Good News/Bad News

OK, so the good news first: 

I have come to terms with my change for next year, and I knew I would. I almost HATE that I knew I would, and that I have, but really, it's just so much more stressful for me if I continue to fight it. Also, I don't have to teach history by way of teaching novels AND science AND ELA. NOW, I only have to teach ELA (2 sections) and Science (two sections) thus bringing my preps down one, which is good. AND, I LOVE teaching ELA. AND I still get to teach the new novel I just purchased for next year, which is awesome - we'll just WRITE about it instead of delving into it for comprehension objectives.

(Awesome book - the one I can't wait to share with my kids next year. If you get a chance to look it up and read it, put it on your list for summer!)

AND they put all 4 classes back to back in the morning, so I will be "upstairs" from 9-12, and back to my little corner of my real room by noon every day. It's not ideal, but it's ok. I can live with it. I don't have to move, and have decided not to. I can create another classroom that's warm and inviting for the kids upstairs, and keep my little safe haven downstairs (and I can continue to grow sunflowers on my windowsill). AND I only have to teach 6th graders, who are a good bunch of kids, and I don't really mind spending another year with them, AND my class sizes are small - two classes of 12 kids each. So how's THAT for looking on the bright side? And I did it all while fighting a really, really, really bad case of pms (actually it's pmdd, but that's probably TMI, huh?)

Now, the bad news?  A friendship broke this week over the whole moving room/not moving room deal, and I'm sad, and mad, and suffering, but I am not going to try to fix it, because I was told that it was "my problem," which means that perhaps I have been viewing this "friend" through rose colored glasses. Deep inside, I have known that she tends to be a much more SELF-centric person than I, and deep inside I have known that we have huge differences, and I have known other relationships, close ones, that she has had, that have imploded over the years, but I have convinced myself that I was different, that our friendship was real, and would last. But, I've been burned this week, and all the things that I was ignoring have come to light, and I can't ignore them anymore, so I think it's best to cut my losses, and move on. Seriously, it sounds like a dating relationship, not an adult women's frienship, but I guess there might be similarities. We are too different to maintain. In time, I will be ok with that too, and who knows, maybe I AM at fault. I do know that my interpersonal relationships do suffer at certain times...
But it IS making for an awkward last few days in the room this year.

Someone asked me the other day what I'm going to do FIRST this summer, when school is out. What an odd question to have plagued me so this week. I can't stop thinking about it. What WILL I do first? What will I do next, after whatever it is I choose to do first?  So many thoughts, possibilities, options are swirling about. It's made even worse when I LOOK about me. The front flower beds need to be weeded, and planted with SOMETHING this summer. The sidewalk weeds need to be killed.
 The chickens need a new coop. Or two or three.  I have to get my Bantams back

 and put the teenage chicks outside, but right now I only have ONE coop, a little one, and three different sized chickens and I don't know what to do with them all (I might be in a little over my head, but too many chickens is, in my opinion, a GOOD problem to have).  And then there are all those INSIDE things I want to do - cleaning, laundry, steam cleaning the carpet, sewing, crocheting, soap making, jam making, etc. etc.
I guess I need to just make a list. That's good - I LOVE lists.

What is on YOUR list to accomplish this summer, for fun, or because you need to? Or both. Two lists are better than one!

When You're Going Through Hell, Keep Going........

“Change is the only constant”
“Life is change. Growth is optional. Choose wisely.”
“The key to success is often the ability to adapt”
 “Any change, even a change for the better, is always accompanied by drawbacks and discomforts.”

There are all kinds of great quotes about change. I've googled them this week, trying to find SOME words of wisdom I can cling to. Often, I find a good quote to be just the inspiration I need in whatever situation I find myself, good or bad.  Unfortunately, none of the quotes I've found have been helpful, because these are all about changes that are more, I don't know, positive? Inevitable? What if you don't WANT the change? What if everything in your being is railing AGAINST the change? What if you don't want to BE changed?  What if the change doesn't HAVE to happen, but someone is making it happen anyway? Maybe I'm just being too stubborn about the situation to grasp that those messages ARE for me, but right now, I just want to come up with a new quote that fits my situation. Unfortunately, it would be something like, "Change sucks, and I'd rather not have any more of them, thanks very much."

