Category Archive

This was about to be one of those sorry introductions about how I haven’t blogged in weeks because this is such a busy time for people in the education field, and how even though I’m not in the classroom anymore I am just not in the mindset to sit down and actually put words on a page. To support this drivel I was going to give you some statistics from previous Mays to prove that I am indeed too emotionally and mentally overwhelmed to blog. But apparently last May I posted 20 times. TWENTY. That’s an average of five posts a week. Sure, in May of 2006 there were only 7 posts, and in May of 2005 only 2 (which doesn’t actually count, since I only started blogging in April of 2005), so I could feasibly argue my original point. But I won’t. Because I don’t really have an excuse, unless you want to go along with my personal belief that upon walking across the University stage on May 17, thus marking the completion of my Master’s degree, the remaining functional brain cells rolling around in my skull went on an indefinite strike and have not been heard from since. But that is not really true, not to mention physically impossible.

So let’s just skip the boring introduction (and for those of you who inevitably read it because who the hell starts with the second paragraph, sorry about that) and move on to what will undeniably be only slightly LESS boring: A Bulleted Rundown of the Last Two Weeks.

• As mentioned, I graduated. Woo-freakin’-hoo. I am so over it that I don’t even have anything else to say about it. I do have some commentary about the photos taken that day, and after reading this, you probably will as well. First, it should be obvious to you after looking at these pictures that I have not been exaggerating all those times I’ve said Little got all the boobs in our family; and in case there was any doubt that I got next to none of the allotment in that department, my University graciously marked the size and location of my own non-boobs on the outside of my robe. Secondly, I tried [unsuccessfully] to avoid uploading any of the photos that showed my feet, because apparently, that is where the Universe chose to give me a surplus. Seriously, my feet look like CLOWN FEET in every single picture. My mom keeps trying to comfort me by assuring me it was just the shoes I was wearing, but I keep insisting, and rightfully so, that the shoes are only as big as my actual feet! It’s not the shoes’ fault my feet are enormous! And finally, do I have a cute kid or WHAT?
• Having completed a Master of Library and Information Science, and having worked for an entire school year as a school media specialist, I regret to announce that I won’t actually be working as a school media specialist next year. Thanks to the ubiquitous Public School Budget Cuts, my position no longer exists. Before you school librarians start hurling curses and shaking your fists at the education gods, I was media specialist number two at my school–the entire program wasn’t cut, just the second position. I was offered two options: a) returning to the classroom as a 9th grade English teacher, or b) a position called “Curriculum Facilitator,” or CF for short. I chose B. Given what longtime readers know about my last few years’ worth of frustration in the classroom, I would have taken a position called “Chief Sidewalk Crack Filler” over potential incarceration, because going back to the classroom would have incited violent behavior on my part, and I don’t think they let girls take their babies to prison. And anyway, don’t you think it’s hilarious that I’m going to be a CF? Am I the only person who thinks that’s a total scream? Someone should invent an education job whose acronym is SNAFU. We could have adjoining offices and take the blame for everything wrong in our school.
• So two weeks ago I had this excruciating pain in my calf. I would have assumed it was a muscular injury of some sort, except I didn’t remember injuring my calf, so I consulted the school athletic trainer, and after some poking he said, “Well, I guess it could be a blood clot.” You know what came next, right? Oh, Dr. Google, I hate you. Because by the end of that day I was a nervous wreck, so nervous that I actually went to the doctor. The short version of this story (because in the long version I would have to type the phrase, “and after a multi-hour wait…” several times, and I think just seeing it that once is enough to give you a picture of the next 48 hours) is that I did not have a blood clot. There was no actual diagnosis, only instructions to take Al.eve twice a day, and so I can only assume I had–wait for it–a muscular injury. Apparently I have reached a whole new level of clumsiness, one that involves painful injury with no memory. Go figure.
• I was flipping through a magazine a few weeks ago and saw this, and I immediately decided my daughter had to have one. My deepest hope is that these lovely little doors will satisfy her door-opening and closing needs. A girl can dream, right? So I used some graduation money from my dad to purchase one from some website I’ve never heard of, because it was the cheapest one I could find. Nearly two weeks later, I still have not received my order, and after several unanswered emails and dead end phone calls, I actually did some fishing around and discovered a review of the site indicating that it is out of business. So far my credit card hasn’t been charged, so I feel pretty fortunate in that department, but mostly I feel annoyed because I really just want the kitchen, and because if you have a retail site but are no longer selling retail, WHY NOT JUST TAKE YOUR SITE DOWN? Gah.
• Mia and I spent Memorial Day Weekend at my aunt’s lake house. Pictures coming soon, but the entire weekend can pretty much be summed up in two words, spoken as questions, over and over and over again: “Butt? Wawa?” (For those of you who need a translation: Boat? Water?) My baby, she loves the water, and if I thought it would improve her napping as much as riding around in my uncle’s pontoon did, I would dig a pond in our yard and put her bed in a canoe.
• I am almost as behind on reading other blogs as I am on writing this one. There are high fives and kudos and good luck wishes and virtual hugs in order, and although I’m not managing to put them into comments they are out there in the Universe, hopefully finding their way to you.
• And finally, just for old times’ sake, there are EIGHT DAYS left of school.

I am not dead. I have not been abducted by aliens. I am not even preoccupied by anything new or exciting (other than the daily antics of this small person I live with who refuses to walk in spite of proven ability but still manages to get into every forbidden realm of my house).  I would love to say this immense stretch of nothingness on my blog has been the result of brilliance and creativity elsewhere, but I’m sorry to report that any novel I might have started in the past three weeks would begin, “She only meant to eat a few Wheat Thins to tide her over until lunch, but the box was empty by noon.” No. It’s just February, and for me that means all of my energy is used up just walking around and breathing, so anything extra, like writing stuff and reading stuff and communicating with people, is not likely to happen.

There’s light at the end of the tunnel, though, and it’s not a train this time (it was a train last week, and it was called the Grad School Express, and it flattened me, but I think my recovery is nearly complete). Thankfully, February the Month will fizzle and die in a mere two days, and February the State of My Mind will slowly cross fade into something like springtime and deep breaths and lightness shortly thereafter. And even though I feel sort of trite and whiny talking about my great heaviness when there is so much heavier heaviness in the world, even the part of the world that encompasses some of my dearest reader friends, I am heavy nonetheless, and when I am light again I will have so much to say, and only a small portion of it will involve Wheat Thins.

Last Monday was the first day of my last semester of graduate school. I should have typed those words with enthusiasm, but I am not at all enthusiastic. I am so over graduate school. Sad, because I am an eager student by nature. But there are so many other things I’d rather be learning right now: how to play guitar, for example, or Italian. There is also so much more I’d rather be doing, like practicing yoga and reading and crawling around on the floor in hot pursuit of a tiny person who growls and then collapses in fit of laughter. That last part I won’t be giving up, not for all the graduate degrees at Harvard, but instead of Downward Dog and Tree, instead of book after book after book I keep discovering right in my own library, I will be “learning how to be a librarian” and “learning how to run a library.” You’re overjoyed for me, I can tell. I view the completion of graduate school in the same way I would view a race, say, a city marathon: at first you are pumped and the adrenaline is flowing as you fly forth from the starting block, but as you get farther and farther away from start you begin to slow down. You are sore and gasping for breath. You are too far in to turn back, but you want to duck into a bar and have a beer or, better yet, you want someone in a car to stop and pick you up and drive you to the finish line. Sadly, the grad school equivalent to having someone drive you to the finish line is called “paying someone to do all your work,” and I would never do that. But I probably wouldn’t argue if it all magically appeared on my desk. Eh.

