Ode to My Appendix

Twas a few weeks after Christmas, in the middle of the night
when Non-Mommy woke up sick, and worried with fright;
Her plastic popcorn bowl she grabbed with care
in hopes that vomit soon would be there.

Non-Mommy was nestled all snug in her bed,
"Hmm, something isn't feeling quite right" she said.
When down far below there arose such a pain
Non-Mommy thought she'd never get out of bed again.

She poked and she prodded her side, left and right
and realized that she may be facing a desperate plight.
When what to her wondering eyes should appear
Google confirmed her very worst fear.
With a sharp rapid pain on her right side alone,
she knew more than ever she needed the phone.

More rapid than eagles her fingers they dialed
Her appendix, however, didn't appreciate being riled.
"Call the doctor!  Call Mom!  Shave your armpits!
Shave your legs!  Pack a bag!  Before your appendix splits!"

As dry leaves before a hurricane they fly
she knew her parents would hurry to come by.
So up to Non-Mommy's house her dad flew
with a pillow, a cell phone and her mother, too.

And then, in a twinkling, the crew had arrived,
whisked Non-Mommy to the E.R. - she'd survived!
The hospital bed was moved all around,
off to the O.R. Non-Mommy went with a bound.

Non-Mommy begged "Knock me out well, if you please"
and skillfully they made her sleep with ease.
Carefully and quickly her appendix came out,
Non-Mommy awoke with a thankful shout.

Blue Cross, you suck!  You are incredibly cheap.
But I guess I'm alive, so for that I must not weep.
It's been almost a year, I don't miss my old friend.
Appendix, you were faithful until the very end.

R.I.P. Appendix
1979-2010

This past week, as school wrapped up for winter break, my class chose to donate a few dollars each to a charity in place of purchasing gifts for a class gift exchange.  They then chose to do a White Elephant gift exchange using only items from home (to avoid purchasing things - it is nearly impossible to buy a $2 gift that is remotely interesting anymore).  This has worked well in the past, so I decided to go ahead with it.  All the students had to pre-approve the gift from home with both their parents and their teacher (me!).  They excitedly asked me permission to bring gifts, and I only had to not approve one gift idea.  One young lady, who is particularly clingy, asked permission to bring an item from home.  I approved it.

The next day, she came in and told me that her mother became very angry and told her daughter to tell me that she would NOT be participating in the gift exchange after all.  I just said "OK" and went on, but it bothered me.  Her mother is an alcoholic.  Her mother isn't stable.  So I later approached the young lady and asked if she wanted to still participate in the exchange.  She told me that she did, and I told her that I had some items that she could choose from for a gift.  I also told her we'd wrap it together.

The day of the party, I went to the "kid holding" area before school began and took the young lady back to my classroom.  I handed her materials to wrap her gift, and she just stood there.  It was obvious she had no idea what she was doing.  I sat down on the floor with her and taught her how to wrap a gift (even though I'm no good at it!).  I showed her how you should make the part of the gift that the person will open the part of the gift that looks the prettiest.  As I was showing her how to curl ribbon, she said "Ms. Non-Mommy, how do you know how to do this?"  I told her that my mom had taught me how to do it.  She sighed and said "I guess that is what moms are supposed to do, huh?  They teach you how to do cool things.  Or, they are supposed to."

With a lump in my throat, I sent her back to the "kid holding" area carrying her gift.  I knew that I'd just had an important moment with a sad little girl.

Sometimes, my job is very overwhelming, but not in the sense that you would think.  I went into this job to make a difference in the lives of children.  I did not go into teaching to make sure that kids knew the order of operations in math, or that they understand and have memorized their guaranteed rights in the Constitution of the United States.

I'm not overwhelmed at what I have to deal with.  There are so many heartbreaking situations out there.  I deal on a very regular basis with sexual abuse, physical abuse, and neglect.  I've had to help out many children over the years who have lost a parent.  I have personally been responsible for a child being taken out of their home due to abuse.  I buy clothes every year for kids.  I have packed lunches to send home with kids that I know are not being fed.  I've dealt with transvestite situations, suicides, extreme violence in the classroom...you name it, I've dealt with it.  But even all of that is not what I find overwhelming.

I find it overwhelming that there is so much need, and I don't have enough to give.  I lay in bed worrying about these kids.  I'm overwhelmed because, while I do care that they learn, I am held back from helping these poor children whose only safe place is school because of all the government interventions that I have to give them.  I'm overwhelmed that I am still expected to be accountable for a child's academic progress (or lack thereof) when I know that so many of these kids are living in deplorable, unhappy conditions.

I'm overwhelmed.  I just want to make a difference.  There is so much need out there.

I am a good teacher.  I am a better role model.  But there is only one of me.  Today at Christmas, I hope you will consider how you can make even a tiny difference in the lives of others.  Just taking the time to do something small like teach someone how to wrap a gift can be a positive lifeline that someone in a desperate situation can grab onto.  There are so many needs, worldwide.  Remember, though, that even in our neighborhoods, wealthy, poor, rural, urban...there is always someone that needs encouragement and kindness.