I think I remember mentioning back in September last year when I went BACK to school, that I don't react to change well. Ever. SOMETIMES not even to GOOD changes. I guess the best that can be said is that I usually am able to resign myself to them, if I don't necessarily accept them. But I also have become such a passive version of my former self (thank you, Paxil) (unless I am pms'ing and screaming obscenities at bullies...but then, THAT story's already been told...) that I sometimes wonder if resigning myself to change that I don't want isn't maybe a factor in why so many changes happen to me. Maybe people figure, "oh she'll bluster and blow, but eventually she'll settle down and just do what we want her to do."  How do I know when TO fight back, for real?

My teaching position is being changed again, for next year.  It's a long story. My teaching career has literally spanned every grade from preschool to freshmen in college. Some grades, ages, levels, subjects, I have liked better than others. But I have spent most of my life doing Remedial - in one form or another.  When I left the high school level remedial, I switched to elementary classroom teaching at the third and fourth grade levels. I really enjoyed classroom teaching, when it was a self-contained classroom of my own students.  When our school student population started to decline, fairly drastically, and our classrooms were cut from, for example, 1 3rd grade classroom, 1 4th grade classroom (both self-contained) to 3 teachers per two gradelevels, with three multiage (3rd and 4th mixed) classrooms, I began to hate it. I had to work with other teachers as part of a team. Now, before you think "Oh, she's not a team player" - i AM. And I can be. And I don't MIND being a team player. But, it makes my weaknesses SO much more visible. I am pretty severely ADD. I have a hard time keeping track of papers all in one place. I don't get correcting done on a regular

schedule, but instead, tend to spend a couple Saturdays or Sundays with a pot of coffee, curled up in my chair, correcting all day. These kinds of things tend to drive other, more organized, teachers, crazy. They want grades a week EARLIER than they are due? Well, in my world, I still have a weekend between me and grades, and so mine won't be done until the last minute. Yep, they'll be done and in on time, if I have to stay up half the night doing it. It's the price I pay for ADD, and I'm ok with that. And it WAS ok when I was on my own. But becoming part of a team demanded too much more of me, stresswise, so I wasn't enjoying it like I was when it was just my classroom and my kids. And I knew my habits and characteristics, although they don't affect the kids and make me a spontaneous, good, teacher in so many ways, were driving the other teachers, who are also my friends as well as colleagues, nuts. So, when a remedial position opened up a few years back, it seemed like a good time to return to that. The pace is slower, the groups small, I enjoy the work, and the kids. I'm good at it. Remedial tends to be a bit boring, at times, as it is much repetition of the basics, and I do thrive on NOT being bored, but it seemed a good trade off. After a few years of too much "excitement" in classroom teaching to not have EVER been bored, going back to remedial just seemed right. And I've grown SO much. I've learned SO much more about Dyslexia, and have been a key player in getting a new program in our school for dyslexic students. It's been a good few years. BUT, the population at our school just keeps dwindling. Most classes (as in, the whole GRADE level) tend to now have about 25 students in them. My 6th grade class this year is down to a total of 17 kids. And thus, things continue to change. Classroom teaching needs change. I was asked to teach a couple of sections of 6th grade reading and ELA last year, in addition to the remedial the rest of the day. It was ok. I was on my own, so my paper issues didn't really bother anyone, and we did fine. This year, I was asked to teach 3 classes of 5th AND 6th grade Reading..... well, ok. One more class than last year. The other half of the day remedial.

