An Open Letter to Chicago Bears Fans

Enjoy. You've waited a long time for a Division Championship.
You have more in common with us than you might realize. We in Packer Country enjoy our Green and Gold through thick and thin, and we appreciate loyalty in others as well. Those who are jumping on the Bear Bandwagon just this season will not have the deep-seated joy of those who waited faithfully, wearing their blue and orange hearts on their sleeves (and their Christmas trees).
Your last Glory Years were quite a while ago. This generation of Bear Fans might only know of Mike Ditka, Jim McMahon, or Refrigerator Perry the way we Northerners remember Vince Lombardi, Ray Nitschke and Bart Starr. Now you can teach them a whole new set of names and numbers.
I'll be cheering for the Pack tonight and wondering if this is it for Brett Favre. But no matter how it ends, with a celebratory beer and burger or drowning my sorrows the green and gold way, it'll be a Whole New Year with a whole new set of playoff teams.
And win or lose, I'll keep saying, "Hey, Bear fans, you've earned this. Enjoy it while it lasts. "
But don't get used to it. Your South-of-the-border dynasty will only be around until Mike McCarthy rebuilds his team. Woo-hoo! Go Pack Go!

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Fun with gifts

Amigo loves radio. He listens to it in the car, through his headphones, in his bedroom, and even on the Internet. Give him the name of a major U.S. city, and he can probably tell you the name, call letters, and frequency of at least one radio station there. On the rare occasion when we travel, he enjoys finding stations with local flavor, not just the national syndicates. He enjoys accents, weather that differs from ours, and all kinds of local news items. When we made our marathon trip to Missouri a year ago, Amigo amused himself by listening to the broadcast of a local high school tournament basketball game.
My brother tapped into this fascination by giving Amigo six radio t-shirts. Here comes the fun part: only one shirt has the location of the station. Amigo will have to do some research of his own to find out where they are. I will print out the call letters or other information in Braille for him, and then he will sit down at the computer and Google each one. Who knows -- maybe he'll find some of them also broadcast online!
That would be nice, because Amigo announced that after he finds out where the stations are located, we'll have to travel there and listen to them.
You know, that might just be a fun excuse to travel next summer.
Here they are: if you know any of these, feel free to drop a comment with the location and any other information you might have. I thank you, and so does Amigo.

100.5 JACK FM: playing what we want (great slogan, by the way)
"Hot" 97.5, KVEG, Las Vegas (the only one identified by city)
AM 760, Progressive Talk
WBEE 92.5, Today's Country
Mix 92.9: Today's Best Variety
ESPN SportsCenter (Okay, we know where that shirt came from.)

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What a difference a year makes

It's all in the perspective. I remember the phone call, I remember grieving, holding my family close to me. But most of all, I remember the seemingly never-ending highways under grey skies. Today's skies remind me of that. I remember making a point of moving my sunglasses into Husband's car before we left (we took his car because it got much better mileage than my minivan), and then not needing the sunglasses at all. We seemed frozen in time, driving along Wisconsin and Illinois' highways with endless farms on either side, on that long, long ribbon of highway that matched the colorless sky, keeping our emotions at bay so that we could handle the ongoing miles upon miles. La Petite used her iPod adapter to play it through the car radio. Amigo listened to his own armband radio, finding local stations that interested him. I just listened to whatever they had coming through the speakers and gazed out upon the road before us.
This year, we're safe at home. No one is sick or injured, none of us had surgery, no one has died. The skies are as grey as they were a year ago, but we're tucked into our den watching bowl games instead of rolling south and west on the never-ending highways. We're hanging together, enjoying each other, and appreciating all we have.
May the New Year bring all of us health, happiness, and security. Blue skies would be a nice bonus, too.

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What a difference a year makes

One year ago the kids and I were hitting the road for a long, marathon drive. This wasn't a holiday visit. It was a drive to a funeral -- my father's funeral. He'd been sick for a while, and we knew it was just a matter of time. In early November, the doctors had said it could be days, weeks, or months. He passed away right after Christmas.
The trip presented many challenges. Husband couldn't come along. He'd been sick right after Christmas, and he was still working long extra hours to fill in for an injured co-worker. La Petite was recovering from getting her wisdom teeth out, so she was still in some pain and taking care of her sore mouth. My right wrist was in a splint from a soft-tissue injury that wasn't healing well, and a long drive wasn't going to help its condition.
Dad died Wednesday afternoon. Thursday morning we hit the road. We planned to get as far as we could, maybe St. Louis, and then find a hotel and proceed to our destination of Springfield, Missouri, the next morning.
Meals were a challenge. Amigo doesn't like to eat in the car for fear of spilling or making a mess. La Petite had to eat slowly because she still couldn't open her mouth all the way, and she had to rinse with salt water after each meal. These small details eliminated drive-through meals and extended the length of the trip overall. We were stopped in Milwaukee for lunch when my brother called to tell us that the funeral would be Friday morning at 10:15. This radically changed our plans; we had to make it to Springfield that night.
I couldn't make the long drive any shorter, but I can make a long story short. La Petite and I shared driving shifts through Illinois and Missouri. Amigo learned to pump gas to help rest my sore wrist. We kept up with my brother by cell phone, since he was a few hours ahead of us, and he made the hotel reservations and gave us directions. We arrived in Springfield (Missouri, that is) close to 11:00 that night and collapsed into our room.
I was really proud of both kids. They really showed me their best. Amigo didn't fuss about taking his turn in the back seat, even though he was the tallest one in the car. I put the kids in charge of answering the cell phone whenever I drove so I could concentrate on the road. Amigo was great about pumping gas, and La Petite helped navigate. We couldn't save time on meals, but we managed to minimize our other stops by combining gas/snack/bathroom breaks into one. The trip was long and tiring, but we all managed. One year ago, despite the difficulties, we pulled ourselves together and made things happen.