We are so blessed.  Merry Christmas.

Moment of Awesomeness

I'm currently sitting in a chair with a Shiatsu massager rubbing my sore back, watching my nephew sing Toby Mac's "City on our Knees" into the faucet in the bathtub, and thinking about how in a mere 1 1/2 days I will get a break from work.

No more teachers.
No more books.
No more students' dirty looks.

I love being an aunt. I love this massage chair. I love not having papers to grade tonight.

This could be why I'm still single

I have a dirty little secret.  Something I like to hide.  Something that I am going to admit publicly for the first time.

I'm addicted to Cuddl Duds.

You might want to avert your eyes.  Or, sing "Boom, chicka wah wah!"

In my defense, I have a job that requires me to stand on an arctic wasteland day in and day out.  With a whistle frozen to my lips, I'm expected to monitor the safety of hundreds of children.  Without an extra layer hidden under my clothes, I'm useless.  I'm a little bit like Kate Gosselin in this episode where she is supposed to be camping with Sarah Palin:

Video removed due to obnoxious talking ads that scared me!

So, Cuddl Duds it is.  They are so silky.  So warm.  So snuggly.  They help me find my happy place.  Plus, they are just soooo sexy.

I'm too sexy for lined pants, too sexy for lined pants

too sexy for cold rants

And I'm too sexy to shiver, too sexy to shiver (the fear of cold makes me quiver)

I'm a model, you know what I mean

and I do my little turn on the playground

Yeah on the playground, on the playground yeah

I shake my little toosh on the playground

(Disclaimer:  I don't wear these all the time, I don't really show them off, and there is definitely no shaking of any body part on the playground - except, of course, on days when I forget my Cuddl Duds). 

Raise the Flag, the Queen is Home

Several weeks ago, I ordered some Christmas gifts online.  While I was browsing for these gifts, I ran across one of the greatest things I have ever seen:  the solar powered waving queen.

 As a huge anglophile, with a tacky sense of humor, I found these delightful.  More importantly, I knew my mother would get a kick out of them, so I ordered her one.  Nothing cures the blues like a solar powered monarch in pastels!

I anxiously awaited the surprise.  I knew it'd make her laugh.  I couldn't wait to see the tacky thing.  And then, the package didn't come.  And didn't come.  And didn't come.  At first, I thought nothing of it.  It's a busy time of year.  Then, I thought that maybe this company was just slow.  And then, I began to get irritated.  I had paid shipping for this package.  Where was it??

I tracked my package obsessively.  I needed those other gifts, there was a time factor involved.  Plus, I needed the queen!  NEEDED HER!  The package took five days to process.  I found that excessive, but was willing to overlook it.  Then, it took three days to prepare to ship.  Three days!  Finally, the package left.  It was on its way!

Next, the package took a five day pit stop in Indiana.  Do I live in Indiana?  No.  Do I live anywhere close to Indiana?  No.  Why did it sit there for five days?  I have no idea.

Then, it shipped to my local area.  Apparently, it came via Pony Express, because it took that long.  It arrived to my local area, but never came to my door!  Where was my package?  More importantly, where was Queen Elizabeth?

Ten days later, I was pissed.  I started making phone calls.  I needed that package within 24 hours!  And the queen, what about her???  The tracking info said it had arrived locally, but it never came to my house.  The company was eerily silent about the package.  On a whim, my sister and I happened to be near the postal loading dock annex that is approximately 10 minutes from my house.  My sister suggested that I go in, even though it doesn't even really have an office open to the public.  I went in some door, came to another door, and rang a doorbell.

A man that looked exactly like Moby opened the door.  I explained my predicament to him.  He told me that he didn't know anything about the package.  I then got out my handcuffs, chained myself to the mail sorting machine, and began chanting "Free the Queen!  Long live the Queen!  Free the Queen!  Long live the Queen!"

In the middle of the third round of my chant, a postal worker from the bowels of the annex piped up and asked my address.  It seems that the random postal worker knew about my package, and it was sitting in a corner.  10 minutes from my house.  FOR 10 DAYS.

Immediately, smoke began pouring out of my ears and I gave a new meaning to the term "Going postal."  I then cleared my throat, and in my best Patrick Swayze voice, shouted "NOBODY puts Lizzie in the corner!"

OK, so the sit-in and smoke things didn't really happen.  Neither did the Patrick Swayze thing.  What DID really happen was that I tossed that package under my arm like a football and sprinted out of there - only to find that my solar powered waving queen did not work!  To quote one of my Canadian friends, "Vot da hoont??"  She probably worked 10 days prior to my picking her up!!!!!!

After another very tersely worded email, a replacement queen was sent.  This time, rather than the Pony Express, the company used the Concord to deliver her.  And, without further ado, I present to you, HM Queen Elizabeth II.

Just like those fine people in Britain who get angry at the slow moving, antiquated ways of the monarchy, they take one look at their beloved leader, in her sensible shoes and her solar paneled purse, and all is forgiven.

It's good to have you home, Your Majesty.