NOW, next year, they want me to teach:  Social Studies via reading. Really? I'm going to be able to cover an entire year's social studies curriculum by teaching historical novels? I'm going to teach the deep structures of reading while covering the content of ancient Egypt? Well, ok, I suppose, if you say so. Oh, and immediately following THOSE 40 minutes, I will be teaching ELA to one HALF of the 6th graders (while one of the other teachers across the hall is teaching the same stuff to the OTHER half of the 6th graders. There are 23 of them all together- we seriously can not put them in ONE CLASS??? I understand the benefits of small class sizes, but while that is critical at K and 1, and maybe 2, when kids are learning to read, I don't think a class of 12 students is all that necessary at 6th grade. Buck up, teachers and administrators. It is not impossible, not even a BAD idea, to teach a class of 23 students.) Oh, and did I mention that following THOSE 80 minutes of class, they now insist that I teach 6th grade SCIENCE. And then come back upstairs for another period in the afternoon to teach the OTHER class of 6th grade SCIENCE. Yeah, because THAT's my forte, all right. Two degrees in English, and elementary, and I'm supposed to be thrilled to be required to teach SCIENCE? It isn't even LIFE science, for crying out loud. Yes, I CAN do it. I'm not stupid. I can. But I don't WANT to.

Not only is this going to go back to being a disaster for me, as organizationally challenged as I am, but it is going to be a nightmare for the other two 5/6 team members to work with me. AND, I'm not exaggerating when I say NO ONE wants to work with them. They have chased the past three teachers out of there, well, one of them has, because of their personality. I don't want to fight. I don't want to move upstairs. I don't want to go back to being a classroom teacher. Especially not of science. AND - the kicker is, because our State decided to change the cut off levels for State Testing this year, we are expecting an influx of remedial students who are not really remedial, but will now be required to get remedial services. When I asked what the plan was for servicing them, since I was being pretty much taken out of the mix, I was told, "I don't really know yet. I don't really have a plan yet. I'll have to wait and see."  So this is what I get by being GOOD at what I do, even when I don't like it?  This is what I get for having been the one person who has survived two years "upstairs" with "those teachers" that no one else can work with? I don't WANT to leave my classroom downstairs. I love my little corner of the room. I've got big windowsills with flowers growing. Upstairs, there are no windowsills, and the windows open out onto the roof where the vents from the cafeteria and the boiler room make noise and smells all day. I don't want to leave the students I am finally able to teach to read. I don't WANT to teach about the solar system. I HATE the solar system. I like reading, and books, and writing, and laid back days with laid back students, and minimal grading and minimal lesson plans, and no stress at grade times. I like not pissing other teachers off because I'm scatterbrained, and spontaneous, and not quiet, and sedate, and organized. I LIKE my desk area. I LIKE not having to climb to the second floor every day. I LIKE the teachers in my hallway I work with now. If I go up there, I will be alone, and lonely, and I will hate it again.

CAN I do it? Sure. Will I be good at it? Yep. But do I want to put all that effort and time into it that it will take? Not really. I've been doing this for many years. I'm not done yet. I'm not one of those teachers who SHOULD have retired by now (I'm only 47, for heaven's sake) but hasn't, and is just getting by. But I have found where my strenths lie, and where my stress levls are at their lowest, and classroom teaching is so not it.

I don't WANT this change. There are others who could be put up there in that position besides me. I will admit in a small school our size, the options are limited, and I know that I should be grateful that I still have a job, when many others in nearby schools have been let go this year. And I am. I'm just tired of change. I don't WANT to change again. Want to know a secret? I don't LOVE teaching. It was never my dream job. I don't honestly know what would have been, all those years ago. I do know, now, that something with animals instead of people and paperwork, would have been a better fit for me, personally. I like kids. I like having a tool, finally, whereby I can teach ANYONE how to read, even kids with severe dyslexia. That's a good feeling. But still - it's an awkward fit for me. I've been the square peg in the round hole for many years, and only have 9 left before I can become a Veterinary Technician for 9 dollars and hour, and feel like a round peg in a round hole, at long last, money and retirement system be damned. I feel like I could make it IF they left me where I was. I promise not to stagnate. I promise to keep learning new things. I promise to be cheerful and relatively ungrumbly and plant sunflowers on my windowsill, if only they would not force this change on me. I CAN"T retire for at least 9 more years - I just would prefer that they not be 9 years of paperwork misery.

When in Rome.....

I don't know what it is the Romans DO, though, so I guess the next best thing is the other quote, "When you're going through hell.....

Teaching 5/6, upstairs, with THEM, and those subjects, well, maybe it's not hell. But it sure isn't Rome, either.

