Bathroom Phobia

Phobias.  We all have them, whether you want to admit it or not.  I don’t like to use public restrooms.  Let’s make it clear, I am not a germaphobe.  This has nothing to do with the cooties I might encounter while using a public area of exposed private parts.  My phobia is people hearing me use the restroom.  I have to be on the verge of explosion before I will venture towards a public restroom.

Over the years, I have learned ways to cope with this odd phobia.  I count.  Yes, you read this right.  I count.  It doesn’t matter what I count, I just start counting things.  If you start paying attention, you will see almost every bathroom has tiles of some kind.  That is where I start.  I start counting the width, and then the length.  Within minutes, I can tell you exactly how many tiles cover the floor, and sometimes can even tell you how many go from the ground to the ceiling.  If there aren’t tiles on the floor, sometimes they are on the ceiling.  Sometimes restrooms have a bunch of rolls of toilet papers in each stall.  I count those...easy right?  Not really, after counting those rolls, I close my eyes and try to remember how many stalls are in the bathroom.  If there are 9 stalls, and each stall has 6 rolls, then we are talking 54 rolls of toilet paper.  You know what else you can count?  Screws.  There are tons of screws that hold those walls around you in place.  Very rarely is there nothing to count.  But in those rare cases, I have a back up plan.  I start finding letters of the alphabet.  I know what your thinking...where the hell do you find letters in a bathroom?!?  They are EVERY where!  Seriously, start looking around.  Every toilet paper dispenser is made by a company, and that company has their logo on that dispenser.  The little mini trash cans (for personal products) also have a manufacture on it.  Often, there are instructions in a bathroom.  There are instructions on how to move to the next roll of toilet paper, there are instructions about not flushing personal products, there are even instructions on flushing the commode!  So, I start with the letter A, and work my way through the alphabet.  I often get stuck on the letter F.  If I can’t find a letter I hold up a finger and keep going.  So by the end of my potty break, I can tell you exactly how many letters from the alphabet that particular stall is missing. 

After reading this, you want to go use a public restroom and try out my games right?  Next time you are counting tiles, you just think of me.  Actually, never mind.  I don’t want you thinking of me when you are taking a dump.  

Future

Do you wish you could see into the future?  The Chief and I watched a movie the other night.  It was very interesting.  It was about how our life is already written for us.  There is already a plan.  Because I am a Christian, I believe this to be true.  I believe God knows all, and knows how my life is going to play out.  I don’t think he has a book that has my path on it, but I think he knows.  In the movie, something happened that caused a ripple in the path.  The man met a woman that he wasn’t supposed to meet.  He was supposed to spill coffee on his shirt, which was going to delay him in his morning and force him to take a later bus.  The man that was supposed to cause him to spill the coffee, fell asleep.  SO, the coffee never spilled and he got on the bus and met this woman.  He falls in love with her, of course.  Later, the people that follow his path (these people make sure he is doing what is according to plan), tell him that he wasn’t supposed to meet this woman.  They tell him he wasn’t supposed to be with her.  They then tell him, if he choses to go off the path (his path will then have to be rewritten/rerouted) that his career and her career will never be the success that was planned for both of them.  She is a dancer, and he is running for office.  They tell him that if he chooses to be with her, she will be a dance teacher for six-year-olds instead of becoming the famous dancer that she has worked her whole life for.  So he is given a choice.  He can walk away, and let her be successful (because he loves her enough to walk away) or he can selfishly chose to be with her.  The second option means neither of them will be able to become what they have worked their whole lives for.  What would you do?  What would you do if you could see your future?  The Chief said he wouldn’t want to know.  I think I would.  If I could have known the direction my first marriage was heading, would I have married him, or even gone out on a second date?  I am not sure.  I wouldn’t have Little Man if I had made the decision to walk away.  But what about other things?  Is it bad to know the future?  Is it bad to want to know the future?  Think of all the divorces that would go away!  Think of all the sicknesses that would disappear?  If you knew you would get liver cancer and die at the age of 40, would you have taken that first drink?  If you knew you were going to end up that abortion, would you have had that one night stand?  What about the car accident?  Would you have gotten behind that wheel if you had known it was going to end with someone hurt?  Let’s go even smaller.  If you knew you were going to fail that test, wouldn’t you have studied for it?  
In many ways this comes down to making good decisions the first time around.  We don’t get a second chance at rewriting the future.  We don’t get to know what happens as a result of our decision until we make that decision. Life would sure be easier if you could see ahead, but we can’t.  I guess we just have to take the one shot we have, and try to get it right the first time!

Christmas Holiday

        It’s the Christmas season...are you in the mood yet?  I would like to start off by saying Christmas is one of my least favorite holidays.  The meaning behind it has completely been lost somewhere behind presents and parties.  Kids couldn’t care less that they are celebrating the birth of Jesus.  What they do care about is what is under that tree that they are entitled to.  If you ask any child (including mine) what their favorite thing about Christmas is, do you think they are going to say: “Going to church for the candlelight service with all the Christian music”?  Or maybe, “Sitting around the house with family I haven’t seen in a year”.  Or even, “Taking gifts to the children’s shelter.”  No, we are raising our children to be excited about the gifts.  Let’s understand something...I am guilty of this.  The Chief and I start threatening taking Christmas presents away as early as July! As of right now, the only thing the Little Man is getting under the tree this year is his framed office referrals from the principal (office referrals: bad reports).  Merry Christmas Little Man...sucks to be you.  We are evil, I know.  Back onto why I don’t like this holiday. Note to self: get ADD medication for myself.

So not only have we completely lost the meaning of this special day, but we have crammed it with spending money.  So who benefits?  Every retail store imaginable.  This can be good, because it supplies jobs.  That would make Baby Jesus happy.  Presents.  I hate this part.  I love to give, but I hate the stress of giving when people feel like they have to return and give me something.  It takes the fun out of giving.  To me it isn’t fun to give when you get something back...then we are just trading money.  I mean can you even call that gift-giving?  I think it should be called gift-trading.  “Hey want to come over for Christmas dinner and some gift-trading?”  There isn’t anything that is fun about that to me.  If you want to buy me a gift, buy me one for my birthday.  Don’t buy me a present and call it, “Celebrating the birth of Jesus aka: Christmas”.  

Note to Chief: Please close this blog and move onto the next one.  P.S.- I better have gifts under the tree...I was good this year.

This will be my first Christmas away from my family.  This is a sad thing for me.  The last five years, my parents have spent the night with the Chief, Little Man, and I on Christmas Eve.  We then wake up, do the gift-trade, and have breakfast together.  It has been a tradition.  I have always had them close to me on this special day.  There is something I love about this holiday.  I love being with my family.  My family that includes my parents, my son, my husband, and my sister and her family.  This year, it will just be the three of us getting up together.  The house will be quiet.  It is time to set new traditions.  How we are going to set this day apart from any regular day, I am not yet sure.  It will just be the three of us.  To me, that isn’t very special since it is usually just the three of us.  I am trying to be optimistic...those of you that know me know that not only is the glass half empty but I am stressing about running out of the water and not being able to replace it.  This isn’t why I don’t like this holiday, but it does add to my pile of dislikes.  