But amazingly enough, even though I spent almost 30 minutes on that scintillating paragraph, that is not the topic of this post! The topic of this post is my new Best Friend Forever, or BFF, as she will be called henceforth. Some background first. I am a notorious waiting room magazine thief. When I was pregnant I would “accidentally” carry a magazine back to the exam room and then surreptitiously drop it in my bag at the end of the appointment. It was never a new magazine, and usually it was a duplicate. I saw it as a service I provided, a sort of recycling program: one old volume out of the way leaves room for a new one. I was the Masked Recycler. By the late fall, well into the third trimester, I was sick of reading about prenatal health care and gestational horror stories and how much labor was going to hurt, so it was a happy surprise when I discovered a copy of Wondertime in Dr. T’s waiting room. I tried to subscribe to the magazine online the next day, that’s how much I loved it, but I never got a confirmation, never got a bill, never got a magazine. I won’t lie to you: my first four issues of Wondertime were lifted from waiting rooms, first at my OB’s office and later at Mia’s pediatrician. They were not old copies, and there was not always a duplicate, and I am not sorry, because in my humble opinion, Wondertime is the best parenting magazine ever, or at least the best one I’ve come across. It is a smart mom’s magazine, filled with articles by smart moms*. One of those smart moms is Catherine Newman, and she is my new BFF. Catherine, everyone. Everyone, meet Catherine.

When I started reading Wondertime I was immediately drawn to Catherine’s articles. The reason for this can best be explained with a fascinating little story from my past: When I was in college, finding myself and figuring out who I was and blah and blah and blah, I was always amazed to meet someone who “got me.” You know what I mean: you are talking to a potential new friend and she mentions that she likes oatmeal pies, and you say that you also like oatmeal pies, and then she says that her grandmother used to keep them in a cookie jar on the counter, and you gasp and exclaim that your grandmother also kept them in a cookie jar on the counter; and before long you are comparing notes about the indoor/outdoor carpet in your grandmother’s kitchen (green squares for you, gold circles for her), and by the end of the conversation you are astounded to learn that you both imagine yourselves opening your car door while you are riding on the passenger side of a vehicle and tumbling onto the pavement, even though neither of you is remotely suicidal.

Reading Catherine’s writing is like that for me. I am reading along and suddenly I will feel compelled to say out loud, “Oh my God, I have also wondered about topical caffeine!” or “I, too, curse when I attempt to knit!” And as I am going about my life, mentally writing the endless blog entry that chronicles my scintillating existence and mind-boggling brilliance, I will say to myself, “I wonder if Catherine has ever done this,” as I wipe down everything in my bag and wave my coffee-soaked planner around in the air for the millionth time, because I cannot for the life of me remember how to close my travel thermos. Should the little button be in or out? What’s this red line here? Maybe it is significant! Indeed. Not that I think my new BFF is incapable, as I am, of closing a thermos. Not at all. It’s more existential than that. It has to do with connecting on a cosmic level, of finding meaning, and thereby kinship, in the simple act of living. Someone asked me recently why I blogged, and there is my answer: you people help me explain myself to me, to connect with myself, by explaining yourselves, by talking about your days and families and jobs. But I digress. Sort of.

When I first started reading Catherine’s blog, Dalai Mama, I linked to it through one of its two hosts, Disney Family or something like that, and there was much logging in and password remembering involved if you wanted to leave a comment. But I did it, I logged in and (gah!) reset my password every single time,  and even set up a little profile with a picture, and sometime back in November I left a comment, something I hardly ever do unless I know you. Fast-forward to two weeks ago, when, having reset my Disney Family password yet again, I discovered in my little comment profile that Catherine, a published author of books and magazine articles, had RESPONDED TO MY COMMENT! Granted, she did not claim me as her new BFF, but she did compliment my picture, and, did I mention, she is a published author! It was exciting, much in the same way that, years ago when I was just out of college, it was exciting when Dar Williams stepped on my blanket at Lilith Fair during her little visit to the lawn seating area. I take connection in whatever form the universe offers it up to me.

And isn’t that what writing and blogging are all about? Connection? And didn’t I already say that? I think so. I never click through my blogroll without thinking, “Yep. Been there, obsessed over that.” It’s a comfort, even when the mutuality we share is often on the dark side (”Oh, you imagine a plane crashing into your house while you’re getting ready for work every day? Yeah, me too.”). Or even the bizarre side (”Some kid in the library smells like Stetson, which reminds me of my 7th grade boyfriend, who, oddly enough, is now a gay porn star, and now I am thinking about porn. Oh, you too?”). And that’s why Catherine Newman is my new BFF which, I should not even have to remind you, is not an exclusive title, because if you are reading this, you are at the top of my list.

*I am not suggesting that other parenting magazines are dumb, or for moms who are not smart, or whatever. I am just saying that I think this particular magazine is exceptional. I steal those other magazines from work read those other magazines as well.

I actually snickered audibly when I typed the words “living a balanced life” in the title, because the whole thing suggests that I am about to write knowledgeably about those topics. Let me assure you right here at the beginning that nothing of the sort is going to happen. It might as well read, “More on quadratic equations, speaking Persian, and splitting atoms with an eyelash curler and some WD-40.” What’s really going to happen here is this: I am going to pour the rinse-water from my brainwash out onto this screen, and then I am going to ask you all some questions, and then you are going to leave your honest, heartfelt answers in the comments section. Or not, whatever, you know, it’s fine with me.

I’ve got myself really thinking about the writer’s life and what that means to me. I’ve been thinking about how I want that life to look. I’ve been wondering what it is I really want to do. Work from home? Write a book? Work for a magazine or a publisher? All of the above? And how am I supposed to achieve any or all of those things? Yeah, yeah, I know that yesterday I was all “I’m a writer, I’m going to write every day,” but how does a person really get published? How do you even begin to start writing a book? How? (There, right there, those are your first questions.)