Kids - Expensive and Priceless

Was that a weekend that I just endured had? I'm not really sure, because it seems like just a few moments ago I was doing the "Yay - it's Friday" happy dance, and suddenly, it is already Sunday evening. I hate Sundays for 40 weeks of the year, because it means the next day is Monday. On the other hand, I seriously love Sundays more than the average person during vacations, because knowing that Sunday DOESN"T mean Monday-work makes Sunday extra great. Anyway, I digress.

Last week was a short week - no school Monday because of Memorial Day, and then I had to take Wednesday and Thursday off because my daughter fell on the steps at work and broke a bone in her hand and had to have surgery Thursday (and pre-surgery stuff on Weds. A two day work week - sweet!

But then, this weekend was PROM weekend. For my youngest, who is only 14.5   Our school is sooooo very small, that the prom is open to everyone in 9-12th grades. If they had the traditional Jr-Sr. Prom, as many schools do, there would not be enough people in attendance. As it is, with all 4 grades, there probably are not more than maybe 100 people. Well, I should remember well enough that the FIRST prom is a Big. Deal. And especially to my youngest, who is VERY girly sometimes. And I'm so not. It's totally difficult for me to relate to the excitement of spending 2 1/2 hours getting your hair, makeup and nails done. And PAYING for it. (I did, on the other hand, spend the 2 1/2 hours waiting, being very productive in grading my papers I am way behind on.) It's very hard for me to relate to spending an evening shopping for shoes, jewelry, makeup, etc.  And putting on fake toenails. My fingers and toes are always in the dirt, and therefore, I keep them short. Very short. And they are usually stained from gardening, cutting berries, etc. I can't be bothered with anything other than shorts or jeans, and a tshirt/sweatshirt, or flip flops. I just HATEHATEHATE dressing up. HATE it.  Haven't worn a dress in literally I don't know how many years. Ugh. Also, I think that because this poor girl is my 4th, I might be winding down a bit in terms of excitement over these things. I have already sent three other kids to prom. Whoopdedoo?  But, I try hard to remind myself that it is not HER fault she was born last, and so I try very hard to fake it! I drove her around to three different places for pictures with friends, came to the Prom Court crowning, etc. and took her to an after prom party at her "date's" house at 11:30.  All in all, the biggest sacrifice this weekend? Sleep. But, as they say, a picture of the girl in her prom dress? Priceless. She was - IS - a beautiful girl, who, most of the time, has a sunny personality to match her good looks and brains. I am lucky she is mine!

She's the one on the far right, in the reddish pink dress. Her date is just a really, really cool friend from school. I love him because he is such a good friend. They had a blast!  And that's what counts. Not that I am grumbly because I was up too late, and up too early to help the broken-handed girl wash her hair. (And PLEASE do NOT ask me about the boy in HER picture. I am trying hard to forget that HE exists!)

Oh, and I DO have two other kids - guess they should at least get a picture of their own?  This dirty, grubby, filthy boy is mine. And that is the way he looks most of the time. He earns that dirt: under cars, working on a farm, fixing engines. The kid is AMAZINGLY talented at working with his hands. The girl with him? One of my younger girl's friends, a neighbor, and on-again, off-again girlfriend of the boy. HE refused to go to prom with her, with anyone. He is as allergic to formal occasions and formal wear as I am.

And this guy? He's the oldest, the 21 year old college senior (I am NOT that old - I do not know how he can be mine. Oh wait, I was 7 when I had him. I keep forgetting that medical miracle...) He's, in the words of one of my friend's son, "A really cool hippy pirate dude"  Which is appropriate, because his biggest goal in life? To either be a pirate, or to own a laid- back restaurant on the beach some day.  Jimmy Buffett rules his world!

And all four of these guys rule mine.  Despite the fact that somehow, because of them, I seem to have misplaced my weekend somewhere. If you find it, could you let me know before too long? I guess there's another one around someplace, though. Oh well.