When I was a kid, do you know what I remember about Christmas?  I remember that on Christmas Eve we would go as a family to the church.  We will pile in there like sardines, and we would each get a candle.  We would spend 30 minutes with our church family, singing and worshiping God.  We spent those thirty minutes reading from the bible.  We would read about how Mary and Joseph went for miles and miles looking for a place to stay.  A pregnant virgin, riding on the back of a donkey.  After they found a barn, not a room at the inn, but a barn...she climbed off the back of that donkey and gave birth to a miracle.  We sang songs...our shoulders were touching we were all so close.  It was so warm, and you could feel the love radiating off of our bodies.  Then we would go home.  We would get to open one present (usually new pajamas).  Then we went to bed.  In the morning, mom would come in and read us the same story she did every year on this day.  We would go to the tree, open our few presents that we were ALWAYS very grateful for, and we would have breakfast together...mom’s homemade cinnamon rolls.  Then we would go to the house of close-friends and we would have Christmas dinner.  It was special.  We didn’t get gifts from anyone else, because we didn’t have any family around.  And you know what?  It worked.  I am so thankful my parents raised me the way they did.  I am so thankful we weren’t raised to expect this and that, and everything on a four-page Christmas list.  We knew why we were celebrating, and it wasn’t about the gifts.  I have tried to repeat this cycle, and can say I have probably failed.  I can emphasize the true importance, but it doesn’t help when society makes it about gift-giving.  It is so hard to teach a child one thing, when they get something else outside your front door.   

So, like the rest of you, I will be doing the gift-trade with the Chief, and unlike the rest of you, we will be presenting our child with his framed office referrals.  Or maybe coal.  Or maybe frozen dog turds.  Or even better, a picture of Jesus...so he can be reminded of what this holiday is REALLY about.  

Can I hear an Amen?  

Warranty Drawer

Okay, so everyone has inside family jokes right?  I am going to share one with you.  Actually, this post is directed towards the Chief.  The joke is old, Jack Wagon.  I love you, but if you say it again I might have to poke you in the pancreas AND kick you in the kidneys.  

  In our home in Texas, I had a drawer in the kitchen.  In this drawer I put the warranty/manual information for every electronic in the house.  I called it the “warranty drawer”.  So when something was broke, I would go to that drawer and pull out the information on it.  I used it more for the manuals than anything.  It didn’t start off organized, but in my defense the fact that all the manuals made it into the drawer is a success story in itself.  So when I was trying to clean off the counter, sometimes I would toss in a couple of other of my things.  This was my drawer, I created it.  I had the right to put anything in it I wanted to, right?  I mean women have their underwear drawer, do you only keep underwear in it?  I can tell you right now, my mother keeps her chocolate in hers.  It is our area, we are allowed to put what we want in it.  The warranty drawer was as sacred as my underwear drawer.  It was MINE.  If I want to toss in a phone charger, an iPod, or a few of my receipts, why the hell can’t I?  It is MY space.  MINE.  Well, years of throwing in a couple of random things, the drawer built up to a little more than a warranty drawer.  But, it’s all good, because it was still my drawer, and it is where I put things I didn’t want to lose.  So if was frantically searching the house for something, the Chief would say, “Did you check the warranty drawer?”  It was cute.  At first.  Five years later?  Not. So. Much.  So if the little man couldn’t find his shoes, the Chief would say, “Have Mom check the warranty drawer.”  Okay, Jack Wagon, it is a TINY LITTLE DRAWER.  It doesn’t fit a pair of tennis shoes.  Again, the first few times?  Funny.  After the 86th time, it is about as funny as Grandma falling down on the ice.  One evening, I went in the garage and the truck wasn’t there (Chief had it parked out front).  I went back into the house and said, “Where is the truck?”  Without hesitation he responds, “Check the warranty drawer.”  That day, I cleaned that warranty drawer.  I cleaned the hell out of that drawer.  That drawer shined so much it was blinding.  I got a binder and organized those manuals and warranties by categories.  You think the Container store is organized?  I made that stupid Container Store look like a hoarder’s closet.  Not only that, but I cleaned all the other random stuff out.  So the only thing that was in there was the warranties.  It was Beast (Little Man’s word for AWESOME).  I was so proud and showed the Chief.  He could no longer say, “Check the warranty drawer”. Or. So. I. Thought.  Half and hour later, something went missing, and he sent me straight to my stupid drawer that was now my biggest enemy.  It was then that I realized that I was never going to escape the torture from this ten by fourteen inch space.  If that wasn’t bad enough, he got the family involved.  Mom would be over looking for a serving spoon and the Chief would say, “Check the warranty drawer.”  After yelling, “I DON’T PUT SPOONS IN THE DAMN WARRANTY DRAWER!” he took the time to explain the situation.  So it became a stupid joke.  Stupid.  Not Funny.  

So when we moved to Connecticut, guess what I did?  I put that damn warranty binder in the basement.  No more jokes.  Look who’s laughing now, My Love!  No more, “Check the warranty drawer”.  THERE IS NO FREAKING WARRANTY DRAWER, BUDDY!  THERE IS NO DRAWER AT ALL!  HA!  

After about a month, I tried to sneak in another drawer.  It was my drawer, no warranties, just my stuff.  It is a conglomeration of all kinds of things.  I don’t need to share with you the contents of my special drawer.  I didn’t even think he knew about it.  After all, he doesn’t know where the washer and dryer are...how the hell is he going to find a tiny drawer?  He did.  And what does he call it?  The Warranty Drawer.  And what does he do when something is missing?  He tells me to Check. The. Warranty. Drawer.          

Be a Follower!!

Okay, so I am losing my drive on this thing.  I love to write, and right now, I have more time then I could ever want....BUT I am having a hard time getting motivated.  Are you a follower?  If you are, can I ask a huge favor?  PLEASE become a follower (if you aren’t already).  I am curious to see how many people actually read this.  If you don’t want to use your real name, then make one up.  It isn’t hard.  You just have to create an account...I think.  Under followers, choose: Join this site.  You have a few other steps, but it isn’t too painful.  Please, do it for me.  