And what do I ultimately want to write, anyway? I joke all the time about writing a novel, but I’m not sure that will ever happen. Not because I lack confidence, but because I don’t really believe in fiction. Don’t get me wrong, I love fiction, but deep down I am convinced that there’s really no such thing as fiction. I don’t think it’s possible to separate your own experiences from your creativity, so nothing is truly “made up.” Even if your main character is a dog, a dog who talks. In Italian. Even if this is your protagonist, this smooth-talking Italian pooch, he will inevitably wear a bowler hat like your great-Uncle Howard and call everyone “Darlin’” like your grandfather and drink coffee black with raw sugar like that nice old man who used to ask for your section at the diner where you worked in college. And anyway, reality is more interesting. I can’t imagine trying to make stuff up when I have such a rich store of material, compliments of real people, like this, and also this, which is an actual note my great-aunt wrote to my grandmother:

Hi Sister,

Sorry I wasn’t here when you called, I’m on jury duty and was serving on a criminal case all this week. It was a child abuse by father. It took a lot out of me. We found him guilty. He is to be sentenced in April. Hope I don’t serve on a case like that anymore. Seems as though everyone is doing okay right now. Hope you get compensated for what they did to your hair. Take care of yourself and let us hear from you.

Love, Shirley

Admit it. You started out sort of creeped out by the whole jury duty story, but now you are wondering what on earth it was they did to her hair. Priceless. Still, I think about writing a novel. Some of you talk about writing a novel, too. Tell me about that. How will you begin? What will you write about and how long do you think it will take you? How will you write a novel and not a mostly true story where only the names are changed?

As for reading, it shouldn’t surprise you that most of what I read is online and of the blog variety. My regular reads range from trying-to-conceive struggles, pregnancy stories, and family updates to edgy humor and political banter. Some of my favorite bloggers are famous; most of them are not. Occasionally I get to read a book, a real grown-up book with chapters and no pictures. But no matter what I’m reading, even when I’m having a little battle in my head, that little battle I told you about yesterday (This is brilliant. It makes me feel like I too could be brilliant….Brilliant? Ha! You can’t write like this. This is real, this is published!) I am still profoundly inspired. I used to tell my students all the time that the more they read, the better they would write. I believe that. So who inspires you? What have you read lately (or ever) that made you want to go immediately to the computer or trusty notebook and start creating? Whose writing would you like to emulate?

In the end, of course, it’s all about balance. Life is full, and we spend most of our time on the items at the top of the list: making money to pay the bills, caring for our families, keeping up with details. At the end of a long day of work and groceries and laundry and dinner and bath time and the bedtime routine, there isn’t a lot of time for creativity (case in point: I have been writing this post in 5-10 minute increments since 9:30 this morning–12 hours!). We don’t leave our creative selves much breathing room. My friend P., who is also looking to make more room for creativity in her life, reminded me recently that I don’t have to quit my job to write, that I just need to write something and put it out there. She is right, of course, but what she’s talking about requires balance, finding a middle ground. Even if I don’t get a single answer to any question I’ve asked so far, I’m hoping for some insight about how to move into that middle ground. How do you do it? How do you find balance? How do you make sure the writing (or painting or whatever it is you do) doesn’t get the shaft? How do you live a balanced life?

Talk to me.

I read somewhere recently that some well-known blogger, I don’t remember which one, walks around all the time in constant “write post” mode, always thinking of how this event or that moment would play out in a blog entry. Do you do that, too? I do. Which might surprise you, since I seem to write so infrequently these days, and not even very well when I do. When I peruse entries from a year or two ago I am often surprised by my own wit. So it is in my head, my virtual unwritten brain blog, which is running almost constantly. I actually get excited about how some description or narrative is shaping up on my mental screen, and I can hardly wait to sit down and put it into print. And then I don’t. Or worse, I do, and it sucks, or, and this is what usually happens, I can’t remember half the turns of phrase I so painstakingly worked out in my head: And then I flicked the mouse turd from my desk. No, I flicked the mouse turd from my desk with a post-it. Wait. The mouse turd rolled from my desk with the flick of a post-it.

Mostly I sit around during every free moment I have during the work day reading other people’s brilliant words and vacillating between these two convictions: 1) It sucks that I am actually sitting here flicking mouse turds off my desk with post-its, instead of honing my craft and freelance writing for hip, literate magazines, and 2) What am I thinking? I could never write like these people. These people are brilliant crafters of language, and I am a certified mouse-pooper-scooper. Okay, not really, but you know what I mean. As much as I believe in education, and as much as I like kids, and as much as I enjoy my new job and all its potential, there is always a little voice, a little miniature me in my head asking me when I am going to get on with my writing dreams. And right next to her is my miniature me’s twin, shaking her head and saying, “Look, you don’t actually write about things. You write about nothing. Why would someone want to read about nothing? You’re wasting your time with these–what did you call them?–dreams. Psh.”

This argument goes on in my head almost constantly, but more so when I’m doing a lot of reading–specifically, reading of good quality writing. Reading makes me feel simultaneously like a brilliant writer and someone who attempts to describe magnificent events with words like “nice” and “um, nicer.” It um, sucks, because it makes me tiredl, keeps me from writing, even about the insignificant stuff. I should be making small steps in the direction of this dream thing; instead I am stepping over and over and over myself, whining and writhing in a heap on the dream path all ”I can’t write like those people, those writer people, they are writers, and I am naaaaaahhhhtt.” I’ve come to a conclusion about this whole ugly cycle: I need to kill the heckler, or at least put her in a nice self-esteem-building class where other imaginary voices tell her how pretty she is.

Actually, that is not the conclusion I’ve come to at all. What I need to do is write, and also to say, “Oh, me? I am a writer. A librarian and a writer. A writer-librarian.” You know, talk the talk or whatever. I don’t have to be any particular kind of writer just yet, but I need to do the writing. I’ve pretend-studied under Natalie Goldberg, and she says writing practice is a must. It has to happen every day. Every. Day. And so I’m going to write every day do the best I can. I’m going to turn up the writer in my head and try to remember what she says, and I’m going to try to write it all down. Here. Even if it’s about nothing. Even if it’s about that time earlier this week when I moved my keyboard a little to the right and found a tiny, plump mouse turd; and after I did a quick mental calculation of all the times I’ve eaten things I’ve dropped on that very desk, I scraped the mouse turd into a post-it note with another post-it note, flicked it into the trash can, and sat down at the computer to tell all of you. Because that’s what writers do, right?

I suppose if we are keeping score I would have to admit failure on that whole National Blog Posting Month thing. Oh well. It was fun while it lasted. I actually felt productive in the writing department for a few days in November, and I had hoped that the jump start would maintain my creative engine for a while. It didn’t. Now I am feeling blank and wordless again, like when you say a book or movie was great, and someone asks you to describe it, and you suddenly forget everything about it: “Well, there was this girl. And she was…she was uh…white. And she had a baby. The baby was…it was small. And they lived in a city. A house in a city.” Finally you say something along the lines of, “Well, it’s hard to describe. You just need to experience it yourself.” That, in a nutshell, is me, writing about my life.

I’ve said before that my lack of writing does not indicate a lack of subject matter. Realistically, things happen every day. I can talk about those things, sometimes in a humorous or reflective way that is interesting and witty, even when the things themselves are neither humorous, reflective, interesting, nor witty. But sometimes, and by sometimes I mean today, I simply cannot bring myself to write about the flotsam and jetsam floating around in my head. It is just uninteresting. About as uninteresting as jury duty, which I have tomorrow. My plan: to blog on the government’s dime. My hope: that I didn’t just secure a cosmic seat on some bizarre case for planning to use my civic duty as a blogfest.

