Hamper Kitty

Yes, I'm that person. I don't have kids yet, so I'm posting video of my not-so-graceful kitty, Minion.

 

Wishing you and your loved ones a happy holiday season full of laughs, love, family, and friends!  

Let's cry

 Growing up, I learned how to hide my emotions. I'm not entirely sure why, but I know I thought crying made me weak. I remember my best friend in high school trying really hard to find a movie that'd make me cry (Armageddon finally did the trick). My, how times have changed.

As I've matured and grown more sure of myself, my tear ducts have done a complete 180.
I cry when babies get dedicated at church.
I tear up when I read my students' journals sometimes.
And I am a blubbering mess sitting on my couch right now having read these:

http://www.marcandangel.com/2011/11/20/60-tiny-love-stories-to-make-you-smile/

"Make you smile" should read "make your mascara stream down your face and onto your white tanktop."

I'm ok admitting this to you because I'm comfortable in my own skin now. Crying doesn't make me weak. It makes me human. I empathize. I sympathize. I experience emotion. And finally, I'm ok with that.

I hope I can pass this acceptable of emotion on to my kids someday, ESPECIALLY my future sons, if we have any. The belief that it's unmanly for boys to show emotion, sensitivity, and tenderness INFURIATES me to the core of my being. Having grown up with a sweet and sensitive brother, I am especially irate when I see or hear of boys being told to "man up" when they're simply expressing their God-given emotions.

So your child thinks it's sad that Bambi dies at the end of the movie? Praise God that he is caring! Seriously. There are so many desensitized children in the world. Let's not contribute to this problem. 

• Let's celebrate their sweetness and sensitivity. 
• Let's teach them to express emotions in appropriate ways. 
• Let's be a safe place for them to cry, laugh, and stomp their feet. 

And every now and then, let's cry in front of them.

The Great Debater

I like (ok, LOVE) to debate. For years, I truly believed I was going to be a lawyer, the only career I can think of where I’d get paid for arguing with people.

I’ve lost several friends (mostly girls) because I’ve said something controversial or offensive and totally not meant it that way. I was just trying to be honest and have a healthy debate.

But despite my love of controversy, I don’t like to fight. When debating, you use your brain… you formulate intelligent points and counterpoints, and your brain hurts afterwards, but not your heart or relationship.

When you fight, you call your opponent “turd-eating idiot” and bring up the countless times he forgot to put the toilet seat down.  

And this is why I love being married to Randy. We debate a lot- football, politics, religion, whether or not to get another kitten, you name it.

But we don’t really fight.

And even when we do, I always know it’ll be ok.

I know we won’t go to bed mad.

I know he’ll hold me while I apologize in a quivering voice.
And he’ll forgive me immediately and never, ever, ever bring it up ever again.

I know he’ll ask me, “What do you need from me right now?” Because most of our (very few) fights stem from my own issues and insecurities, which he unknowingly triggers.

And I’ll blubber, “I…I…I don’t know!” and wipe the snot from my face with a crumpled tissue, and he’ll just hug me and stroke my hair.  

I know he’ll apologize when he’s wrong (which, if I am to be honest, isn’t very often).

I know we’ll fall asleep holding hands, side by side, and that we’ll wake up and snuggle and text each other “I love you” when we get to school or work.

There are countless reasons I love being married to my man. I can’t believe we’ve been together for almost seven years and married for over two of them.

What does “debating” and “fighting” look like in your life?

'Twas the Fortnight Before Christmas

'Twas the fortnight before Christmas

And all through the school

Each student was breaking

Almost all of the rules.

No cell phones? No eating?

No saying "shut up"?

"Forget that, Mrs. Suders!

We'll do what we want."

Some students have mumbled, 

"No half-day before break?

I won't be here, then."

"Oh, boy, that's a mistake!

You see, kids, in my class

We'll be doing work.

An essay, some reading-"

The kids all go beserk!

"You wil'ing, you trippin

You doin' too much!"

To which I just answer,

"Uh huh, yeah, and yup."

A fortnight 'til freedom...

How will I survive?

I'll breathe, and drink coffee

And just stay alive :)

Puke in your face

Well, up until last Monday, my most embarrassing moment was when I stalled my dad's stick shift car in the middle of the road when I was in high school.

His car was blocking my car, and I wanted to go somewhere really important. Target, probably. Or Wal-Mart. So, I figured I'd just pull it out of the driveway and park on the street. Easy peasy.

Except I stalled out in the middle of the road and could not get it into first gear to save my life

In case you've never heard this story, it has a happy ending: a bus full of children had to sit for two (ok...it was probably more like seven or eight)  minutes while I tried desperately to move out of the way. And then the bus driver called the cops. And then the cop told me I needed to go to driving school to learn how to drive stick, and I giggled because thought he was kidding.

He wasn't.

And then the cop hopped in the car and parked it for me... back in the driveway behind my car. Fail. 

Anyway, I have a new embarrassing moment: walking out of class to throw up. True story.

It all started when I woke up Monday morning with a fever and an upset tummy.

And it ended when I walked out of my fourth block class while the kids were doing a writing prompt. At least I made it out of class first, AND all the way to a trash can (cue applause).
As I was vomiting little chunks of granola and the two ibuprofen my sweet friend brought to me in the middle of class, I heard students (not mine) yelling, "EWWWWW, is she PUKING?! That is SO GROSS!" and laughing. The primal part of me I wanted to go puke in their faces, but that would be extremely unprofessional and kind of gross.

One of my students, however, sweetly asked me if I was ok and offered to move the trash can near the door. I wanted to hug him. Again, though, unprofessional and gross.

Moral of the story: when someone is puking, don't laugh. They might puke in your face.Or not. But either way, it's just mean.