cytoplasm

So get this. You know those little chocolate covered cherries? Not the ones with the white filling, but the clear, juicy filling? Total cell model. Well, at the little kid level. The chocolate is like the cell membrane. The cherry is of course the nucleus, and the juicy stuff is the cytoplasm. And, even though I've been stapling these little yummies to my tush for at least a couple of decades, I never gave thought to their name: Cellas. Cell, people! Coincidence? You may not care, but I think it's fabulous.

I think my kids really enjoyed this day. And holy, crap, I enjoyed teaching about cells, tissues, organs, systems. The jello you see is a cell model too, with a grape for the nucleus and a baggie that is the cell membrane. We used floam as a model for how cells stick together to create tissue...the tissue creates organs, so the kids shaped the floam into the important organs that we studied in their stations. It was a whole mess of fun.

Now, we are doing weather and the water cycle. I'm enjoying it, but a little intimidated to be writing the lesson plans because I'm the least experienced 2nd grade teacher on my team by about a hundred years. I'm the one who hearts the sciences and has a secret dream of being a zoo education curator one day. Something about loving it so much almost makes it harder, because I just want it to be great. And so I look and look and look and search and...the end result is that I've put TONS of effort in, but have only produced a very normal amount. I feel like I should add an addendum to my plans: "This may seem like a normal amount of work, but I have actually put 470 hours of research into this, and hopefully that will show next year." You know, some of that's my ego. Not until reading A New Earth (by Eckhart Tolle) did I realize how much of my being is focused on my need to have a career viewed as important, to be important, to be a helper, one who sacrifices for others. I'm not saying I have a disorder or am even unusual; I think this is very common and most of us have identities that we are very attached to, and it feels liberating to become more aware of it.

Part of my perfectionism is just loving it, though, and knowing how much fun my kids will have. But these days, life balance is pretty important to me, so I have to be able to produce in a smaller amount of time. I don't want to burn out, and most teachers burn out in less than five years. Yup. True fact. So, (my goal is) I put my heart and soul into it and work through my little personal quirks and egoic worries, but I put a time limit on it. Then, I go on to focus on the rest of life...NOT constantly thinking about work. I love my work and want to be in the moment when I'm there with these kids. I still can't believe I spend all day with them, and that is such a gift. But when I'm somewhere else, I need to really BE there.

what do me and paris hilton have in common?

Criminal records? Rich fathers? Racy home-made videos posted online?

No, no, no. According to People magazine (or something), it's cupcakes. According to my sources, she only eats celery and Bacardi, no cupcakes. But, hey.

Sprinkles cupcakes are made with special vanilla from Madagascar, and they also use a whole mess of sustainable crap in their business practices. There's one in Beverly Hills, one somewhere in Arizona, and you guessed it: one in Dallas. Of course. If there is anywhere that isn't Beverly Hills but would like people to think it is, that's Dallas. Fine by me, though. People smell like Chanel, and I really like that since I can't afford my own. And the cupcakes are good.

Although red velvet is undoubtedly the best because of it's simple indescribable mmmmness, I like to branch out. Yesterday, I had the strawberry, and so did B. When we opened the box, we had to ask ourselves if we wondered into the wrong place. You know, er, a place of the novelty sort.
Stop thinking that.

my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard

Saw a caterpillar at my friend, Liz's, school. She teaches 2nd, too. But bilingual, fancy.
Sam, being himself. This is when we first got him, and he had to wear a sweater bc parvo made him skinny and cold.
We get to make fires now!

during the time that i lost my camera cord....

Did the whole Halloween-thing. Took Preston to a community pumpkin festival.


Made wassail. Loved Christmas. Man, I love Christmas. B and I don't buy eachother presents for holidays, usually, but we celebrate things, and it is always special. I love the way we do that.


Found this dog at work. Ignored his greasy, yet cute self. Dog jumps all over my students, who are standing by the fence at recess. Of course, they LOVE this. If you ever had to stand by the fence at recess, first of all, shame shame shame. Second, you know that it is not supposed to be fun.