And then it ran over me.

You can cease the fast and stop renting your clothing. I’ll be catching up tomorrow. There, there, now you can rest easy.

(Note to self: do not be surprised when your daughter turns out to be a real smartass.)

It’s late and I’m sleepy,
My kid’s still awake;
I’ve been doing so well,
So please give me a break.

Hi. You’ve reached HD at One Small Corner of the Universe. I’m not available to post right now because, thanks to a misunderstanding following a trip to the grocery store wherein I said to myself, “That needs to go into the freezer,” but I misunderstood myself and thought I said, “That needs to go right into my mouth,” I am spending the rest of the evening with a carton of Edy’s Peppermint Ice Cream. Any complaints about my lack of NaBloPoMo participation today can be directed to Cali; this Peppermint Ice Cream thing is All. Her. Fault.

I want you to try a little something for me. Don’t worry, it’s easy. If I were a betting woman I’d bet you do it all the time, anyway. I want you to close your eyes, and I want you to imagine it’s still Thursday. No, not ANY Thursday–Thursday last. November 1st. There you go, that’s it. Remember what you were wearing? What you ate for lunch? Good, good. Now imagine yourself in that outfit with that lunch, sitting at your computer reading this post. Imagine you have just read these words: I have signed up for National Blog Posting Month. Imagine I have explained to you that I just went to the NaBloPoMo website and could not access it from work, and because I couldn’t access it I didn’t post anything at all, because, after all, who has time to blog at home? Imagine I have made the commitment anyway, because I need to be writing, not just posting page after page of gratuitous pictures of my kid and random stuff around my house. Imagine this is my first post of the month, which I posted on Thursday, the first day of November. Which is today. Right? Right. I knew I could count on your wonderfully vivid imagination.

I’m glad we got that out of the way. Time. It’s just a mere technicality. And also a massive vortex of anxiety. It’s like a hurricane: on the outskirts of the storm you enjoy a nice breeze, but close the center you are battered by the wind. It’s all a matter of perspective. I’ve been in the middle of the storm lately, but only because I keep letting go of those secure objects I should be clinging to for dear life. I have not been busy per se, but I have been short on time, and it’s primarily my fault for allowing myself to be aimless and unscheduled. I have not been keeping a calendar. I have not been planning ahead. Even in the course of a day I have been letting things go until the last minute–easy, manageable things that, at the last minute, appear gargantuan and overwhelming. Cue Cher, and imagine me all stressed and twitchy, wishing it was three hours earlier, trying to mark off items on my to-do list so I can hurl myself on toward the next part of my day, where this maniacal process repeats itself ad infinitum.

This blogging-every-day-of-November thing is my first step on the return path to peaceful routine. If I’m the least bit successful you will notice (at least during the week) a pattern to my posting times, like a writing appointment that can only be kept if the rest of my day is well-managed. I’ll allow myself unscheduled spontaneity on the weekends, when, thanks to my offspring, who pretty much never falters from her own routine, I will write during one of her naptimes.

There is relief in writing something down, seeing it in print. I’m guessing the rest of you who have committed to NaBloPoMo feel a similar relief. I’ve said it…now I have to do it. It feels good, grounding, like watching a storm from the safety of your living room window, your hands firmly grasping the sill while life swirls all around you.

I started doing these little monthly updates for the same reason that a certain well-known blogger does monthly letters about her daughter: changes, both physical and mental, happen so fast with babies, and I didn’t want to forget anything and end up posting something in December like, “You’ve grown a lot.  You’re a year old. You’re a big girl now.” Unfortunately, I’m pretty much at that point at present. I believe my last monthly update was in June, and if I remember correctly, it was actually addressing things that happened in May. Lots of things have happened since then. In truth, you have grown a lot, and you are a big girl now. I know, I know…it’s only downhill from this point. But instead of looking at my lack of monthly updates as a failure, I’m going to approach the task from now on in the same way I might approach, say, a baseball game. I call myself a fan, but I don’t really have the staying power to sit through a game, so I have the TV on in the background, but mainly I just want the highlights.

Incidentally (she scrambles to clarify with horror), I am not comparing my parenting style to this method of viewing baseball. I am in merely criticizing my own blogging habits. I am a bad blogger. I do not think I am a bad mommy. You may claim otherwise in the future, but it will most likely be because you are 12 and pissed that I took away your stash of Absolut. For now, though, if motherhood were a baseball game I would be right there on the front row, or on the field, or in the dugout, or, as my life goes lately, in all those places at once. But lately I am more of a listen-to-baseball-from-the-kitchen-while-I-fold-laundry-and-do-dishes sort of blogger. Just to clarify.

That being said, the following is not a play-by-play of the past few months, but rather a rundown of the highlights. These highlights are not really in order, and my definition of highlights may not necessarily reflect the kinds of things baby books have stickers for, and some of the highlights are more like lowdowns, and since that probably makes no sense I will start there.

• You are not even nine months old, and already you have been to three funerals. Two of them were for your great-grandmothers. It pains me–physically, deep in my heart–that they aren’t around to see you, to enjoy the little person you continue to become. They both got to meet you, though, and Mama was probably the first person besides Dr. T. to witness your birth, because every time I looked up in the delivery room her face was peeking over his shoulder. Lately I get the feeling she’s peeking over mine, so maybe she’s watching you evolve after all.
• Your personal transportation skills are wonderous to behold. Last week you used all fours to crawl, but for the past 6 weeks or so you have not so much crawled as sped across the floor in a rendition of The Worm. The only thing missing is 80s music, a headband, and a pair of leg warmers. Your latest feat is standing; you pull up on everything, and now you are starting to move sideways while holding onto things, and next you will be walking. When that day comes I will either have to sell all our belongings and become a stark minimalist, or I will have a ceiling installed on the top of your play yard (because you are also starting to understand the mechanics of climbing, and I am starting to be afraid, very afraid).
• You seem to have a texture infatuation. Whenever your hand makes contact with any surface, up to and including my flesh, you make a little scratching motion with your fingers. Sometimes this action results in sound (like when you scratch the wall next to the changing table) and you do it over and over and over until I have to find something soundless to shove under your hand lest my eyeballs explode. You also like to run your fingers through things–carpet, my hair, the cat if he’ll allow it–and you like gripping soft things like blankets, clothes, and your Wee Hairy Beastie. And also, when I am leaning over you changing your diaper, my boob, which you also use as a handle when pulling up to a standing position.  
• You are freakishly like me in many ways. For example, I am a texture freak as well. Also, you hold your pinkie finger out for no obvious reason; I do this, also for no reason in particular. Most recently, your preference for having your face covered while sleeping has become quite pronounced, a preference I have as well. It baffles me that at 8 months old you do things I have done my whole life. How did you learn these things? Is there a gene for “sleeping with face covered”?
• Blowing raspberries is one of your life’s passions.
• You have experienced lots of firsts lately. You rode a boat and a golf cart for the first time. You went to your first baseball game over the summer, and last week you attended your first high school football game. We were sitting right under a loudspeaker, so I was sure the announcing would scare you, but you seemed not to notice it. What scared the daylights out of you, I am sorry to say, was another baby. This particular baby is a month younger than you, but you are the same size, and every time she “talks” to you, you have a complete meltdown. I don’t understand it. Is she saying something mean? And finally, you saw your first live cow a few days ago. You love “fake” cows–stuffed, sculpted, painted–and you love other animals, so I thought the cow would be a hit. I think I can safely say you didn’t actually SEE the cow, so fascinated were you by a giant paper Taco Bell cup on the ground outside the pasture fence.
• You have two teeth now, both on the bottom. I had been waiting and looking for the first one for so long that I didn’t even notice when it finally popped. The second one was a different story. I actually considered helping it along with a pair of pliers at one point, but it is finally visible and the whining, GOOD LORD, the whining, is starting to diminish.
• You are a constant source of joy. This, above all, is how I would define my time with you so far: joyful. You laugh so easily, and you are interested in everything around you, and when I come home in the afternoons and you see me and your squeal with delight, I feel a gratitude to the universe so big and powerful it takes my breath away. I know every mom probably feels this way about her kid, but I believe you are special. There’s nobody on earth like you, and now that I have you in my life, I understand all the things that came before, all the trouble and sorrow and work, all the growing and learning and living: it was leading me to you. And just so you know, I’d do it all again.

