Who Took Hold of My Shopping List?

One talent that I forgot to mention that young people have, is the use of humor.  I swear it is a survival mechanism for teens.  When I went to use the ladies at my coaches meeting, this is what was scribbled in sharpie on the back of the stall door:

GROCERY LIST

1. marajuana

2. ciggs

3. alkohol

4. pillz - all kinds

5. cofee

I was laughing so hard thinking of the clever girl that remembered to include caffeine in her list of addictive substances.  Also, she forgot eggs.  

There were some really funny kids at my high school.  I remember once, the state basketball championship was being held at our gym.  One of our teachers was an excellent baritone, and he sang the National Anthem before the game.  (Also, for those interested, he was a jerk.)  His rich voice resonated throughout our beautiful, sun-lit field house, and everyone was silent as we watched him perform. 

Now, all Marylanders are vewwy cawwful when listening to, or singing our National Anthem, because at the Orioles games, when the words "Oh!  Say does that star-spangled banner yet wave..." are sung, everyone in the stadium shouts "OH!" as a salute to the OH-rioles.

Unfortunately for a classmate of mine, he forgot to control the spirit, and in the middle of the song, you guessed it, he sprang up from the bleachers and screamed "OH!" at the top of his lungs.  What was even funnier than that was the army of administrative brass that clamored up into said bleachers and hauled him out of there by the scruff of his neck before the song was even over.  

Another classmate hijacked the VCR on a day when we had a substitute teacher in our British History class.  He had not told many kids in the class that he had done this (including myself).  The sub turned the lights down, and pressed play.  The copy of the tape was fuzzy, and it was hard to tell what was going on anyway.  I cocked my head one way, and the other.  Quiet chuckles started rippling through the class, as I was still thinking to myself "What IS that? I don't get it!"  WWWOOOAHHH!  Okay!  In the split second that I determined (along with the other dingbats in the class) that what I was watching was PORN, the sub had pulled the plug on the AV setup and run to summon an assistant, someone, anyone from the office.  It was funny then, and it is still funny now.  I can honestly say that the only porn I've ever witnessed in my sheltered life was in class in high school!!!

The very best high school prank ever though, was pulled by a teacher - an a man that I consider a mentor, Mr.Des Corcoran.  He was an English teacher at school.  He had a thick Irish accent, and a good sense of humor.  His qualities as a teacher are too many to list here.  The row of desks that lined up next to the wall on the left-hand side of his classroom were on a geographical location that he named "Cockroach Lane."  The students that wanted to hide from him, or sleep, would sit in Cockroach Lane and rest their "Greasy Heads" against the yellow cinder block wall.  

One day, a student fell asleep in Cockroach Lane.  Even the bell signifying the end of the world (or at least it sounded that way - it was really for the end of class) did not rouse him.  As the next antsy class waited and wrestled in the hall, Mr. Corcoran looked outside and "shushed" them.  Quietly, quietly he had the first class tiptoe out into the hall.  And quietly, quietly he had the next class come in.  When the second bell rang, Mr. Corcoran began the class.  Rip Van Winkle The Younger woke up sometime during that class, embarrassed, gathered his things, and ran out.  Mr. Corcoran and the kids had a riotous laugh.  

There is room for humor in every part of our world.  I write often about the funny things that happen here at the house - but it's such a wonderful tool in the workplace, in our relationships, and in life!  It doesn't get much better than sharing a good laugh with someone.  Unless of course you are on a contraband shopping spree with the high school junior who was in the stall before me.

Have a great night!

Coming Home

We went to welcome our friend Will McCarthy home this week.  He had been in Afghanistan and Iraq for the past year, and his return brought him home via BWI on a military airlift.

Will was our next door neighbor when we were first married and we lived in Corpus.  As a mater of fact, on the first night ever that I spent alone as a navy wife, Mike was on a cross-country with Will.  Mike and Will were partners in flight school, and they were also winged together.  We have been able to keep in touch via email, as most navy folks do - but we had not seen Will since Maggie was a newborn.

We were really excited to be a part of his homecoming.  There is a national organization called Operation Welcome Home, which works to give service members a celebratory welcome when they land at a public airport.  So many men and women that come through these airports are on their way home to other places in the country - so when they arrive, they do not have family members waiting for them.  Operation Welcome Home members come to the airport two hours before a flight arrives.  They decorate the terminal and prepare sack meals for the hungry travelers.  When the soldiers and sailors walk out of customs, they are greeted by cheers and a tunnel of well wishers, thanking them, and shaking their hands.  It's really awesome.  You should see the looks on the faces of some of these young kids.  Each of them has a look of disbelief...some spring tears, others laugh and smile and shake hands, and others shyly press on.  Senior officers walk the tunnel...mothers and fathers that have been in our armed forces for nearly twenty years...and everyone is happy.  There is lots of hand shaking, high-fiving, fist pumping - and most of this interaction takes place between complete strangers.  We were so excited to be there.

