Morning Fog

New Deal

I joined up with BLOG 365. At the rate I’ve been going, I would only make about 120, but it’s a goal people. No matter how busy I am with teaching, it is relaxing to stop, drop and roll out the words. It’s fun. I need fun. Not that teaching isn’t fun…teaching 1st grade is a lot of fun. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Yeehaw.

So there is a cool new badge on my page, which if truth be told, is the main reason I joined up. I love the badge. So my new year officially starts with my last consecutive postings.

I am feeling much better today. The zicam/sudafed/aspirin/airborne combo is working pretty well. I still sound a little froggy, but I needed only one short nap today, and I’ve been running around like a busy little bee all day. I am still trying to get a sub for Tuesday though. Just my luck, everybody is sick and it hasn’t been easy. I am 0 for 2 right now, with a call into #3. Darn it, I want my day off.

Spring has officially sprung, at least for now. It was in the mid-70’s this weekend and it felt so warm and sunny that it was hard not to start feeling better. I wish I could say that it is going to be warm from here on out, but since it is only early February, that probably isn’t the case. Some trees are blossoming though, and it is starting to look pretty.

Now I have to spend what’s left of my weekend planning lessons for this week. Planning homework. Keeping my fingers crossed that I find a sub.
In case you hadn’t heard, I really want to take off on Tuesday.
Really.

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Who, me?

classyblogaward.jpg

This little badge of honor means a lot because the lady who gave it to me, Yvonne, is definitely a classy blogger herself. And while I don’t necessarily agree that my blog is actually classy…I am very happy to have the compliment.

So now the pressure is on.
First, I have to come up with something classy to post here to cover up the drivel…and then I have to pick three other classy bloggers. I have seen this award pop up on lots of blogs, so I will try to pick one that hasn’t yet received it.

First of all, there is Fi. She writes about her grown children, her husband, her mother, her pets, her gardening, her friends and her memories and observations with clarity and grace. All that and she provides free Australian-American translation for the asking. I think her old Diaryland name, Alleged Wife, was one of the cleverest I ever read, espcecially when coupled with her bio stating that she had been married to Mr. Wrong…for 30 years or something.

There is also Cardiogirl. Despite whatever fecal matter hits her oscillating cooling device, she writes about it with class. She does. She is cute and clever and I totally see her as the Golden Retriever of the blogging world. And as the proud owner of a Golden, you know I mean that in the best possible way.

G. The Mysterious G. She is a great writer. And her-storian. She has written about some gut-wrenching and personal things, and she has done it with great emotional agility. Sometimes you can almost hear her New Jersey accent, yet somehow in print, it doesn’t seem that shrill…just kidding. Would I call her classy if she was shrill? I think not.

Now that I have passed this torch, I am feeling woefully inadequate. Just so you know.

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Someone asked

Someone asked if this is my actual house here on my blog page. (Sorry, if you are reading a feed you need to click through to see it).

I have to say that it is NOT my house.
It is not in my neighborhood.
Or my city.
Nor my state.

Nay, it is not even in my country.

Maybe one day I will actually post the whole thing, not just a little chunk, and you can all have a good laugh.

I don’t know why I am living in a little virtual house that is pink these days.
My current house is not pink.
It is yellow, as were the majority of houses I have lived in, come to think of it.

The house my parents bought when I was 10, and where they still live, was pink when they bought it and of course they then painted it golden yellow. I always wished it had stayed pink.

I love old pink houses and old pink hotels. I guess if my husband weren’t such a pinkophobe, I would indeed live in a pink house.

Of course, we have a goldfish now, and I never thought he would let that fly either. He’s a fishophobe too, unless it on his plate.

Okay, enough nonsense. You know when I prattle like this it is only because there is so much on my mind that I can’t budge any of it loose. So I should go and sleep and dream and hopefully, one day, return to the land of the fine folks who have the time, energy and inclination to do THIS with some heart and some gusto.

Me? I am all gusto’d out…spent it on those 23 little rug rats darlings in my class.

