A child is impressionable - be cautious. A child is learning - be kind. A child is adventurous, impetuous, wild - be ready. A child is young - be wise. A child is wise - be young. A child is imaginative - be creative. A child is emotional - be able to comfort, to guide, to sympathize. A child is difficult - be understanding. A child is challenging - be up for it. A child follows - lead. A child can lead - be led. A child is needy - be present. A child is persistent - be supportive. A child is talkative - be all ears. A child is annoying and clingy and chatty and loud - be annoying and clingy and chatty and loud. A child is quiet - be listening. A child is talented - be aware. A child is obstinate - be steady. A child is unafraid - be alert. A child is a storyteller and an actor (a doctor, a lawyer, a dog, a cat, an alien, a whale, a monkey, a princess, a warrior, a cop, a robber, a mother, a father, a snail) - be an audience. A child is impossible - be a believer. A child is original - be open-minded.
A child knows - be yourself.
Thursday, December 16, 2004
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
Giant Monkeys, Talky McTalksalot, and William Shatner
Happy Tuesday, Matt Smith.
Sometimes, at the end of a year, I find it amusing to write sentences like, "This is my last Tuesday in the Twin Cities before next year," or "This is the last night of the year that I'll eat leftovers from the fridge in my own apartment." Sure, they don't mean much, but it sure does feel good.
However, here's a list of some things that DON'T feel good:
1) Kids who talk too much. (Sometimes, kids who talk at ALL.) This week, I'm working at a "magnet school" -- this one attracts the "gifted and talented." While I, as a child, was labeled as such, at the time it did NOT mean that we were entitled to say whatever was on our minds whenever we felt like it. Apparently... now it does.
2) Muscle strain. While no explanation is really necessary for this, I suppose some details are in order. Today, I worked in a classroom with very little space to spare -- lots of chair-desky things, a big teacher's deak, tons of homemade cardboard and construction paper models of unrecognizable objects, and one quite large table in the center of the room which was covered with a nifty little quilt. So we weren't left with a lot of room to work with. The teacher offered to move the table, but it seemed like it would be a big hassle as she had stored a number of large heavy-looking boxes (holding God knows what) underneath it. We said we'd work around it -- no big deal -- and she jokingly told me that I could stand on it if I wanted. I said, "Really?" She looked at me, semi-incredulously and said, "Oh. Sure." So of course, I did. Jumped on and off the table about 30 times over the course of the day. Did stupid things to ensure the amusement of the children, making quite certain that I could use the table to prance about on. All of this proves that I'm INSANE, that the children would NOT be amused, and that I'm terribly, woefully out of shape.
3) Being kicked in the head. Although this didn't actually occur today, I'm fairly certain it's not something that would feel particularly pleasant.
4) Being cold. Minnesota is very cold. Too cold, in fact, to snow. So cold that the humidity on the inside of my car is frosting the INSIDE of my windshield. So cold that my snot -- my own 98.6 degree snot -- freezes after I spend two minutes outside. Minnesota is frozen snot cold, and it doesn't feel good. Pittsburgh's frickin' Habana compared to this crazy place.
I think I'll make tea now.
Over and over again,
Meredith
Sometimes, at the end of a year, I find it amusing to write sentences like, "This is my last Tuesday in the Twin Cities before next year," or "This is the last night of the year that I'll eat leftovers from the fridge in my own apartment." Sure, they don't mean much, but it sure does feel good.
However, here's a list of some things that DON'T feel good:
1) Kids who talk too much. (Sometimes, kids who talk at ALL.) This week, I'm working at a "magnet school" -- this one attracts the "gifted and talented." While I, as a child, was labeled as such, at the time it did NOT mean that we were entitled to say whatever was on our minds whenever we felt like it. Apparently... now it does.
2) Muscle strain. While no explanation is really necessary for this, I suppose some details are in order. Today, I worked in a classroom with very little space to spare -- lots of chair-desky things, a big teacher's deak, tons of homemade cardboard and construction paper models of unrecognizable objects, and one quite large table in the center of the room which was covered with a nifty little quilt. So we weren't left with a lot of room to work with. The teacher offered to move the table, but it seemed like it would be a big hassle as she had stored a number of large heavy-looking boxes (holding God knows what) underneath it. We said we'd work around it -- no big deal -- and she jokingly told me that I could stand on it if I wanted. I said, "Really?" She looked at me, semi-incredulously and said, "Oh. Sure." So of course, I did. Jumped on and off the table about 30 times over the course of the day. Did stupid things to ensure the amusement of the children, making quite certain that I could use the table to prance about on. All of this proves that I'm INSANE, that the children would NOT be amused, and that I'm terribly, woefully out of shape.
