Friday, March 28, 2008


(All moms must blog in lag-time.)

So, we all gathered on Sunday to eat chickens and fertilize bunnies in the name of our saviour. Or to eat ham and the lasagna customarily contributed by my mom's Italian S.O. at every holiday. (Christmas? I'll make a lasagna! Memorial Day? I'll bring the 'zagna! Rosh Hoshanna? LA. SA. GNA!!) I actually ate two Easter feasts, and Wendy received two Easter baskets, because we went to both Carl's and my mom's houses. Yay jelly beans and chocolate!

They had plastic eggs hidden around the back yard of my mom's for Wendy to find. By "hidden," I mean literally just tossed into the grass from the porch. Which works out, because, you know. She's one. When we released her into the yard, she went ape-shiest running around picking them up, yelling "BALL! BALL! BALLLLL!" Yes. My kid likes to yell about Balls.

Jaimie and Eddie are in town, which rocks. Wendy has spent a lot of time cozying up to her Aunt "Mimi," telling her secrets and talking about Barbies, or something. (Erin recently presented her little sister with some of her own leftover Barbies. Wendy promptly began a desperate, undying love affair with Barbie as I watched all of my visions of her future as a drummer in a punk/metal band float out the window.)

On Thursday, I took the kids to the park so Jaimie could deal with some of the homework she has to do over her break. I like this park. The wide open lawns combined with the extreme shortness of my baby's legs make for good odds that I will catch her when she takes off. Which she does often. I was looking forward to bringing Eddie here, because of the pirate-ship themed playground. He was very excited about it, until he found this pile of leaves, where he spent about forty-five minutes "burying himself up" and putting leaves on Wendy's head. Hey, whatever. I like leaves.
Happy Almost-Spring, everybodies!!

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

I Covet Thy Contract.

There is something vaguely humiliating about being a substitute teacher.

It's somewhere in the way teachers lock their desk drawers to protect their bags of lifesavers and granola bars from you. It's in the over-friendly, high-pitched voices of the faculty when they unexpectedly pop in on you to see if you need anything, when you really know that they're making sure you're not on the classroom computer. It's in the girl's bathroom stalls, where you have to pee because only real teachers have keys to the grown-up bathroom or even know where it is. So there you are, perched on the kids' toilet, butt cheeks hovering only a fraction of an inch above the stall divider, which is the only thing between you and Taylor/Tori/McKenzi's loud proclamations of "OH MY GOD SHE JUST SUCKS AT TEACHING AND SHOULD JUST GET LAID ALREADY," and you are so glad you spent five years in college for this.

It's a slight, invisible wave of smug that comes when barely-interested teachers ask what your "Cert" is in, and then sadly inform you that their school is not hireing, their school has all the teachers they need. Or this momentary pause when you interject something into the conversation around the desks pushed together in some classroom where you were invited for lunch. This pause during which the other teachers remember that you are there, and try unsuccessfully to humor whatever insignificant thing you said.

Maybe I'm being paranoid, because now is the first time since I graduated that I even want to be a "real" teacher. I want the delicious comittment of a contract and the marvelous medical benefits and the keys to their snooty "lounge," which, far from being a magical place of candy and beer, really only contains ugly couches, a greasy microwave, and forty thousand copies of Where the Red Fern Grows. Maybe that's why I suddenly feel like a poser. I want my own horrible spawn to teach!

Oh, for the days of breezing in, doodling stick figure flip-books into their post-it note pads, and breezing out, thinking, "HA! These suckers have to do this every day."

Thursday, March 13, 2008

Dukus Jerk-Assus

Because he ate our dinner last Thursday night.

Not just one delicious herb-roasted pork loin, but two. Two delicious herb-roasted pork loins, minus the four medalion-sized slices that I had just carved away. Four slices that I was carrying on a plate, along with the baby, the baby's dinner, the baby's juice and my bottle of beer. Probably waited and slunk in just after I passed by, nudging the gate aside and horking them down his doggy throat while I was distracted. TWO!! TWO PORK LOINS!!!

And. Carl had worked extra late that night, and was extra hungry and deserving of a delicious porky feast. He came home to discover this travesty approximately four minutes after it occured.

Oh, the humanity.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008


Today I was in the teacher's lounge, sitting around the lunch table with a gaggle of teachers, enjoying the comeraderie of talking teachery stuff. My mind started wandering once they started discussing some tax issue having to do with the conflict between the contract year and the fiscal year blarg blahdeee blah. The mental trip to Walmart that I was taking and the list of all the things I planned to purchase there was interrupted as a few phrases trickled in:

Turtleneck Teacher: They just aren't renewing his contract.
Big Hair Teacher: Because he's eighty-one.
Turtleneck Teacher: Yup. Hopefully they'll convince him to retire gracefully before they have to just phase him out.
Bright Yellow Tie Teacher: Yeah, the guy deserves some dignity. Eighty-one.
Me: What does he teach?
Teachers: ......
Big Hair Teacher: Oh. No. We're talking about this pro baseball coach.
Me: Oh.
Teachers: *snicker*
Over-Axe-Body-Sprayed Teacher: It's okay.
Me: Yeah. Not that I'm desperate for a job or anything.

....or meant to let it show.

Friday, March 07, 2008

Three things.

1. Beer is good. I haven't had any in a while, but Carl brought me some today because he loves me. Also because if he couldn't bring a scantilly clad brunette with a fetish for housework back from the booby bar, he'd better bring me something.

2. Rejection sucks. Especially if I am rejected by way of being not called. I just would have assumed someone would have called to say, "I know we just put you through three interview/auditions, but we've decided to go in a different direction. Thanks." The whole not calling thing is way worse than that might have been.

3. My baby is very cute, which makes a lot of sucky things better, and I love her very much:

Tuesday, March 04, 2008


I'm not that competative by nature. Not that I don't want to be the best; I just reject the notion that I really have to prove it. I don't need you to feel like you are second so I can feel first. I don't need makeup or sexy jeans to know that I'm sexy. I don't have the irrepressable urge to tell you everything I know about the fijords of New Zealand just so you know that I know it. I already know that I'm smart, I don't care if you know it or not. If you don't already know that you should watch out for me, I'm not going to clue you in. I pity you if you don't already see that I have won.

I reject the idea of having to prove anything to anyone.

Which may have been my problem. I don't think I sold myself hard enough. I don't think I looked like I wanted it enough. I am going with this, because even though I have stated otherwise, I find it impossible to believe that someone else was better suited for this job than me. That's just stupid.

In case you are wondering (if you don't already know), yes. I am this full of myself.

It's just a job. I will get another job. It's just...well, I've never actually applied for a job that I didn't get. I've never walked into an interview where they didn't automatically see that I was the one they were waiting for. Really, my people. I don't think I should have to endure this outrage.