Ti amo,

Mommy

1. A question (for my Harry Potter friends): if you could have any magical power from the Harry Potter series, what would it be? What magical object would you like to possess? Me, I want to Apparate, and I really dig Hermione’s magic purse from book 7.

2. A request: Amanda! When I go to your blog I’m told it no longer exists! Where did you go?

3. A healty dose of paranoia: Have you ever discovered that bloggers who used to link to your site suddenly stopped linking to your site? Or is that, you know, just me? Was it something I said? Did I inadvertenly offend someone? Is it because I bottle-feed my baby? Am I in SEVENTH GRADE?

4. A picture: Mia and I spent yesterday afternoon visiting my friend MJ at her lake house. It was the lake I grew up on and spent countless hours swimming in, and yet…yesterday, floating around in brown water, the likes of which could be concealing all manner of scaly, slimy, slithery things, caused me to freak out a little. But I got over it, because my kid, she likes the water. So much, in fact, that she FELL ASLEEP while we were floating around, too-big life jacked be damned. Here we are a little while after the nap. Check out her hair exploding from under the cap. Do you think Art Garfunkel was my donor?

I have tried to get you people to visit Crystal’s blog a few times in the past, and for all I know you have, I don’t know what you do at your computer. But if you’ve never heeded my advice, there is no time like the present, because THIS is a thing of beauty, a true work of art. Go. NOW! Shoo! There’s nothing good here today. Click the link and be entertained.

Calliope asks:

Who will win American Idol?

I am probably one of the only people in America–no, the WORLD–who doesn’t watch American Idol. I have watched the audition episodes exactly twice. I am extremely anti-reality show, and I don’t listen to much mainstream music or watch much mainstream television, so the show doesn’t really interest me. I didn’t even watch when Chris Daughtry, who is from a tiny suburb of the town where I live, was in the top 5 or 2 or whatever. That being said, I would like to CREATE a reality show. It would be called “American Classroom,” and it would feature an average American school, much like the one where I teach; the contestants would be “regular” people who get thrown into the classroom. No special challenges would be necessary, as the job is just full of them, and the participants would have to survive an entire semester with the same group of students. Points would be awarded and deducted based on temper management, student discipline, fulfillment of teaching and non-instructional duties, student grades, test scores, punctuality and attendance, timely completion of paperwork–just to name a few. The winners would be awarded the right to go back to their “real” jobs and shut the hell up about how great it is that teachers get all summer off and still get paid.

What are you doing this Summer?

Mostly I will be playing with my daughter. I would love to say I’m traveling some, but with gas prices creeping up to the 4 dollar mark, I’ll probably only go as far as the NC mountains and the Carolina coast. I plan to do a lot of reading and catching up on my Netflix viewing list, and I hope to hear some good live, local music. I won’t be taking any grad classes this summer–they are offering one I desperately need, but it is reserved for students from our cohort program in Asheville, and they won’t let me take it even if I’m willing to drive to Asheville for the class.

When will you be DONE with classes?

If you mean this semester, I will receive my pitiful B- for the class I just completed on Monday. If you mean for good, I lack two courses and a school media practicum for completion of the degree. I hope to have the degree completed by May of 2008 so I can start receiving a master’s salary in the fall of 2008.

Where do you get excited about taking Mia someday?

I can’t wait to take her to London. I also want to take her to Italy. I’m imminently excited about taking her to the beach and to my friend Nancy’s house in the mountains. I am extremely excited about taking her to the National Storytelling Festival, and to local concerts (she’ll attend her first in June). I’m also looking forward to taking her to Habitat for Humanity builds and other such volunteer events, because I want her to know how fortunate she is and how capable she is of contributing positively to the world.

Why are crocs so popular?

Dude, have you ever put your feet into a pair? They are SO. VERY. COMFORTABLE. They may not be pretty, but they feel so wonderful. They’re also perfect for people [read: me] who run into things and stub their toes often–they protect your [my] feet and keep you [me] from severely injuring your [my] lower digits.

Jen asks:

Have you had any other jobs besides teaching?

As an adult, no, unless you count coaching, but I think they are parts of the same whole. I was the night and weekend manager of a successful hair salon my last two years of college, however, and I loved it. Not only did I get lots of free services (hair color, cool cuts, waxing, manicures, tanning), but I also learned a lot about customerservice and PR. But the best part of all was that I got to attend an International Beauty Show in DC. It was Halloween weekend, and the big party on the show’s opening night was a masquerade party. Our staff went dressed as Little Bo Peep and her sheep. My friend Jeff was Bo Peep, and the rest of us–all girls–were the sheep. The salon owner, a wild Greek woman named Tina, was the black sheep. We had actual sheep costumes (my mom made them!). It was awesome. Ever seen a flock of intoxicatedsheep being herded by a hairy-legged girl with a mustache?

What surprises you (if anything) about motherhood?

I never thought I would willingly pick another person’s nose.

What do you imagine yourself doing 10 years from now?

I see myself living in my dream house–lots of glass and stone–next to a body of water, preferably a mountain lake, writing and editing for a living from my home office.

What’s your biggest vice?

I’m afraid I’m going to have to say mindless television. I blame work. At the end of the day I need unsubstantial entertainment to melt away the crazy I inevitably bring home every afternoon.

What author would you most like to meet?

Barbara Kingsolver. For some reason I think she is shy and slightly awkward like I am, and I admire her politics as well as her creativity, so I believe she would be good company.

What’s the best play you’ve ever made in Scrabble?

I have no idea, but I’m on a winning streak these days. There’s a great site where you can play online via e-mail. If you want to try to take me down, leave me a comment and I’ll invite you to a game.

