Hairy Situation

April is National Poetry Month.  To celebrate at school, we spend the month learning about different poets, types of poems, and how to write poems.  I am teaching my kindergarteners, first, and second graders about Shel Silverstein.  We are reading a short book about his life and what inspired him to write poetry.

I googled a great photo of Shel and showed it to my first graders.  We studied the photo intently.  They talked extensively about one physical trait… his lack of hair. 

The first grade boys found the fact that Shel had no hair hilarious.  They laughed even harder when they learned the term for having no hair is “bald”, and they joked endlessly about Shel being bald.  I casually commented, “You know that one day you will be bald, right?”

A chorus of “no way” and “uh-uh” ensued. 

“Yup,” I said.  “You will all be bald just like Shel when you get old.”

One of my littlest first graders defiantly responded, “I will NEVER be bald.”

“You don’t know that,” I said.

“Oh yes, I do,” he said confidently.

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“Because,” he said very seriously, “I'll get a weave.”

I stand corrected.  

It Wasn't Me: Part Deux

Again, another wacky toilet experience.  What is with me and broken commodes lately?  I learned my lesson the last time and, this time, I didn’t come clean.

On Wednesday, I ate at a restaurant by work and decided to use the restroom before hopping on the subway to head home.  I walked into the ONLY bathroom in the restaurant and surveyed the facilities.  They looked functional. 

I used the restroom and then I kicked my leg up to flush the toilet with my foot.  When I tapped the handle… it fell off and clinked on the tile floor!  Consequently, the toilet didn’t flush.

My eyes bulged and I immediately began to sweat.  I prayed that no one would knock on the door or hear the commotion.  That was probably a futile wish considering the bathroom door was made of plywood and conveniently opened to a group of tables and the line to place orders. 

I bent over and peered at a screw that jutted out from where the handle had been.  I figured that the screw must still flush the toilet.  So, I pushed it.

Except, it didn’t flush.  Instead, with Hulk-like strength, I pushed the screw so far back into the hole that it disappeared!  No handle, no screw, and one un-flushed toilet.  My stress level skyrocketed knowing that I would, once again, be blamed for a defunct toilet that was NOT MY FAULT. 

I quickly assessed my options and decided not to repeat my last experience.  I opened the door, scanned the restaurant, avoided all eye contact, and acted as if nothing had happened.  Then, I did what anyone would do in my situation with my history of public humiliation and… fled. 

Making Space

I'm not into exercising. It's just never really been my thing. I always have good intentions to work out, but just can't stick with it. I get bored and my attention span decreases to the point of being nonexistent.

About a year ago, Ben and I had joined the gym for a short lived six months.  We dropped our membership as soon as we realized that not only did we have to change our eating habits to achieve the bodies we dreamed of, but that we also had to exercise every day.  Exercise every day in a hot and smelly gym with the same equipment and people?  No way.

But, now spring is here and skirts and swimsuits will replace sweaters and pants. I feel that I should once again start to exercise, make myself more presentable to the public. This time, though, I've decided to work out at home instead of joining a gym.  That way, I can leave my PJs on and I only have to roll off the couch to get started.

Our apartment doesn't really lend itself to lots of jumping and moving, but I will make it work.  I will just push the couch a few inches, wedge a chair in the corner, roll up the rug, close the blinds, and crack open the window to get some cool air. Of course, I can only open the window about 5 inches because any more than that would give the apartments dwellers and the mechanics at the car garage across the street an eyeful of an uncoordinated and wimpy blonde. Nobody wants, or needs, to see that.

Then, to complete my workout setup, I will hook three different cords from the computer to the TV and stereo (the DVD player broke a few months ago).  I can't forget to lock the apartment door.  Again, no one needs to walk in and see me blundering around the room with a side ponytail in a mismatched outfit. That. Would. Be. Bad.

So... after writing this, I realize how much work it is to just work out in our apartment. Perhaps, I'll just go back to counting my walk to and from the subway as exercise.  Yup, that sounds like a good idea.

Different Monday

About two weeks ago, I schlepped to work in the pouring rain.  I walked to the subway in the rain.  I walked from the subway to the bus stop in the rain.  And, then, I waited in the rain as three packed buses flew by me.  Everything seemed a little worse when my umbrella flipped TWICE because of the strong wind.

I made it to school in one piece and as I hung my coat in the closet I felt my phone buzz in the pocket.  I pulled out my phone to see a text from Ben, who was on his way to Washington D.C. for work.  I opened his text to find this message:

“Love you so much babe!  JUST made my train!!!! Speeding down the coast right now drinking a latte.  Love you!”

Yeah, I know.  The multiple “I love you” lines with exclamation points are sweet, but the “speeding down the coast” in a warm, dry train with leather seats and free Wi-Fi while “drinking a latter” almost sent me over edge.  Did he have to be that happy on a dreary Monday morning?  I almost drowned on the sidewalk and squished into the stairwell of bus to get to work on time! 

No biggie, though.  I took it all in stride… kind of.