A few days later, dog, still hanging out at my work, gets VERY sick. B and I take him home to get better, but first we take him to the vet so that we know he won't get our other animals sick. The idea is to pay to get him better and fixed, give him a bath and adopt him out, which should be easy because people like little dogs. At the vet, they tell us that he actually has parvo (which is apparently VERY bad), and we have two choices: put him to sleep, or pay somewhere in the neighborhood of a thousand dollars to keep him on iv's for several days, the only chance of him fighting it. What did we do? Well, first there was some drama. But, here is who later become known as Sam on an i.v. at the vet. He would not even lift his head.


Now, Sam is fast like this. All the time. A collective OMG from me, B, our other dog and especially our cat. And we got attached, really attached. This meant we had to move from our beloved apartment building with the much-loved courtyard that we went to almost every day (2 pet max). It turned out for the best, bc our new place is bigger, way cheaper, and the same same neighborhood that we really like. We are much closer to the katy trail now, and literally across the street from a beautiful community park that you can lay and read in and let your dog off the leash...Preston that is. We've explained that being the oldest comes with more privileges, but also more responsibilities. Now we have a little balcony, which I love and from where the cat stalks birds he could never get. A galley kitchen, which I'm getting used to. My favorite thing is all of the wild life that hides away, right in the city (well, not the city, city...I like to see sky scrapers, not be in them): birds, squirrels, and in the early, dark morning, a raccoon! He was on the roof, right across the way from our balcony, giving our cat the evil eye. It was intense, very sharks and jets.


And here is some of that celebrating I talked about. Mmmm. Cheese.

sam i am

So how fun is this? I, shockingly, have not found my camera cord. Well that isn't the fun part, but if you see it let me know. I've wanted to upload pictures of new family member Sam, but all of the cute/uglyness is stuck on my camera. Then today we all walked just forever because it was absolutely beautiful out. We ended up at a Starbucks to relax, and this woman fell in love with Sam, took a picture and then actually emailed it to me like six hours later! How fun.

So, here you have him: Sam I Am. So named due to his incessant ways.

It was such a great day. Walked forever and ever on the Katy trail. Then, went to visit my brother and took him on a walk. Made a new tentative baby-making plan. Did I mention we decided we want to make babies? I know. Me! It is this whole big living life to the fullest story. Not that I think you have to make babies to live life to the fullest; no, I'm all about not following conventions just for the sake of them (or NOT following just for the sake of NOT following, for that matter). I think B and I have just grown and realized that our not wanting kids had something to do with not taking those kinds of risks, etc.

So, since you asked: Tentative plan is to wait until B starts first year of residency...So, that means conceiving not this August and not the next, but the next. We set up a plan so that I won't have to work, in case the primal urge NOT to drop my baby off overtakes me and I demand that we live off of government cheese so that we can financially survive. I don't know if you've heard, but the annual salary for a medical student is zero dollars, and residents really don't make much more than that.

Instead of registering, we're just asking for velvet paintings, home-made ashtrays and nascar memorabilia.

too scattered for paragraphs

-Had a solo lunch at Taco Diner today. Read my book, ate fish tacos. Enjoyed the solitude.
-Finished Jennifer Weiner's 'Good in Bed.' Now, I'm onto 'Little Earthquakes.'
-Watched birds on my bird feeder, like the nerdy-a** nerd that I am. I have a bird book now from Half Price Books, and I highlighted and tabbed the birds I've seen. On a realistic note, what a loser am I? On a more serious note, it reminds me of watching birds with my grandma when I was a little girl. Chickadee. Bobwhite. The elusive hummingbird or blue bird. It's kind of special. Love those memories.
-It was BEAUTIFUL here today! Just beautiful. Took a looong walk with B and the dogs along the walking trail near our house.
-Talked about how great it will be when they finish lighting the trail, especially with the hot Texas summers. It will be nice to take long walks after dark.
-Walked to a frozen custard place.
-Preston got loved on by some kids. He likes that.
-Trash Can Sam didn't, so much. Poor dirty-looking little fraggle.
-Ate dinner in Deep Ellum, the only place where there is no wait on weekend nights. You pay for it in the parking, though. Had wheat beer. Tasted like summer.
-Finally realized who the bartender reminds me and my husband of: the bartender from the Shining. It was one of those, "OHHH," moments. And kind of creepy another time, another place-ish. You know.
-Going to Sprinkles tomorrow. You don't know love until you've had those cupcakes. so. good. No, so good!

and when i see you, i really see you upside down

Lyrics from Dath Cab for Cutie's "A Lack of Color." It's what I'm currently listening to. Take that, Xanga.