3) Being kicked in the head. Although this didn't actually occur today, I'm fairly certain it's not something that would feel particularly pleasant.
4) Being cold. Minnesota is very cold. Too cold, in fact, to snow. So cold that the humidity on the inside of my car is frosting the INSIDE of my windshield. So cold that my snot -- my own 98.6 degree snot -- freezes after I spend two minutes outside. Minnesota is frozen snot cold, and it doesn't feel good. Pittsburgh's frickin' Habana compared to this crazy place.
I think I'll make tea now.
Over and over again,
Meredith
Friday, December 10, 2004
$73 of Wine on the Wall... $73 of Wine...
Dear Matt Smith,
I remember telling you once, after my car was stolen (it's almost my year anniversary!), that when the police arrived on the scene and told me, "When your car turns up, we'll give you a call."
"When?" I said. "Or IF?"
"When," Grumpy Man said. "These things usually turn up."
I extended my hand towards his car window, and, incidentally, his face. "Hi," I said. "Perhaps we haven't met. My name's Meredith, and I'm the girl that nothing goes right for."
And so it goes, Matt Smith.
And so it goes.
Yesterday, after a very long day of teaching "Harassment Now!" (not later) to six classes of seventh graders, I ventured out to the local grocery store -- Cub Foods (I have yet to actually witness a cub there, but then, the Boy Scouts have set up their Christmas tree shop in the parking lot). I bought a few crucial items, including a delicious steak (excuse me... STEAK!) to cook for my meager supper. I did my banking, discovered that I had a bit more cash to play around with before Christmas than I had originally anticipated, and made my way to the local liquor emporium. (Yes, liquor emporium. Minnesota has a vast amount of liquor, but most of it is found in large warehouse environments, where the sky's the limit. Although, why would you want liquor to be in the sky? I'd rather have it in a glass where it's more easily accessible. Damn the sky AND its liquor.)
I perused the aisles for a decent, yet inexpensive, bottle of Merlot and spotted a local Merlot for about $8. I carried my find to the counter, pulled out my license and my debit card, and waited behind a goosy-looking woman who sported a cart filled with 3 cases of some ridiculously God-awful beer. I smiled at her bad taste, and hugged my delicious wine closer to me. The clever minion behind the counter took her check without asking for ID (stupid, stupid boy), grabbed all three of the cases, and carried it out the door to the goose-lady's car. I briefly entertained the idea of robbing the place blind while he left the store unsupervised, but was thrown back into reality as the chubby minion re-entered the store.
To make a short story even shorter, the stupid boy overcharged me. He failed to ring out the Goose's sale, and charged me for her skunky beer. I mentioned this -- because my first receipt read something along the lines of $44.21 -- and he made some brief effort to correct the problem, but ended up charging me an additional $30 or so. Eventually, the poor chubby, shaggy boy had to take $73 off of the card.
So there you have it, Matt Smith. The saga of my $73 bottle of wine. It's really not all that important, but it does illustrate the point that nothing good can come of buying disgusting beer.
Cheers,
Meredith
I remember telling you once, after my car was stolen (it's almost my year anniversary!), that when the police arrived on the scene and told me, "When your car turns up, we'll give you a call."
"When?" I said. "Or IF?"
"When," Grumpy Man said. "These things usually turn up."
I extended my hand towards his car window, and, incidentally, his face. "Hi," I said. "Perhaps we haven't met. My name's Meredith, and I'm the girl that nothing goes right for."
And so it goes, Matt Smith.
And so it goes.
Yesterday, after a very long day of teaching "Harassment Now!" (not later) to six classes of seventh graders, I ventured out to the local grocery store -- Cub Foods (I have yet to actually witness a cub there, but then, the Boy Scouts have set up their Christmas tree shop in the parking lot). I bought a few crucial items, including a delicious steak (excuse me... STEAK!) to cook for my meager supper. I did my banking, discovered that I had a bit more cash to play around with before Christmas than I had originally anticipated, and made my way to the local liquor emporium. (Yes, liquor emporium. Minnesota has a vast amount of liquor, but most of it is found in large warehouse environments, where the sky's the limit. Although, why would you want liquor to be in the sky? I'd rather have it in a glass where it's more easily accessible. Damn the sky AND its liquor.)