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Every story, new or ancient

Christmas is a time for family lore: remembering and recounting the stories of Christmas past. One of my favorites was Amigo's first Christmas.
Amigo was 11 months old, just shy of one year, and a very happy baby most of the time. He was also a very noisy baby, full of babble and talkative baby noises.
The day after Christmas, Baby Amigo woke early. I fed him and changed him, and then wondered what on earth I was going to do with this noisy little one. You see, Husband had just gotten home from working an overnight shift and needed to sleep. La Petite had stayed up late for the holiday and needed to sleep in, too. At the time we lived in a small duplex with tiny rooms and thin walls. Happy baby noises would wake everyone. What to do?
Well, it was December 26th, after all. I dressed the baby and dressed myself and we headed out to the post-Christmas sales.
At that time in our lives we had very little money, so we bought next to nothing. But we had all kinds of mommy-baby fun just roaming the aisles, with little Amigo perched in the shopping cart babbling at me and smiling his adorable smile for the other shoppers. I think I bought a few bows and some cards for the next year, but that was all. And that was all we needed.
When we got home, La Petite was just starting to stir. Husband was sound asleep and not likely to be awakened. I fed Baby Amigo his morning snack and settled him in to nap, content in the feeling that all was well with the world.
Now, almost 15 years later, Amigo loves Christmas shopping. He doesn't perch in the shopping cart anymore, thank goodness, but he grabs his white cane and sprints down the main corridors of the mall. And every year he enjoys hearing the tale of the fun we had at the post-Christmas sales when he was just a baby.

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The Day after Christmas

Gradually, in baby steps, we are reclaiming the house from the chaos that is Christmas. Oodles of wrapping paper filled a big garbage bag. Tags have been recycled, bows stored for re-use. New clothes have been tried on and placed in the hampers so that they are soft for their first day of wear. Wrapping materials are making their way downstairs for storage (until Amigo's birthday), and the extra table "wrapping station" has been taken down and stashed in its attic home. This could almost make a Clement C. Moore style verse, if I felt the urge to write it.
Husband is back at work. La Petite is sleeping, and Amigo is using his new HUGE remote control to watch TV while he waits for his new clock to "chime". I am relaxing over a cup of Candy Cane flavored coffee, and feeling like life is good. I can catch up on reading Time Magazine's Person of the Year issue and feel important.
Gifts? Internet folks, a list of family gifts would bore you to tears, despite the uniqueness of our family's shopping habits, so I'll skip the gift list in favor of highlights.
Husband did some of his shopping at the Packer Pro Shop again. That's what happens when he's working at Lambeau a lot just before Christmas. He has to shop where and when it's convenient. La Petite's GBPacker blanket throw is so soft and warm that she spent most of yesterday wrapped up in it.
Amigo gained several new fidget tools/toys. He holds and manipulates these to keep himself focused. It started with the cool little Detroit RedWing bendable player. We set the hockey stick aside so it wouldn't get lost. This was upstaged by a CocaCola ladle with a coke bottle shape on the handle, which was replaced later by a soft vinyl reindeer bank. Fidget tools provide pleasure for all of us, whether we're the givers or the receiver.
The most unique student gift I received was a chalkboard mug. Yes, it is what it sounds like. It came with two pieces of chalk. The mug has a unique black finish that I can draw on and then erase again. This has potential!
The bunnies? They celebrated with a bunch of organic carrots complete with greens.

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Merry Christmas

From our family to yours, have a wonderful Christmas.

Back row: Husband, Daisy

Front row: Amigo, La Petite

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'Twas the day before Christmas

...and all through the house, the coffee was brewing, and gone was the mouse.
Okay, I'll stop there to avoid the unpleasant memories. My kitchen now smells like coffee with chocolate amaretto. End of story.
We're about done with the wrapping, and all done with the shopping. Tonight we'll go over the river and through the woods to Grandma's for a delicious Christmas Eve dinner, and then come home and hang the stockings. In the meantime, we'll watch some unimportant (not Packers) football, nibble on some cookies, and take some time to search our favorite holiday web sites.

Has Santa left the North Pole yet? Find out exactly where he is by checking NORAD's Santa Tracker. This site updates once an hour, so keep checking back.
Want to check weather radio anywhere in the USA, or even the world? Click here, then try the transmitter for the North Pole location. (Falalalala!)

