The Stairway to Hell

This was my grandmother's loveseat.
(Sorry it's so blurry- I think my camera is on the fritz and I'm too lazy to go take another picture.)

Every year when I was growing up, we would make the thirteen-hour trek to the house where my father spent his childhood.  I remember being a little girl who fit comfortably on this ridiculous print, falling asleep listening to my grandparents' southern drawl.


My father's father passed when I just a little kid and in 2006, when the fortune he left had dwindled to a few pennies- mostly thanks to outrageous nursing home fees- my father's family decided to sell their childhood home. 


When I arrived to help organize and pick through the furnishings, I only wanted two things: a vintage letter holder and the 60's loveseat.  I have since carried this loveseat around from apartment to apartment and from city to city five different times.


Besides the sentimental value and orangey-cock pattern (can you believe "loveseat" is considered incorrectly spelled by my blog server, yet "orangey-cock" is perfectly acceptable?), the loveseat is also made with the craftsmanship that only old furniture possesses.  Actually, now that I'm looking at it this way, it looks more like a turkey.  Discuss.


Anyway, the couch is solid wood and very heavy, and it has never been a problem in all of my transience.  Until it encountered my new stairs.

You see, my new stairs are U-shaped, with a landing in the middle.  Here, on the left, is the view up from that landing.  (Notice all the drywall?  Yeah, that's where this going.)  And on your right is the view down.  I hit my head on that overhang last week and I have what I assume is a permanent dent.

These stairs have been the bane of my existence since we moved in about ten days ago.  Thursday, the day we loaded up the truck and drove 3 hours to our new home, Mr. Peaches and I decided to unload a few essentials- and what's more essential when you're exhausted than a bed?


It took us an hour, a lot of cussing, some name calling, and several large holes in the hours old apartment to get our full-sized box frame up those stairs.


On Friday we unloaded the rest of the truck, including Mr. Peaches's desk and the loveseat, both of which had to somehow make their way upstairs to the study.  First was the desk, which I didn't want to bring to our new home in the first place, and reiterated probably 37 times during its trip up the stairs.  Then came the loveseat.


After much struggling, we eventually moved the loveseat up to the landing and reveled in finally being halfway there.  Except we weren't.  We could not get the loveseat up the rest of the stairs.  After ten minutes of huffing and puffing and pushing and screaming, I had a temper tantrum.  A string of profanity flew out of my mouth and I punched and kicked my grandmother's poor old loveseat several times.  Then I left Mr. Peaches on the other side of that loveseat and walked away.


We left the loveseat there for many, many hours.  When the team of four DirecTV men who had been digging in our backyard to install a stupid service I do not want, they asked to use the bathroom, one by one.  And one by one I explained to them that they would have to duck and push their way through the loveseat in order to reach it.  And one by one they did.


I was not ashamed.  I hated that loveseat, and I hated our new apartment.  If it were up to me, I would have left it there as long as we lived here.  I would have added some colored lights around Christmas.  But it wasn't really up to me.

Eventually, Mr. Peaches, my super smart cousin, and I got the loveseat up those last three stairs.  But did you notice the mirror placed in the landing, Dear Reader?  That mirror is covering up a treasure trove of dents, scratches, and sheet rock.


Also, did you know there was a difference between spackle and caulk?  I learned that this week.  I wish I had learned it before filling all of the holes in my last apartment with caulk, but win some, lose some.

Summer 10

I just had to share this gloriousness with you, Dear Reader.

It's going to be a good summer.

ETS, you are not my enemy after all

I know I have only been gone for four days, but I have so much to say!  What's worse is that I am enjoying my new apartment and my time with Mr. Peaches and Mr. Holden that I have no interest in writing anything at all.

First and foremost, I PASSED the Spanish Praxis.  I didn't do well, per say- my score certainly wasn't stellar, but I did PASS and that is the only important thing.

However, my score on the second Praxis test- the Principles of Teaching and Learning- was stellar.  It was so stellar that I received professional recognition for my score (ETS RoE), which might help me in the job hunt.  (I doubt I need to point out, however, that my ability to take a test well has little to do with my ability to be a successful teacher, and I believe there are all kinds of things wrong with standardized tests.)