I perused the aisles for a decent, yet inexpensive, bottle of Merlot and spotted a local Merlot for about $8. I carried my find to the counter, pulled out my license and my debit card, and waited behind a goosy-looking woman who sported a cart filled with 3 cases of some ridiculously God-awful beer. I smiled at her bad taste, and hugged my delicious wine closer to me. The clever minion behind the counter took her check without asking for ID (stupid, stupid boy), grabbed all three of the cases, and carried it out the door to the goose-lady's car. I briefly entertained the idea of robbing the place blind while he left the store unsupervised, but was thrown back into reality as the chubby minion re-entered the store.
To make a short story even shorter, the stupid boy overcharged me. He failed to ring out the Goose's sale, and charged me for her skunky beer. I mentioned this -- because my first receipt read something along the lines of $44.21 -- and he made some brief effort to correct the problem, but ended up charging me an additional $30 or so. Eventually, the poor chubby, shaggy boy had to take $73 off of the card.
So there you have it, Matt Smith. The saga of my $73 bottle of wine. It's really not all that important, but it does illustrate the point that nothing good can come of buying disgusting beer.
Cheers,
Meredith
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
Peeing for Freedom
Hellooooo, Matt Smith.
Good evening to you as well. It is evening here; in fact, it's pretty much been evening here since about 6 o'clock in the morning... on Monday. The sun really hasn't made an appearance this week, but perhaps it's sympathizing with me. I've had to get up at about 6 in the morning every day this week, but more on that later.
News on the car: it IS "fixed." I use the increasingly appropriate ironic emphasis of the quotes here. (And they are "finger" quotes, of course. The internet, however, does not allow me to have fingers.) Apparently, I "flooded" the "engine," and this is "bad," according to the "guys at the shop." After driving a non-fuel injected vehicle for so long, I fully understand the concept of cars not starting. My only downfall was treating all cars the same. All cars are not created equal.
I did tell the tow truck man that this was my annual car trouble. He said, "This happens every year?" And I said, "Yeah, pretty much." He said, "Does it always happen around the holidays?" And I said, "Yeah. Pretty much." Such was our conversation that very, very cold Friday morning at seven.
Bonus to having the car towed that early? I got to eat McDonald's breakfast! Woo-hoo! So exciting! Usually I crave Egg McMuffins at approximately 10:31 in the morning. It's a trick my body likes to play on me, knowing full well that McDonald's -- for whatever cunning corporate reason -- stops serving breakfast at 10:30. The reasoning behind this completely ELUDES me, as any normal McDonald's-breakfast-eating 20-something doesn't even roll out of BED until eleven. It's just wrong. That's all I'm saying. Not very effective marketing, if you ask me.
Waking up at 6am all this week reminded me faintly of working at Starbucks. Only this time, I come home from work smelling of contemptuous middle schoolers instead of scorched milk and stale coffee. Needless to say, I took a shower. I needed to wash off all the "I-don't-care-what-you're-trying-to-teach-me's," the "I'm-going-to-make-fun-of-everything-that-you-do-because-I-have-no-developed-sense-of-humor's," and the "I-have-to-look-cool-and-the-only-way-I-know-how-to-defend-that-is-by-using-sarcasm's." Quite honestly, it stinks. And I didn't want to sit and stew in that all the live-long-Law-&-Order night.
I'm sorry to hear you've come down with a cold. I heard it was going around.
Okay, actually, I didn't. That just seemed to be something that people say to make sick people feel better.
"I've got a cold."
"Oh, really? I heard it was going around."
Or... "I've got bronchitis."
"Really? I heard it was going around."
Or... "I've got anemia."
"Oh, really? I heard it was going around."
(I guess it's one of those "safety in numbers" things. I don't know.)
For the cold and the voice thing, though, I recommend drinking a lot of warm water. Sarah used to make fun of me for drinking what she referred to as my "bath water," but it's better for your vocal chords. Doesn't rip them apart and dry them out the way that ice water will, and the water bottle will double as a handy heat source when your hands get cold.
I've actually been drinking a lot of water lately, believe it or not. Yes. Me. The self-proclaimed Water Hater. I used to think the only thing that could make water bearable was Kool-Aid, but I stand corrected. A body -- well, my body -- goes through a great deal of fluid when it carries all the strain and stress that comes with teaching children. So, I get rid of that stress by drinking water. And peeing a lot. It guarantees that I get at least 2 or 3 minutes to myself every hour or so.
Unless some wandering school official follows me into the faculty bathroom, which hasn't happened YET, but it's just the sort of thing that would happen to me.
And then my car would break down.