Every homecoming that I've ever been a part of has taken place on a base, surrounded by friends and family.  Operation Welcome Home is a really wonderful idea, I think.  

I read in the news a story about a Facebook group that has evolved as a way to complain about folks in the military being labeled as heroes.  Apparently the back-lash group that has grown from that is much, much bigger.  I do believe that our service members are heroes, in the same way that I regard firefighters, policemen, and EMTs as heroes.  I think people that are willing to risk their own lives for the well being of someone else are truly heroic.  I can tell you that I know people in each of these fields, and the thing that amazes me most about these types of people is that they consider their jobs perfectly normal, and even mundane.  Although I think of their efforts as heroic, they do not.

When we arrived to meet Will, we walked into the terminal with another family.  Mike was on a trip, so it was just me and the kids.  I think I was mistaken for coming to meet a dad.  The other family that arrived with us was a dad and two kids.  We were chatting with them, and we learned that they were waiting for their mom, who had been in Iraq for a year.  The daughter was eight, and the son was five.  You know me...I started to cry as soon as the dad told me that he was waiting for his wife to come home.

Also, I'll never forget, of the 500-some faces that we saw come through those doors, one young woman who could not have been more than 22 years old.  In her khaki colored cammies she hauled her hefty backpack.  Her bleach blond hair was carelessly thrown up in a floppy bun.  She was tanned and freckled and wearing lip gloss.  Had she not been in Army fatigues, she could have doubled for Reese Witherspoon in Legally Blond.  That adorable young woman had been sweating it out in the desert, for us.

We are happy that Will is home safe and sound, and we continue to pray for all of our heroic friends, no matter where they work, no matter how far from home they must roam.

Here are the kids waiting and waiting.  We arrived pretty early.  The place was packed  by the time that the first of the two planes arrived.

This is the mom!!! You can see her husband on the left, her boy on the right, and her daughter behind her.
Here comes Will.  Kissing his mama...what a guy!

Thank you, Will!

Deja Voo-Doo...It's Magic!

I had been dreading today.  There was a lot going down today.  On paper, it was a little hairy:

1. Drop off "big kids" at school

2. Take "little kid" to Heather and Matt's

3. Go to podiatrist to have orthotics made finally

4. Acupuncturist (have I filled you in on that yet)?

5. Take detour to get kid crud removed from car at car wash

6. Get laughed at at car wash when I tell them "Fun Dip" powder stuck in cup holder was poured in NOT by one of the four kids, but by husband.

7. Pick up kids at 11:30 -it's a half day

8. Eat a pizza with kids

9. Head home with 7 kids.  It's conference day.  Heather and I are going to spilt a sitter.  Matt has a sinus infection and Mike's on a trip.

10.  Take big girls to their portfolio conferences.  I cried at each one.  My girls are not mine.  God has lent them to me.  Girls of grace (and apparently brains...as I said, they are not mine).

11.  Take big girls home.  

12.  Head back to school for Charlie's conference.  Yup.  He's God's too.  I just feed him-sleep him-hold him.  He's rockin' the pre-k all on his own.

13.  I make a mental note:  Holly Jean is definitely MINE.  (She rubbed the bathroom scale down today with Body Glide (the stuff athletes use).  HOW?  WHAT?  WHEN?  

14.  Back home.  Get girls and go to Irish Step.

15.  Back home.  Drop off girls and go to coaches meeting for lacrosse.

16.  9 PM  Back home.

So here's what happened when I drove up to Old Mill HS for the Anne Arundel County Parks and Rec Coaches certification:

1.  I was in the car alone, behind the wheel (smile), at rush hour.  I was driving to a high school.

Guess what I did for seven years of my life?  I drove in rush hour traffic to a big public high (and middle) school.

It was really weird.  I never drive in rush hour traffic, because that is when I am feeding my kids.  I never drive at night, because Mike hates how I drive, so if we go out, he always drives, and we usually  hang in Naptown.

So...when I get to the high school, I am very happy, and my hands are shaking little bit.  I walk through the big, heavy, industrial royal blue doors, and I smell that "teen spirit"!  I look at the posters, and the names, and the ugliness, and the craziness, the torment and the joy, and I feel really free.  I head to the auditorium, and I see some coaching friends.  We sit together and whisper through the lectures.  We leaf through papers, and write down phone numbers, and in the back of my head, I am remembering how much I loved being a teacher.