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The tastes of the holiday

Since my winter break started yesterday, the Holiday Nibbles have begun. The entire family dips into my edible gifts from students and the other yummies around the house. La Petite isn't worrying about wisdom teeth this year, so she can partake in all the goodies, too.

After school snack: caramel corn from Husband's Aunt Margaret in Alaska
After supper: We got busy and decorated cookies of our own, and of course sampled a few to be sure they were okay.
Bedtime snacks: a handful of said cookies, accompanied by hot cocoa (double chocolate flavor) from a student
Midnight snacks: Who knows? I was already asleep. But the plate of cookies a student gave me looked a little bare in places when I got up to make coffee this morning.
Breakfast: candy cane flavored coffee, toast with (student gift) marmalade, and a Florida White grapefruit from Husband's cousin Mike in Tampa.
Midmorning snack while doing Christmas cards (late, I know): more candy cane coffee and a small cookie from the student platter
With lunch: cheese from the Usinger's package Husband's parents sent
Later in the afternoon: decaf coffee with a little Chocolate Amaretto in a snowman mug
Hmmm, dinner plans: Christmas cookies for dessert, maybe yet another flavor of coffee
Evening snacks? If we're tired of sweets (not likely), we can break out the pretzels from the Usinger's package and dip them in the gourmet mustard one of my students provided. Mmmm.

Who knows what goodies tomorrow will present (Pun intended, of course)? I must remind Santa to drop those special spices in my stocking for yet another way to continue the taste of Christmas.

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Updates, corrections, and (maybe) retractions

The kitchen smells good again. We baked cookies on Wednesday night, and we'll probably decorate tonight. We were too busy watching the Packers' and the Vikings' defenses tussling last night to do anything that required concentration.
Husband felt compelled to correct my post about the whole olfactory ordeal, saying that he is NOT squeamish about mice. No, not at all. And he's dealt with more mice than I supposedly know about.
Hence, let me rephrase this. Of the two of us, he is the one with the most active gag reflex. Removal of a smelly and potentially gross item from the home is safer done by the Daisy one, not the handsome Husbandly one, sweet and snuggly though he may be. Even though he did give me a hard time about the typo in the title (which I have since fixed), he is still a sweet and nice guy. And more...

And even though it's not Funday Sunday, I felt compelled to show you the adorable little hat that adorns our tree. You couldn't have predicted the color scheme, could you? No, the entire tree is not green and gold -- just a few select ornaments. Okay, more than a few. Sort of. Maybe.

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Fun on Thursday

You might be a Green Bay Packers fan if one of these flies around your Christmas tree.

When we lived next door to Lambeau Field, watching the blimps was a favorite pastime -- except when they interfered with our television reception. The blimps no longer circle Lambeau, but I'll always remember watching them and watching the small planes that used to drag advertising banners through the air.

This little blimp was a gift, too. Lest you think I am obsessed (well, okay, I am), I didn't buy any of the ornaments featured today or last Sunday. All were gifts, many from students.

Update:

Hey, Brett, are you listening? All of Wisconsin is shouting: "One more year! One more year! One more year! One more year! One more year! One more year! One more year! One more year! One more year!"

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Just when you think it's safe to go back into the kitchen

I am ready to bake cookies. I think. At least my kitchen is tolerable again. Let me explain.
There has been an odor in the kitchen. My kitchen is tiny, typical of the time in which it was built (1890). Even a small odor can make the room unbearable. I am by nature a lousy housekeeper (sorry, mom), so we pay a cleaning service to come in once a month and do the major cleaning. They were just here, so I was on my own to find and attack the source.
Here's the initial process: none of it succesful.
Take out the garbage.
Run the garbage disposal.
Clean the rabbit litter boxes, even though they're nowhere near the kitchen.
Take out the recycling, just in case there's something gooey in a can.
Remove all washcloths, sponges, and towels from kitchen and throw them dramtically into the laundry machine. Dry them with a sweet-smelling fabric softener.
Wash the counters. Twice.
Check through the boxes of fruit in the back hallway in case of rotting.
Dump the toaster's crumb bin (I was getting desperate).
Run the garbage disposal. Again. With baking soda in it.
Empty the garbage. Again. Spray air-freshener in room.
Clean as much of the refrigerator as I can reach.
Double check all leftovers in the fridge. When in doubt, throw it out.
Take out drawer under the oven. Check behind stove.
Sweep little spaces between counter and stove.
Consider tears, but decline due to lack of useful purpose.

Finally, I gave in. I had reached my limit. I was ready for the big guns. Here goes:
Call husband. Find out -- um, he put a mousetrap under the refrigerator.
Stall. Hope he gets home before I get up the courage to check.
Remember that husband is more squeamish than I am.
Remove refrigerator grate.
Reveal the truth: One. Dead. Mouse. Ew.
Find large pair of plastic gloves, two plastic bags, and go at it.
Hold breath. Double bag said mousie. Dump double-bagged mouse in garbage can. Say a prayer for its soul (not really).

I have reclaimed the kitchen. Vengeance is mine! And so are the cookies.

