this is the person who docked me for not responding to phone calls and emails.
Sheesh.
Let me say here that I adore her, and I WOULDN'T HAVE HER JOB, because not only does she have to teach like a gazillion kids online and she has two young ones at home herself, she also has to deal with the GROWN-UPS in the online world, the teachers who AREN'T perfectionists, who DON'T overachieve, and wouldn't READ THE DIRECTIONS about how to do something if their lives depended on it.
She has it tough, I'll give her that.
But I take it personally when I get a 3 out of 4 that is completely unjustified.
Mark me down on grading within the required 72 hours, because I readily admit guilt in that department. Because I was teaching a course that was brand-new to me, often I hadn't read the assigned material when the students got to it. I guess I could have just graded them anyway without doing the reading myself, but that's not my style. So there were a couple of occasions when I didn't get something back to them with appropriate feedback within the 72 hour window.
I also got points deducted for not volunteering for extra things.
Excuse me?
It isn't like this is a traditional school, and I could offer to do someone's hall duty because she was on crutches. Or run copies for someone during my planning period. Or chaperone the prom. [An online prom......now THERE'S a concept I'd like to see developed a little more fully.....]
What was I supposed to say, "Got anything I can volunteer for? In the spare time I have between my full-time job and my part-time job and the elliptical and the pool?" I DID volunteer to teach AP English online, although I shudder at the thought because I have never taught AP English in the REGULAR classroom. It's such a high-stakes course, and I don't think the one-week training session I went to 3 years ago makes me necessarily qualified for it. But my online employer was the one who footed the bill for the training, so I felt obligated at least to consider teaching it. I certainly hope they don't take me up on it. Still, I VOLUNTEERED.
And when they were trying to develop a broadcast journalism course and asked who had yearbook or broadcasting experience, I opened my mouth on that one too. When the response came back that I didn't have the necessary qualifications, I said, "Find out what I need to do, and I'll do it." Not because I need the money, mind you. Just because I like taking on new things, and I thought I could help them out. So I VOLUNTEERED.
I wouldn't mind their little rating scale if A) I got an explanation of the things I was marked down for; and B) I got extra points for extra effort in other areas. For example, each teacher was required to do 3 hours of online professional development during the course of the semester. I didn't get marked down for that one; I got a 4 out of 4. In the comments section, it was noted, "You had 15 hours. Great job!" So for doing 500% of what was required I don't even get one of my 3's taken away? Or maybe a 5 out of 4 just to balance things out?
Sheesh.
I spent roughly 16 hours last weekend coming up with a pacing guide for summer (a 5-week schedule and a 6-week schedule) for a course I've never taught before. I spent several more hours setting up the live computer sessions required (3 per week in summer, thank you very much) and pretty much arranging my entire life around this summer session. Only to be told today that my department chair doesn't have enough students to satisfy her contract, and she may have to take that course back from me.
Which is fine. Really.
Even considering the fact that she MAY be able to give me two other courses, each half of the one I had already set up (don't even try to figure it out), only those WON'T BE SET UP YET.
Forgive me -- I didn't really intend for this to become a bitch session. I had another perfectly good blog topic picked out, but I need pictures to do it justice. Maybe I'll get them tomorrow, but everyone has to be gone from the back parking lot to do it. Ponder on THAT for a while....
I think I'll just go back to my book about two runaways now.
This vent has been brought to you today by the letters R and W and by the number 3.
I tell myself it doesn't matter, but I won't listen.
This isn't even about my real job, either. It's my part-time online teaching job, which according to my calculations pays about twelve cents per hour that I put into it.
It's not that the work is hard. And the pay IS decent. It's just that I am so driven to perfection, to overachieving, that being marked DOWN for something really gets my goat.
Almost as much as cliches do. Sorry.
One category I got marked down in (receiving a 3 out of 4) was in responding to emails and phone calls. I'd like to see the documentation, please. Because I have NEVER, EVER failed to return an email or phone call related to one of my online students. I even respond to them in the middle of the school day, when I'm not actually (ahem) supposed to be working on my "other" job. On the other hand, when I placed an urgent call to my immediate supervisor because I had a student who was locked out of a quiz and I didn't know how to get her in, I got her voice mail. I explained the situation as best I could.
She emailed me back IMMEDIATELY and tried to guess at what the problem was and gave me a non-solution.
Thanks for that, but if you'd actually TAKEN MY CALL, I might have explained it a little better. And we could have resolved it quickly over the phone instead of the ensuing forty-two emails it took.
And this is the person who docked me for not responding to phone calls and emails.
Sheesh.
Let me say here that I adore her, and I WOULDN'T HAVE HER JOB, because not only does she have to teach like a gazillion kids online and she has two young ones at home herself, she also has to deal with the GROWN-UPS in the online world, the teachers who AREN'T perfectionists, who DON'T overachieve, and wouldn't READ THE DIRECTIONS about how to do something if their lives depended on it.
She has it tough, I'll give her that.
But I take it personally when I get a 3 out of 4 that is completely unjustified.
Mark me down on grading within the required 72 hours, because I readily admit guilt in that department. Because I was teaching a course that was brand-new to me, often I hadn't read the assigned material when the students got to it. I guess I could have just graded them anyway without doing the reading myself, but that's not my style. So there were a couple of occasions when I didn't get something back to them with appropriate feedback within the 72 hour window.