The Brambleberry Puppy Waits For Me

She waits for me, when I am gone. The minute I go out the door, about twelve feet to the left of this living room window, she runs to her chair, hops up, and watches me go. Whether I am gone 10 minutes to feed the chickens, or an hour, she is there, in the chair, waiting for me to come back in. I know she doesn't spendall  her timewaiting in that chair, but there is great comfort in knowing she loves me enough to watch me go, and enough to hop up and watch me come back in. And whether I'm gone 5 minutes, or 5 hours, the "welcome back!!!" greeting I get from her, and the other three silly mutts, is the most enthusiastic, loud, sloppy-kisses greeting on earth. You would think I was the Queen, come to town. It is, in fact, one reason I need dogs. They love me so unconditionally, and are not afraid to show it.  Maybe I was grouchy to my students at school. Maybe I was short with my children. Maybe I snapped at my husband, or talked about a coworker behind her back. Maybe I am worried, or sad, or preoccupied. Whatever I have done, or however bad I have been, my dogs don't care. Honestly, they just love me. They hate to see me leave, miss me when I'm gone, and are thrilled to the tips of their furry tails when I come home. What's NOT to love about being loved that much and that unconditionally? Why wouldn't EVERYONE have a dog? Do some people really not need that kind of love? Do some people have enough love, so much love, that they don't need more? Not me!  I have lots, but there's always room for dog love. We, here at my house, are a mutual admiration society - I love them, and they love me. Unconditionally. We're good here.

When Too Late isn't Really

When does one truly become an adult?  I remember when I was growing up, my biggest fear, always, (once I got over the fear of being kidnapped from my bedroom in the middle of the night - but that's another story)was that my parents would die before I was ready, before I was old enough, to deal with it. I remember thinking, at whatever age I was, "well, I'm not old enough NOW to deal with it, but probably when I'm about 20, 25, 30, whatever age seemed "adult" to me then, I'll be old enough to "deal with it."  My mom passed away five years ago when I was 42, and I didn't feel old enough at that age to be without a mom. Now, I suspect my father will pass away before I have turned 48, and I don't feel adult enough to cope with that well, either.  Which, oddly enough, isn't really what's on my mind tonight. What's on my mind is that I am 47, and still can't bring myself to do some of the things that I SHOULD be able to do as a 47 year old adult. I still feel like "I'm not old enough to do that yet" for some things. Tonight, I'm wondering when I will be old enough to do the adult things that I should, without having to be pushed to do them by someone else more mature than I, or without feeling like an awkward teen inside as I'm doing them. OR - does everyone feel that way, but you just DO them anyway, and THAT'S what really counts??

Two days ago I learned that a friend's husband had suffered a massive stroke, and was in the hospital in Jamestown,in a deep coma, not expected to live.  She was keeping vigil at his side. I felt like I should go visit her, sit with her awhile in the hospital.  I was hoping we could give her a little break, or bring her some flowers, or a chocolate bar and Diet Pepsi, or take a walk outside, or, just sit, and be.  She and I become friends many years ago when I was lucky enough to work at Ten Broeck Academy. Lucky, too, because along with Sue, I also met my best best friend, Steph, there. And she and I and Sue and another great guy, Steve, all shared this little two room trailer attached to the back of the school, and oh are there stories and stories to come out of all those years we shared that trailer. I could write a book. Eventually, we all went different ways. Steph went to a school closer to her home, so she didn't have to drive 90 miles each way; I took a job here in the town I live in so I didn't have to drive 30 miles each way to TBA, and when Sue's husband neared retirement, they sold their house in Franklinville and moved to a little house right on the water on Chautauqua Lake, and Sue switched to teaching in a school over there. (Steve, who deserves his own story some day, passed away probably about ten years ago from brain cancer, and I still miss him every single day.)  We have not worked together, the three of us, for at least ten years now, but have remained close. I'm not sure how to explain the bond, but it's tight. Funny, too, because Sue is ten years older than me, and I am five years older than Steph, but it never really mattered. We just all connected. And have stayed connected, despite distance.  Anyway, Steph and I decided yesterday we should drive over to Jamestown today after school to see Sue. It wasn't the best day for Steph, and I even suggested we could wait until tomorrow. She decided that we should go today, that waiting probably wasn't a good idea, since Sam's time was very clearly limited.

