Those Crazy Canuks

Okay-normally I don't pay much attention to hockey, cause well, I'm not a commie. I'm an American, we play baseball and hang out at the beach. But if this is how we do it at the ice-rink? That seems like a cause I can get behind.


I'm obviously talking about the foreground, not the background



...And We're Back!

April? It happened. But quite honestly, it is kind of a blur...and not an exciting blur at that.

Aside from some awesome pastries, (compliments of my cousins new found baking gusto) and nearly hacking my own father to death with a machete, I don't really have much to report. Ergo- the absence of riveting details of my day to day. Bored. To. Tears. Being the ever thoughtful gal that I am, I decided to spare you the task of keeping up with that. You're welcome.

Perhaps the reason that April was funky is that I finally came to the realization that I will not be getting any stamps in my passport this summer. Granted, this probably makes me sound like a bit of a spoiled brat, but I really am sad about it. Ever since I started teaching I have spent the summer gallivanting about, eating my way through, or doing volunteer work in some far-flung foreign country. For some reason, this year I got it in my head that I needed to buy a house. As it turns out,  the mortgage learning curve has taken longer to get ahead of than I planned. There will be no passport travel for the foreseeable future. That thought is equal parts mind numbing and soul crushing.

Ahh well-c'est la vie. I'm sure I'll live....and don't worry, we'll get to pastries and machetes soon. I'm sure you're waiting with baited breath.

Then we all sang, "God Save the Queen"

So today I ranted. I was LONG GONE on a rant. I was off ranting most of the period. I runted, if you will. I swear. * if you could see me right now, you would know that I am both shaking my head and waving my fist *

Either it is getting close to the end of the year, spring has gotten me feverish (and not in any way that could be considered favorable, or even remotely enjoyable), freshmen are getting more obnoxious, or my ability to tolerate them has been reduced by a power of ten, at least. I'm thinking that it is more than likely some perfect storm of all these things. Plus....the weather sucks. I know spring is fickle, but you know how I feel about fickle? Fickle can.....yeah- I'll say it. Fickle can F-off. I am sick of rocking attire borrowed from Nanook of the North, just to be able to leave the house in the morning. Then stripping down to Debbie in Dallas' work attire by the time I get home. Enough already....you've done it. You've broken me. I'm broken. I'm a shell of the woman I once was.

Anyway- back to the rant at hand. My freshmen are jerks. (And yes, I just googled synonyms for A-holes.....but none of them were less offensive, and still equally emotional. Alas, all we're left with is jerks, cause I'm a lady. And ladies don't s-a-y the ass word.)

I left work early on Friday to get to a doctors appointment. Apparently my sinuses are a labyrinth filled with twists, turns and hide abouts, where Funk and Filth are able to lay dormant, allowing the rest of my body to believe that they have in fact been defeated. Know that this is just a clever ruse on their part. The Funk and Filth like to watch their enemy's spirits lighten, and like bastards always do, they come back. Like the Great and Mighty South, they return, in an effort to take down the Damn Yanks once and for all. Bastards.

Anyhow- my day's start out well enough. I have juniors most of the day. My favorite age group and curriculum. Sure, they are chatty and we often times are able to chat about the 'stuff' that they want to talk about......but I think there is some give and take to building a classroom where students feel comfortable enough to take risks in order to make educational leaps.

But the freshmen... They are a whole different breed. A whole different type of evil. As is often the case, one on one, they are normal-ish people. As normal as any 14 year old can be. But put them in a group.....and the worst behaviors boil to the surface. The worst part, is the sub that they tortured is an awesome woman. A great teacher....and they gave her the business. Let me tell you, I was pissed. She left a frantically scribbled note with phrases like, "Oh my sweet Jesus." "These kids are ridiculous." "Absolutely unbelievable." "Completely out of control." You get the idea. All scribbled with the hand of what looks like a serial killer, more etched into the paper than written with red pen.

To end it on a high note she did point out that there was one student who was, "An absolute angel," And then she stapled the assignments that were completed to the note. *Correction- she stapled THE assignment that had been completed and turned in. The ONLY assignment that had been turned in....obviously, by the absolute angel.

Then I had the pleasure of turning on my computer to find not one, but two emails. One from security and one from the principals secretary informing me of the schenanigans on Friday and making it clear, in no uncertain terms that justice needs to be both harsh and quick. Fine. By. Me. If we had stocks in the town square, I'd be all for it, but sadly, that is not an option. So, I dreamt up some ungodly long and obnoxious assignment surrounding ideas like respect, honor, dignity, integrity, accountability, self censoring, impulse control, setting an example, making good judgements, and then including a letter explaining/apologizing for the mayhem on Friday. I honestly can't remember the last time I was this ticked off with a group of children.  They fell back on with the, "It wasn't me. I didn't do anything. It was ______. She did it!"

And of course they got the standard......"Your history teachers lied to you. This is not a democracy, or debate. Democracy ends at the door my darling. That was not a beginning offer in a negotiation. Look at the board," where it was written, "'This is SUADWIS day." You are welcome to 'Shut Up And Do What I Say', or you are welcome to go to On Campus Detention with the rest of the knuckle draggers and ne'erdowell's."

"But know this, if you stay here, you are writing working on your "I was not raised by wolves" packet.....and you can shut up about it or we are singing "God save the D@mn Queen," little bastards.

I'm glad they shut up and did their work. I don't even know the words to "God Save the Queen."

Welcome to my Last Nerve

Easily annoyed.

Moody.

Liable to snap.