If you go back and read my May entries from 2005 and 2006 you’ll notice a pattern. It’s quite similar to the one that is developing for May 2007. I don’t blog much in May. Not only is it a–how shall I say nicely?–trying time in the public schools, but it’s also the time of year when my graduate classes are ending and I’m scrambling to get my final assignments turned in. I’m happy to report that I did indeed submit my final assignment yesterday, but not so happy to report that I am covering yet another class during my planning period. The teacher left plans that required me to instruct the students–in Spanish! In 11 years of teaching I have never left sub plans that asked a substitute teacher to actually teach my classes, and as a sub-for-the-morning, I’m refusing to teach this class. It’s a small class–10 kids in all–and as long as they are not fighting or having sex my job here is done. Most of them are working on other assignments, but one girl is plucking her facial hair with amazing speed, and some of them are playing poker. Perhaps I should join them. That’s the only way I would get paid for my time in this classroom.

Believe it or not, I didn’t intend to bitch about work today. It just happens. My intention was to explain my absence, an explanation I have offered twice before. Please don’t go away, and in fact, if you’d like to help me out, please suggest post topics as it is much easier for me to work from an assignment than to be insightful and creative all on my own.

I drove by the site of my former workplace yesterday. It’s REALLY gone now. Nothing there but a concrete foundation and a flagpole. If I hadn’t known were I was, I wouldn’t have known where I was. It was eerie, but completely unemotional. I think knowing that my stuff is no longer accessible is actually a relief. Nothing like demolition to bring about closure.

~

My spring break starts on Tuesday afternoon. For everyone else in my school system, break started Friday, but thanks to the fire, Friday and Monday are fire make-up days. I think this is grossly unfair. Our state has a make-up exemption policy for schools with extenuating circumstances. A few years ago a hurricane–Charley? Floyd? Ophelia?–damaged several schools on the North Carolina coast, and students missed several days, maybe even weeks, of school. The state excused many, if not most, of the days, but only because the LEA (Local Education Agency) superintendent petitioned the state legislative bodies. I’m guessing that since our days weren’t excused, Principal didn’t petition our super, and the super didn’t petition the state, so we are losing yet another two days (we lost a day of Thanksgiving break and two days of Christmas break, not to mention all but one spring semester workday). All of this means I will probably have lots of absentees Monday, and those who do come to school (including me) will be bitterly annoyed about being there.

~

What I really meant to say before I went on a tirade about make-up days was that I’m really looking forward to a few days off. Sheesh.

~

Finally, I missed my 2nd anniversary. My blog anniversary, that is. It was March 15th. Wow. Two years of blogging. I went back and read some of my early entries, and rather than being annoyed by myself or critical of my own writing, which is usually the case, I was pleased and quite glad I decided to start a blog. Blogging has been good for me in so many ways. Here’s to another year.

I have attempted to comment on your blog several times in the past few days, and every single time, one of two things happens:

1. The little word verification box has a giant red “X” in it, so I can’t get past security.

2. A blank white screen with “done” at the bottom loads onto my browser, and no matter how many times I attempt to reload and post my comment, nothing happens. Nothing.

I’m sure there is some setting on my computer or something I’m doing wrong that could be amended, but thanks to my first day back on the job I am SO. FREAKING. TIRED so the only thing I can think of to do is post my comment here. And it is:

YAY! YES! WOO! HOO! I am so happy for the three of you! Mia and I are doing the dance of joy on your behalf!
 

This is my last post on Blogger, and my first post on my all new blog at WordPress. Call me a follower, a copycat, a bandwagon-jumper–whatever you call me, please keep visiting, and if you link to my site, please adjust your site accordingly.

The truth about the change is that I don’t like being forced into things. I have a hard enough time with change as it is, but when someone says, “You must! You have no choice!” I tend to resist. So that’s why I’m moving. It’s not just because lots of other cool people have moved. Well, not entirely. I do tend to like that bandwagon.

~~~

And speaking of moving, I may be buying another house. I say another house because I haven’t sold the house I’m living in now. But I’ve stumbled upon a house that may be too good to pass up, and since it’s unlikely that my house will sell in, like, a day, I may have two houses for a while. I’ll send you my address at the institution, where I will no doubt end up if all of this comes to pass.

~~~

But now for the biggest news of all: I have a new principal. Yes, that’s right. New. As in, Principal is on “extended medical leave” through the end of the year. If you believe that, please contact me as soon as possible so I can share with you the meaning of life and introduce you to my best friends, Tom Cruise and Oprah Winfrey.

No, the truth is, some higher-ups found out about this, plus all kinds of other unethical and borderline illegal things Principal has been up to, and since bad publicity is not allowed in my school system, they made up something to tell the public and then pretty much sent her packing. Honestly, though, knowing Principal, having someone find out she is not perfect is probably enough to send her to the looney bin–that’s even worse than having your school burn down–so she may well be on actual medical leave. Who knows? What I know is that going back to work in two weeks will be just slightly more bearable because there is nowhere for my school to go but up at this point. Of course, that’s not the case for my students, they who are running amuck in my tiny classroom, making huge messes, slacking on their assignments, and scanning their faces into my password protected computer (seriously, every teenager should be considered a dangerous hacker). No, my students are going down.

A few of you have asked me, “Where the hell is your birth story? Your kid is almost a month old already!” Actually, I exaggerate; those of you who have asked were very nice about it, but it IS about time, isn’t it? Thus, I plan to put it in writing in the next day or so. In the meantime, I’ve made a few changes around here, and as I am one of those people who can’t even purchase an article of clothing without consulting a number of people on the color and general look of the item in question, I am asking for feedback. Please share your honest opinions regarding anything that is garish, hard to read, or just plain ugly about my new look.

I am at work, and I am logged into Blogger. This was impossible just a few days ago, but for some reason I managed access. I’m not questioning my good fortune. I think maybe the Universe opened up the portal for me so I could say this: if you haven’t already, go send some peace and light to my friend Bri. She could use some cosmic blogger love.

I can no longer access blogs–yours or mine–from work. Let the mourning begin.

Hi. My name is HD, and I have writer’s block.

There, I said it. I thought you should know, as I have been promising my version of wit and creativity for, well, the entire summer. No doubt you’ve noticed it just isn’t happening. I find it strange indeed that my creative juices flow more smoothly during the school year when I am a self-proclaimed maniac. Perhaps that’s the key, a possibility I am loathe to consider, what with all the complaining I do about my job. If I’m a better writer, a more creative being, while swimming in the miasma of public education, what of my dream of someday working from home as a writer? What on earth would I accomplish, given the singular lack of creativity I’ve experienced this summer? Of course, I could once again blame pregnancy, but I don’t think that’s fair to Chickie*, considering pregnancy alone provides endless topics to explore through writing. No, I’m afraid the problem is me.

