Suddenly silent

It is never good news when the phone rings in the wee hours of the morning piercing the subconscious, wringing the soul in preparation for the changes to follow.
“I’ve got bad news.”
My husband’s mother has been failing in health over the past years.  A little over a year ago, we moved her into a full-care, assisted living arrangement.  From there, the decline has been like a free-fall.
Each visit, each phone call brought us closer and closer to the inevitable.
“At least, in the end, she knew who we were.”
Memory is a funny thing.  When it fails you, it can keep you in a grand, make-believe world where life is happy and good.  Her reality may have been a fantasy, but at least in her mind, she was happy and content.
“If she’d known she was in the state she was in, she’d have wanted to pass years ago.”
Over the years, I prayed for her comfort and I prayed for her to pass quietly in her sleep.  For several years, she had let go of her role as a mother.  A child-like replica stood in her place.
We will miss you, Mom.  We already have.

Redefining Normal

Last weekend was an amazing weekend. Running (mostly) the half marathon is something that has changed me (sorry to sound superficial). A year ago, I couldn’t run for two three five minutes. When I signed up to the Disney Princess Half Marathon, I didn’t realize how much work and commitment I’d have to put into making that goal a reality.

But I did it!

Plus, I got to meet some amazing people. I’m already planning to sign up for next year’s run.

The morning of the race, I got out of bed before the alarm went rang out. I hadn’t slept much and my stomach was in knots.

Nerves? Why now? I wasn’t aiming to compete against any hard core athletes. I just wanted to finish the 13.1 miles in a somewhat decent time.

I tried to eat breakfast but it just wouldn’t go down. So, I got dressed and went on down to the lobby to meet Krystyn and get on the bus to the line up. It took 20 minutes to find my friend, Page (which is a real miracle as we had no cell phones and it was crowded).

It was COLD. The number of people were incomprehensible. There were thousands and thousands of women there. Thousands willing to get up at two something to go stand in the cold so they could run 13.1 miles.

My muscles began to tense and ache while standing in the cold. Still, the excitement warmed my heart. Finally, the last corral was walked to the start line and we were off… running and cheering each other on.

All in all, things went well during the run. Except that my back and side began hurting. And I started getting winded.

“Obviously, I need to focus on more hills in my training,” I thought. Little did I know.

The entertainment was top-notch and inspired me to keep plugging along though I think someone was out to do us in with those awful gel packets because you can’t spit that crap out!

I was never so excited to see a finish line in my life!

My husband and I spent the day with Page and her husband in Epcot. You could say we ate and drank our way around the world.

By the end of the night, I was hacking and barking the most awful cough. In a fevered haze, I knew I was going down with a real kicker.

Three doctor visits and 9 medicines later, I am happy to announce I’M ALIVE (even if I still have a little bit of a barky cough)!

In a few more days, I’ll be ready to lace up those running shoes, again. For so long, I’ve been trying to feel like a runner. I think I’m almost there.

Faking a snake bite and other bad ideas

I work in an elementary school. It is what I do for giggles and craps. And there are many, many lessons to be learned each day.

1. Don’t use a sharp instrument to make fang marks on your leg then scare the school nurse by claiming the injury to be a snake bite.
2. If you really do want to go with the snake bite routine, be sure to do some research. A bite with fang marks one inch apart could not have been inflicted by a 6 inch snake. And “I don’t remember” isn’t a good answer to what color was the little, tiny snake when it slithered away.
3. Don’t try to fool medical professionals in a Oscar-worthy showdown to get out of school for a few days. The IV and blood work alone make this a bad idea.
4. Don’t bypass the office when at your child’s school and then yell and intimidate your child’s teacher in the hallway in front of other children and adults.
5. After receiving the letter that bans you from your child’s school, don’t call and harass the principal.
6. Don’t kick the teacher after being told to get your hands off your neighbor’s snack.
7. Don’t scream “shut the f- up” in the lunchroom when the last ‘your momma’ joke pisses you off.
8. Don’t call the principal and tell her that your child has a right to be upset and that sometimes a bad word “just slips out.”
9. Don’t complain about a fellow teacher not having patience with a child then turn around and expect someone to feel sorry for you because of *this* particular child. Patience is patience. Grow some.
10. Students should not hand out their *special* vitamin to other students.

For the record, they didn’t teach any of this when I was in college.

I’m thinking about joining the circus

Possibly I’d have a bit more time for myself.  Besides, I seem to already spend a lot of time with clowns.

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We (and by we, I mean me) finally finished filling out all the FAFSA and financial aid paperwork and now I’m a little discouraged.  If all of these *smart* people at these big universities need me to repeat myself and fax copies of information they already have on file, why should I trust them to educate my child? 

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My first half marathon is in 5 days!  I’m so excited I could pee myself!  Here is a picture of the design that is being painted on my t-shirt.