On a lighter...or maybe heavier note.... it is going to be harder than I thought to be a teacher in this state.  I graduate and walk the stage this weekend.  I am SUPER excited.  I can’t WAIT to have my own classroom.  If we still lived in Texas, I would have already had a job lined up.  I would immediately be able to teach.  All my years of studying and working so hard, would pay off.  Living in Connecticut isn’t going to make this dream easy.  First, they won’t allow me to teach until I am certified to teach in Connecticut.  When I called and talked to the Department of Education months ago, they made it sound easier.  Now that I am so close, I made the phone call yesterday.  Come to find out, I have to “apply for certification”.  In order to do this, I have to have my actual degree in hand (which doesn’t get mailed out until January 6th), and I have to have all my Texas certificates in hand (which they won’t release until I have my degree).  THEN after I send all of THAT in, I have to wait another 6-8 weeks for them to tell me what test I have to take to certify me in this state.  Blah!  With all that waiting, in the meantime I am allowed to substitute teach, but again, in Connecticut, they won’t let me do that without my degree in hand (January 6th).  SO, I have another freaking month of waiting.  

I told the Chief yesterday that I am getting stir crazy being in the house, with absolutely no life, and no friends.  Pretty sure he doesn’t get it.  He gets to go to work and be with people all day.  Me?  I am quickly sliding into the habit of sleeping all morning, only to roll out of bed and drive around.  I can’t sit in the house.  I can’t.  So what do I do with my spare time?  I get in the car and drive.  I drive wherever.  I typically have an end goal...even if it is Taco Hell for a silly little Pepsi.  I don’t think I am actually depressed, or maybe I am.  I think to myself, what the hell do I have to be depressed about?  I have a wonderful home, a wonderful husband who loves me and takes care of me, a charming Little Man (I had to choke out the word “charming”), and an all around great life.  I have so much to be thankful for.  Why do I feel like I am falling into this pit?  I think I know why.  I don’t have any friends here.  I don’t have anyone to call up and ask to go to lunch.  I don’t have anyone to go to the mall with.  So here I am in a state that is so far from everyone I know.  Everyday I call the Brunette BFF.  I look forward to talking to her each day.  I feel like it is the only inch of sanity I get.  It makes me feel like I have a connection to the outside world.  At this point, if it weren’t for her, I am not sure I would even bother climbing out of bed until the Chief and Little Man get home.  So pathetic, I know...but at this point, it is what I feel.  I am not one of those people who can just sit at home.  I can’t be a stay-at-home wife.  It isn’t me.  Tomorrow I am going to search for volunteer positions.  At this point, I would be happy to help out in a nursing home, or a kid’s group home.  Anything, but I have to do something that gets me up and moving.  Tomorrow, I start fresh.  Tomorrow I will get a plan.  Then on Saturday, I will walk the stage and be the first person in my family to graduate with a Bachelor’s Degree.  THAT is something to be excited about!

My Chief

The Chief...

I am going to take a moment to talk about the love of my life, and tell you the reasons I am the luckiest girl on earth.  

He loves my child.  The Chief made the decision many years ago, that he didn’t feel the need to have his own child when there are so many out there that need to be adopted.  He isn’t the perfect parent, but he tries...which is more than I can say for many fathers.  He takes him and does things with him (just the two of them).  When it comes time to buy presents, he buys him things that the two of them can do together (building things).  Think about this for a second.  He doesn’t buy him video games to keep him entertained in a room alone, he buys him golf clubs so the two of them can golf together.  He buys him cars, so they can build them and paint them together.  He buys him motors that takes hours of time to sit and work together on.  Does this sound like a man that doesn’t want to have kids?  The Chief is very strict, and demands respect...but in the end, he loves him and shows it to him in many different ways.  

He is successful.  This is something I think many people take for granted.  This man strives to be better.  He doesn’t settle for excellence.  He strives for perfection and he strives to be number one.  When I met him, he told me he wanted to be president of one of the divisions, at that time he was territory manager.  Guess what?  Within a year he moved from territory manager to a district manager.  Then shortly after that, he became a trainer that traveled to the other divisions.  Right now, he is vice president.  There is no doubt that within five years he will be president of a division.  He is respected at the work place, and his opinions are valued.  I recently went into his office to drop something off, and some of the women that work for him caught me in the hallway.  They told me how much my husband has done for the company.  They stood there for ten minutes taking turns telling me what amazing things he has done for the division and for them personally.  They said the company morale has boosted in ways it hasn’t seen in over 10 years.  A couple women got very emotional about it.  They said he has made them WANT to stay and work for this company.  They said he has a vision, and they know when he says that, they are in for a wonderful ride.  They trust him, and already love him in the short amount of time he has been there.  Last week the Chief sent me a text message that said: Guess who is the #1 in growth in the country for the 2nd week in a row?!?  To me, there is nothing sexier than success. 

Let’s talk about arrogance for a minute.  Some people see this as a bad quality to have.  Me?  I think it is one of the BEST qualities to have.  It is one of the first things that drew me to this man.  He walks with confidence.  When he walks into a room he OWNS that room.  He doesn’t cower away from confrontation.  To him, a good debate is like the sprinkles on top of an ice cream cone.  He knows he is smart, anyone that talks to him knows he is smart.  Smart is HOT!  I love being with a man that tests on genius levels.  I love hearing him talk to a person that likes to act smart.  I only giggle inside.  Maybe this is horrible of me, but on some level I know when I am with the Chief I can’t go wrong.  No one in the room is smarter than he is.  There is something about that, that is extremely comforting to me.  I feel lucky to be married to the smartest man I know.  He may not know how to turn on the washing machine, and he may not know where the dishwasher is, but he can answer just about any question without you pulling out your iPhone for your wikipedia.  He is my wikipedia.

Control is another thing.  Many people hear this word and start to sweat.  I NEED a man that is in control.  I need to have someone that takes over.  I have been a single parent for a long time.  I have done it on my own for a long time.  To have someone come in, and take over is refreshing!  I do most of the cooking, and all the cleaning, ironing, and laundry.  I do this because I feel it is my job.  He has never told me to do these things.  I feel this is my role in the family.  I don’t do this because he has made me feel it is my role, I do it because I am old fashioned.  I want nothing more than to take care of a man that takes care of me and my child.  If I asked him to unload the dishwasher, I know he would.  I choose not to ask him.  I choose to spoil him like I feel he spoils me.    

If I want something (within reason), I can have it.  He takes care of me and my son.  He lets me choose where we go out to eat.  He lets me decide what to do on the weekend.  He comes home from work and gives us his undivided attention.  I know many husbands that work late, and don’t make time for their family.  Mine does.  Despite the fact he has hundreds (that isn’t exaggerating) of emails that he could take care of, he choses to sit on the couch with me and watch an episode of the Bachelor, or any other reality show I chose.  On the weekends, he is up early and takes over “Dad duty”.  He informs Little Man that he isn’t to bother me.  He lets me have my time, and recognizes that I need it.