So, I finished all of my coursework (thanks to my waived class), passed the two mandatory tests that I need to take, and tomorrow I will apply for my teaching license.  And I will get it.  There are no roadblocks.  My state believes that I am mature and competent enough to care for students, from K-12.

PULL YOUR KIDS OUT OF PUBLIC SCHOOLS NOW, DEAR READER!


Just kidding.  Sort of.

A Riddle

Dear Reader,

How do you get a normally happy couple to nearly break up?

Get them to move to another city together.

I miss you, Dear Reader.  Moving is hard.

Mr. Peaches's World

Mr. Peaches, until now, has been living in the shadows of my waived course.  The news that I have finished school was entirely unexpected and due to this fact my "graduation" has been celebrated and doted over by me, Mr. Peaches, and my entire family.

However, Mr. Peaches graduated this past weekend as well, and this was an hito that he never thought he would accomplish.  He started college at a University at the tender age of 19, after taking one year off.  He continued there for three years until he had to leave due to some difficult family circumstances and an interesting job opportunity.  When he finished the job and got through the hard family stuff, he got a job that paid well and didn't require a degree, and that is where we met.  (At this point in the story, Mr. Peaches is actually much smarter than I am because we were paid the same amount of money and I owed twice as much in student loans.)

Until it got to the point that Mr. Peaches couldn't stand working at that job anymore and he decided to go back to school.

Since then, Mr. Peaches has worked extra hard to finish in three semesters.  He worked two, sometimes three jobs at a time, while managing his schoolwork and the housework and dealing with me (obviously no easy task).  He decided that he will become a lawyer and has done everything in his power to make it happen, all while juggling the above responsibilities.  Now he starts law school at a top-ranked University in three months.

There was a time in his life that Mr. Peaches did not think he would ever have a college degree.  Now he has one and is on the fast-track to much more.  You've done well, Mr. Peaches.

¡Felicidades!

The Cat's Meow, I Say!

When I saw that The University was calling me, I ran like a speeding bullet calmly left the classroom in which I was sitting to someplace more private (i.e. without students).  The closest place happened to be a stairwell whose wall is entirely made up of windows, and has an unobstructed view of the sun the entire day.  It is hot in there.  I immediately started sweating, but who can tell if was from the heat or the anxiety?

I knew it was Dr. Chair, and since he was five days late in calling me, I also knew I had a fight on my hands.  I had prepared myself mentally for the fight, waiting with questions such as, "Which objectives did you and Professor Nightmare feel I did not meet?" and "Why didn't you confront me about that objective during our meeting, when I could have produced an artifact proving that I have already met it?"

Following this confrontation- which I would ultimately lose- would come tears and questions like, "Is there any way we can work out something else?  Maybe I could do an independent study from my new city to strengthen the weakness you feel I have?"  HAVE MERCY, OLD MAN!  PUH-LEASE!

But before I could get any of that out, he said (without apologizing for being 4 days late, mind you), "I have some good news and some bad news, which would you like first?"

Gulp.I know what the bad news is already, what can the good news be?  Maybe he already has decided to let me write a paper instead!  Well, okay, that's not the end of the world.  I wonder how long he wants it to be- 12 pages?  Twelve pages seems fair.  I bet it's on the laws regarding religion, I was a little weak on that.  

Wait, did he ask me a question?

"Bad news, I'll take the bad news," I said after what must have been an awkward pause.

"The bad news is we lost your petition. Blah blah Education Department blah blah blah moving blah lost in the shuffle blah blah."

They lost my petition?  Wait, THAT'S the "bad news"?  I have to drop off another petition?  Wait, then what is the good news?  Oh my god, what is the GOOD NEWS?  There is no way.  I know he did not waive my course for the "first time in ten years- my entire career here at The University."  Is he still talking?  Focus, Ms. Peaches, focus!

"The good news is, I am approving your petition to waive the course."

I must have sounded like I was in love with man (and at that moment, I probably was) because, Dear Reader, I swooned.  I said, in the swooniest of all swoony voices, "You areeee?"

