Ummm...TGIF...?

Okay, so I have to tell you what I did last Friday. (I know, it's almost THIS Friday, but this is how my life is August through May...on a one week time delay.)

So, if you haven't heard, my class this year is...how shall I put this...less than perfect. They like to talk. A lot. Like, all the time. This drives me slightly insane. A lot. I have not found anything yet to persuade them that they shouldn't do this. I have tried a lot of things. A lot.

So last Friday we were going along, we had lunch, came back from lunch. They talked, I threatened. They ignored, they talked. It's pretty much routine by this point in the year already.

Anyway, we come back from lunch, we take our spelling test, we work on our time lines, we start a writing assignment, we do some other things, etc.

Soon I look at the clock and see that it's quarter till. So I say "Okay, it's time to get cleaned up!" So, I pass out their Friday paperwork, they get their backpacks, I call them to line up, they stack their chairs (the whole shebang).

So, like every other day we start walking down the hallway to dismiss. I send the kids that ride the bus up to the bus hallway.

While I'm standing there in the hallway waiting for them to settle down so we can walk all the way out, one of the other teachers comes out and says, "Are we supposed to be somewhere?"

I scratch my head, confused, "What...?" I asked.

"Where are you going? Is there an assembly or something?" she persists. Now I'm really confused. Why would there be an assembly at the end of the day?

At the blank expression on my face, she gets a pitying look in her eyes. "It's only 2:00 Mrs. Ames..." she smiles sweetly.

"Wha...huh...I..." I stammer intelligently as I look at my watch and will it to NOT say 2:01. Now that I think of it, I didn't hear a bell ring. And the hallways ARE awfully empty...

Finally, I resign myself to the fact that it's NOT dismissal time yet. So, I turn the troop around, march them back into the class.

"Quick! Run up and get the bus kids!" I shouted hurriedly to one student. "Before anyone else sees how stupid your teacher is!" I wanted to add.

The kids, of course, thought this was hilarious. Once I got over my confusion I did too, actually.

The best part was that once we got back in and settled down I asked the class "Okay, so did anyone NOTICE that it was only 2:00 instead of 3:00?"

About 10 hands shot up.

Hmmpphh. Third graders.

Pop Quiz, Hot Shot!

What's more fun than sitting through three hours of church?

Sitting through three hours of church when the air conditioner is on the fritz.

P.S. It's 110 degrees today.

Okay...One More Post About Our Dog and We Officially Become THOSE People...

...but still, I couldn't resist.

This is something Daisy does to anything she can get her paws on.

This video shows her doing it to some discarded poster paper, but she regularly does it to blankets, towels, the tile in the bathroom, whatever.

We don't question it. We just giggle at the silliness.

Please to enjoy, the craziness that is Daisy:

This Post is Rated R...for Rant

An Open Letter to the People Behind Us in the Movie Theater Today Who Felt the Need to Talk (Not Whisper, mind you, TALK) During ALL of Harry Potter;

I learned a lot about you today. I see now that you are the kind of person who doesn't like to read. Fine, I don't understand you, but I respect your right to wallow in your illiteracy.

I also see that you are the kind of person who chooses to see a movie without reading the book that goes along with it first (or, for that matter, watch the preceding FIVE movies that are part of the story). I don't understand that either, but whatever.

I also found out that you have a seemingly uncontrollable need to TALK (not whisper) to the person next to you, who may or may not know any more about the storyline than you do. It seems that you have the need to do this throughout the entire movie.

Apparently it's extremely important for you to mention (during the opening credits of the movie) to your neighbor/conversation companion how Bob (whoever THAT is) "needs to get that there THX surround sound so that he can hear better." And how Bob ordered the Whisper 2000 off of the infomercial, and that seems to have helped a little. I knew right then that we would have a special, special relationship.

I also learned that you have zero patience when it comes to suspense, build up, foreshadowing, or any other cinematic device employed during the movie to keep the rest of us interested in where the plot is going. You kept asking your equally Chatty Cathy neighbor "What's going on?" "Who's that?" "Why is he crying?" "I thought he was dead." and my favorite: "Isn't this the last movie?!" Thanks for asking all those burning questions the rest of us are just too involved in the storyline to ask.

Also, double thanks go out to your partner-in-annoyingly-loud-crime for indulging your curiosity by answering EVERY SINGLE question.

Incidently, noisy neighbor, thanks for allowing me a unique insight into your IQ bracket by answering the majority of your friend's questions incorrectly!! ("No, this is not the last movie. There are at least three more.")

Also, if you see your cousin; you know, Person Who Talks On Their Cellphone/Sends Text Messages/Shines Their Cellphone Light Around the Theater During the Movie, tell them I said hi and thanks, once again, for providing a much needed distraction during the movie. I knew I was getting WAY too involved in the plot!

Thanks for all the great memories! Take care!

Much Love,

Rebekah

Enter New Information...Exit Old

I have come to the conclusion that my brain has reached maximum capacity. Any additional information that it receives will cause it to dispose of what it deems as useless old information. How do I know? Read on.

This week I have been helping my friend Jen who recently purchased a new home. We have been painting her walls. The day before yesterday, while we were there the Post Office came by to drop off her new mail key. On our way home we stopped by her mailbox to check to see if she had any mail yet.

If you don't know, most newer houses here have these neighborhood mailboxes, where all the boxes for the entire neighborhood are clustered together in a big beehive type thing. When you move in you are assigned a number and given a key. They don't put the addresses on the actual box fronts (I guess for security purposes, or something...).