You could argue that I simply allow myself to slip out of the habit during the summer–that practice is the key–and you’d most likely be right. When I found out I was pregnant I basically stopped blogging regularly; that, coupled with the fear that something might go wrong with my pregnancy, did a number on my writing habit. When I think back to the most productive writing I’ve ever done, there was always writing practice involved–daily, or at least weekly, idea gathering, journaling, and stream-of-consciousness freewriting. Before my god-daughter was born, P. and I used to meet at a local deli every week to write. We’d eat and chat, catch up on the week before, and then sit for an hour in blissful silence with our pens moving across the blank page. Now she’s getting ready to deliver kid #2, and I’m not far behind her, and I can’t help but wonder how the writer in me will handle motherhood. Who knows–it might be just what my brain needs to raise the bar. Time will tell.

In the meantime, given my hypothesis that my job is good for my writing, I should be quite witty and productive this fall, as I will still be working for Principal in my same old position. I mentioned a while back that I’d been offered a new job by a principal I very much wanted to work for, but thanks to a new policy in my school system, no post-transfer period transfers are being approved, even in cases where both the releasing principal and the hiring principal agree to the transfer. All current employees who wish to transfer must do so during the transfer period, January 3-March 31; after that, you basically have to either leave the system or resign and reapply if you want a new job in this system. The job I was offered became available in May, right around the time this new policy was put into effect. I checked the vacancy list religiously during the transfer period last spring and no school library positions were available then, and unfortunately, the move from classroom teacher to school librarian is a transfer, not a promotion, so the seven (count ‘em: 7!) middle and high school library jobs that opened up in May were unavailable to me. Yes, it does suck, and yes, I am drafting a letter to the director of personnel.

So that’s where I am these days. It isn’t that there’s nothing interesting to talk about…more like my battery is low and I need a jump start. So during those times when you hear nothing from me, it’s because I’m looking at other blogs, reading the entries from Trista’s Scheherazade Project, devouring novels and poetry, and trying to reconnect with the creative part of my brain. I’m sure I can manage it. After all, I’ve admitted that I have a problem. Now I have my work cut out for me.

*Chickie is the in-utero name of my unborn child, because I found out I was pregnant on Easter Sunday, not to mention the whole egg connection. I’m mentioning it for the first time here, and I’ll be 18 weeks pregnant tomorrow. Kid isn’t even born yet, and already I’m neglecting it.

As promised, each day of my vacation I sent a picture a day from cell phone to blog for your viewing enjoyment. Before I left, in true geek fashion, I merged the initial mobile blog and my current blog and then I did a test send before I left to make sure it worked. Satisfied that it had indeed worked, I snapped away at the beach, sure that my pictures were making their way to you. They weren’t. So much for being a geek at the beach.

Don’t worry. You didn’t miss much as far as the cell phone pictures go. I took some with a real camera that are far superior. Unfortunately, I’m too exhausted to do anything with them right now. Stay tuned.

I have just discovered Mobile Blogging and have decided to attempt to share tidbits of this week’s beach vacation with you. I know you are all breathing a sigh of relief now. Look for grainy bad cell phone pictures from the South Carolina coast.

This morning at 9 a.m. I showed a co-worker some of my photos on Flickr. Five minutes ago, at about 11:50 a.m., I attempted to show another co-worker the same pictures and discovered that in that not-quite three hour period, Flickr had been “blocked” by my school district’s watchdog/big brother filter. Why? Because the site’s content (”hobbies/personal interest”) is not appropriate for the school setting.

And yet. Yesterday during 1st period Principal interrupted class with about 10 minutes remaining of the block to make some “good news” announcements. Among her exaltations of students who have been accepted to college or scored during the recent lacrosse/soccer/baseball game was an invitation to a party at the local elementary school to support Matt Daugh*rty, the Americ*n Id*l finalist who is from this community. She went on for a good three minutes about Matt Daugh*rty, where his kids go to school and where he works, how we should all be proud to have an Americ*n Id*l finalist from McLeansv*lle, how much fun it would be to attend this party, and how if we all show up and “make a lot of noise” the Americ*n Id*l film crew might come and tape us and put us on TV. What does it say about the world we live in when I can’t show a colleague a picture of my goddaughter on Flickr, but it’s okay for Principal to take up class time to talk about reality television over the PA system?

It’s only a matter of time before I won’t be able to access Blogger and AOL from work. I don’t really do much blogging and personal emailing during the school day, but it’s nice to have the option should time allow, and even nicer to know that contact with sane people is possible, virtual though it may be. If they take away my connection to the outside world there’s a good chance I’ll just throw myself off the deep end that inches closer and closer the longer I work here. I’m sure there will be pictures, but you won’t be able to see them thanks to the Flickr ban. But don’t worry, just watch Americ*n Id*l. It’s a small town; I’m sure you’ll be able to hear the sirens in the background.

Caesar was assassinated. Columbus returned to Spain after discovering the “New World.” Maine became a state, and the Revolutionary War Battle of Guilford Courthouse was fought in Greensboro, less than a mile from my house. The American Legion was founded, Czar Nicholas was forced to abdicate the throne, and oil was discovered in Saudi Arabia.

A little closer to home, Chapin was born three years ago today. I should have known what was in store when I learned he’d been born on the Ides of March. “Caesar…Caesar…CAESAR! Beware…the Ides…of Maaaaarrrrcccchhhh.”*

And one year ago today I came here and wrote this. What a year it has been. Babies being conceived, babies being born, babies lost, babies still hoped for. New and awesome blog friends. New blog connections to family and old friends. I have loved it here–loved the discoveries and the laughs and the comraderie. Loved the HTML education and the Flickr addiction. Loved knowing my voice has a place of its own in the universe. It was one of the best decisions involving a computer I’ve ever made, and that includes the time I spent hours on the Internet searching for this shirt.

That’s right, it’s my blog’s birthday. No presents, please, but comments are welcome. The party starts, well, now.

*In the old film version of Julius Caesar starring John Gielgud and Marlon Brando, the Soothsayer who warns Caesar of his impending death takes every advantage of his brief moment in the spotlight by dragging his lines out in a most dramatic way. I haven’t seen the movie since 10th grade, but that scene is burned into my memory, and on every Ides of March, and whenever something ominous is about to happen (i.e. bad weather, the State of the Union address), I repeat the line in my best raspy voice, eyes all wild, head twitching. It’s no wonder people think I’m crazy.

It’s official: I’m a Flickr whore.

Note: I actually thought about my Thursday 13 post yesterday, but I thought yesterday was Wednesday and assured myself I’d have time to do it today, which is in fact FRIDAY, so somewhere out there in the Universe is a missing day!

Another note: I started this post during a lull in my 3rd period class. The kids were working quietly so I decided to take advantage of the time, but then someone needed help so I had to stop writing. Who do they think I am? It is NOW Sunday afternoon. I considered deleting the draft and moving on, but I’m sticking with the “better late than never” philosophy and I’m finishing it anyway.