He continued by saying that he and Professor Nightmare (who shall now be named Professor Cat's Meow) both agreed to waive it because I impressed them so much at the meeting.  They didn't see my shaking hands!  I impressed them!  I impressed the man who laughed at me when I told him I wanted to graduate in May.

And now I will.

 I didn't hear the rest of his compliments because I was too busy jumping up and down like a fat kid on a trampoline- and sweating just as much- and imagining my much, much brighter future.

To wrap up:
I have officially finished my Teaching Certificate and Spanish Degree at The University.  Monday I will apply for "graduation" even though the ceremony was yesterday.

I will save (actually, Mama & Papa Peaches will save- bless their hearts) the $1024 cost of the course.  I will save the $300 in gas it would have cost for me to drive 5 hours (roundtrip) twice a week for six weeks to attend said course.  I will graduate in May instead of August, giving me a much better chance of finding a job.

Now my biggest worry is that I didn't pass the Praxis and who cares if I didn't?  I can take it again in June if I need to do so.

Overreact? ME?

Last Monday I had an important meeting to waive the very last course I need to finish my teaching certificate.  To prepare for the meeting, I read all three textbooks for the class, dug up tons of old syllabi, and gathered as many "artifacts" I could find that would support my position- particularly evidence found in my own teaching.

I wrote out a script and studied it, the same way I would cram for a final.  I planned out the conversation and prepared as much as humanly possible for it.  I arrived on time.

When I walked into Dr. Chair of the Department's office, Professor Nightmare was also there.  This was a surprise.  I sat down.  Dr. Chair said, "Tell me why I should waive this requirement for the first time in my career here at University."  My hands shook, but my voice was calm, cool, and collected.

Dr. Chair seemed open-minded, but when I left Professor Nightmare did not.  He had a response for nearly everything I said.  I was nervous.  Dr. Chair said he would call me "tomorrow morning" (Tuesday) to tell me his decision.  I felt pretty confident walking out of the meeting, like I couldn't have done, said, or prepared anything better.

Tuesday morning came and went.  At noon, I called him.  I did not leave a voicemail.  Wednesday I called again in the morning- still unwilling to leave a voicemail.  When Wednesday afternoon rolled around, however, I was feeling surly.  I left a nice, deferential message, using phrases like,  "I'm just following up" and "When you get a chance."  Thursday brought the same- one anonymous phone call and one voicemail message.  Each day I was a less optimistic than the day before.

On Friday morning, I was pissed.  I called on my way into school and was much less polite.  I issued a directive, "Call me today."  If he doesn't call, I said to myself, I will have a sit-in on Monday, since I don't have school.  I'll get to his office at nine and I will refuse to leave until he sees me.  I even recruited Mr. Peaches and a professor who has been very good to me.  I would make this an event.  I'll create signs!  I'll bring a bullhorn!  My activism days were coming back!

Three hours later, he called.  (Lucky for him!)

Aren't you dying to know what he said?

And Then There was One...

I took this photo on March 30, 2010.  I had already eaten some of the chocolate (meaning I was a few days behind on the game), but you get the idea.

Here is what that same jar looks like today:

Tomorrow is my very last day of student teaching.  Did you hear me?

Tomorrow is my very last day of student teaching!


I have rarely been so damn excited!  You see, I didn't share this with you before, Dear Reader, but my semester student teaching has been...challenging....to say the least.  My mentor and I did not get along- partly her fault and partly mine- and it caused a lot of problems.  In fact, I even had to do an extra week of student teaching- all of my friends finished last Friday- because of all of the drama.  Even though I am a good teacher (at least as good as one can be at the end of student teaching) I worried I would fail student teaching at times.  It was pretty serious.

But here I am.  One Reese's Peanut Butter Egg left.

In four days we are getting the key to our new apartment in our new city.  In four days I have a job interview.  And, in case you were wondering, I have been really lazy this week.

To the weekend, Batman!

Two Truths and a Lie

1) I have been very lazy lately

2) I have a job interview on Tuesday

3) I have two more weeks left of student teaching

Real update coming soon.

The Importance of Apostrophes

I was writing about the upcoming holiday the other day and I had a grammatical quandary.  

Mothers' Day.

Mother's Day.
Mothers Day.