Overly emotional.

Downright crazy.

All words that have probably been used to describe me as of late. In some cases, those words may have been well deserved. In others, I think my response has been totally valid. Maybe it's the fact that I am sick of winter. Maybe it's the fact that teenagers are sometimes just down right annoying. Maybe I am just a spoiled brat who wants to go on vacation (I'm not talking about a long weekend. I'm talking about a 'stamp my passport' vacation.) Nevertheless, there is one question that gets on my last nerve no. matter. what.

The specific question may take various forms, but it is the principle behind the question that pushes me toward the certifiably insane end of the Crazy Spectrum.

So riddle me this...

Am I the only one that wants to choke people when you tell them to a) turn the ipod off,  b) stop talking, c) quit crumpling the bag of chips, d) insert loud/annoying activity here.... and their first response is, "Ohhh you can hear that?"

I count the day a success if I find myself able to overcome the desire to respond with, "No Einstein, I was using my superhuman/Vulcan mind-melding power to help me guess what can only be heard in your head."

Welcome to my last nerve. I realize that there will occasionally be visitors, but please don't plan on making it your personal residence.

One Thing, Maybe Two

Thing number 1- MOST ADORABLE WAGON RIDE EVER

Thing number 2- Isn't there a scripture in Proverbs about training up a child in the way they should go, and when they are old, they will not depart from it?

We take that seriously around here.

Tip your waitresses and try the veal

We buried a friend this weekend. Trouble is, they buried him at the graveyard that I hate the very most. It is seriously one of my least favorite places in this valley. Granted cemeteries are not pleasant places to being with, but they have charm and link us to history. Once the immediate sting wears off, they are really beautiful, sweet places. In fact,  every set of pictures that I have from my travels around the world have at least 50 pics devoted strictly to cemeteries.

The problem that I have with this cemetery is that in the past few years, I have buried about 4 or 5 students at this same location. There hasn't been time for the sting to wear off and the feelings of history, peace and charm to break through.

Pretty sure he was at the poppy fields with his wife and twins. 

However, I did gain a sense that this may have been the perfect place to bury Todd. Knowing that he was the constant joker....and adamant about having a good time, I parked the car and got out, only to see a head stone that read this,

"Happy to be here"

In my head, I am going to think that the deceased actually wanted it to say, "I'm happy to be here. I'll be here for eternity. Tip your waitresses.....and try the veal." But for the sake of space, his family settled with just, "Happy to be here"

When I die, I hope to have the people I left behind still realize that regardless of where my body resides, my spirit remains exactly the way it always has been. And my spirit is freaking hilarious....so I want something clever on my headstone, dammit.

Church alert, church alert.......divert your gaze if you can't read without picking fights.

I was thinking back to when my first grandpa died, then uncle Kelly, grandma Young, finally my last remaining grandparents within months of one another. Most recently, one of my best high school friends Todd died, followed up with the passing of our sweet Stake Relief Society Presidents father in this same week.This holiday season has been quite a ride. It's so strange to see how things like this take their toll differently on each individual person.

I remember when Uncle Kelly passed away I was broken. I'm not sure why, but it hit me like a ton of bricks. Even though it was completely expected, after a long hard fought battle with cancer.  I couldn't stop crying. I was a mess. Irreparably broken, or so it seemed. Maybe because he was the first family loss I had experienced  as an 'adult' and not a child. Grandpa Young died when I was about 12.  Maybe it was that I was stuck in Utah, alone, with my sister and her husband, while the rest of my family had each another to lean on in California. I felt  isolated from everything that I wanted to be near. Jamie was back in California, of course (it was her dad), and Jenn and Steve had each other. What really started to get my attention and kind of freaked me out  was that I started questioning the strength of my testimony, "I must not have a true testimony of the Gospel, namely, the resurrection and the atonement. If I did, I would not let death have such an impact on me. If I believe that we will live again and truly be reunited with our eternal families.....I shouldn't be this upset." 

Anyhow- shortly after learning of Todd's death,  I started flipping through old journals and notes that I taken at BYU from a class called, Teachings of the Latter Day Prophets. We studied a talk that Ezra Taft Benson gave shortly after Spencer W Kimball died. The thing that I wrote down was that Pres Benson said, (loosely quoted) "Mourning and feeling sorrow when a loved one dies is not a reflection of your testimony (or lack thereof). It does not reflect a lack a testimony of the resurrection. It simply shows how much we loved and cared for another person. We mourn him because we love him. The deeper the love, the deeper their loss will be felt and stronger the longing will be to one day be reunited with them. But  the problem is, that dwelling does not allow the comfort of the Spirit to penetrate and heal the hearts of those who mourn." (like I said, those were my notes, not a direct quote from the Prophet.)

Granted those are thoughts from the journal of the knuckle-head college version of me who was experiencing the first death of a close family member since my grandpa when I was a kid. Not like the grown up version is more eloquent or wise, but nevertheless. It just was too timely to be coincidence. To me it was a clear sign that Heavenly Father knows exactly how I feel, what I have gone through and what I need to hear in order to press forward in faith. That talk (I have been looking for a hard copy of it, but I can't find it) helped me to allow myself to be sad and to mourn a loss without adding guilt to the mix for not just putting on a happy face and acting like Little Suzie Sunshine. The problem comes from dwelling, not from feeling.

It's the sweet tender mercies that help sustain us in difficult times.  God hears, he listens and he is involved. Maybe not involved in a way that would like him to be, but that's just as well. He's the one who knows the end game.