One more thing I want to add.  The Chief hates going to the movies....which is my FAVORITE thing to do.  On Thanksgiving Day, we wake up and he says, “Let’s go to the movies!”  I of course was SUPER excited and quickly ran to get ready.  We spent the day at the movie theater, seeing TWO movies of my choice (Little Man was with us of course).  We then went and walked around Walmart (another thing I love to do).  By the time we headed home it was six.  As we pulled onto the street, I noticed all of our neighbors had TONS of cars in front of their houses.  I then started to cry because it took me all day to realize he had spent the day trying to make me happy on my first Thanksgiving away from my family.  When we walked in the house, I could do nothing but hug him and cry.  Not because I missed my family, but because he had put me before anyone else.  He spent the day doing his least favorite thing so that I would be happy.  That is selfless.  That is the man I fell in love with.  And for icing on my cupcake?  He sent me flowers the next day.  Beautiful PINK flowers.  And his note attached to the flowers:  “Will you go out with me?”  

Not everyone loves the Chief like I do.  That is okay.  I may not love your spouse either.  Frankly, it doesn’t matter whether you think he is an arrogant ass or not.  What matters is, he is the love of my life.  I couldn’t have made a better decision for me and my son.  I couldn’t have picked a smarter man.  I couldn’t have picked a better man to be the father of my child.  I picked the right one.  We have our quarrels, like any other couple...but in the end, I know he loves me and I love him.  I know most of the time he is right...as much as I hate to admit this.  As long as I get to grow old with him, I don’t care what others think.  I know how lucky I am.  I know how lucky the Little Man is.  I see this man in ways others don’t see him.  I see the love he hides behind his arrogant exterior.  I see the kindness in his eyes and heart.  I have seen him do things for people because they are in need.  He doesn’t talk about it, he just does it.  This is who I married.  He is my walking Wikipedia. He is the sprinkles on my ice cream cone...and the icing on my cupcake.

   

My Sweet Darling Student...

As you all know, I have been in Texas doing my student teaching.  Today, I packed up everything and made the flight back to Connecticut.  Yesterday was my last day at the school.  I was so sad to leave my babies.  I grew very attached to many of these kids over the last three months.  I feel as though I connected with many of them on another level.  One student in particular, was one that I have blogged about before.  At the beginning of the year, I told her she reminds me so much of my niece (although she is Hispanic).  I told her every time I see her, I have this urge to hug her.  She said, “EWW, I don’t like to be hugged!”  I respected that, and made sure to never touch her.  I worked very close with this little girl in the three months I was there.  I stayed after school and helped her on vocabulary, and I came in early so that she could do her retakes (that I FORCED her to come in and do, telling her she was capable of much more than her 47-first attempt).  When she had tests coming up, I went in the hall to find her, and invited her to come and let me help her study...for any class, not just ours.  I want this child to succeed, as much as I want my own child to succeed.  

She was in my 5/6th period class.  At the end of the day yesterday, I passed out little jars that I made each student.  I had gotten them each a Mason jar, filled it with little treats, then I wrote each of them a little note and stuck it on the top.  I then sealed the jars, and wrote their names on the outside.  They were all very pleasantly surprised to get a gift from me.  As I passed out the jars, I begged them not to eat all the candy right away, and told them I would hunt them down in the hall if I heard they were misusing the jars.  I then told them that I had written them a little note in the inside of their jars, and told them they could read them when they wanted, but it was for their eyes only.  These were not little generic notes.  I took about 2.5 hours one evening and wrote each student a personalized note about how special they were to me, and things I would miss about them.  

I then went and sat down while they opened their jars in the last two minutes of class.  They were more excited about the candy than anything.  As the bell rang, I was surprised at all the students that came up to me to hug me goodbye.  I hugged each of them, and told them I would miss them, and that I would be calling the teacher to find out how they were doing.  As I made my way quickly through the students, I noticed my special one gathering her things at her desk.  I walked over to her and she dropped her notebooks on her desk and put her arms around me.  It was the most fulfilling hug I have received in a long time.  She said, “I don’t know how I am going to pass without you here!”  She was crying.  She broke my heart into 86 pieces.  I hugged her and told her that she would do just fine without me.  

“I KNOW how smart you are!  I KNOW you are capable of acing everything that comes your way!  You have already proven to me that you can do it!  I didn’t take those quizzes and tests for you!  YOU did that!  YOU are the one that succeeded. YOU have been doing amazing, and I KNOW you will continue to do amazing.  YOU can do anything you want to do.  You need to continue to take this seriously!!”  As I said this to her, she is standing there with tears rolling down her cheeks.  

“I wish you didn’t have to leave, you are the only teacher who cares about me!”  

“That isn’t true, all these teachers care, they want to see you succeed as much as I do, you just need to ask for help.  They may not come hunt you down, like I do, but they will help you, if you ask for it.  I promise.”  

I was so sad when she left the room.  The sweet darling, who doesn’t like to be touched, clung to me like a child clings to a mother.  My heart was spilling over with sorrow for this little girl.  As much as I want her to do well, I know statistically, students in her area don’t, and will eventually drop out.  If I were teaching in this school, I would have followed this particular student the rest of her 7th grade year, and I would have mentored her through her 8th grade year.  I would also have been there to support her in any way I could through her high school years.  Maybe this is the newness in me.  I will pray for this little girl daily, and I will keep in contact with the teacher to find out how she does for the rest of the year.  It was heart breaking leaving, not knowing how her story will end.  I know there are plenty of kids like this, and I will have many other opportunities to make a difference...I just can’t help but feel I abandoned this one.  I hope that my encouraging words were enough to boost her confidence, that will keep her on the right track for the remainder of the year.  I will never forget this student.  It makes me wonder how fair life is.  It isn’t her fault she was born into poverty, it isn’t her fault she struggles with dyslexia.  It also isn’t her fault that both of her siblings dropped out of high school as sophomores.  She was dealt a bad deck of cards.  I just hope and pray that she comes out the Ace of Diamonds.

Student Teaching

I know I haven’t blogged very much about my student teaching experience.  I have struggled with the privacy and legality of the students.  I of course would never use their names, but I still worry about if it is right or wrong.

I am going to take my chances and talk about a student.  I have “taken to” a particular student this semester.  From day one she appeared very quiet in class.  I knew immediately after grading papers that she was a struggling student.  She is also a 504 student.  For those of you that don’t know what that is, a 504 student is a student that has some sort of learning disability.  This can be anywhere from ADHD to dyslexia.  Jane (not her real name), has been diagnosed with dyslexia.  She goes to the learning lab to take all of her tests and quizzes.  Our students have a quiz every Friday.  

My first month, Jane was failing each of these quizzes.  She does well on classwork so her average was teetering dangerously between a C and a F.  Unfortunately, quizzes count as 40% of her grade, so when she made a 50 or below, her average would plummet.  Test count as 50% and she would fail those too.  Lucky for her, they only have two tests a semester. 