I sent a facebook message to Sue's son to make sure it would be appropriate to come over to see her. Not being yet a true adult, I'm never quite sure what the protocol is for these situations.  Just because my heart told me I should go be with her, what if it was the wrong thing to do? If your husband is dying, do you want a friend sitting with you, or should that be only private family time? Sigh. I just never know. But, Cory said to please come over - that it was fine - that Steph and I were practically like family to him and Sue anyway. Not necessarily true, but it was enough to reassure me that yes, following my heart's instinct this time was ok. Steph checked with Cory again today about 2 o'clock, because my worst fear was that we would be too late. And if we were too late, then we really probably didn't want to go. But you can't exactly say, "Hey, we'll be over about 5, but if your dad passes away before that, be sure to let us know, and then we won't bother you by coming over."  There just wasn't anything good about this situation at all, and plenty of things that could turn out to be - DID, in fact, turn out to be, plenty awkward.

We got there at 5.  The hospital had no one by Sam's last name registered.  I told her a room number. No one. I called information. Nada. We were totally perplexed.  Only hospital IN Jamestown, right room number, no one. Steph facebook messaged Cory again from her phone: "We are here - where can we find you?"  Cory's response?  "At home. Dad passed away at 3:15"    We were too late. My worst fear. I most definitely did NOT want to go to the house. This poor woman's husband had just passed away less than two hours before- that is a time for family, for grieving, for weeping. NOT a time for friends to drop by.  Steph convinced me that since they already knew we were there, we HAD to.  AWKWARD. All my NON-adult instincts were kicking and screaming, "noooooooooo - I CAN"T do this" at the same time that I was. We stopped, talked to some relatives who had just gotten there, left a note for Sue, and fled. Just in time, I felt like. What I most felt like doing was throwing up, but instead we decided to go have a drink and get something to eat since we had driven the two hours anyway, and since even Steph and I seldom get to spend any time together.  We had just sat down and been given menus in Red Lobster when Sue called my cell phone.  She had parked at a neighbor's, just as we were driving away, and BEGGED us to come back. She pleaded, said, "Please come back - I need you."  I could not fathom that, that someone would want friends there at that time, but she sounded so sincere, so very very sad, how could we not? So, awkwardly again, we left the table, left our menus, explained that we would be back and left Red Lobster. Going back was worse. But being there was the best, most adult-like thing I've done in ages.  We went out to the end of the dock, hugged, rocked, talked, cried, laughed, cried some more, promised to come and hang out this summer and teach Sue how to back up her lawn mower - something she is worried that she doesn't know how to do - and were there. We were too late to sit with her and offer her any comfort, or peace, at the hospital while Sam was clinging to life, but I guess it wasn't really too late after all. And even though Stephanie, who is five years younger than me, had to force me to do the grown up things I did not want to do, and would not have done if I had not been forced, I did them. They felt wrong, and awkward, and uncomfortable, and I wanted to throw up, and I did cry, but I did them all, and they felt right when we were done. Does that count? Does that mean I AM an adult because I did all the things I SHOULD, even though I didn't want to? Will I EVER be the one who just does them on my own, without being made to, because I know they are the right thing to do? I guess THAT'S when I might feel like I am truly a grown up, when I can do them because I know they are the right thing to do, even though I don't want to. Until then, I guess I will have to settle for at least being able to do them because someone ELSE knows they are the right thing to do, and makes me. I guess it could be worse - I could NOT do them, even then. Many people don't, and I know that.

We went back to Red Lobster, and I had not only some fruity rum drink with a pineapple piece in it, but a Long Island Iced Tea, which was irresponsible and un-adult-like of me, since it has 4 or 5 shots of alcohol in it, and I had a two hour drive home. Funny thing is, I should have been under the table, but didn't even catch the slightest buzz from it.  Steph determined that the amount of stress we were under cancelled out even the powers of alcohol. I figured maybe it was God saying, "OK, you were too late, but made the best of it and did the right things anyway, so I'll cut you some slack tonight. You can drink these drinks, and I will allow you to still drive safely home anyway, even though you should not be able to. But don't push your luck..."

I won't. I promise.
But I'm still left wondering, at what age will I truly become an adult?  Is it possible to be 80 years old, and still not feel "grown up - ENOUGH" for some things? Wouldn't that be weird. Because here I am, at 47, thinking, "Well, I'm not very mature YET, but wait til I"m 80. By then, I will be."  Won't that be funny if I'm not.

