Real Life Conversations at School: Things I Didn't Say edition

The backstory: My school has a rotating schedule and classes don't meet every day of the week.  So, though we have 7 possible periods in the schedule, only 5 meet each day.  Right before midterm exams (next week), we have two days in which all 7 periods meet.  Near as I can tell, no one looks forward to these days.

Me:  Don't forget that we meet both Thursday and Friday this week.

Student X:  I hate that schedule.  Every teacher will assign homework and we'll have more homework than ever.

The student who made that comment regularly opts out of submitting homework for my class and so here's what I wanted to say (but didn't…though it took all my powers of self control).

Me: You never turn in homework for my class anyway, so why does that matter?

Instead, I paused and then diplomatically noted that it will be a busy couple of days for all of us.  I am such a grown up.

Home Brew

Just before New Year's, I came across this recipe for homemade Irish cream.  Let's just say that my boot leggin' ancestors made me do it.

For the record, I'm not sure whether the giant Mason jar, scored from T's collection for my nefarious purposes, makes this look charming and retro or like some kind of demon has taken possession of my fridge.  Either way, I don't care.  Bottoms up!

An Open Letter to Rick Santorum

JT has two moms.  He's always had two moms and though we've not been raising him as a couple since he was six, that doesn't change the essential fact that his is a non-traditional family.  Add in his mom's girlfriends and close family friends, and JT is a boy surrounded by lesbians.

He knows plenty of women who aren't gay, of course, and he treats the two moms element of his world as the perfectly normal fact of life that it is.  He knows that many families are different from his but that doesn't matter to him.  What matters to him is that he is a well-loved boy; one whose arrival in the world nearly 12 years ago was much-anticipated and much-sought.  With the exception of one incident when he was in the 4th grade, he's never encountered a moment where the value of his family has been in doubt.  Even then, he wasn't entirely sure that it was his family that had been insulted.  That's not how JT perceives the world.

Last Friday morning, JT and I were going about our usual getting-ready-for-school routine.  We stood in the hallway upstairs, listening to the news as he combed his unruly hair.  The story on NPR was about you, Mr. Santorum, an outgrowth of the massive amount of media attention you've enjoyed since your second place finish in the Iowa Caucus.  The story outlined a number of your political views and we heard your voice speaking about gays and their families.  And before I could turn off the radio, in one moment, Mr. Santorum, you condemned me, my family, and my 11 year old son.  There was a pause after your ridiculous invective and in that moment, JT looked at me and said, "Doesn't he know that I'm just a normal boy?"

Of course, you don't understand that.  It's one of the main reasons you are not the least bit qualified to serve in elective office.  I could endure your opposition to gay rights, your ridiculous belief that family breakdown has caused our current economic difficulties, even your opposition to a woman's right to birth control.  But I will not sit idly by while you condemn people's children; my child.

For the record, Mr. Santorum, my son likes baseball and Harry Potter.  He loves his grandparents and likes to talk to them on the phone.  He's a fan of college sports, and he likes ride his bike, draw pictures, and play outside.  He likes to play games on his iPad and listen to music on his iPod.   He's kind-hearted to animals.  He helps his mama around the house and his favorite food is pizza.  He's in the 6th grade and (mostly) he completes his schoolwork on time.  He plans to go to college and dreams of being a baseball player when he grows up.  He's just a normal boy.

He's the face of our nation's future and even though he's only 11 years old, I've got a lot more confidence in JT and his generation than I have in you.  Even so, I'll thank you to be careful about your words, sir.  My son is listening.  And he's just a boy.

Gift Idea

At a gas station near T's house, just before Christmas, I came across a blow up Santa, perched in his chair right next to a vending machine.

But it wasn't just any vending machine.  Look closer, Internet.  That's a machine dispensing bait...the Bait Vendor.  Awesome.  Next year, everyone on my holiday list gets bait.

Tangerine Tango

Seductive.  Sophisticated.  Dramatic.  I'm not speaking of myself (though your confusion is natural, Internet, don't feel bad).  No, I'm speaking of the 2012 Pantone color of the year. 

To the rest of us, this color could be best described as bright orange but Pantone doesn't make its money by providing honest descriptions.  These people have something to sell, after all.  So Tangerine Tango it is.

Last year's color, Honeysuckle, was supposed to inspire us to get back to work.  Tangerine Tango will continue to crack the whip.  Pantone reports that it will "provide the energy boost we need to recharge and move forward."  I think that it might also be one of those post-workout shakes my gym is forever trying to sell.   In a more disturbing part of the press release, one sure to attract the suspicions of the GOP presidential contenders, I've learned that ,"...Tangerine Tango marries the vivaciousness and adrenaline rush of red with the friendliness and warmth of yellow, to form a high-visibility, magnetic hue that emanates heat and energy.”  I'm pretty confident that's not legal in all 50 states, Pantone. 