I loved everything (mostly) about my job.  The things that I did not like had to do with adults, so that doesn't count.  I loved being in class, and planning lessons, and reading work, and helping kids write, and teaching them to read and do research.  I also helped some kids to learn to read for pleasure.  I really loved the variety of talent that I witnessed each day at my job.  From the peal of a trumpet in the basement, to the crack of a soaring ball, to a freakishly cool doodle on the margin of a paper - when you teach "big kids" you really witness that unabashed talent that each one of us possesses.  

Do you remember your talent?  Do you see a talent in your child?  One that might have nothing to do with you? One that might be something of his or her own?

Being in that big old school reminded me of my days in the classroom - that was a time of my life that I really loved, and I feel I will return to.  It's some serious Voo Doo Magic when you walk into a dirty old public building where you have never been, and you feel a complete thrill.

Today was a FUN day for me.  Other than my schedule, I did not micromanage one thing.  I didn't do a dish, fold a pleat, or tell anyone what to do.  Today's big routine was a break from the routine...and I really loved it.  Tomorrow, the kids have off of school, and we are off to see Hotel For Dogs.  WHAT A LIFE!!!

Good Night!

Makes Sense

We're livin' in a freaky world, and I have decided to allow folks to read the blog by invitation only.  I am able to allow up to 100 people to read the blog, which should be plenty.  If you'd like me to allow you access to the Wheel, please leave a comment and let me know, and I'll put you on the access list.  You can just send me an email, too, if you'd like to be on the "allowed" list.

If you receive the blog because I have you on my automatic send list  (my family and a few of you pals) you'll keep getting it, and if you've mentioned to me that you like it, I'll make sure that you are on the "allowed" email list...but if you want to check in with me and just make sure, please do.  I think there are some of you that I don't actually have email addresses for.

Have a good evening, and thanks!

About Face!(Book)

This is a funny story.  

Facebook is so addictive.  I can not imagine having a blackberry and having Facebook.  That would be a bad idea for me. Facebook is fun!  It's like having a "yearbook" of your life come to life.  You can check it like you check your email, and that's kind of what I've been doing.  

I've been fantasizing lately about just taking a year off from the email, and seeing what it would be like.  I realize that that is impossible.  In an effort to Go Green, our school sends most communication home via email.  That's good, I think!   Since I don't watch television, my "news" comes from the internet too.  I realize that most of the things that classify as news are not really newsworthy.

I read today that the Denver Newspaper (I think it's called the Rocky Mountain Register?) will cease printing on Friday.  It's been around since the mid 1800s.  I guess in a green sense, that's progress.  I think of the paper that will no longer be wasted on the newspapers...but in a nostalgic sense, that progress is sad to me.  "Reading The Paper" is a time of leisure.  In my adult life, I've rarely had time to read the paper.  I know that that used to be a tradition for many families.  When  I was a teacher, I looked forward to Sunday mornings, when I could pour a coffee and gaze over the important and the mundane in my community.  We were able to read the paper when we had "Just Maggie" too...but then we just gave up.  

I want to save our newspaper.  The kids have been featured in it already a few times, and I think of their thrill in asking me to "Make Sure To Get A Paper!"  I've bought copies of papers on important days...our recent inauguration...the death of Pope John Paul II...the day that Princess Diana died...I've bought and saved these things for my children.  I bought and kept newspapers on the day that each of the kids were born, from the town where they were born.  I don't scrapbook or keep a diary, so saving the paper is a way to hold on to a sense of the times for our family.

I do NOT get our paper delivered to our home right now...but starting tomorrow, I will.  I look forward to summer days, sitting on the porch swing, and reading the honor roll of the local high school.  I guess I could read that, or the Yahoo!  headline, which is about Gweneth Paltrow's new website.  As we move forward as a society, sometimes it's important to take a step back.  Newspapers are wasteful.  They waste paper, and it takes time to sit and read them. After I fill our many recycling bins to the brim each week, I think I'll be able to laze and read the headlines guilt free.  It's a simple and wonderful pleasure - and it's a great way to keep abreast of what is going on in the community.