THIS is the Stuff My Nightmares are Made on...

We are such stuff


As dreams are made on; and our little life


Is rounded with a sleep. - Shakespeare

I'm not sure what stuff it is dreams are made on, but I sure can tell you what my nightmares are likely to consist of tonight:

For who knows what reason, we are being INVADED by Gypsy moth caterpillars this year. They are literally all ove the place, by the hundreds. And they are GROSS.

Also called Eastern Tent Caterpillars, because they make tents in trees and destroy the trees. The only way to treat them that I know of is to burn their nests.

 Normally, I'm not a particularly squeamish kinda girl, but these are really freaking me out this year. They hang down on their nearly invisible strings from tree branches, and you don't see them until you've run into them. Or you don't even see one then, but someone tells you you have one crawling up your back.  I have never liked them, because when you squish them, green goop spurts out of them, and it's icky. 

I just ran back up to school to make a photocopy of something for my son that he needed, and they are all over the doors to get into school. I am not exaggerating when I say I bet there were 500 of them on the two double doors I went in. Worst of all is that they either fall to the ground, or congregate there, right along the bottom door edge, like they are TRYING to get into the building. I feel like they are conspiring, to do what evil I'm not really sure, and will turn into big green people eating monsters from some other planet, or something like that, if they actually get INTO school.  Today, the custodians had to take shop vacs out to the playground and vacuum them off the swings, slides, and other playground equipment before the kids could have recess out there. I think they must have dumped the shop vacs in the parking lot, because that was simply swimming with them just now.

My co-workers husband hosed their house down to get rid of them on the vinyl siding the other night. They came back. He did it a second time. They came back. The third time he picked them off by hand (ewwww) and threw them in the fire and burned them up.

I just scraped several off my front door and threw them to the chickens. You know they have to be REALLY nasty when even the chickens won't touch them. So then I stomped them, and twisted my foot around good to get rid of all the green goo.

I already know I'm gonna have nightmares tonight of twisty, squirmy, spiky, gross, nasty caterpillars coming to get me. Maybe I should just stay awake all night. Or something. "Cause I'm sure I won't be "rounded with sleep" as nicely as Shakespeare puts it. At least not while these caterpillars are trying to take over the world. Or at least my little corner of it. ICKKK.

Can I Please, Please, Please Just Have a Clean House???

I saw this book title when I was wandering through a bookstore one night not too long ago, waiting to pick my daughter up from a concert in the city.  I meant to come home and look it up on Amazon to see if it was something I wanted to buy, but forgot about it. Until this morning. As I made my way through the maze that constitutes my "living area" at the moment to let the dogs out and make my coffee, and suveyed the herculean task that lay before me this morning, the title popped back into my head. The timing could not have been more appropriate.

I am not a housekeeper. At least, not a very good one. There are, more often than not, dishes in my sink, dog hair on my carpet needing to be vacuumed, laudry baskets overflowing with clothes waiting to be folded. It is bad enough that my house really makes me embarrassed and I would die if anyone just "stopped by."  In addition, my carpets need to be steam cleaned because I have not been able to convince Bramble that peeing outside, CONSISTENTLY, is much nicer than peeing on my carpet, so my house even smells bad. With 4 children, 4 dogs, too many cats to mention, a bunch of chickens (not IN my house - well, only as peeps in the brooder in the bathroom), a full time 8-4 job that requires several hours of evening work as well, and a dad to be visited in the nursing home at least every other day, AND a husband who is out for his job more evenings than he is in, it leaves very little time to be the kind of housekeeper I dream of being. So many people say "it's ok - your house is LIVED in; not a show house," or "your kids are more important than how your house looks," or other well-meaning words meant to take the burden of a clean house off my shoulders. It doesn't help. The problem is in my head. I can't LIVE this way. Well, I do, but I'm miserable. I WANT a perfectly clean, picked up, neat, tidy house. It matters to me. It makes so much difference in my mood and my feelings. A messy, cluttered, dirty house depresses me.  If my house is cluttered, my mind is cluttered, too. Part of the reason our house IS so cluttered, besides the kids and the dogs, is that both my husband and I have a lot of hobbies. And his hobbies take him away from home many weekends when we could be working on the house or the yard together (Civil War Re-enacting) and my hobbies just simply ADD clutter. There are three bags of various chicken feeds in my front hall.  The sewing machine is set up on the end of the dining room table. I have a tub full of craft stuff to work on for next year's Christmas presents also in the dining room.  Both of us have books, books, books all OVER the place. And newspapers that don't get picked up when they should. And magazines that, once read, pile up because he does not like to part with A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G.  For years, I have been living with this delusion that I will SOMEDAY be able to get my house exactly picked up enough to my satisfaction so that I can start LIVING in it, instead of always CLEANING it. So far, that hasn't happened, and thankfully, it isn't really bad enough to need a Hoarder's Intervention yet. However, the mess does prevent me from actually working on my hobbies, because mentally, I can't sit down to sew if the kitchen sink is full of dishes. And I can't enjoy a movie with my kids if there is laundry to be folded. I just CAN"T do what I want to do until my house is not such a disaster. And it always is, so I am always, always, always stressed.