Here's the breakdown:

With the apostrophe placed after the "s," as in "Mothers' Day," we are celebrating the Day of all the Mothers- it belongs to them.  It is their day.  

Placed before the "s," I am celebrating the Day of just my own mother.  It is my mom's Day.  

Without an apostrophe at all, the holiday is simply the day for mothers, it doesn't belong to anyone.  

Maybe it's the Socialist in me, but I felt that Mothers' Day made the most sense.  After all, all moms are celebrating their day together, and we are all celebrating all of them.  Right?

I looked it up.  I'm totally wrong.  You can stop singing Kumbaya.  After some scouring (which, thanks to the Internet, means about 45 seconds), I found an article that said the founder of Mother's Day, Ann Jarvis, "was specific about the location of the apostrophe; it was to be a singular possessive, for each family to honour their mother, not a plural possessive commemorating all mothers in the world."

So there you have it, you can rest easy now.

(Although, if you're into grammar, I found this totally unrelated concept that I highly recommend to you, because it is now going to be a standard part of my life.)

----------------------------------------------------------------------

My own mother, Mama Peaches, is a pretty exceptional woman.  

In my twenty-six years, I have had some pretty... interesting... aspirations, and my mother has supported each and every one.  I have made some questionable decisions- if you can believe it- and she has stood by me through all of them.  I have often asked for her help and she never denied me.  She has always been proud of me and understanding of my conundrums.  

While I was shopping for a Mother's Day card, I came upon one I didn't buy, but that made it through to the second or third round.  It referred to a mother as The Best Frenemy.  That card made it past the first round because it resonated with me.  My relationship with Mama Peaches has been rocky (at best) at times, and on some occasions (this one included) downright hateful and mean- and we have shared responsibility in those moments.  Like a lot of mothers and adult daughters, we cannot spend too long a time sharing a confined space.  We don't agree on everything.

In the end, though, I couldn't ask for a better Mama Peaches.

And my personal favorite--

                        

Happy Mother's Day to your mother, Dear Reader; and a Happy Mother's Day to my own.  I wish I could spend it with you.

My Dirty Little Secrets

I like pink.

I like pink, and cooking, and (sometimes) cleaning.

I like puppies, and kids, and I love babies.

I like flowers, and doing laundry, and bright colors.

I like shopping, and sewing, and talking on the phone for hours on end.

I like teaching.

In fact, I like a lot of things that are generally associated with being a woman.  I've written before about how difficult that is for me.  I spent many years training myself to despise all female-oriented stereotypes, and almost as many years trying to convince everyone in my life that I was not a cookie cutter, cook-and-clean, domestic goddess.

Instead, I was an academic who hated handbags.  Or a truck driver who didn't need a man.  An independent woman who didn't want to get married, who sawed open rooves, and peed in the woods.  A lawyer.  A New Yorker.  An intellectual who conquered Japanese.  A strong woman in a man's world.

Except I'm not.  I'm a strong woman in a woman's world; a teacher.  A woman who can't wait to get married and have a zillion babies with Mr. Peaches, and maybe even stay at home to take care of them all.  I'm a woman whose best friend is her mama and who can't stand to live more than 90 miles away from her relatives.   

Within Feminism are a lot of opposing viewpoints.  As I developed in my own views, I began to  espouse that "Feminism" means that women [should] have the ability to do whatever they want.  CEO?  Cool.  Homemaker?  Go for it.  But I didn't believe that for myself.  I could only do things considered to be outside the norm for women.  

The fact that I like teaching is frustrating, in a way.  I never expected to like it.  After I left my last "career" I decided to become a Spanish teacher only as an avenue to become fluent in the language.  Maybe I would like teaching, maybe not, but I knew I would love Spanish and I would have something to "fall back on" if whatever I really decided to do with my life didn't work out.

Learning that I like the kids, and molding their little brains, has forced me to come to terms with the idea that I might be teaching for a long time.  And as I get older, marriage, babies, and domestic goddessness-a word I just invented- becomes more real.  

It's time I am honest with myself.  And- apparently- you, Dear Reader.

Breathing

Yesterday I got some rough news.

