My Mom Jeans

This probably isn't worth writing an entire blog post about but oh well. Since having Alice, my old pants, my hip-hugging, low-rise jeans don't quite 'fit' right. And when I say 'fit' I mean some of them don't button and some of them feel like what it probably feels like to be a sleeping bag bag. Trying to fit so much into such a small space.

I told myself that I just needed to lose the last pounds of my pregnancy weight and then they'd fit. Well I lost those pounds and guess what, they still didn't fit.

At first I was a little put off. That's annoying that just because I had a baby I now have bigger hips and I couldn't make them shrink back to the way they were before a bowling ball sized human went through them.

And then I thought, why would anything ever be the same after that? That's insane.

Here are what I would like out of my pants. Is this too much to ask? I don't think so.

I need jeans I can sit down in without my intergluteal cleft showing, or having them slide halfway down my butt.
I need jeans that let me dance.
I need jeans that don't hinder me chasing tiny baby feet.
I need jeans in which I can bend over and pick up the same thing a thousand times.
I also need jeans that make my butt look good, or like I still have a butt.
I would like jeans in good washes and with a little bit of built in wear and tear.
I would also like jeans I can take a nap in and lay on the floor in, and do other lethargic things in.

So then I went to a store and found me some jeans that didn't make me feel like stuffed sausage. Now some would classify these as mom jeans. Well that's fine cause I'm a mom, but that doesn't mean that only moms can wear jeans that fit and stay on and fill the above requirements.

So can we stop calling them mom jeans. Because I think the regular jeans would be offended that nobody really likes them or needs them anymore. And that's just sad. Why would you make the jeans feel bad like that? What did they do to you? Just let the regular, crappy, not fitting well jeans live, okay?

Let's just call them all jeans.

Did I make Tyler take a bunch of pictures of me in my new jeans solely for this post? Yes.
Do I look like a fool? Yes.
But do I look good in these jeans? Yes.


       
When I don't know what to do sometimes I do the 'can-can.' Poorly.
I call this one, 'Did the modeling agency call yet?' 
And this one, 'I'm just me, being me. No pictures. Okay, you can take one picture.

       
This was part of the 'do something fun so you look fun' idea.

Are you tired of these pictures yet? Cause there are more. 

Tyler said, "Do a toe-touch!" Nailed it.

"I've got the runs."

Students tend to tell a lot of little white lies in order to get what they want out of school and out of their teacher. They want to do what they want to do, when they want to do it. And sometimes they think the best way to do what they want is to lie about the reason why they want what they want. Here is a list I’ve compiled of actual lies* students have told me. Some of them were told to other teachers and then shared with me. Seriously, these are things students actually said. I’m serious.
  • I left my textbook in my other class. (Meanwhile, said textbook is under the student’s desk)
  • I left my textbook in my other class. (said at a time when we weren’t even using the textbook.
For some reason not having everything you own, makes you incapable of doing any work whatsoever)
  • I left my pencil in my other class
  • I left everything I own in my other class, including my honesty
  • I need to go to my locker.
  • I need a drink
  • I need another drink
  • I’m hungry
  • Can I go to the bathroom?
  • I have to go take a picture of the clouds for my science class
  • I don't have any tissues
  • My hands are sticky
  • My friend needs me to bring them a pencil
  • I have to go practice my (musical instrument) during this period
  • I have to go practice my (sport) during this period
  • My mom is here
  • My sister/brother/cousin/brother’s wife’s aunt is here
  • Mr./Mrs. Other Teacher asked me to see them during this period
*I understand some of these may have been true at some point. Actually, probably not. Most of these can be remedied while staying in my classroom, because most of these are lies. What the student is really saying is “Dear lord, get me out of here, even if it’s only for a few minutes!”

But there was one time, when I believe the student may have been telling the truth. Which makes this story mortifying. At least, if he wasn’t telling the truth, he couldn’t come up with anything better, and that makes this story hilarious.

The student was one who often lied about nearly everything. He lied about why he was late. He lied about why he didn’t turn in assignments. He lied to other people about what happened in my class. I mean, all the time, he lied.

So this particular day, when he raised his hand to call me over, I was prepared for a lie.

“What, Eddie?”

He wagged at me with his finger and motioned for me to lean down close to him, as he clearly didn’t want others to hear what he was about to say.

“May I go to the bathroom again?”

He had already gone this period.

“Uh…sure.” 

I don’t usually limit bathroom breaks.

“I’m sorry. I know I already went. I just…I…I’ve got the runs real bad.”

“Oh. Dear…uh, my, goodness. Um yes, please go then.” (read: What the ****?)

What possessed him to tell me that he had a fluid poop situation in his pants? Maybe he thought I wouldn’t believe that he had to go to the bathroom twice? Maybe he thought I wouldn’t let him go?

If he learned anything from forcing himself to tell his teacher that he was about to be sitting in a puddle of poop, it is to not establish a reputation of lying. I’m sure that’s what provoked him to tell me that.


He’d built up this whole reputation for lying about every little thing. Then when he really needed someone to believe him he crossed the line.

Or maybe the runs was the next best lie he could come up with. I guess that's between him and the toilet.

Dear basketball...

Dearest basketball,

That is what Tyler so affectionately calls you these days, as he (and I) can still hardly believe that you're actually a tiny human.

No offense, but are you real? It seems easy to imagine you actually being here: growing up, playing, being weird. But it feels impossible to imagine that the you we see playing with us some day is the same you that lives below my ribs.

It's strange to imagine the day we "bring you home" even though you've been home with us this whole time. You've been here watching Netflix and basketball games, having dessert, riding bikes, and slowly snuggling your way in between us.

