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.

rest in peace

Final sea monkey update: A small wake was held today in classroom ###. Tragically, the surviving two sea monkeys did not in fact repopulate the earth, but instead died when I over fed them. Those who loved them paid homage by writing up a scienific report complete with creepy little RIP headstones that will surely cause any administrator who passes them to judge me on at least some level, a hypothesis, predictions and the tragic conclusion.

I did not include the unintended variable of me being a dumb a** in the report, but let them think the sea monkeys died due to said water purity issue. I am living outside of the law, some might say.

thou shalt not covet

May the teeny tiny baby Jesus (with his baby Einstein videos) forgive me for so coveting this overpriced chair. I'm still working on finding a decent rationalization, I mean inexpensive alternative.

Goodnight weekend, hello new week. May I do all of the things that I always promise myself I'll do, like lay out my clothes and pre-make my lunches and work out every day. For the first time.

Looks like it is two more weeks 'till spring break. Unlike last year, in a different teaching situation, I am not holding onto my sanity with white knuckles, pleading with the universe so I can hold out for spring break...I actually miss the kids on our breaks. Really, I think the big perk is getting to stay in my jammies and drink wine with lunch.

And regarding the sea monkey update you asked for (or didn't)... Sea monkeys: surprisingly hearty. I teach an after school environmentalism program to help fight the black, sticky air that characterizes breathing in urban Dallas; we "hatched" sea monkeys, which are creepy little brine shrimp whose eggs can live in a sealed envelope for an undetermined amount of time. I really thought they died due to a catastrophous event regarding the purity of the water. It was around Valentine's day and I didn't want to break any hearts, I mean these monkeys had names. So, I put the sea monkey coffin deep in my dark pantry of secrets (i.e. that place where teachers put piles of stuff that they don't want anyone to know they are disorganized enough to have) and didn't feed them. Ever. When I finally showed the environmentalism club the blood bath so they could analyze the results of their experiement, pull out the cocktail sauce, those little guys actually lived! Well, two of them. It's kind of like that movie 28 Days Later, actually. I'm hoping the two will find eachother and repopulate their earth. Soon, before I forget to feed them again.

Teachers know everything. Really. We do.

here kitty, kitty

It is 11:37 pm and I just submitted my assignment, meaning that I am a mere 23 minutes from the ultimate doom and professor judgement of being late AND getting a zero. According to my computer clock and my class syllabus, I just spent over two hours on....four points. My internal clock is unfortuantely registering at 7,642 minutes, a testament to the relativity of time. So to sum up, we are looking at 2 points an hour...or, 3,281 divided by 60 (no time left for math now).

Suffice it to say, I wasted (or generously donated?) a 1000 dollars this week, because that's how much money the class I decided to drop costs, and at 2 hours per class point on a good day, heck if I could complete the nine hours I'm enrolled in with any shread of life balance left flapping in the breezes. Something had to give. Something gave. My bank account gave. Probably a little piece of my reputation as a graduate student gave. Here's to living off of the future. LaChaim!

Also in the "living off of financial aid" category is the fact that I had a fabulous Container Store adventure in shopping this morning and a subsequent trip to Salvation Army where I officially became a bag lady for 2.99. Or a teacher. The point is, I am now offically sporting a rusted wheely cart with a box of student papers hugged snuggly by a used bungee cord that has been God knows where. I am one step closer to denim jumpers and cardigans with apples and plus signs. And probably a lot of cats.

Have you...

downloaded this book yet? It is on itunes. Most times, books aren't interesting enough to me to LISTEN to; I have to actually have the book in front of me b/c I'm eternally destracted. We're talking learning styles, here, people.

But, this book is THAT good. I don't know if I'm ready to say Pema-good, but it is good.

For example...
"The more you make your beliefs your identity, the more you are cut off from the spirituality inside yourself."

"The transormation of consciousness is arising, to a large extent, outside of the structures of institutionalized religions."

This moment is the perfect teacher

"This moment is the perfect teacher." -Pema Chodron

I've been listening to lots of Pema, still. The wisdom that keeps floating by as I continue to remember and forget and remember forget is surprisingly simple: stay. I used to listen to Pema because then I would FEEL better. I journaled, because then I would FEEL better. Just hold on, I tell myself- Soon, you will FEEL better. I'm trying to get away from that; instead, to feel what I feel. To go into the discomfort, like facing the monster in a dream. The difference, ironically, in how I feel is shocking to me.

Of course, I continue to forget. And remember. And forget...

It is easy to forget when I've been so busy!! I know where my time is going! I'm doing two after-school programs, and teaching Saturday school is around the corner...I'm in a full time load of graduate courses (sort of by accident, long story)...unpacking, because we moved two blocks two weeks ago. The reason we've moved two blocks is because we got a new little dog that kept showing up in front of my classroom window and asked me to take him home, and our old apartment is a two-pet place (picures & super cute story forthcoming)...AND, I've been doing extra sleeping, because I keep getting the same sinus infection over and over after 3 rounds of anti-biotics...Am I allergic to Dallas? Is it the old building I'm working in? I've never been sick so many times in a row, although overall, I'm much sicker in Dallas anywyas than I was before I moved here. It's supposed to be a big allergy city.

I keep saying to myself, "Get through this too-busy time, and then you can get back to what life is all about." My lesson has been that life is with me in whichever moment I happen to be in...this moment is the perfect teacher. Instead of wishing for summer to be here, this moment is the perfect teacher. With my head and a humidifier huddled under a towel, this moment is the perfect teacher. Not getting to drink the wine I bought yesterday because the cork screw is in an unknown box somewhere...this moment is the perfect teacher. Giving up the idea of having A's in all of my classes b/c it would take the last shred of my life balance...this moment is the perfect teacher. My financial aid check being 6 weeks late...this moment is the perfect teacher.

It's easy to be thankful for these new moments: Sitting in front of our new fireplace...drinking coffee on our new little patio...watching our dogs play at the PARK we now live ACROSS THE STREET from!!!...how the litter robot has changed our lives (Do you have a cat? You HAVE to buy this!!! http://www.litter-robot.com/ )...Valentine's Day party with 2nd graders who might as well have been walking around with mountain dew I.V. drips...Oh, we got a new car, which I'm thankful for, although there will remain a place in my heart for our Scooby Doo van...and of course, uanbashadly abusing the ellipses... ... ... ...

Did anyone else cry like sad drunk at the Nanny Diaries? Man, I wanted to grab that little rich kid and hug him.