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do-bee-do-bee-do or falalalala, whatever rings your bells

Up here in Packerland, our local TV and radio stations are full of Packer shows, both pre-taped and live. The coach has his own show, several players have their own shows, and one former-player turned sportscaster has a show that welcomes a different player as a guest every week. This show has a live audience and a house band and films in the Lambeau Field Atrium itself.
Last week I got a call about 15 minutes before showtime from Husband, who works on the crew. He asked, "What's the next line after 'Happy days are here again' in the song "Happy Days are Here Again?" (Notice how he never doubted that I would know.) I sang "The skies above are clear again" and heard him relay the line to someone on the other end. "Okay," he said. "See you later." It seems the band wanted to sing a little of that tune as the show began because the Packers had finally won a game.
Five minutes later the phone rang again. "We need one more line to finish up the chorus of the song! Do you know it?" Well, this one escaped me. I sang "Happy days are here again, the skies above are clear again, da-da-dah-da-dah-dah-dah-da-da, Happy days are here again." "No, no! Da-da-da isn't good enough!" It took me all of two minutes to google the lyrics. I called him back, sang the first three lines, had him sing them back to me, and then when we were sure he had it, we hung up so he could go tell the band. This was, oh, about eight minutes before showtime.
I turned on the show and sat down with Amigo to watch. The host called out, "Here we are, in a real, true celebration of Packer Football!" The band began. "Oh, Happy Days are here again, the skies above are clear again, Da-da-dah-da-dah-dah-dah-da-da, happy days are here again!"
I nearly fell on the floor laughing. The show's host razzed the bandleader a bit about not knowing the words, to which he replied, "Someone told me the words a few minutes ago, and then I forgot."
Someone? Your backstage engineer is lucky enough to be married to a licensed music teacher, a woman who is willing to sing over the phone to give you what you need, and it comes down to "da-da-da" and "I forgot"?!!
All I can say is, there better be some tickets in it for me if I ever teach him lyrics at the last minute again.

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It was a night of small disasters.

Friday night, Amigo was going to a freshman basketball game at his school.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t find his wallet with his school ID in it.
Fortunately, the wallet turned up -- in the wrong pocket of his backpack.
Unfortunately, the doors to the hallway leading to the right gym were locked.
Fortunately, we were routed through the big gym past the ticket-takers to get there.
Unfortunately, I needed a ticket to get in, too.
Fortunately, I work for the school district, so my school ID gets me in to most games free.
Unfortunately, we didn’t see any of Amigo’s friends immediately.
Fortunately, he befriended a few fans in the stands with kids on the team. He then told me, “It’s okay, Mom, you can leave to run your errands.”
Fortunately, the high school dance team was sponsoring a book sale in the school auditorium. I got a few great deals at 50% off. Then I left for my other errands.
Unfortunately, I got stuck in a long line of traffic behind a big accident.
Fortunately, the detour was going the way I was headed anyway.
Unfortunately, it too much longer than planned to get there, so I didn’t get my package shipped after all.
Fortunately, I did pick up what I needed for my class’ goodie bags, and had a good handful of change for the red kettle on my way out of the store.
Unfortunately, I didn’t know how long the game would last, so I hurried back.
Fortunately, I arrived in the last five minutes of a dramatic finish.
Unfortunately, the team lost, 46-42.
Fortunately, I ran into an old friend on our way out.
Unfortunately, the fire alarm started blasting as we were talking.
Fortunately, we were parked nearby, so we left quickly to avoid any ensuing chaos.
Fortunately, it turned out to be a false alarm.
And all in all, we had a good night.

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Funday Sunday and the Tree

No one fumbles around with the tree in a Green Bay Packer fan household. Diminutive though they may be, these little delights are like prize jewels of the family ornament collection. This roly-poly guy is a jingle bell decked out in Green and Gold and a football uniform.

These two came from a student (oh, she knew me well). They look fragile, but they aren't. You won't see them on injured reserve. Tiny and shiny, the crystal snowmen are small enough to fit in a teacup, but they're prettier near a string of lights that can reflect on their glory.

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Mug shots and Secret Santas

The Secret Santa Saga has ended. It was fun, as always. No Deer Droppings this year (that one is legend now), and no inflatable cows singing "Blooooo Christmas", either, but we did have a good time. I had the name of a first grade teacher, and she came over to my room Friday to tell me how much she enjoyed the gifts and the "chase" to find them at times. Thanks to my Santa, my mug collection has grown, including the "Smart Mug" that was my final gift. I'll probably use it when I'm driving the long roads early Saturday mornings on my way to judge music festivals. Each mug came with at least one flavored coffee, with a final inventory of: Candy Cane, Chocolate Amaretto, Gingerbread, Chestnuts by the Fire, Hot Butter Rum, and After Dinner Mint. (The pig/reindeer behind them is one of my favorite decorations, trying to edge its nose into the picture.) Upon delivery of the last gift, the identity of my Santa was revealed.

It was my boss, the school principal.