Happy to be coming home for the holidays,
Meredith
Good evening to you as well. It is evening here; in fact, it's pretty much been evening here since about 6 o'clock in the morning... on Monday. The sun really hasn't made an appearance this week, but perhaps it's sympathizing with me. I've had to get up at about 6 in the morning every day this week, but more on that later.
News on the car: it IS "fixed." I use the increasingly appropriate ironic emphasis of the quotes here. (And they are "finger" quotes, of course. The internet, however, does not allow me to have fingers.) Apparently, I "flooded" the "engine," and this is "bad," according to the "guys at the shop." After driving a non-fuel injected vehicle for so long, I fully understand the concept of cars not starting. My only downfall was treating all cars the same. All cars are not created equal.
I did tell the tow truck man that this was my annual car trouble. He said, "This happens every year?" And I said, "Yeah, pretty much." He said, "Does it always happen around the holidays?" And I said, "Yeah. Pretty much." Such was our conversation that very, very cold Friday morning at seven.
Bonus to having the car towed that early? I got to eat McDonald's breakfast! Woo-hoo! So exciting! Usually I crave Egg McMuffins at approximately 10:31 in the morning. It's a trick my body likes to play on me, knowing full well that McDonald's -- for whatever cunning corporate reason -- stops serving breakfast at 10:30. The reasoning behind this completely ELUDES me, as any normal McDonald's-breakfast-eating 20-something doesn't even roll out of BED until eleven. It's just wrong. That's all I'm saying. Not very effective marketing, if you ask me.
Waking up at 6am all this week reminded me faintly of working at Starbucks. Only this time, I come home from work smelling of contemptuous middle schoolers instead of scorched milk and stale coffee. Needless to say, I took a shower. I needed to wash off all the "I-don't-care-what-you're-trying-to-teach-me's," the "I'm-going-to-make-fun-of-everything-that-you-do-because-I-have-no-developed-sense-of-humor's," and the "I-have-to-look-cool-and-the-only-way-I-know-how-to-defend-that-is-by-using-sarcasm's." Quite honestly, it stinks. And I didn't want to sit and stew in that all the live-long-Law-&-Order night.
I'm sorry to hear you've come down with a cold. I heard it was going around.
Okay, actually, I didn't. That just seemed to be something that people say to make sick people feel better.
"I've got a cold."
"Oh, really? I heard it was going around."
Or... "I've got bronchitis."
"Really? I heard it was going around."
Or... "I've got anemia."
"Oh, really? I heard it was going around."
(I guess it's one of those "safety in numbers" things. I don't know.)
For the cold and the voice thing, though, I recommend drinking a lot of warm water. Sarah used to make fun of me for drinking what she referred to as my "bath water," but it's better for your vocal chords. Doesn't rip them apart and dry them out the way that ice water will, and the water bottle will double as a handy heat source when your hands get cold.
I've actually been drinking a lot of water lately, believe it or not. Yes. Me. The self-proclaimed Water Hater. I used to think the only thing that could make water bearable was Kool-Aid, but I stand corrected. A body -- well, my body -- goes through a great deal of fluid when it carries all the strain and stress that comes with teaching children. So, I get rid of that stress by drinking water. And peeing a lot. It guarantees that I get at least 2 or 3 minutes to myself every hour or so.
Unless some wandering school official follows me into the faculty bathroom, which hasn't happened YET, but it's just the sort of thing that would happen to me.
And then my car would break down.
Happy to be coming home for the holidays,
Meredith
Thursday, December 02, 2004
I'm Sally Field
Matt Smith,
Half a glass of wine and I'm an expert on a great many things.
1) Car troubles = car experts. It's amazing how many things people think they know after experiencing any kind of car trouble. At 10:30 on Sunday morning, my car wouldn't start. After a few hours of mild heartbreak and a phone call to AAA, I returned home from rehearsal, hopped in my car, turned the key, and heard the engine turn right over. My little Subaru ran smoothly up until today when I trotted out over the icy terrain, hopped in, turned the key, and -- whaddya know? The darn thing wouldn't start. Seems that when something's wrong with a car, it gives you little hints -- symptoms, one might say -- of what's about to come. But everyone's got an opinion, and everyone's an expert here in Minnesota when it comes to cold weather car trouble. "It's the battery," one says. "It's the engine," says another. "It's the gas tank," "It's the starter," "It's the fuel pump," they say. Yeah? It's your FACE. Don't feed me lies. Just fix my car.
2) Schoolteachers sure are condescending, aren't they? I spent today in a school, passing teachers in the hall who spoke to their classes in melodic ups and downs, telling them such important things as, "THERE is absoLUTEly NO TALKing!" or "BOYS and GIRLS," followed by many forms of meaningless drivel. All the teachers I admired in elementary school had one thing in common: they were honest. And not just with me, but with themselves. Teachers of Minnesota, take note.