Adieu.

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Validating me

My mother-in-law is going to be 90 on Thursday, and you may recall that her husband passed last May. It is only right that she is here with us for the holidays and her birthday. As if to convince everyone that I really believe that, I flew to Philadelphia last Monday just so I could fly back with her on Tuesday.
Obviously because she is too old to fly alone.
In case that wasn’t as obvious as I thought it was.

Having said all that, and having proven how wonderful a daughter-in-law I am, it really drives me nuts having her here. In a very mild way. A mild kind of nuts. Not a screaming, ranting and “she goes or I go” kind of way. We did all that 20+ years ago, and we are way beyond that.

Half the time I am not sure why she drives me nuts exactly…just a person in my house who isn’t me, my husband or my kids, I guess.
Sometimes it is her personality. She is a total split personality. On the one hand she is VERY religious, generous, helpful, industrious, kind and friendly.
On the other hand, she is also very ignorant, bigoted, going deaf (get a hearing aid already!) and does things like rinse her dirty cups with cold water and before putting them back in the cupboard. She is extremely tidy, but not necessarily clean when it comes to household things. Neat as a pin…sanitary is not in her vocabulary.

Speaking of her vocabulary, I suppose it is a combination of her immigrant upbringing…her mother didn’t really speak English well (she was German) and her father was from Ireland. I suppose he spoke English, but not Americanish-English.
Add to the that the fact that she wasn’t a great student and dropped out of high school when her father died…she was about 15 I think. Then there are those regional differences. People in Philadelphia have odd words for some things. Mix that with ME…the former ENGLISH major…miss “use the proper word at all times and say what you mean/mean what you say.” I feel my skin crawling when she talks somtimes.
Over the years I know I have come accross rude when commenting, but believe me, it took every ounce of strength I had not to be much ruder! Much more extremely ruder to the MAXXXXX. I was holding my tongue as tightly as I could, but some forces are just too great to rein in entirely.

One example that stays with me 23 years later…Number one son was a newborn, and I was giving him a bath. She told me that she was always too “scared to bath her babies” her mother had to do it. BATH her babies??? BATH? As in a NOUN? I hate that she can’t say, “bathe.”

Things are never expensive, ever. They are “dear.” Always dear. I never heard that in my live from anyone but her.

A sandwich is a hoagie. A pizza is a “tamatah pie.” A lollipop is a taffy and sprinkles are jimmies. She doesn’t vacuum, she runs the cleaner. She doesn’t carry a purse or a bag, but a pocketbook. Can I tell you how much the word “pocketbook” drives me up the wall. What the heck is a “pocketbook” anyway? I say a small book, frankly. Not something large in which to put other things.

Oh, and I did I mention that I really could do without the reports on her bowel movements, stomach aches, and passing gas? I mean, I could really, really, really do without all of that. Seriously. I don’t do bodily fluids. Not other people’s.

Then, there is the fact that she feeds the dog constantly. And everything. And right from the table. We have a weak stomached-dog who can only tolerate hoity toity dog food and the occasional morsel of something else. So guess who got to be up with the dog in the middle of the night two nights in a row? While the dog threw up and had diarrhea??? Three guesses, and the first two don’t count. Hint: I’ll tell you it wasn’t HER.

I read a blogger today who mentioned that ranting and venting and getting it all out and down has been scientifically proven to promote sanity and happiness when compared to sunshine-and-roses diarists. So there…I have taken a healthy step forward in the name of my own mental health.

Just for the record, I will add that she means well, has a good heart and loves her family mightily. Those are good things and make up for alot. Having said that though, I have to say that between now and New Year’s, I anticipate much more work on my mental health to take place on these pages.

Speaking of pages…welcome to the new digs. Some of my old friends found me, and recognized me right away. Others I may have to drag over here.

YO!!! NEW SITE!!! BOOKMARK ME!!! GOOGLE READER ME!!!! BUDDYLIST ME!!!

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