1. The new Harry Potter movie

2. Why my dad’s mother’s bathroom still smells exactly the same as it did when I was a small child even though she has since moved to a different house in a different state…

3. …and how I suspect it is because she still has the same towels, uses the same soap, and buys the same pink toilet paper

4. The great “horse shoes” war that took place in my family on Thanksgiving Day…

5. …and how my step-mother and my Uncle E. teamed up and beat the crap out of my dad and my Uncle B. six times in a row…

6. …and how my Uncle B. pouted for an hour because he doesn’t like losing, especially to a woman

7. How disappointed I am that it has been in the high 50s/low 60s for several days–it’s WINTER, for Pete’s sake!

8. How I am more obsessed with whether or not I’m going to get Corey than whether or not I am pregnant

9. How Corey’s father isn’t interested in allowing someone else to parent his child even though he is jobless, homeless, and, according to his own mother, most likely selling drugs…

10. …and how his (the father’s) mother and aunt are gathering information to prepare for the next step, which will probably involve the Department of Social Services…

11. …and how it scares the hell out of me to think of going through DSS court proceedings in order to get custody of a child I have never even met…

12. …and how, in spite of #11, I am more frightened of leaving this child in a situation in which he is being neglected and mistreated

13. My mom’s cornbread dressing–hands down, the best dressing on the planet, and how when I ate the last of my leftover allotment for lunch on Wednesday I actually picked up all the crumbs with my index finger and licked them off so I wouldn’t waste any part of the dressing

When I was spellchecking my gum story, I got a huge laugh out of the spellchecker’s suggested spellings for the words “freakin’” and “ballcap.” Thank goodness I was paying attention and didn’t click REPLACE. Otherwise I might have been sitting in “a foreskin wad of blue gum” while wearing a skirt instead of shorts and a “falsify.” No kidding. At least foreskin, like freakin’, actually starts with an “f.” I’m totally lost on the falsify/ballcap connection. Anyone?

There is a reason I did not go into some sort of computer-based career. Well, there are a few–calculus and Carpal Tunnel Syndrome, for example. But I do not want to write about those. I want to write about how I have spent around five hours today in front of a screen making edits, creating links, learning HTML codes, uploading and resizing images, and republishing my blog ad nauseum. FIVE. HOURS. Mind you, I like the results. I now have a nice array of photos and links in my sidebar, and I have learned some quick tips for future reference (i.e., a digital photo directly from the camera will not FIT into the average blog). On the downside, however, my neck is frozen in a forward-craning position, my eyes are blurred, and I’ve had to pee for the last two hours. Thank God there is Yoga class tonight.

Now, about those changes. I’m a teacher, and I’m pretty sure all teachers are born with the borrowers gene. You know the one–you hear abut something cool another teacher is doing so you “borrow” it, adapt it, and make it your own. That’s kinda what I did with my blog. So in the fashion of an Academy Award winner speech, I’d like to thank the following:

Bri, for the idea of putting up links to cool books and music
Emilin, for the idea of putting images in the sidebar
Jen, for pointing me in the right direction (read: the dark, confusing, mathmatical-looking underbelly of other people’s webpages)
All of the above, plus other cool bloggers like Julie, for providing me with witty inspiration to write about…well, anything.
And finally, to Laura the Amazing Yoga Teacher who, in just a few hours, will make it possible for me to lift my head and read all of these blogs in the morning.

Namaste!

I’m trying to see…

…if I can figure out…

…how to insert photos…

…directly into my posts…

…without having to create a separate post…

…for each individual picture.

Now…would someone be so kind as to explain to me how to put images in my sidebar? Anyone?

Dear Loyal Readers (all 2 of you),

When I started this blog I fully intended to post weekly, and for a while I didn’t fare too badly. But then May happened. Whew. Public school employees have no discernible lives during the month of May. In theory it should be a happy time: school is ending, the weather is gorgeous, “sumer is y cumen in,” yada yada yada. Remarkably, however, it’s the second most stressful time of the school year for me. The other is December, by the way, but that’s another story. In May, all those things that should be “happy in theory” make me crazy. The end of the school year incites acute onset psychosis in most of my students. Gorgeous weather causes extreme irritability for those who are inside and can’t enjoy it. The approach of summer causes scores of people to say things like, “You have the best job,” and, “You are so lucky to have so much vacation,” and, “I wish I could get paid to sit around all summer.” (I’d like to see one of those people DO my job, by the way. I teach high school freshmen who think that it’s cute to put rotten raw eggs in the lockers the day before finals, and that farting aloud in class is entertainment at its best–and I don’t actually get paid in the summer…but I digress) .

And as if the normal stresses of May aren’t enough, I added some extra stress of my own. Remember the “really huge life-altering” thing I was saving up for a few posts back? Well, it’s becoming a reality. Specifically speaking, it’s hopefully becoming a fetus in the very near future. Yep, that’s right. I’m trying to conceive a baby. In a clinic. With frozen sperm affectionately known as Joey. So I’ve been a tad preoccupied with my own fertility. Quite the complicated science, what with measuring basal body temperature, checking the position of the cervix, examining cervical fluid, peeing on sticks, and having a very long, very thin tube inserted into–well, that’s really enough about that.

And therein lies the point of this post: I’ve thought about posting. Really, I have. But given my level of stress and my general state of mind, I didn’t feel that my posts would be, well, appropriate. There would have been, shall we say, “off color language,” for example. There were days in the past month, in fact, when the only word I wanted to say was F–oops, that’s just what I was trying to avoid! And who among [the two of] you wants to hear about my cervical mucus? That’s what I thought. So forgive my absence. I’m cleaning the cobwebs out of my “small corner.” And who knows, the first new post may well be the story of what happens when one too many people tells me how lucky I am to be a teacher.

I have just this minute figured out the magic word that incites Picasa and Hello to work simultaneously and produce a photo in my blog. Well, actually, there were multiple magic words. I’m not the stingy type, so I’ll share the secret with you. Here they are: Read. The. Instructions.

By the way, my 17 year-old sister took this picture with my digital camera. Quite impressive, eh? It’s finally starting to look like springtime around here.

I spent a considerable amount of time on Sunday thinking of a name for my very first blog. It was time I really couldn’t afford to spend, given the lists of things waiting to be done, those I’ll-do-it-over-the-weekend things, that never got done during the week. And yet, for literally two hours I sat in front of my computer logged into blogger.com staring blankly at the screen and saying out loud the myriad possibilities for this foray into Internet publishing. I finally settled on “one small corner of the universe” because I like to think I’m one of a gazillion people having random but univeral thoughts, hanging out on my little corner under the same big sky, wondering what to do with the constant monologue inside my head.

I’ve been hearing the word “blog” a lot lately. It puts me in mind of a character from “Coneheads” or “Star Wars.” And then Luke came face to face with the Blog, its meaty limbs poised for attack. The light saber was at the ready…. Sorry, I digress.

At an educational technology conference I attended a few weeks ago, blogging was the buzzword on everyone’s tongue. Then I read that Rosie O’Donnell had one. Then a woman in an online discussion board I read posted hers. I started reading and, well, I’m a little addicted now. I’m a literature and creative writing teacher (I also like to call myself a poet and writer), so the idea of instant publication is awesome to me. In this world of super-hero-quality multi-tasking, those of us with something to say are more likely to find ourselves in front of a computer with a spare 15 minutes than sitting in a quiet place with a pen, a notebook, and an hour to write. I prefer the pen and notebook, but I’ll take the screen. So here goes.

Blog, behold your latest warrior.