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The Best Christmas (Pageant) Ever

I finished reading the book The Best Christmas Pageant Ever to my class today. Sixth graders, remember, with the beginnings of middle-school angst, 'cool' attitude, and a lot of excess pre-holiday energy. If you've never read it, the book tells the story of a standard church pageant disrupted by a rowdy family of kids who don't know the Christmas story, much less understand the etiquette of a church play. They turn up for Sunday School at first because they hear a rumor that there's free food to be had.
Through the turmoil of casting, rehearsing, and the disaster of dress rehearsal, the nasty Herdman kids keep everyone on their toes. They bully their way into the main roles. They resist the status quo, asking questions like, "Who is this Herod guy, anyway?"
Eventually, the pageant goes on. It's not your typical Christmas show. 'Mary' burps the baby loudly, the shepherds are truly afraid of the Angel (she's beaten most of them up on occasion), and the Wise Men offer a ham from the family's donation basket instead of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. But when all is said and done, there's a feeling of calm, an overall realization that maybe it really was like this was for the Holy Family. Maybe the glorified paintings and perfect-hair Marys weren't as realistic as this one, the rowdy girl with a black eye saying, "Hey! Get your hands off the baby!"
A girl in my class came up to me at recess this morning right after I finished the book. She said very thoughtfully, "You know, I think that pageant was exactly right. It wasn't fancy, it wasn't fake, and the kids in it really had a chance to think about and understand the story. All Christmas pageants should be like that."
I had a lump in my throat. This young woman is barely 11 years old, rather spacey and forgetful, and has been quite sad lately with friendships gone awry. Yet somehow, with this book, she felt touched, moved, even calm. She seemed ready to face recess and her friends again, despite the turmoil around her. Somehow, after talking to her, I could no longer play the Grinch. I couldn't feel any Humbug, either.
Thanks, kiddo. You made my day. I hope I contributed in some positive way to yours.

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Aging even as we speak

I just took a look at my profile and found out it said I was 250 years old! I was supposedly born in 1756. Um, how did that happen? Did I age noticably when I switched to Blogger Beta? I'll tell you, I've been feeling old lately, but nothing like 250.

I fixed it. If only I could slow the real aging process that easily!

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Love is...

...history on the tree. This ornament is one Amigo made at summer camp several years ago. A juice lid, a nail, and a hammer, and a new ornament was born. Put two or three together and they make a wonderful wind chime.

Happy Love Thursday, everyone.

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Random thoughts on Secret Santas

It's Secret Santa time at my workplace, and we really, really get into it. We enlist the building maintenance engineer's help in off-hours deliveries. We leave things in odd places. We get kids to deliver for us. We slip quietly past the door of the recipient, hanging the gift from the doorknob while he or she is teaching. Yesterday, I left a gift on top of the printer that I know my "giftee" uses. I found out when she had art class on and left her gift with the art teacher to be delivered when her class returned to their room.
The wildest and craziest gift delivery had to be the time my friend the music teacher had my name. She convinced the engineer to help her out. In fact, when all was done, I found a polaroid picture of him in his elf hat on my desk. I got in that morning to find a warning sign on my door: "Caution. Deer Droppings Ahead." I opened the door cautiously to find -- "droppings" in the form of chocolate covered raisins, carefully placed in little mounds on small sheets of paper all around the room. It took me half the morning, with students help, to get them picked up. Of course, I shared. It's become part of building legend, much like the banana in the boa.
Our students enjoy this, too. Mine keep asking, "What did you get today? Do you know who has your name? Do you think you know? Do you have any clues?" I have too many suspects; that's the problem! It could be anyone from the music teacher (she loves the same kinds of coffees I've been getting) to the police liaison officer (I caught the secretary delivering, and she's not playing this year). So far my "Santa" has delivered (or had delivered) a different flavor of coffee each day with a pretty seasonal mug. Oh, except for the day the coffee was packaged with a cute cartoon titled "Java Junkie". It looked suspiciously like me. Hmmm: maybe the art teacher? She doesn't drink coffee, but the music teacher is her best friend and could certainly advise.
So far I've unwrapped Chestnuts by the Fire, Hot Butter Rum, and After Dinner Mint. Mmm!
And yes, I'll take pictures of the new mugs to post when the week is over and my Santa is revealed.

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Honey.....

She is stealing my heart. Sadie the new little bunny is weaseling her way -- no, poor choice of words -- she's convincing us all to keep her. Most important of all, she's convincing the Peanut bunny that she's going to be his friend. She hasn't sat still for a picture yet.

Sadie is not a willing model, as the top picture shows. When I learn to use this camera better, maybe I'll catch her on the run. She also has lovely dark eyes, but I kept getting red-eye in the pictures. The photo manager software took out the entire eye pigment along with the red. Where's the Visine when I need it?

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Hi honey. Gee you look nice today.

That's what the subject line read on my email last Friday afternoon. I immediately wondered what he'd done and why he might need to resort to flattery.