Jane is Hispanic.  I say this because the Hispanic community tends to put very little importance in education.  I am not sure if it is because they don’t care, or if it is lack of communication (language barrier).  With this said, when I would hand back the quizzes and test, I would watch Jane.  Her response wasn’t an “I don’t care” response.  Her shoulders would drop and she would immediately shield the grade with her hand as she looked over the red marks.  She was embarrassed.  I knew then, that she cared and wanted to do well.  After a month of this, one Monday afternoon I handed her back her quiz.  I bent down and told her to come in Thursday and I would help her study for the quiz on Friday.  Her eyes lit up immediately and she said, “You would do that?”  

I said, “Of course!”  On Thursday morning, there she was.  I sat down with her for 40 minutes and when over all the information for the quiz.  I drilled her and gave her funny ways of remembering things.  I even made her sing a couple things to certain tunes to make them stick in her head.  She came again on Friday morning.  We went over the information again so it was fresh in her mind.  After she handed me her quiz on Friday, instead of putting it on the bottom of the stack, I grabbed it and graded it.  I graded her paper three times to make sure I wasn’t missing something.  She made a 100.  I quickly went to her desk, trying to hold back the tears (other kids were reading), and bent down.  She looked at me and said, “How bad?”  

I said, “ONE HUNDRED”.

“No, really.  What did I make?”  

“Jane, you made a one hundred.”  

“Ms. J, I have never made a one hundred on a quiz.  Are you serious?”

“Yes, darling.  I am serious.”

She put her arms around my neck.  At this point it was borderline scene in the classroom.  Jane came in every Thursday and Friday after that.  She has made A’s on every quiz since that day.  Her average in English is a 87.  Last week they had a major test.  She came in and studied hard with me.  I knew the test was going to be short answer, not the multiple choice/fill in the blank she was used to.  I knew she would struggle with this test.  She did.  She made a 54.  I went to tell her and she cried.  She told me she tried so hard.  It took everything in me to keep my cool.  I knew how hard she studied.  I knew she would struggle because she struggles with the simple structuring of a sentence.  This is a weakness for her.  When I told her what she made, I told her to come in Monday morning to make corrections.  She said, “Why bother?”  **Students can retake tests only.  They are not allowed to make up quizzes.**

“Why bother?  Because look how hard you have worked for that 87!! You are so incredibly smart, and I KNOW YOU are capable of much more than a ridiculous 54!  I will see you Monday morning, Jane.  You don’t have an option here.  If I didn’t think you were smart enough, I wouldn’t make you come in.  You can do better, and I EXPECT you to do better.”  Sure enough, Monday morning she came in to make her test corrections.  Monday after school she came in for her retake.  Instead of sending her to the learning lab, I made her take it in the empty classroom.  She handed it to me and left.  I then turned it over to the teacher, and told her because I felt too close to this kid, I was afraid I would not grade fairly.  So I stood there behind her like a kid waiting to open presents on Christmas Day.  Every time she reached for the red pen, I winced.  I finally had to walk away and wait.  After about five minutes, she held up the paper with a bright red 87 at the top.  I ran out the door looking for Jane in the hallway.  She stepped away from her friends when she saw me, knowing why I was coming her way.  

“Did I fail again?”  

“87!”  

She jumped up and down with excitement.  

This is the reason I want to be a teacher.  Look at the impact a teacher can have on a student!  We can make them, or we can break them.  In the two and a half months, this student has gone from a 72 to an 87.  Did it take that much?  NO!  It took someone that cared.  It took someone telling her that she was capable of more.  It took someone pushing her to her full potential.  I know when I am a teacher, I am going to look at each student as an individual with needs.  Whether it be a study partner, or someone to encourage them.  Seeing the face of a student that made her first 100 on a quiz, made it all worth it.  I can’t wait to be a teacher and experience this all the time. 

I have grown close to many of these kids.  I have about three other students like Jane.  Their average has gone from C’s to B’s in a matter of a couple months.  The only thing I did was tell them how smart they were.  I told them I KNEW they were capable of more and I demanded it.  Teachers are holding so much power in the palms of their hands.  I hope that I am able to turn that into something wonderful...for EVERY student I come across.     

Rock Walls

One of my favorite things about Connecticut is the rock walls.  Apparently, hundreds of years ago, instead of building fences to separate properties, people built rock walls.  Because Connecticut is such a rocky place, I don’t imagine they had to have a business come in and bring them rocks to use.  I think they had so many rocks on the property, they figured, might as well make use of them.  The result?  Beautiful walls around everyone’s property.  

People that have dogs, either have electric fences, or train their dogs to stay in their yard.  I will say, yards are much different in Connecticut.  Houses aren’t built on top of each other.  Instead of having 150 houses in a subdivision, you have 15 houses on a street...all taking up about two acres of land each.  The yards are beautiful, and our street backs up to the woods on both sides.  So if you are standing in any of our neighbors homes, you would look out the backyard straight into woods.  

This is my street.

This is my home.

I with Chief and Little Man in Connecticut a few weeks ago, and we had a blast riding the four-wheelers in the woods behind the house.  There are paths cut out, and we can ride all over the place back there.  It is an absolute exhilarating experience, and makes me feel like a kid again.  We always ride over to the orchard, picture below.

I feel for just a quick moment that I am in Italy, looking over hundreds of acres of grapevines.  Again, something Connecticut has over Texas...BEAUTY.  I’m lucky I don’t have to go anywhere to see it.  

Back to the rock walls.  I have taken pictures within a few miles of my home of rock walls that I especially love.  Here they are, hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

Aren't they beautiful??  

God's sense of humor...

Did you know God has a sense of humor?  I love my Frisco church.  I love going, despite the fact I don’t know anyone.  I walk in, and I feel this instant relief.  I immediately feel his presence and his arms surrounding me.  There is one thing that I detest about church....the 60 second greet-your-neighbor time.  Why does every church require this 60 seconds of pure agony?  I would rather pluck my eyelashes out one by one with salad tongs then sit through this 60 seconds every Sunday.  When you are a member, this is the time when you walk around and greet your friends.  When you aren’t a member, this is the time that you shake the hands of the people in front of you, and the people behind you, then stand there like an idiot for the next 55 seconds.  Just to make matters even more interesting, my church puts the 60 second count down on the screen for everyone to see.  A majority of the people don’t even notice it.  Then you have me.  I stand there and watch the stupid number tick down to one, praying that someone would just come up and knock me out of my misery with a four pound bible.  You know how you feel when you are in middle school and it is time to pick teams?  Each kid is picked one by one until only you and a girl with a bum leg are left.  The team captain lets out the sign and calls your name.  It is middle school all over.  No one picks me to say hello to, so I just stand there, like an idiot...and wait.     