I feel like if there is something, or someone, growing inside my belly I should know that someone pretty well. But we don't know each other at all. It seems like we like the same foods. And I'm basing this on the fact that I think your signal of agreement or satisfaction from inside there is kicking your legs from one side of my belly to the other. You do this when I eat ice cream and pizza and fries. Although this could be your signal of disgust or disdain. If this is the case, I don't think we'll need to worry about stealing from each other's plates once you can eat solid foods. And if you don't like those foods, I'm not sure we're even related. But we can deal with that later.

That's all for now. See you never, it seems.

-The person you're living inside.

Smoothie Pants

This is a story I tell my students in order to encourage them and make them feel better about all of the terrible things that happen to you when you're a teenager. And all the terrible things that still happen to you when you're an adult, despite your efforts to prevent them.

And it goes like this.

Generally on a school morning, I zombie myself to the bathroom to get ready while Tyler hits snooze several times. Then as I dress by the light of my phone flashlight, Tyler zombies out of bed and goes upstairs to make my breakfast and lunch. I know what you're thinking--that is so sweet of him. And the worst of me, because how lazy am I that I can't make my own meals? The answer is v lazy. It is v sweet of him, but it's also because if he didn't I would legitimately waste away slowly and be shriveled into nothing by graduation.

Generally, lunch is one of three: oatmeal, PB&J, granola bar.
Breakfast is also one of three: toast, cereal, smoothie.

On this particular morning, Tyler made me PB&J for lunch and a smoothie for breakfast. He was especially tired so I sent him back to bed with a kiss and a spank.

I sat at the table drinking my smoothie. I suddenly remembered that I had forgotten to grab chapstick (it's a necessity and an addiction). I promptly stood up from the table and as I sidestepped out of the bench my pants caught the tablecloth and began to rip it from it's resting place on the table. I foresaw the disaster with my psychic-like abilities and froze in just enough time so that the smoothie glass didn't move.

"That was close, self," I told myself as I made a mental note not to do that again.



I came back from retrieving the chapstick and continued to enjoy my smoothie. As happens frequently in the morning time and throughout most of my day, I remembered something else I needed to take to work with me that day. I leapt from the bench and quickly sidestepped out of the table. I know what you're thinking, "NOOOOO, the TABLECLOTH! the SMOOOOOTHIE!"

I'm sorry to say that my mental notes often get written on a notepad in my brain titled 'Forgettable' and are promptly forgotten. So I think you know how the rest of this story is going to go.

It looked like a magic trick gone wrong. The one where the magician pulls the tablecloth out from under all the stuff with not so much as a wiggle from the items on said tablecloth and everyone at the table cheers and throws money and flowers at the magician. Yeah, it didn't exactly go like that.

Magic trick from David Ginn Magic-check out his YouTube channel!

And so where do you think the smoothie went? I'll put it in list form in order to speed this up a bit.
There were smoothie smatterings on all of the following in varying quantities:
  • table
  • tablecloth
  • bench
  • pants
  • shirt
  • inside of my shoes
  • floor
And in the process of trying to stop the catastrophe midair:
  • cabinets
  • countertop
  • various rugs
  • sink (which sounds like it would be a positive thing, but at this point it really wasn't)
I stood there, smoothie-clad and fuming and didn't know what to do first. So I laughed. I laughed at how stupid it was that I had mentally informed myself not to do something and then did that exact thing. I didn't have time to change so I wiped myself down and ran out the door. Smoothie pants and all. 

And you know what? The rest of the day was fine. Better than fine actually. I got to see hundreds of my students (a.k.a. best friends, their words, not mine) and they didn't care that I had smoothie pants. I got to teach, and be creative and come home to my wonderful husband who makes me meals. 

One day, despite all your efforts to make your life perfect, you will have smoothie pants. And you know what? It will be fine. It might not be fine in that moment or for a lot of moments after that, but eventually it will be okay. And no one will care that you made a mistake, or forgot something, or weren't perfect for a little while. It will be okay, and that's what really matters. And life is better lived believing that one day it will be okay. 

Karate Kick your Face off

And that's pretty much all this post is about.
I have serious RBF. See below:
Also, rat-tail. 

This was a selfie. Obviously I hate the mirror. 

Taking engagement photos. Blurry, but it's still clear what my face is saying.


This was a cheerful day, I promise.

Okay, maybe not. Too many to be a fluke.

Until you see me laugh, this is what you'll most likely get from me. And you probably just think I hate you. And not just you, but everything about you. Clothes, face, voice, personality. Because that's what my face says. And it says it hard.

But what lies underneath that cold, unforgiving exterior is a really funny, fun, laughter-filled, mostly cheerful person. The person that loves to laugh, and laugh loudly, is who I feel like most of the time. Even when I look like I'm about to karate kick someone's face off, I'm usually thinking of something that made me laugh recently, or plotting how to make everyone else laugh. 

Which leads me to believe that if you've never laughed with me, then you don't know me. All you know is that I am quiet (plotting jokes in my head), disinterested (trying to remember what was so funny the other day that made me {almost} pee my pants), and cold (people make me uncomfortable, okay?). 

But as you can see, parenthetically, I'm actually just trying to find a way to make you laugh and not sweat so much because I'm slightly uncomfortable. 

You may now officially change your mind about who you think I am. I am funny! I am nice! I love to laugh!  Here is some proof:

See! Laughing!

Smiling!

Chasing Geese!

That seems really sad that this post was just to make you think I'm not a stone cold Bey-oncé, but I guess that's all it is. Cool.