Here's the rest:
"A bunny was the pet-saver segment (on the noon news) today. Sadie is 2 1/2 yrs old; same species as Tiny; family was moving and had to give her up; was an indoor family style bunny; more history yet to come from the shelter. She's sitting on my desk here waiting for me to bring her home. I've got her for the weekend on a "trial" basis.
(Please don't kill me)"

Ever since Beast died, the little Tiny one has seemed lonely. We've moved him into the house, but he and Peanut (the house bunny) didn't hit it off. We gave up and moved Tiny into Amigo's bedroom so he could roam the upstairs while Peanut roams the first floor. When we introduced the lovely Sadie, Tiny would have nothing to do with her, getting all territorial and feisty and resistant to having a new friend. We were surprised; Tiny has never been an "only" bunny. He's always had Beast at his side. Since Tiny wouldn't even give her a chance, we were discouraged. We set Sadie's cage in the dining room.
Were we ever surprised when Peanut, our aggressive and often anti-social bunny, came over and sniffed at her. Sadie poked her head out of the cage, and they nuzzled. They've had a few moments of agitation, mostly setting limits for one another, but Sadie has allowed Peanut to be dominant bunny and has even shared her food with him. He has been more than tolerant, even friendly in his own furry little way. They began getting acquainted little by little, and we felt we could allow them to "hang out" in the dining room as long as someone was there to supervise.
Well, it's Monday, and we've decided to extend the trial period for the remainder of the week. This has potential.
And Sadie's awfully cute.

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Funday Sunday

You might be a Green Bay Packer Fan if your husband wears a pair of these Packer booty slippers when he's relaxing on the couch.

As of today, Brett Favre has never lost in Monster Park (by any name). He is seven touchdown passes shy of reaching Dan Marino's career record. But does he have a cute pair of slippers like this? I doubt it.

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What a difference a year makes

The scars are still there, but we're recovering.
Last year at this time, we were mired in a deep, dark murk that made us feel like we were slogging through an emotional swamp. I had injured my wrist attempting to start the snowblower, so I was in constant pain. Husband was working outrageous amounts of overtime because one of his co-workers, the one in charge of the football season specials, had broken a leg. On top of the overtime, he was working to get his commercial driving license as part of the back-up situation. We were preparing to bring La Petite home from college to get her wisdom teeth out, and Amigo was struggling in school -- big time. My boss had drawn red concentric circles on my back, so I was constantly looking over my shoulder at work lest she take aim and fire.
The normal holiday efforts were coming along oh-so-slowly because we didn't have time or energy to accomplish them. I put up a few indoor decorations with Amigo's help. They didn't look like much, but at least Santa or other visitors would know we'd tried. Husband put up some basic outdoor lights (yes, he was very, very careful on the ladder). Our tree was one of the last ones on the lot. It barely fit in the minivan because it was a bit odd-shaped. We dragged it into the house, threw on a few ornaments, and collapsed from exhaustion. Gifts? I'm not sure how we ever shopped and wrapped. Husband did most of his holiday shopping at the Packer Pro Shop because it was the only store he could get to in the craziness of his job.
It was the juggling act that all families face, but we were no longer juggling fruit. It felt more like juggling flaming swords. We didn't sleep well, we suffered headaches, stomachaches, and all kinds of stress-related illnesses. We didn't have enough time or stamina to deal with all we'd been handed.
A year ago, life was destined to get worse before it got better.
When I look at the challenges this year, they seem minor by comparison. However, I still feel a little nervous as we enter this "most wonderful time of the year". I really enjoy the season, the music, the excitement, but a deeply buried part of me is leery of ever going through a winter like the last one.

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Is there coffee in the house?

My favorite coffeehouse in our downtown is a family owned place. The décor is simple: original wood floors and tin ceiling, plain walls, and basic chairs and tables. There are two “window” seats, small tables-for-two that are actually up a step and in the full length windows at the front of the shop. These little alcoves also do double duty as stages for live performers. There is a cozy couch in one corner. They used to have an old church pew from a historical building nearby, and I kind of miss that. But every time I’m there I think about owning it.
If I owned the place, I would:
Keep the hardwood floors and tin ceiling. They’re beautiful, and completely in character with the neighborhood.
Paint the walls a different color. They have a few nice photographs and a few random art pieces hanging here and there, but I rarely take the time to look at them. The walls would need work. Maybe a neutral but warm color, with the art work on the walls grouped strategically to encourage viewing, would be the improvement the walls are crying for.
Clean it up more often. Maybe I’ve just been there on busy, busy nights, but I’ve noticed that the garbage bins on the way out the door are often overflowing. There are always at least two or three light bulbs burned out as well. Could this be a job for a teenager after school? A college student in exchange for free caffeine?
They have free wireless internet service, too. There is a tip jar at the counter asking for tips “to keep the wi-fi free”. I haven’t used their wi-fi yet, but my change always goes in the tip jar anyway. If I owned the place, I’d keep this service if at all possible. It would bring in at least a few regulars, creating word-of-mouth buzz for more customers.
They have a limited menu of sandwiches and breakfast goodies. I would keep this, too, while potentially sharing advertising with a local bakery. It could be a win-win for both of us.
It’s not in a location that encourages a drive-through, so that’s not a concern. Delivery maybe? There are enough workplaces in the general area to make deliveries worthwhile. Offices could fax or call in their orders ahead of time, and we could deliver for a small fee. This could expand our reach, create more exposure, and encourage those folks to stop in on their own time.
Smoking isn’t an issue, either, since our town passed a smoking ban in public places a while back. If we didn’t have the ban, I’d run a nonsmoking place anyway.
Reading over this, I realize that I really like the place. Most of what they’re doing is great. Did I mention their coffee is delicious, too? And since retirement is a long way off, I don’t plan on opening up my own spot for decades, if ever. It’s just a dream.