Okay...so I digressed regarding Facebook.  I am off of Facebook for Lent.  It's such a waste of time....but it's FUN too!  I do like it.  I just need to figure out a way to have it in my life as a fun thing.  Okay...so on Facebook, old friends look you up, and it's like you never lost touch.  Now, one thing that people chatter about is when your old boyfriends and girlfriends look you up.  Mike has been contacted by what seems like millions of adoring fans from his days of sowing his royal oats.  Or whatever you want to call it. Married women in their thirties have contacted him saying,  "Is this the Mike Burke that I used to ride the train with?"  "Mike Burke?  Is this you?  Do you remember me from work?"  "Mike Burke!  I am so happy to see you here!  I remember how cute and funny you were!"  Blah, blah, blah...BARF.  I think some of you nice ladies may actually be readers here...HI!  (Oh, COME ON...I'm kidding!!!  But I'm not kidding about the harem of adoring fans that has contacted Mr. Wonderful since he came on to FB.)

Now, I don't want to go as far  as to say that I was an ugly duckling...but being linked to, or defined by a male counterpart did NOT suit my personality in high school.  Think more "goofy girl."  Silly personality.  Annoying voice.  Flair for the fun, exciting and stupid.  Spent hours with carpool mates trying to "Catch Air" over the train tracks.  Preference to sharing beer and jokes in the basement rather than going to Hunt Cup...not prime dating material, but good enough to be a friend.  I did sometimes wish to be different than I was, but that's the way of the teenage girl.

So, when I finally DID score a boyfriend, I was really thrilled about it.  I dated a VERY NICE, cerebral, quazi-athletic, sweet guy.  He was my date to the senior prom, and I remember how much I missed him when he went to spend a summer completing the very important task of clearing trails for hikers in Washington State.  He broke up with me, of course, when I went away to college, and I was not happy about it.  Experiencing the agony of a broken heart just once was enough to let me know that it's a complete waste of time and energy, that could be better spent having fun.  I did date other guys, but I was never really lovesick again.  Couldn't be bothered.  Everyone needs to have their heart broken, and to wait tables, to become truly sympathetic in life.  I believe those experiences helped me as a high school teacher, and as a person who knows how to leave a tip!!!

Okay.  Full circle here...it's coming!  So, I ditch Facebook for Lent.  I love it.  I feel like I'm free!  I decide that I am going to check it maybe once a month, with Mike, for fun, when Lent is over.  I make it an entire day...no problem.  Then I open my email this morning, and there's a message from Facebook...the boyfriend has found me and friended me.  And guess what?  The cat that I gave his family, NINETEEN YEARS AGO, DIED LAST WEEK!!!  Well shit!  What are the odds?  That of the few people I actually dated before I met Mike, one of them would find me, and say hello, when I can't even write back to him...it's my Lenten sacrifice!!!  But if I DON'T write back to him for 40 days, he'll think that even though I MARRIED and HAVE FOUR CHILDREN that I'm STILL MAD!!!  But if I DO write back to him, I will have failed GOD HIMSELF!  FACEBOOK!!!  DAMN YOU!  DAMN YOU TO HELL AND BACK!!!!

I hit the reply button, which links me directly to the devil - Facebook.  I try to close my eyes as I type:  "Hi Walter!  How are you?  I have given up FB for lent so I must be quick, but I am very sorry about the kitty, and I'll be sure to be in touch after Easter.  I hope that you are well!  Jennie."

Much like the local paper connects us to our community, Facebook connects us to the friends and family that we grew up with, that we are friends with now, and that make up our global neighborhood.  Like the thrill of recognizing a neighbor or a friend in the paper, it's really wonderful when old friends touch base with you and say, "I remember you...are you still out there?"  Think about it.  We live in a world now where we don't even know the names of some of the folks on our own street.  I like the different ways that we have of keeping those human connections alive - old and new.  So I will hold on to the paper AND Facebook, and enjoy seeing myself in each one.  I hope to see you in one of those places too (but if it's in Facebook, you'll have to wait until after Easter!)

Peace out, yall!

A Little More Charles...

For those of you that did not get enough Charles viewing from the father/daughter dance photos, here he is, in all of his five-year-old glory. He was the Maitre'D for the little dinner that we had at our house.  He greeted each daughter with a small bouquet, and told her that she "looked beautiful."  Unfortunately, our neighbor, post-workout, stopped by right before the guests arrived to ask us if we "wouldn't mind moving our car." Charles attacked her with a small bouquet and told her that she "Looked Beauuutiful."  (She was in her work-out gear.)

Apparently he needs more juice. 
Ladies love him, girls adore him, I mean even the ones who never saw him LIKE the way that he rhymes at a show, the reason why?  I DON'T KNOW!

Father/Daughter Dance

Hey...your first date may as well be with the most awesome guy ever...

Three very cool dads and six lucky girls that got to go to the dance.  When the dads and the kids came home, the moms were still partying in the kitchen.