A few Sundays ago, I was running late.  Surprisingly, I wasn’t stressed at all because I know that the first five minutes are singing, then the 60 seconds of hell, then back to another 20 minutes of singing, then the preaching starts.  I was running about ten minutes behind, and knew it would be perfect timing to miss the 60 seconds of stand-there-like-an-idiot time.  I got in my vehicle (actually Blond BFF’s vehicle that I use while I am in Texas), and started the 15 minute trip to the church.  Of course I hit every red light.  Now my ten minutes of lateness has stretched into 16 minutes of being late.  I was starting to get frustrated.  When I hit the last red light, closest to the church, I threw up my hands and said, “Seriously, God?  I am trying to do right by going to church, and you are going to make me hit every red light?  I don’t want to miss the sermon!”  As the light turned green, I floored it all the way to the parking lot where I sped into the “visitors” spot.  Why join a church when you get to park up front as a visitor?  So I all but run into the church.  When I walk into the foyer, I don’t hear music.  I silently cursed myself because I didn’t want to be THAT late.  As I opened the door to the sanctuary, I realized they were doing announcements.  As I sighed with relief, I made my way towards the front of the church (I like to sit up front where I don’t have distractions).  I slide into a seat on the end, four rows back and sit down.  I reach into my purse for my bible just as the announcer says, “Now, everyone stand up and take a minute to greet those around you.” 

Hairless Rat

I wasn’t going to blog about my airplane experience on this last trip, but it has been eating at me since I bolted off the plane.  We already know that: a. I HATE flying  b. I am terrified of getting stuck sitting next to someone unpleasant, and c. I HATE flying.  My plane ride going TO Connecticut was pretty uneventful (thank God).  I had stupidly assumed the way back to Texas would be the same, and my bad luck of flying had disappeared (to remind you, my last flight I asked a woman when her baby was due...only to find out she wasn’t pregnant).  So, here I am with my Chai Tea from Dunkin’ Donuts, sitting on an outside seat, not making eye contact with anyone.  (Remember, making eye contact might be mistaken for inviting someone to sit next to you).  So I am looking down, Chai in one hand, Kindle in the other, and I hear a woman say, “Excuse me, can my husband and I sit there?”  I get up, without responding and let the old man in, with his wife behind him.  I notice they have a couple large bags, and wonder how they are going to get them to fit under the seat (remember, rule FOLLOWER here).  I decide I will give them time (three minutes tops) to do the right thing (put their shit in the overhead), before I start with my flight attendant speech about how all baggage needs to be secured in the overhead bin, or tucked tightly under the seat in front of them (I’m thinking my true calling is an air police aka flight attendant).  I sit calmly and look at my watch, noting the time because I want to be fair and give them the benefit of doubt.  Then magically, they fit all the crap under the seats in front of them. I am secretly a little sad, because I like to get people in trouble (back to my “teachers pet” mentality).  I go back to reading my Kindle while the plane loads with screaming babies, grandparents, and young couples dressed as if they just rolled out of bed.

Fifteen minutes later, we are safely up in the air, floating above the clouds.  I pull out my laptop after we get the “okay,” and am starting to write a blog.  Then I hear this high pitch bark!  Initially it scared me, because it was so close to me.  It was unexpected, and I tend to be a little jumpy when I am focused on something other than my surroundings.  About three and a half barks in, I realize the obnoxious sound is coming from the area of my feet.  I look at the couple, and they are both reading a magazine.  You can only imagine the disgust on my face, when I realize not only am I going to have to listen to this, but the owners aren’t even phased by it.  

*Side note: This reminds me of a time I was at my sisters house.  Little man was probably five, and he was sitting at one of those kiddy tables with his cousins, my niece, also five at the time, and my twin nephews who were three.  I am standing at the kitchen counter with my sister and mom, and my sister lets out this loud piercing scream at one of the kids.  Little Man jumps in the air about a mile, and turns to my niece and says, “Didn’t that scare you?”  My niece responds, “Did what scare me?”

This situation reminds me of that.  These people have learned to tune out barking, like my niece and nephews tune out their mom’s scream.  I realize if that isn’t the case then these bastards have simply turned their hearing aides down so they can’t hear anything, including the rats anxious scream for help (again, under five pounds is a rat, not a dog).  Unfortunately, I am not able to do the same thing.  I have a few choices here: 1. do my very best at ignoring it   2. move  3. Ask the guy in front of me, if I can borrow his sound proof head phones or 4. kick the carrier until the rat stops barking...and moving.  I decide to go the with number one.  I close my eyes and say a prayer, thanking God for everything he has done for me, and promising him I would go to church every Sunday for the rest of the year if he shuts the rat up.  I slowly open my eyes and try to focus on my computer screen.  Then something miraculous happens.  It stops.  The rat stops barking.  There is movement coming from the carrier, but it is no longer barking.  I secretly curse myself wishing I had made a much simpler promise to God...like once a month visit to a church, instead of once a week.  Then it begins again.  I quickly back track in my head: Okay, Okay, once a week it is, God.  Then it stops again.  I don’t test the waters, and accept the once a week church agreement.  

I go about my typing.  About an hour later, Grandma decides she wants to check to make sure the rat is still breathing.  She bends over, and moves the carrier to her lap.  I had to refrain from screaming, “Don’t wake the beast!!”  She is sitting beside me, so now the rat is not only in her lap, but in my face.  Those of you that know me, know how allergic to dogs I am.  Of course, because this is just how lucky I am, she unzips the carrier and pulls the tiny rat out.  I sigh a relief because I think it has a total of two hairs on it.  At least it won’t kick up my allergies.  That ugly, little hairless rat starts wiggling like crazy in her hands.  She is laughing and holding it up to her face.  Why would any person put a rodent against their skin?  Again, I want to remind you, I love dogs (dogs are big), but I am extremely allergic to them.  So if I am where I have access to a sink, I will venture to petting them.  If I don’t have access to immediate soap and water, I avoid them.  My arms will break out in hives if I pet them without immediately following it up with boiling soap and water.  I immediately close my laptop and lean over to the isle as far away as possible from the rat and woman.  I am also facing the isle because I don’t want to inhale all the dander that is flying through the air from the wiggly creature.  About four or five minutes and I can feel my throat start to itch.  Now I don’t know what I am going to do.  Two minutes later, the sneezing starts.  Excellent, just when I thought I was going to have an uneventful trip home.  

Exactly 13 sneezes later, I turned to the woman and asked if she could please put her dog up.  She looked at my oddly, and I said, “I am terribly allergic.”  Without saying a word, she bent down for the carrier, and put the dog in it.  After situating the dog on the floor under the seat in front of her, the barking started up again.  Deal’s off, God, I said to myself.  I knew at this point, I was going to need to find another seat.  I stood up, and looked behind me.  I must have looked completely pathetic, because the flight attendant approached me and said, “Can I help you?”  I explained to her that I was allergic to dogs and that I needed a new seat.  She told me it was a full flight, but she would do what she could.  She walked to the back of the plane and found me another seat.  I thanked the person that switched with me, and walked down the isle to my new seat in the back of the plane.