You know, in yoga, they say we hold emotions in our hips. I have also read that tight hip muscles are the main underlying issue leading to knee pain. Now, isn't that interesting? As I have whined on here for, years actually, I have chondromalacia (fancy pants talk for arthritis before you are 30) in my knees. This keeps me from my old hobby of running, my lame excuse for getting fatter, yada, yada, whine, whine. Well, it was a hobby to me.

Interesting flakey fact number one is that I have a history of being totally unaware of negative feelings, and I've started wondering, "where did they goall those years?" Were they in my hips? (Yeah, I know it's weird.)

I was the "it's no big deal" girl, and I didn't even know it. I just thought I was accepting and forgiving. You know, I have this very spiritual, interesting friend who is an Episcopalian priest; one day he gave me a Buddhist book on anger, and I was totally surprised bc I never ever acted angry. Ever. I was a little offended; yet, when I read the book, it became clear to me that I was angry about a whole mess of crap. I just didn't really know it.

For me, I think it was a form of rugged individualism...you know, that I would not be invested deeply enough that anyone or anything could actually have an effect on me. And I'm not going to get all weepy here, but I'm talking about some super serious stuff that I never knew even bothered me.

I think that book helped me accept the duality of feelings: You can forgive someone, but still have the pain and even some anger, bc that part is outside of our scope of control. And if you turn your head to those emotions, they don't go away, they just change in form. Since I've been more awake to this, I'm continually surprised at what feelings feel like! Case in point, I have a friendship that sort of fell apart almost a year ago. No, I'm not in middle school; turns out, this happens with grownups, too. My point: I am actually shocked that sometimes I still feel sad/hurt. Okay, so on occassion, this initially comes out as Mean Girls-esque judgement; I'm straight up human. But still, I'm shocked by the lingering nature of the whole thing, and I don't think it had a lot to do with the details of the relationship. Rather, that is what it's actually like to be invested in another human and to then get hurt. A few years ago, I would have reacted with full indifference.

My point here is, look at me growing! I am so less repressed than I once was.

Excuse my stream of consciousnes, by the way. Day in the life of a random processor. Barbecue.

hey jealousy

I am jealous of xanga's "currently" this and that feature. Bah. Reminds me of how I feel about totally thin women who I cannot secretly judge on any level bc they're also nice, funny and smart: it's so unfair. Like xanga users, I also want to opportunity to define myself by my book and song choices. Henceforth (that's right)...

currently reading

Sometimes I like to think all deep-like. I'll say that above a whisper, because in some circles it is at least a little ego-gratifying. What I'm less likely to admit is that often I dream in pale pink toe nail polish and shades of estrogen. Tell the non-makeup wearing, cheerleader judging teenager that is my former self and I will deny it. I like chick flicks. I like chick lit. I have seen Mean Girls and Bridget Jones Diary a bazillion times, and for the love of God, "nobody puts Baby in a corner."

As if you need more ammunition, I own 13 Going on 30. And Three Men and a Little Lady? Hands down, one of the best sequels of all time. I am only a little ashamed to admit this.

I love it all in the way that if I could actually draw a little mid-sentence heart right here on the computer screen in place of the word love, I would hasten to do so. Jennifer Weiner is the goddess of contemporary chick lit, if you ask me. I'm on a re-read-a-thon, in prep for her newest, which is coming out in April. This is unprecidented for me, because I am not a re-reader, unless we are talking about the nutritional data for Cadbury Cream Eggs, which I keep hoping will change for the better. They are NOT creepy!

also currently reading


Of course, I'm also reading A New Earth, with my super functional little highlighter posty thingy that was rightly featured on Oprah. Have you seen that thing? Genious.