3) It's one thing to be at home of your own accord, but it's another thing altogether to be at home, truly WANTING to go out. I've spent so many nights here in the Twin Cities, just bumming around my humble little apartment, watching "Law & Order" (or some other cops-and-robbers/crime drama type show -- at the moment, it's "Diagnosis Murder," which I, of course, am ashamed of, but who doesn't love Dick Van Dyke? He's the man; you can't deny it), just being happy being warm (GOD ALMIGHTY it's warm in my apartment! The heat's so bad, I could hang paintings on it) and drinking my tea (or, in this case, wine -- I'm on glass number 2 now, even more brilliant and insightful than I was before). But suddenly, the ability to transport myself from this place to another place has been taken away from me, and I have this odd desire to go someplace. What place? I have no idea. The Dollar Store. The China Buffet. The friggin' Target... I don't care. Just let me out!!!
4) People -- real ones -- read my blog. Amazingly, it's not just Anne Brannen and Matt Smith. That's not to say that Anne and you, Matt Smith, aren't "real" people, but there are other actual human beings out there who have ventured my way -- some via my sister (God love her), and some via Matt Dunegan. (And to end the argument of arguments, I'd challenge anyone to call him Dunegan in EVERY situation; go ahead. Think you can do it? It's difficult. There are some circumstances that wouldn't warrant the use of the name "Dunegan." Trust me.)
Okay, so I'm not really an EXPERT. But I did manage to get through this entry without having to use SpellCheck.
Big, semi-depressing, wintry-scented sighs,
Meredith
Half a glass of wine and I'm an expert on a great many things.
1) Car troubles = car experts. It's amazing how many things people think they know after experiencing any kind of car trouble. At 10:30 on Sunday morning, my car wouldn't start. After a few hours of mild heartbreak and a phone call to AAA, I returned home from rehearsal, hopped in my car, turned the key, and heard the engine turn right over. My little Subaru ran smoothly up until today when I trotted out over the icy terrain, hopped in, turned the key, and -- whaddya know? The darn thing wouldn't start. Seems that when something's wrong with a car, it gives you little hints -- symptoms, one might say -- of what's about to come. But everyone's got an opinion, and everyone's an expert here in Minnesota when it comes to cold weather car trouble. "It's the battery," one says. "It's the engine," says another. "It's the gas tank," "It's the starter," "It's the fuel pump," they say. Yeah? It's your FACE. Don't feed me lies. Just fix my car.
2) Schoolteachers sure are condescending, aren't they? I spent today in a school, passing teachers in the hall who spoke to their classes in melodic ups and downs, telling them such important things as, "THERE is absoLUTEly NO TALKing!" or "BOYS and GIRLS," followed by many forms of meaningless drivel. All the teachers I admired in elementary school had one thing in common: they were honest. And not just with me, but with themselves. Teachers of Minnesota, take note.
3) It's one thing to be at home of your own accord, but it's another thing altogether to be at home, truly WANTING to go out. I've spent so many nights here in the Twin Cities, just bumming around my humble little apartment, watching "Law & Order" (or some other cops-and-robbers/crime drama type show -- at the moment, it's "Diagnosis Murder," which I, of course, am ashamed of, but who doesn't love Dick Van Dyke? He's the man; you can't deny it), just being happy being warm (GOD ALMIGHTY it's warm in my apartment! The heat's so bad, I could hang paintings on it) and drinking my tea (or, in this case, wine -- I'm on glass number 2 now, even more brilliant and insightful than I was before). But suddenly, the ability to transport myself from this place to another place has been taken away from me, and I have this odd desire to go someplace. What place? I have no idea. The Dollar Store. The China Buffet. The friggin' Target... I don't care. Just let me out!!!
4) People -- real ones -- read my blog. Amazingly, it's not just Anne Brannen and Matt Smith. That's not to say that Anne and you, Matt Smith, aren't "real" people, but there are other actual human beings out there who have ventured my way -- some via my sister (God love her), and some via Matt Dunegan. (And to end the argument of arguments, I'd challenge anyone to call him Dunegan in EVERY situation; go ahead. Think you can do it? It's difficult. There are some circumstances that wouldn't warrant the use of the name "Dunegan." Trust me.)
Okay, so I'm not really an EXPERT. But I did manage to get through this entry without having to use SpellCheck.
Big, semi-depressing, wintry-scented sighs,
Meredith
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