Here is the deal.  If a person has a peanut allergy they don’t serve peanuts to anyone on the plane.  What if a person has a dog allergy?  Tough luck?  How is that fair?  Are people really allowed to take their pets out of the carrier?  Think of how unsanitary that is!  I am so happy I didn’t request a drink.  I am sounding like a dog hater here, and I want to make it clear that I am not.  I love dogs, I do, however, hate rodents.  Anything under five pounds is a rodent.  Luckily, an hour later, my airway had cleared back up, and I was happily back to my blogging.  Just a thought though (directed to Southwest Airlines), if you are going to hide the peanuts, I suggest you hide the rats too.  Below, a picture of the hairless rat...

Okay, Okay.  It COULD have been the hairless rat though!!  Below is the REAL hairless rat.  

Don't let this face fool you.  This rat...I mean dog, was a tiny terrorist.

Short trip to Connecticut...

There is something about riding on the back of a motorcycle that makes me feel like life is a gift.  I spent a wonderful weekend in Connecticut with Chief, Little Man, and my mom.  I arrived on Saturday afternoon.  Keep in mind, we are in October.  In Connecticut, October is like a January in Texas....with an exception of this weekend.  The Chief said he made a few phone calls, and made arrangement for the weather to be perfect for me.  I think it was 90 degrees all weekend.  It was a record high for Connecticut.  Mom always says, “God will only give you, what he knows you can handle.”  I think God knew if I spent the weekend with 20 degree weather, that I may have flown back to Texas and never returned.  I have prayed hard that God will change my heart and make Connecticut feel like home.  

So I arrived on Saturday and we enjoyed an agreeable dinner, then we went home to relax.  I, of course, got to cuddle on the couch with Chief (one of the things I have missed the most).  Sunday, we woke up, and Mom told me to go and enjoy a day with Chief.  So we did just that; leaving Little Man behind with Mom.  We took the motorcycle to Newport (an island in Rhode Island).  Instead of taking the highway, we took the scenic route.  I closed my eyes and let the sun pour down on my bare shoulders and legs.  I couldn’t have felt better at that moment.  Having my legs pressed up against Chief’s, with the warmth of the sun, and the breeze of the ocean on my face....it was a wonderful moment that I wish I could have frozen. Here is the bridge we went over, and under it a view from the bridge:

       Connecticut is beautiful.  As much as I love the busyness of Frisco, Texas, the state I live in is breathtakingly beautiful.  The leaves are starting to turn with a mixture of brown, orange, and yellow.  There is no way a famous painter could capture God’s handiwork.  Here are fall pictures of the state I live in...

Once we got there, we parked and walked up and down the main strip of this quaint little town.  We stopped for lunch and of course received horrendous service, but it couldn’t ruin an amazing day.  We sauntered hand in hand, and just enjoyed each other.  I felt like we were newlyweds!  I love the Chief with every inch of my being.  When I am with him, I want to touch him.  His presence gives me an instant feeling of safety and love.  His voice calms me, and I hang on to his every word.  I pray that I never lose this feeling when I am with him.  I see couples all the time, and I feel like they don’t have what we have.  I see the way women act with their spouses, and I feel lucky Chief and I are on a different level.  I feel as though I have known him my whole life.  I know God meant for us to be together.  He made Chief for me, and he made me for Chief.  Of course our marriage isn’t that of a fairy tale.  We fight about the same things any other couple fights about...kids, money, and in-laws.  Despite our fights, we still end up in the same room each night, with our arms wrapped around each other, falling asleep to the rhythm of the others breathing.  Upchuck if you want, but this is how I feel.  

Ending a spectacular day, we hopped back on the motorcycle, and took off for the house.  In Texas, a motorcycle ride is fun, but by no means does it take your breath away; I don’t care how beautiful the day is.  In Connecticut, if you close your eyes for even a moment, you are missing out.  The smell of the ocean is better than any smell you can ever take in.  With its aroma of salt, fish, and freshness, it makes you want to live IN it.  Sailboats making their way away from the coast and into the deep blue, leaving behind a current of short waves.... miniature islands with trees coating them... houses stacked against the edge of the water with their own private beaches... sand that sparkles as if there are miniscule pieces of gold tossed in... trees with radiant colors, bursting from every empty hole, towering over the houses in a protective manner.... and the hills, that bring the whole site together and forces the life in your face...  THAT is something I can’t get in Texas.  

The day was magical.  Then it was over.  The short trip, also over.  That quick.  For the first time, I was sad leaving Connecticut.  I am still not ready to call it “home,” but at least I have a start.   

Hold the bacon

So, I have come to realize, my eating habits are not that of a normal 31 year old female.  They are, however, very similar to a five year old child.  I have a few rules, more like guidelines, that I follow.  

1. If it is something someone else has cooked, it can’t have more than three ingredients.  I don’t do casseroles unless it has been cooked by myself, or by my mother.  Don’t even throw the word meatloaf at me.  Putting together a conglomerate of ingredients and then forcing it into the shape of my Aunt Judy’s homemade loaf of bread, is NOT a meal.  I have found over the years people really dig this pile of duke.  They open the refrigerator and see a couple chicken nuggets (left over from last weeks kid’s meal), chop it up (because that qualifies as the “meat” in meatloaf), throw in a few other things that could be anywhere from onions to cotton candy, and place it in the oven, only to pull it out in 45 minutes and place it on the table around the family.  Really?  What did they do so bad to deserve to eat that mess? 

Casseroles are also out of the question for me.  Most casseroles have more than three ingredients...so I am out.  