I also got points deducted for not volunteering for extra things.
Excuse me?
It isn't like this is a traditional school, and I could offer to do someone's hall duty because she was on crutches. Or run copies for someone during my planning period. Or chaperone the prom. [An online prom......now THERE'S a concept I'd like to see developed a little more fully.....]
What was I supposed to say, "Got anything I can volunteer for? In the spare time I have between my full-time job and my part-time job and the elliptical and the pool?" I DID volunteer to teach AP English online, although I shudder at the thought because I have never taught AP English in the REGULAR classroom. It's such a high-stakes course, and I don't think the one-week training session I went to 3 years ago makes me necessarily qualified for it. But my online employer was the one who footed the bill for the training, so I felt obligated at least to consider teaching it. I certainly hope they don't take me up on it. Still, I VOLUNTEERED.
And when they were trying to develop a broadcast journalism course and asked who had yearbook or broadcasting experience, I opened my mouth on that one too. When the response came back that I didn't have the necessary qualifications, I said, "Find out what I need to do, and I'll do it." Not because I need the money, mind you. Just because I like taking on new things, and I thought I could help them out. So I VOLUNTEERED.
I wouldn't mind their little rating scale if A) I got an explanation of the things I was marked down for; and B) I got extra points for extra effort in other areas. For example, each teacher was required to do 3 hours of online professional development during the course of the semester. I didn't get marked down for that one; I got a 4 out of 4. In the comments section, it was noted, "You had 15 hours. Great job!" So for doing 500% of what was required I don't even get one of my 3's taken away? Or maybe a 5 out of 4 just to balance things out?
Sheesh.
I spent roughly 16 hours last weekend coming up with a pacing guide for summer (a 5-week schedule and a 6-week schedule) for a course I've never taught before. I spent several more hours setting up the live computer sessions required (3 per week in summer, thank you very much) and pretty much arranging my entire life around this summer session. Only to be told today that my department chair doesn't have enough students to satisfy her contract, and she may have to take that course back from me.
Which is fine. Really.
Even considering the fact that she MAY be able to give me two other courses, each half of the one I had already set up (don't even try to figure it out), only those WON'T BE SET UP YET.
Forgive me -- I didn't really intend for this to become a bitch session. I had another perfectly good blog topic picked out, but I need pictures to do it justice. Maybe I'll get them tomorrow, but everyone has to be gone from the back parking lot to do it. Ponder on THAT for a while....
I think I'll just go back to my book about two runaways now.
This vent has been brought to you today by the letters R and W and by the number 3.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Weird Dream #4.......
I was awake at 3:37 this morning, and it was the kind of awake where I thought to myself, "Uh oh, I'll never go back to......zzzzzzzzz." I almost got up at that ungodly hour, but I fell back to sleep before the thought could crystallize.
Then of course I was dead to the world when the alarm went off. The clock is on my side of the bed, and I haven't hit the snooze once in 12 years, ever since one morning right after we started living together when Hubby said, "Why don't you just get up when it goes off?" It's my responsibility to turn the alarm off. But that doesn't necessarily mean I wake up to do it.
In our little morning routine, I turn off the alarm while I'm still sleeping, and Hubby gets up and goes into the bathroom. He shaves and gets ready in about 7 minutes, then comes out into the bedroom to dress. He doesn't turn the light on, using the light from the bathroom instead, and at some point in that space of time I come awake and get up.
Just before he came out of the bathroom this morning, I was dreaming about one of our students. She finished her coursework right after the semester break, and she and her twin sister will graduate this week. In my dream, she was sitting at the table in my classroom talking about her college grades. She told me three grades, a 31 in something, a 13 in math, and something else. In all my kindheartedness and with the warm fuzzy support I'm known for, I said to her, "C., those grades aren't passing if you ADD THEM ALL TOGETHER." Then we started trying to factor an equation.
My friend Wanda the Warrior Princess thinks there are some deep underlying meanings to all our dreams.
I don't want to know.
Then of course I was dead to the world when the alarm went off. The clock is on my side of the bed, and I haven't hit the snooze once in 12 years, ever since one morning right after we started living together when Hubby said, "Why don't you just get up when it goes off?" It's my responsibility to turn the alarm off. But that doesn't necessarily mean I wake up to do it.
In our little morning routine, I turn off the alarm while I'm still sleeping, and Hubby gets up and goes into the bathroom. He shaves and gets ready in about 7 minutes, then comes out into the bedroom to dress. He doesn't turn the light on, using the light from the bathroom instead, and at some point in that space of time I come awake and get up.
Just before he came out of the bathroom this morning, I was dreaming about one of our students. She finished her coursework right after the semester break, and she and her twin sister will graduate this week. In my dream, she was sitting at the table in my classroom talking about her college grades. She told me three grades, a 31 in something, a 13 in math, and something else. In all my kindheartedness and with the warm fuzzy support I'm known for, I said to her, "C., those grades aren't passing if you ADD THEM ALL TOGETHER." Then we started trying to factor an equation.
My friend Wanda the Warrior Princess thinks there are some deep underlying meanings to all our dreams.
I don't want to know.
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