A few months ago, I petitioned to waive a course all education students are required to take.  I did not have the space in my schedule during any of my four semesters at this University to take the course.  There are many reasons for my petition, and I won't bore you with long-winded explanations, but here is the list in bullet form:

• I already have the knowledge and abilities the class is designed to confer
• I am moving three hours away in just two weeks, and the class starts in three (and meets 2x/week)
• I do not have the $1000 I need to take the class
• It is going to hold up my graduation and teaching certification

My petition was denied.  I recently appealed the denial, although it's not much of an appeals process, simply resubmitting the same exact thing (I added a few artifacts, however) to the same exact people who are likely going to say the same exact thing.

Yesterday I talked to the man responsible for making the decision.  He basically told me that there is no way he will agree to waive the class, but did agree to see me in his office next Monday.  This is a man who is too busy to return his own emails or even record his own voicemail greeting.  He actually laughed when I told him I was hoping to graduate this month.  I think it's going to go well...

I did not take this new information very easily.  In fact, I sorta flew off the handle into CrazyVille and dragged Mr. Peaches along with me, freaking out about possibly failing the Praxis along the way.

After we ran some errands and I spoke with my mother, Mr. Peaches, Mr. Holden, and I decided to splurge for some Chipotle and eat it in the park next to the lake we leave near.  We enjoyed our dinner, and then spent three hours playing fetch and staring at the water.

By the time we were ready to leave the park, I was a much calmer human being and I kept thinking about the picture I posted above.  It's NASA's Astronomy Picture of the Day, from May 2, 2010, and it is called the Coma Cluster.  According to them, each one of those little lights is an entire galaxy, just like ours.  There are thousands in the picture alone.  The astronomer writes that "the Coma Cluster is so big it takes light millions of years just to go from one side to the other!"  That link is their own link to the interactive version of the photo, and I suggest visiting if you've got the time.

Perspective.

Normalcy

Yesterday was about as perfect a day as one can have.

It was my first Saturday since the end of January that I was not worried about papers, studying, grading, lessons, or anything else.  (Which is not to say I don't have papers to write- I do- I just stopped worrying about them.)  It was my first Saturday I did not live on a pot of coffee just to keep my energy up.  It was my first Saturday of normalcy.  

I woke up at 8 and had myself a nice cup of coffee.  I watched last week's Grey's Anatomy, which I vow to stop watching every week.  By ten, I was out of the house and on my way to the mall, a place I have thankfully avoided since December; however, despite my abounding hatred for the place, I needed a few new things to wear to school in the warm weather and I had to put the items on a store credit card. 

When I got home I ate a delicious lunch- leftover Mexican from the night before.  I opened all of the windows, even though most don't have screens, and the doors.  I turned on the fans.  I put on some loud music.  I changed eight light bulbs, because apparently the ceiling fans in my house read my blog and the light bulbs went on strike because three more went out since I wrote that post.

Then I cleaned this house.  I cleaned like I have never cleaned before.  I mopped, vacuumed, dusted (okay, so I only dusted the TV- I still dusted), and put everything away.  I'm not ashamed to tell you, Dear Reader, that we were living in a pigsty.  A Ms.PeachesSty.  Dirty tissues from being sick.  Envelopes from junk mail and bills.  SHOES EVERYWHERE.  And now it's simply peaceful.  Unlike this picture.

Forget anonymity, that's actually me cleaning my house yesterday, Dear Reader.  Do you still love me?

It felt so good to clean the house.  Mr. Peaches cleans- and is perfectly capable of doing so, know that- but I actually enjoy cleaning.  Not every day, certainly, but I do enjoy it.  Something about control and immediate positive reinforcement, methinks.

I cooked dinner and cleaned up all of the pots and pans before Mr. Peaches walked in the door from work.  It was sitting on the table with a freshly opened beer when he walked in.

We talked about taking a walk, but The Peaches and Mr. Holden ended up taking a nap together in bed, which I wouldn't change for anything.

And then, and here's the icing on the cake, People, and THEN I beat Mr. Peaches at Scrabble for the fifth time ever.

And then I blogged.

Happy.  Normal.  Perfect.

Happy Sunday, Dear Reader.