Real Life Conversations at School: Letter of the Law edition

The backstory:  My school has a dress code and, among other things, the students are not permitted to wear blue jeans.  Leggings are also prohibited.  But, as this recent conversation with a student demonstrates, not everyone agrees about what these words mean.

Me: You know that blue jeans aren't in dress code, right?

Student J: Yes.  These aren't blue jeans.  They're jeggings.

Me:  By which you mean blue jean leggings?  Leggings aren't allowed either.

Student J:  They aren't jeans and they aren't leggings.  They're jeggings.

Me:  You should go to law school.

This is a battle I'm doomed to lose.

Unsolicited Advice for Republican Primary Candidates Not Named Romney

If every one of you just skipped New Hampshire, then Romney's victory there, which looks like a sure bet in the light of current trends, would be hollow.  Instead you could all go to South Carolina, where the weather is much nicer.  The crazy among you (read: every single candidate save Huntsman) could then duke it out among the crazy faithful in the Palmetto state while Romney trudged through the snow and ice.  He'd win the Granite State, of course, but he was going to do so anyway.  As consolation, he'd be hampered in South Carolina (or be forced to spend his money there to be on the airwaves two weeks earlier).

Just a thought.

Update, for those of you who haven't heard about Rick Santorum's anal sex problem.

Obligatory Iowa Caucus Post

In case you just crawled out of your cave, the GOP Iowa Caucus is tonight.  This is the night when Iowans meet with their neighbors, swap jello salads, and cast a vote for the candidate who was the most successful panderer to their desire to feel important.

The media will assure you that it's likely to be a good night for Mitt Romney, Rick Santorum, and Ron Paul.  The remaining Republican candidates are unlikely to fare as well in the process.  I don't have much to add to this crowd-sourced wisdom except to note what seems to me to be the elephant in the room: no matter what happens tonight (and likely for every other primary election to follow in the days and months ahead), Mitt Romney is going to be the GOP nominee.

If Rick Santorum is crowned Iowa Prom King tonight (and he may very well be),  it will be his moment in the sun.  But he is unlikely to metastasize that victory into greater electoral success (see: Mike Huckabee in 2008).

So.  Mitt it is.  Blech.

Raccoon Girl

When I was a kid, my family often visited my grandparents up at a place called Foresta in Yosemite National Park.  One of the highlights of those visits were the local raccoons, whom we fed.  Yes, you read that correctly: we fed the wildlife.  I can remember sitting inside my Great Aunt Mary's cabin when the raccoons would arrive for their supper, kibbles of dog food that we placed out in tin pie pans for their dining pleasure.  If we were late with the vittles, the bandits would bang the pie pans and, on occasion, pull open the screen door, allowing it to slam shut as a reminder that they were ready to dine.  We'd watch them lick the dog kibble before eating their fill and then waddling away from the cabin's deck.

Though we'd now be kicked out of the World Wildlife Fund and locked up for this sort of nonsense, at the time we thought it was terribly charming.  And this happy childhood memory has left me with a soft spot for raccoons.  That's a good thing because when T saw me searching a basket looking for my jewelry she announced that I looked "like a raccoon pawing through a dumpster."  Lucky for her, I found that to be a compliment.  In all fairness, it was also accurate. 

For Christmas, she put an end to this disorganized nonsense, with the gift of a lovely jewelry box to hold my treasures.

Everything has a spot and I'll now be a great deal more organized as I sort through my jewelry options. 

It's true that I'll look less like a raccoon when I pick out some earrings.

But that's okay....I still have a closet or two to sort through. 

January 1: Frontyard Flowerbed

For the last few years, I've started each month with a photo of something in my garden.  It's a welcome opportunity to mark the changing of the seasons and time.  Last year, I chose to write about my backyard clematis vine, though the venture was unsuccessful, largely because of a brief dry spell during which I dropped the ball and didn't get the plant enough water.  The clematis and I have worked out our issues and things should be better next year, but the vine still deserves a year off.  This year, I'm going to make a monthly photo of the flower bed on the northeast  side of my front years.  The bed features quite a few plants.  There is a rose of Sharon tree.

There are two azalea bushes and a juniper.

There is plenty of ivy and some hostas live there as well.  In addition, it's a bed where I slip in some daffodil and tulip bulbs each fall.

It was unseasonably warm today, so I planted the last of my spring bulbs, a fitting tribute to the first day of the new year.