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220, 221, Whatever it takes

The entire school is bouncing. I expect the building itself to go boing, boing, boing any time now, with the amount of pre-holiday energy inside it. One of our specialists commented the other day, "Ms. M. has the 'too-cool-for-school' class this year, and you have the energetic one." She was right. My class, full of really nice kids from wonderful parents, has turned into the elementary equivalent of Animal Planet. Since tranquilizer darts are frowned upon in public schools (I'm KIDDING, I'm kidding!), I had to resort to creative drama to bring them to attention.
My class, as a whole, was quiet exactly twice yesterday.
The questions of the day revolved around Christmas and Santa. All. Day. Long. "Is Santa real?" "How many reindeer does Santa have?" "Is Santa Claus real?" "How did all this Santa stuff start, anyway?" "Is Santa real?"
These are 6th graders, ages eleven and twelve. They're old enough to know the truth, but do they? I can't take a chance on destroying someone's innocence and having their parents hit the roof. So I gave them my stock answer: it depends on who you ask. Well, that didn't last long.
A few years ago, I took a class in storytelling from a professional storyteller. I relied on those skills to get the students' attention yesterday. When they asked me how many reindeer there were, I stopped, put on my hmmm, there's a story in here somewhere pose, and waited for quiet. Amazingly, quiet descended almost immediately.
"How many reindeer? Well, it depends on who you ask. If you ask Clement C. Moore, he'd have said Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen, Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, and Vixen." They were almost nodding along with me. Some were counting on their fingers. "Now of course you recall the most famous reindeer of all."
"Rudoph!" they chimed in.
"And Rudolph makes nine. But there's a tenth reindeer, too. Do you know her name?"
One highly gifted child knew. "Olive!!!"
Yes, Olive the other reindeer... you know, the one who "...used to laugh and call him names."
And that was just math class.
The "Is Santa real?" question wouldn't die. They finally cornered me during Classroom Guidance on my "It depends on who you ask" with the statement "We're asking you."
Thank goodness for the Internet.
I found a copy of Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, told them the story, and read them the editorial. For those few moments, they were spellbound.
I'm not sure what kinds of tricks I'll pull out of my hat next week. Or the week after that. Know any good holiday stories for tweens? I'll take them!

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making spirits bright

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. Amigo ran Security for him in the local holiday parade in a very special cycle built for two. The other (the one who steered) was his adaptive physical education teacher. It was a little cold, but they kept warm by pedaling. Amigo was hoarse from shouting, "Happy Holidays!"

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Tea bags and sanity

Anyone who is a parent or works with children knows that the excitement of Christmas can cause some escalating (read: wilder and wilder) behavior. We have twelve days of school left until the winter break starts, and the kids in my class are already bouncing off the walls. At least, their pencils and pens are.

I went into the office at lunchtime with a pink referral slip in hand. A fifth grade teacher took one look at me and said, "Oh! I need one of those, too!" By the end of the day, the principal had a mailbox full of pink. I guess I'm not alone in having a bouncy class.

My email to the guidance counselor had an image of Dr. Seuss' Grinch. We decided that any of our mediators who haven't returned their contracts will be suspended from the fun we have planned next week. We ask these kids to be responsible role models, and they've had all kinds of reminders and extra copies of the contract. Second chances? Heck, they've had four or five! Enough is enough, even if it's a Grinchy idea.

So I went into the teachers' lounge at the end of the lunch period and filled up my Lombardi mug with Good Earth Original Tea, the decaf version. Mmmm. It smells wonderful, total cinnamon heaven, and the mug is large and Lombardi, of course, is inspirational. As I waited for my class to come in from lunch recess, I was already feeling calmer. I remarked to my 6th grade co-worker that if the Grinch had been drinking Good Earth tea, maybe he wouldn't have robbed the Whos down in Whoville.

I didn't start this post with the intention of it being an ad for herbal teas. What the heck, it works for me! I felt like my "small heart grew three sizes" when I started inhaling the aroma.

And yes, here's a picture of the mug.

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Baby, it's cold outside!

Oh, the weather outside may be frightful, but it's still delightful inside. I can stay indoors, sip a cup of coffee, and listen to Christmas music.

Yes, the truth comes out. I Like Christmas Music. I could listen to it all year round. When the stores start playing songs of the season, my family will listen closely and identify our favorite songs, artists, and arrangements. My (our) collection of Christmas music is quite, um, varied. Some might say eclectic. It leans toward acappella groups and jazz/blues artists, but not entirely. Some are contemporary, some traditional, some old, some new. Some names you'd recognize, some you wouldn't. Many of the unfamiliar artists' albums are my favorites.