Anyways, I'm always reading something spiritual/metaphysical like this, so it's nothing totally new, but apparently a big deal; over a million people have downloaded the video class she and Eckhart Tolle are having online. I watched it. It's very good, and I can't believe it is on the Oprah show, honestly. It is anything but mainstream, and I think a lot of people see her as a Disney-boycotting Baptist. Just the other day, I was at at a teacher training. This is in Texas, mind you..the actual buckle of the Bible belt, where at another training a facilitator once announced "Hey, ya'll, it's alright to just say 'Amen,'" to which about 3 people in western-wear raised their right arms and let out a drawl-infused chorus of, "Ay-meein." At this particular session, I eavesdropped onto one girl telling another girl, "I like Oprah, but I just don't get how she reconciles living with Stedman. I mean, she is a woman of faith."

I said nothing, because like my mom said, my mouth gets me in trouble. And in Texas, you can take that to the power of about three.

Once, when I worked for a college newspaper my freshman year (in TX), I wrote an editorial entitled "Does Common Sense Stop at the Red River?" (That would be the river that makes the Northern-most border of TX) Really. With my picture next to it. In a conceal and carry state. I know.

so our new place has a patio...

My coffee and I sit and listen to the birds, waiting for drops to finally sink away from the bloated clouds overhead, changing our morning party into something else entirely.

Fat Riley, my cat, stares intently through the windowpane, carefully eyeing the teasing finches perched on the swaying bird feeder. His puffed-up tail shakes in a seizure-like manner, and I imagine he is making the spastic clicking sound he produces when in full-on hunting mode. Occasionally, Trash Can Sam, our 12-pound rescue puppy who no amounts of expensive human shampoo can make pretty, jumps hyperactive circles around him, a beckon to play.

Aesthetically, Sam is something between a disheveled Fraggle and Kramer from Seinfeld. Once homeless, he used to run around outside the classroom where I teach, until I finally took him home. People said things like, “He may be ugly now, but he’ll be so cute once he’s had a bath.” And those who continued to know us both undoubtedly feel awkward when they see him again; as it turns out, that was just the way Sam looked.

Riley has no interest in playing, so Sam cheerily humps him, the one thing that always gets Riley’s attention. Finally, the birds are free to snack in relative peace as Fat Riley and Trash Can Sam are engaged in matrix-like war-fare on the other side of the glass.

I'm a genie in a bottle, baby.

My mother, who had me at 19, said that when I was in-utero, she carefully developed two life goals for me, two very important blessings she felt she had never had. Goal #1: May fetus grow to have longs legs. At 5 feet, 1 and ½ inches, she had apparently grown weary of standing on her tippy-toes and of walking two steps for everyone else’s one. And, she thought, it would be endlessly easier to shop for jeans.

Trite by some standards, but undoubtedly superior to any self-unattained goal I might have concocted had I been approaching parenthood at 19…Content-wise, that is; the goals themselves would have been top quality, by my most pop-psychology standards at least. By then, I had taken and dropped enough community college classes and watched enough Oprah shows to know that goals must be specific and framed into discrete periods of time.

For example: May said hypothetical child learn to shotgun cans of beer without turning nostril into power hose, by the age of 19. Very good goal, and I can tell you from unglamorous experience, very useful. Imaginary love-child goal #2: May said hypothetical child drunk dial, in hysterical Britney-esque fits of laughter and singing, less than 4 ex boyfriends between the hours of 2 and 4 a.m. on the average Saturday, by the age of 19. Definitely blessed with A+ goal-making abilities; really should have kept showing up to class. And it’s a good thing I never got pregnant.

Mom must have rubbed the right Genie’s lamp -or whatever they’re calling it these days- because her wish was granted. Atop painstakingly painted and then thoroughly worn and neglected nails and french-fry toes I happen to think endearing are two long legs, stretching up to my insidiously descending butt.

Unfortunately for mom (and some might say me), she neither took nor dropped enough community college classes by then to know about the specific and time-frame rules. If she had, she may have reframed her long-legs goal like this: May future child have consistently shaven size 4, 6 or 8, long slender legs, with less than 20% body fat and less than ten bruises and scars per leg, every day, forever- not just on the yo part a yo-yo diet.

The second goal was for me to be independent, but that is a whole other King Midas story.