It has been better this year, and a little easier to keep up with, because two of my 4 kids have been away at college. And yes, I know that with kids MY kids ages, THEY should be doing a lot of the work around here. Unfortunately, that is also a part of parenting that I suck at - forcing my kids to be responsible. For too long I "let them be kids" and picked up after them, to the point now where when I ask one of them to vacuum, take out the trash, or empty the dishwasher, they whine and moan and complain so much that I end up either doing it myself because I can't stand the stress of the arguing, or I have to nag twenty times before one simple chore gets done. I hate that about myself, that I didn't teach them responsibility when they were little - it sure would make my life easier now. I haven't given up. I don't think it's ever too late. I have come up with a few "Rules for Summer" - things like, Pick up after yourself, Keep the kitchen clean (my REALLY big bugaboo area - if the kitchen is at least clean, I feel like there is hope for the rest of the house...), DON"T BACKTALK (seriously, can you belive that with kids 21, 19, 17, and almost 15 I have to have a rule stated that says "Don't backtalk"?  For heaven's sake, you would think my kids were still in gradeschool!), help out around the house when asked ("without being asked" would be my dream - but yeah, THAT"S never going to happen...)

At any rate, my son who just returned from college a week ago has brought home more "STUFF" than any 21 year old should own. Good GRIEF, I don't know how it all fit in a dorm room and common area. It SURE doesn't fit in my house. THOSE would be the majority of the piles I was winding my way through on my way to make coffee today. THOSE would be the piles, along with my stuff he has displaced, that made me think again of that book title. I am thinking of challenging him, and definitely myself, to THROW OUT 50 THINGS. I can do it. Easily. My whole goal in life is to reduce the amount of "stuff" in my life and to just live simply. That's really all I want. To have my dogs, my chickens, a cat (not 6), my crocheting, my sewing, my books, a house with no clutter, no mess, and to live simply. What a challenge. It's one I still feel up to; it just gets frustrating to feel that it constantly remains a challenge.

And, how frustrating that I look forward to my summer vacation from teaching, not to do all the things I enjoy, but to be able to be home daily so that the dishes get done, daily, so that the laundry gets folded, daily, so that my house does not constantly look like squatters occupy the rooms here. I WANT my summer vacation to be full of leisurely hours of coffee on my front porch while I read, watch the chickens dig for worms, and maybe sew some new pot holders. I WANT my bedroom, especially, to be a quiet, cool haven at the end of the day, without boxes of the kids outgrown clothes, my husband's no-longer-used Boy Scout Leader clothes sitting in a pile, my daughter's bedframe leaned up against my wall, and everyone's extra blankets tossed on the cedar chest under the window. Maybe THAT would be the place to concentrate on "throwing out 50 things." Times 10. Is it ok if I count a HUGE pile of old, already read, Civil War Times magazines as 1 thing? 

If you can't imagine having 50 things that you could throw out, count yourself blessed. You are already living my dream, the simple(r) life!