I've been playing Gloria Estefan's "Christmas in your Eyes" when I get to school in the morning. I wave my ID card in front of the locked entrance, come in, start the coffee, and get myself settled at my desk. As soon as I'm ready to work, I push play. The heat's not on yet when I arrive, so I depend on the music to warm me up. Gloria's music comes through for me every time. She sings a luscious arrangement of "Have yourself a merry little Christmas" with the back-up of Singers Unlimited. Her "Silver Bells" makes me want to stand up and dance. My favorite on this album has to be the simple yet lovely Silent Night, sung in both English and Spanish. I can't sing along with this one; I need to sit back and listen.

While the thermometers may read below zero, and I need my fingerless gloves to type when I arrive, inside my classroom it's all warmth -- the warmth that comes from good tunes and a good mood, a warm heart and warm thoughts.

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It's not easy being Green at Christmas time.

Martha Stewart doesn't live here. Let's make that clear right off the bat. Once in a while I do something crafty, but that's as far as it goes.

That said, Christmas is a tough time for someone who teaches environmental science and wants to walk the talk.

Take wrapping paper -- please. It can't be recycled, it can't be burned in the fireplace, it doesn't compost. The only reasonably "green" option is re-use. Skip it? Not unless I want "Scrooge" to be my middle name. Well, my family gets all over me about re-using wrapping paper.

"Mom, just rip it open! Hurry up! Why are you folding the paper? You don't have to be so careful with the tape. Mom, it wasn't expensive. Geez."

I drive them crazy.

But this tendency to reduce, re-use, and recycle can come in handy. I take good care with the wrapping paper we do buy, re-using gift bags until they fall apart, saving the bows every year, and refusing to throw away the small pieces of wrap that seem useless. I said SEEM useless.

As I said before, I'm not Martha. No one would come into my house and think she lives here. But I am rather proud of these two presents. Using a strip of green shiny foil (too small for a box) and a batch of plain brown packaging paper that came with a cookbook, I made these two gifts look pretty. Pretty good, even. The tags are made from last year's Christmas cards.


(haha, Petite one, the smaller package is for you!)

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Funday Sunday

You might be a Green Bay Packer fan if something like this adorns your shelves next to the Lambeau Legends DVD. Amigo calls this little guy Hank. La Petite calls him "hideous". He sings (loudly) and dances. The song? The "All My Rowdy Friends" song from Monday Night Football, of course!

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not so random thoughts about medicine

Disabilities are part of our family, our daily life, the little things, the big picture. Doctors' offices? A familiar place, a comfortable setting. Amigo saw two doctors in two days last week. He noted the fact, but didn't complain or think it was negative.
He'd been complaining of minor discomfort in his right ear. When he told me it was getting worse, that his ear hurt, I called the pediatrician's office. Nine times out of ten when Amigo complains of ear pain, he has an infection. He is almost never wrong. Sure enough, his right ear was (as Dr. put it) "a prototypical infection". Then she took one more step, and asked if we would allow the medical student to come in and take a look at it. Her logic was "This will give the student a chance to see a poster child for an ear infection, but in a child who will sit still." Amigo is in his teens, and the medical student would get a good look at an infected ear without the squirming of a toddler or two-year-old. Amigo was personable and friendly with the medical student, discussed her alma mater's basketball team, and showed her a perfectly infected eardrum.
The next day we headed to Children's Hospital of Milwaukee for an annual check-up with the pediatric neurologist. She's an amazing professional with incredible depths of knowledge about children and their brains and bodies. We discussed Amigo's participation in a study, and she agreed that yes, his participation would be a good thing.
The only issue is money. This is no simple blood test. The cost estimate is around $1300. I am gathering my courage to call our insurance company. I'm certain they will say no; they really balked at the genetic counseling recommended for us. Next, I'll apply for financial aid through the research center itself. Their forms, however, are on a web page still under construction.
I'll keep at it. Project 3000, as the study is called, is an ambitious and worthwhile undertaking. We'll do our part for Amigo's sake and for the sake of others with this cause of blindness. Fortunately, doctors' offices are familiar and comforting places for our family. That makes it, not easy, but at least a little less difficult.

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Winter or road construction?

We have a saying in the Northern realm. We say there are two seasons: Winter and Road Construction. Winter came back this week and it looks like it's here to stay. I'm fine with that, because winter is one of the beautiful things of living in Wisconsin. La Petite sent me an email saying that they have so much snow on her campus that they cancelled classes. Snow Day! At home, it's time to hang out and read a book next to the fireplace and look out the window at the pretty flakes drifting along. Snowflakes, that is.

The garden is resting under a blanket of raked leaves and covered by a layer of snow that will insulate the soil until next spring when I put the new compost in. We finally got the deck furniture inside. The lawnmower is emptied, the bikes are hanging in the garage, and the snowblower (dare I say it?) is ready for use.

Remember this?

Now it looks like this.

When spring comes, I'll get some new herbs for the cappucino mugs and something to grow in Kermit's cute little hat. But for now, I'll curl up with a good book and enjoy watching the snow fall.

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