It says, “Cinderella ~ proof that a new pair of shoes can change your life!”  I’m not often a pink girl but I found these fabulous black knee socks with pink polka-dots…  And I had to get them!

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My parents are going to Disney for my half marathon and for some reason, that just cracks me up.  When I was on the basketball team in 8th grade, my mother didn’t go to any of the games.  Though she would have seen that I had mad bench warming skills.

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I am attempting to take a picture every day for 365 days.  So far, there are too many that are a half-a$$ed attempts so good.  You can see my progress here.

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I can’t wait to get to school today so I can hear about the kid with the snake bite.  He was bitten on Sunday but didn’t tell his parents.  Once he got to school, he stopped by the office to have the school nurse take a look.  She freaked calmly called his parents to take him to the doctor ASAP!  More on that developing story later.

Happy Tuesday!

Mother knows best

Several months ago, my mother called me.

Mom: “I’ve ordered something for you and Mr. Strong.  You are going to LOVE it.”

Me: “Cool.  What is it?”

Mom: “It’s a magic bullet.”  OMG!  Why would she do this?  We barely even talked about the birds and the bees when I was growing up… It was more comfortable to ask my friend’s mother to help me buy the monthly necessities.

Me: “Uh… Mom?  Why?”  What do I say?  This is so embarrassing! 

Mom: “Because I knew you’d love it.  And it has all kinds of attachments.”  Holy carp!  I can’t stand the visual of my puritanical mother shopping in one of *those* stores…and attachments?!  What the heck?

Me: “I’m not sure we need one.”  Really, I can’t accept a gift like this from my MOTHER.

Mom: “Your step-dad loves when I get this out because he knows he is getting a treat.”  Agh!  Lalalalalalalalala…

A couple of days later, the mailman brought my new surprise.

 

For some strange reason, I blush every time I make a smoothie.

And then he played a harmonica

Funny how a funeral can make you think of your own mortality. Though I was a little jealous of the guy in the casket because he got the only warm spot at this graveside funeral. And he didn’t have to smile and nod as the preacher played a little number on the harmonica. 

There are a few things I’d like to happen when I die.  First, I’d like for someone to just throw away everything in my underwear drawer.  There is nothing in there that needs to be saved.  In my dreams, my funeral would involve a huge toilet bowl so that I could be flushed to that great river in the sky.  All the fish I’ve flushed over the years have made that journey look like a day at the park.  The water park, to be exact.

Since I don’t trust my children to find the right toilet (and it would be embarrassing if my hips got stuck on that final bend before heading out to sea), I’m probably just going to have to settle for a lively cremation.  That way, I won’t have to worry about what clothes the family picks out for me after my demise.  This is a good thing since the vast majority of my family looks like rejects from the lost files of “What Not to Wear.”

Then, at the ceremony, someone could play a little jingle on the harmonica right before the big flush. 

 

I’m not planning on pushing up daisies any time soon. And I’m not trying to make fun of death (or maybe I am… but not in a rude way… but in that way that says, “I’m not afraid of you, Grim Reaper!”… except I really am a little afraid of him because not being able to see his face creeps me out).  I am merely writing down some of the random thoughts that played through my sick twisted mind at the funeral for an older gentleman earlier today.  Seriously, I hope that when I do die (a LONG time from now is my plan) that people will take the time to remember the good times and to laugh.  That would be the biggest honor.

Reminiscing

Before I screwed up and moved into administration, I used to teach middle school children with behavior disorders. This experience gave me a lot of tools to use when dealing with adults. Regardless of the oxymoron (because aren’t all middle schoolers behavior disordered to a certain degree?), there were some great stories that came from those years in the classroom.

Charlie (not his real name, dooh!) was a beautiful boy with blond hair and blue eyes and the mouth of a sailor. His mouth got him in trouble, outside my classroom, on a regular basis though, truly, I agreed with most of what he had to say. There were many failed attempts to teach him to other ways to express his ideas. He just needed to cuss.

In a moment of desperation, I asked him to write his feelings down in a notebook when feeling his rage was working up to a blaspheme-fest, then tear up the page because if he still had evidence of potty mouth, there were still too many teachers ready to take him out back and shoot him.

One day, as I was conferencing with a parent about their child’s progress, Charlie came charging into the classroom slamming the door into it’s frame. The parents had a look of fear on their face. I tried to ignore Charlie and carry on with the meeting.

Charlie ran to his desk and grabbed his *special* notebook. I tried not to smile and continued talking with the parents. Their furtive glances over their shoulder at the mad boy frantically scribbling in his notebook made it even harder for me not to laugh. I redirected the parents back to their son and our concerns.

Suddenly, Charlie ripped out several pages from his notebook and began shredding them over the trash can, then ran right back out of the room.

I finished the conference with a huge smile on my face.

I never knew what made him so mad (and I really didn’t care as it was usually something minor). At least on that day, Charlie was a success.