They told her that her mailbox number was B-6. It wasn't. The key would not even go in the keyhole for B-6. So we stood out there in the 110 degree heat and tried every single mailbox. It ends up it was C-6. Problem solved. It only took about 10 minutes (did I mention it was 110 degrees...).

Okay, fast forward to today. I go out to do my weekly (ok monthly...) mail gathering. Now, keep in mind we have lived in this house (and had the same mailbox) for over a year. All of a sudden I could NOT remember what our mailbox number was. I racked my brain, but the information was not there! For the life of me, the only thing I could remember was B-6 and C-6. Neither of those are our mailboxes. So, for the second time in a week I stood out in the 110 degree heat and tried every stinking mailbox.

About halfway through the process I began to worry that if someone were to come along I might get arrested for mail tampering. What kind of a crazy/mentally challenged person stands out in the heat testing their key in each and every mailbox?! I didn't even have the excuse of being new to the neighborhood!

About 5 minutes and 20 mailboxes later, I started to get desperate. I began to forget which mailboxes I had already tried. I thought about calling Dan, but immediately dismissed that idea, remembering that he is the person who routinely asks me for our address and/or zip code.
Finally, just when I was ready to give up and go back inside, my key turned. Success! I looked around sheepishly, grabbed my mail, and made a quick b-line for the house.

I am glad I have my mail, but now I'm afraid to absorb any new information. I will have to relegate myself to watching VH1 and reading the Arizona Republic!! I can't afford to learn anything new. I might forget my bra size or the roads I take to get to work!!
It's tough getting old. :(


**Incidentally, later on when I relayed my harrowing experience to Dan he said "You couldn't remember our mailbox number?! That's easy: B-11."
Go figure...

Crazy Daisy!

I'm pretty sure that Daisy was, in her former life before she came to our family, employed as a bomb sniffing dog. How do I know this? Well, I don't...but I can only surmise that this was her former occupation because since joining our household she has taken it upon herself to thoroughly inspect any new item that comes on the premises. Here are a few examples:

The newly purchased toilet paper from Costco could be dangerous. Here you can see how she has taken it upon herself to inspect it to ensure that it is safe for our family to use:

In fact, she is so vigilant that even after she had ascertained that the toilet paper was safe, and I was allowed to put it away, she still felt compelled to inspect the outside wrapper one more time...just to be sure:

Then, later when I was working on some new primary rolls and paperwork, Daisy became concerned that some of these primary papers may have gone rogue and may be posing a threat to the family. Daisy jumped on them like a bum on a bologna sandwich!

And let me tell you something else: there is no END to Daisy's vigilance. She never sleeps when there are potential threats lurking everywhere. Even things that have been in our house longer than Daisy has cannot be trusted. Take our entryway rug. We've had it for years. I naively assumed it was safe. But Daisy was not fooled. Thanks to Daisy crisis averted, yet again!

Also, there is apparently something dangerous and sinister about the bows that I stupidly insist on putting in her hair. Every time I, like a dummy, try to put one in her hair she stealthily removes it within thirty minutes before it can do any harm:

Phewww! That was close!!!

Summer J.O.B.

I don't do well with having nothing to do.

The first two days I got back from Utah I laid around my house and read. I didn't leave the house, I didn't clean, I didn't accomplish anything. I didn't even get dressed.

My wonderful husband was kind enough to point out that this is...not good. In his gentle way he said, "Honey, you're not going to lay around all summer are you? Because you know you get all depressed and junk when you don't have anything to do. Maybe you should get a job." He is so kind.

So, maybe I will get a summer job. There are a couple of problems with this scenario.

First: to my knowledge, there are not many jobs out there (something to do with the economy, or something...I don't know...). So that might pose a challenge.

Second: I don't know what I want to do.

I don't want to wait tables (I've never done that before, and don't want to start now).

When we were seeing Star Trek the other day I thought about working in a movie theater. Free popcorn and movies, awesome! But then Dan said that I probably would have to do ALL the theater jobs, like cleaning the theaters and getting peoples' soda and popcorn, instead of JUST taking peoples' tickets, like I wanted to do. Plus, they would probably make me wear that stupid uniform. No thanks, that's why I went to college, thankyouverymuch.

I could probably go work at a tutoring center or one of those summer programs for kids places. But, if I'm being honest, the prospect of working with kids during the SUMMER sounds like about one step down from water-boarding on the torture scale.

I could probably get a job at my nail salon. But what would I do there? Give pedicures? Touch people's feet?! Eww! I don't think so.

My friend (a fellow teacher) applied at Hobby Lobby and I thought, "Cool! We could work there together!" I HEART Hobby Lobby! But they never called her back, so I guess they're not hiring.

Another problem is that, while part of me wants a job (It would be nice to have the extra money, and something to do), the other part of me doesn't want a job. Or, at least, I want the kind of job where I can not come in if I don't feel like it, or leave early if I have plans.

To summarize, here is my list of demands for my potential summer job:
1. No food. Yuck.
2. No cleaning up other people's messes. Yuck.
3. No uniforms. I am a free spirit. I can not be fettered by The Man's chains of oppression!
4. No kids. Aggh.
5. No touching people. Eeewww.
6. Flexible schedule (i.e. I can come and go as I please, but preferably get paid for working full time...).

As of now, I am J.O.B. less for the summer. Maybe that will change, maybe not.

Any ideas?