1. Bacon.  There is ONE place where you should find bacon.  Next to your eggs, in the shape of an airplane runway.  Don’t stick it on my sandwiches and hamburgers.  For crying out loud, don’t chop it up and sneak it into my sides either!  Do you know what people put bacon on?  I order green beans, and it has bacon in it.  I order mashed potatoes and they have diced it and MIXED it in (this is borderline casserole)!  Restaurants chop it up and stick it in corn, salad, and spinach.  Now, it doesn’t matter what I order I say, “Please hold the bacon.”  Yesterday: “I would like the peach cobbler, and please leave off the bacon.”  Better safe than sorry.   
2. Beans.  There is one kind of bean to eat....green ones.  I am not picky (imagine that) about how you give them to me.  They can be french style, cut, or long...I prefer them out of the can, but would be willing to choke down fresh ones (depending on my audience).  Those other beans?  The brown ones?  You can hold those too.  I would rather save the baby food for the babies.  If it’s round, and has a tough skin, I am not putting it in my mouth.  The beans that qualify under this category?  Pinto, refried, lima, kidney (don’t even get me started on putting a body part with the word BEAN on it, in my mouth), black, brown, white, purple, orange...there are too many to list.  Green is the only one I am eating.  Case closed.
3. Soups.  I LOVE soup.  I know what you are thinking, soup is just a liquid form of a casserole.  I agree, which is why I order soup and only eat the broth.  There is an exception to this (as with any rule).  Olive Garden minestrone soup.  Not only will I eat the broth, but I will eat the sea shell noodles too.  As for all the other thrown in ingredients (probably a mixture of bacon and cotton candy)?  I will pass.  
4. Pizza.  Don’t worry, I am not going to bad mouth America’s favorite food.  I LOVE pizza.  I even like pepperoni pizza, but I don’t like the pepperoni.  So, I order the pizza, and remove the pepperoni.  I like the juice from it, just not really the pepperoni itself.  Pizza is another exception to my “three ingredients” rule.  I like a vegetarian pizza too, and will ONLY eat it because I can physically SEE all the ingredients.  It isn’t hidden in a loaf shape, or buried somewhere beneath the cheese covering to a casserole dish.  Of course I pick off the onions, green peppers, and yellow peppers.  But I LOVE the mushrooms, and the juices from all those other veggies.  
5. Speaking of onions.  I don’t like onions chopped up in my food (similar to the bacon issue), or put on my sandwiches and burgers.  BUT, I LOVE bloomin’ onions...because, I know what I am getting.  It is a dish with onions, nothing more, nothing less.  
6. Blue foods.  I am not doing it.  I shouldn’t have to explain why the color blue should not be eaten.  If I have a bag of M&Ms, I eat all but the blue ones.  Sweet Tarts?  All but the blue ones.  I stay away from blue suckers, and any other candy that might have the slightest tint of blue.  As for blueberries...what color are they?  Case closed.    
7. I like my food warm, but as far as my cookies, cakes, and brownies?  They need to be room temperature before I will eat them.  So fresh cookies out of the oven need to sit about an hour before I will pick one up...same with brownies.  Don’t ask me why, I just don’t like them warm. 
8. Leftovers.  I don’t do them, unless it is pizza.  I don’t want to eat food that is more than six hours old.  Why is that so weird?  
9. Fresh fruits and veggies.  This is a grey area for me.  I really don’t like many fresh fruits or veggies.  Fresh fruits make my gums feel dry and weird.  I will eat apples, but bananas give you stinky breath so I stay clear of them.  And vegetables, well, lets just be honest, I am not a fan (unless it is asparagus or artichoke).  Give it to me in a can, and I am great (as long as it’s green beans or corn).    
10. Drinks.  Of course we are talking non alcoholic (because I don’t drink alcohol)...I like them room temperature.  When I order soda at a restaurant I ask for just a little ice.  If I order anything other than soda, I tell them no ice.   When I go to the Olive Garden with Blond BFF, I request, “Peach tea with no ice.”  She promptly follows that with, “I would also like peach tea, but I would like mine the way normal people drink it.”  At home, I don’t like my sodas out of the refrigerator, I like them out of the pantry where I can add my own ice.
11. Chinese.  I can’t do it.  I have tried on multiple occasions to eat their chopped up baby kitten, and I just can’t swallow.  Have you ever noticed the meat is unrecognizable?  Is it beef, or chicken, beef, or chicken, beef or.... Can’t do it.  In my mind, kitten, or puppy, kitten, or puppy...
12. Eggs.  There is one way to eat an egg.  Over easy.  Simple right?  Well, I thought so.  I eat my eggs in a very specific way.  I first take my fork and cut around the yolk and eat all the white.  Then I carefully slide my fork under the yolk, making a serious attempt at NOT popping that yolk.  I balance it on the fork, and lift it to my mouth.  Once in the mouth I press the yolk against the roof and let it pop in my mouth.  If you didn’t think I was a freak before, I probably just changed your mind.  Call me crazy, I like to save the best for last.  No need to make a big mess all over the plate, when I can have every ounce of pleasure in my mouth all at once in a quick burst.  Are ya hungry for an egg yet?

The reason I am blogging about food, is because of who I am temporarily living with.  Blond BFF and her husband, who I will choose a very appropriate alias of: Garbage Disposal.  Garbage Disposal will eat ANYTHING.  He has my 5’7, 105 pound Blond BFF trained to eat the same meal two days in a row.  IMAGINE the horror!  People wonder why she is so damn skinny!  They have a system.  They cook enough for two meals (by “they” I mean him, Blond BFF doesn’t cook).  For example, what they cook on Monday, they eat on Monday AND Tuesday.  Then what they cook on Wednesday, they eat on Wednesday AND Thursday.  It is an endless cycle.  Needless to say, every other evening I have “prior dinner engagements.”  

This man will eat anyone’s leftovers.  I don’t DARE throw away food (at least not while he is looking).  If I eat out, I bring him my last two bites.  “No, I don’t live with a dog, I just live with the human garbage disposal...do you mind wrapping up that table over there’s left overs too?”  NO food goes to waste with this man in the house.    

I am very much, a steak and potato kind of girl.  I need simple, I need plain.  I don’t wander outside of my box very often.  It baffles me that people think I am finicky about my food.  Brunette BFF informed me that she won’t cook when I come over because she is terrified of making something that I won’t eat.  I assure you, if you make me a meal, I will choke it down whether I like it or not, because my momma taught me, “You eat what is put in front of you.”  Of course I would not go to someone’s house and not eat what they have prepared.  That is just plain rude.  I assure you, I will smile, choke it down, and then not return for a meal again because I will have “prior dinner engagements.”  

My regular orders:

Chick-fil-a: Chicken sandwich with pickles only, hold the bacon

Wendys: Chicken sandwich on a REGULAR bun (they will give you those stupid wheat buns with seeds on them if you don’t request the “regular” one), with pickles only, hold the bacon.

McDonalds: Big Mac, with no onions, lettuce, or tomato, hold the bacon.

Taco Hell: Cheese roll up (simply cheese in a tortilla shell), hold the bacon.

Hooters: Crab legs, hold the pepper and bacon.

Twin Peaks: Steak Skewer, medium rare, leave off all spices and peppers.  Corn and fries, hold the bacon.

Logans/Texas Roadhouse: Medium rare sirloin, fries, and corn, hold the bacon.

Olive Garden: Peach tea (no ice), Cheese ravioli with marinara sauce, minestrone soup (broth and noodles only), hold the bacon.

Mexican Restaurant: Chicken fajitas, hold the bacon.

Ice cream Shop: Vanilla ice cream, hold the bacon.

That’s me in a nutshell.  I am a vanilla square.  Hold the bacon.